MISSING MATISSE

by Rick Dalton

CHAPTER ONE

"Jorge, I'm flying back to Key West tonight. Will you open up the apartment for me and make sure there's plenty of ice and -"

"- tonic!" he finished for me.

"You got it, bucko!"

"What's the occasion, if I may be so bold?"

"Marco's rehab treatment is over. He can't leave the States, so I proposed a quiet weekend in our own apartment, just the two of us. Then I've got to get back here to Jamaica. The remodeling's coming along great and I don't want to lose the momentum."

"I'll have everything ready for you, Ricky baby."

"And, Jorge...plan on staying over tonight. Ciao, baby!"

I love messing with his mind. I hung up the telephone and returned to my floor plans.

"Mistuh Rick," Jeremie called out as he entered the office, "me 'n Jaimie gonna break fo' lunch. You want I should fix you somethin'?"

"No thanks, Jeremie," I smiled, "I'll be driving to the airport in a few minutes. You guys take it easy today. I'll be back next week. Remember, Matthew's in charge while I'm gone."

"Yessuh, we likes Mistuh Matt. He be a fair fella to work for."

Driving to Sanger Airport outside of Montego Bay, my mind wandered back to the last few weeks. Our work in restoring the Great House had gone quite smoothly, in spite of Barry, Lord Carlysle's sudden departure. His recommendation of the new general contractor had been a godsend. Knowledgable, hardworking, and cute, he fit right in to our life at Sugar Hill Plantation. I felt confident that I could leave everything in his hands while I took off for a few days to be with Marco.

The plane departed right on schedule, landing me in Key West in just under two hours. Jorge was waiting for me at the terminal.

"I'm sure glad to see you." Jorge rushed over to me and planted a big kiss as he lifted me into his muscular arms.

"Please, a little decorum," I protested, as he placed me gently back on the ground.

"Let 'em be jealous," Jorge smirked, "we're the most beautiful people in this two-bit airport."

"Speak for yourself, handsome, I feel like a wet dishrag in this humidity. Get me home please."

"You a bit out of sorts today?"

"No, just apprehensive. Leaving Sugar Hill in the the final stages of our project, wondering if Marco is truly cured this time, worrying about the winter season rentals, you know, the usual," I tapered off, my voice dropping as I looked dejectedly about me.

"Not to worry, Ricky baby," Jorge said soothingly as he walked me to the car, his arm draped consolingly around my shoulder. "An iced martini, a cool shower, and a siesta await you."

"And what else?" I grinned up at him.

"Wait and see."

My little apartment was a converted carriage house behind a rambling Victorian mansion on Fleming Street in Key West's Old Town. The owner, a famous Broadway lyricist and producer, had splendidly restored the main house for his personal use, the apartment for token income. Coming home was such sweet respite.

"Jorge, you may serve my drink in the shower," I said archly as I glided grandly through the living room and headed for the bath, dropping my clothing as I went.

The soothing spray of water calmed my jangled nerves. The icy glass he thrust through the plastic shower curtain lifted my spirits. I toweled off with my Martha Stewart Egyptian cotton bath sheet and strode nude into the bedroom.

"Lie down on the bed," Jorge commanded, "let me work on those tense muscles."

His masterful hands massaged my back as he straddled me, his own engorged cock brushed lightly against my buttocks. He thrust a brown bottle against my nostrils.

"This'll loosen you up, take a deep hit," he ordered.

The euphoria quickly engulfed me as the butyl nitrate took effect. I eagerly thrust up against Jorge's invading member, my body molding itself to his. Passionately but tenderly we made love.

Awakened by the insistent jangling of the telephone, I could see by the lengthened shadows that we had slept through to early evening. I quickly grabbed the offending instrument so as not to awaken the slumbering Jorge.

"Yeah, who is it?" I grumbled sleepily into the receiver.

"And a gracious good evening to you, too. It's your big sister."

" Bradley, I'm sorry. I was just napping. Got in a little while ago from the island."

"The 'island' is it? I know. I spoke to your manager Matthew. I thought you were still in Jamaica."

"Marco gets out of rehab tomorrow. I'm going up to Miami and bring him home for a quiet weekend. Then it's back to Sugar Hill for me."

"Marco going back with you?"

"Can't. Terms are, he stays in this country, gets a job, and reports weekly to his counselor."

"Ooh, that's bad for your love life, or is it?"

"I'll manage."

"Yes, my dear, you usually do. Well the reason for my call was to invite you to a week in the 'Walled City'. We're doing a photo shoot in Old San Juan at the Galleria Guest House."

"Sounds fabulous, but what'll I do with Marco?"

"As usual, I'll work it out for you. I'll sign up Marco as a staff member, maybe a photographer's assistant. That will satisfy the job requirement."

"But he can't leave the county," I protested.

"My dear, have you forgotten, Puerto Rico is part of the country, last time I checked anyway."

"You're so brilliant, Bradley. When do we leave?"

"Labor Day, Monday morning. That still gives you Sunday together - alone. Your tickets will be waiting at Key West Airport, but we're leaving from Miami."

"Thanks, Bradley. I think we need a week together before I hit the airway back to Jamaica."

"Ta-ta! See you in San Juan, my dear."

CHAPTER TWO

'Click' went the shutter on my new Nikon.

"You're going to make a fabulous photographer's assistant. I'm proud of you, Marco, and I love you very much."

"Can I get dressed now? I'm starved."

"Sure. Bradley should be here in a minute to take us out for dinner."

"You boys decent?" followed the light tapping at our door.

"I always maintain my decorum," I announced throwing open the door to our room. "It's my sexy lover here who's running around naked."

"So I see," said Bradley with a smirk. "Did I interrupt a tete-a-tete?"

"It's not what you think," rejoined Marco, "he made me do it - for the camera. I guess I should have bought him a new watch instead."

"Nothing wrong with the old one," I said glancing down at the Rolex on my wrist, a gift from Marco in his drug-running days.

"Now now boys, no arguing," Bradley admonished. "I'm taking you two out for a fabulous dinner. Wear something extra nice - and sexy, Marco. I've got your first assignment."

"This place is more like a museum or an art gallery than a guest house," Marco commented as we followed Bradley down the stairs to the courtyard.

"Our theme is 'Art in Private Places'. This makes a perfect backdrop for our photoshoot," explained Bradley. "That's why we chose it, or rather it chose us."

"What do you mean, 'it chose us'?" I asked.

"Senor Ramon, our host and co-owner, contacted the magazine and offered the use of his inn. The rooms for staff and models are free, we get comped meals, at the inn of course, and he gets free publicity for next season."

"Sounds like just the ticket for promoting Sugar Hill, Bradley dearest," I purred slyly.

"We're already committed for the next three seasons. After that, we'll see. Of course flattery and large cash donations to your dear sister do help pave the way," he said jokingly. "Come on, boys, let's hit the town!"

Over our sumptuous dinner of bistec de argentine, arroz blanco y frejoles negros, sweet plantains, and ensalada we listened intently while Bradley explained Marco's first official duty in his new job.

"I want a 'hunk', an unknown but gorgeous creature to grace our magazine cover! Your job, Mr. Phelps (he winked at Marcos), if you should decide to accept this assignment, is to go out to every gay bar in this city until you find 'the one'. I don't care if you have to fuck him in the bathroom stall or ply him with cocktails. Bring him back to the inn tomorrow morning. We'll supply his clothing for the shoot and pay him a generous bonus to boot."

"Hrumpf," I cleared my throat indignantly, "there'll be no star-fucking in this family. Marco and I have decided to try manogominity!"

"Coining a new word, are we?" replied Bradley.

"You know what I mean. In this day and age, multiple sex partners is just asking for trouble," I responded lamely. "He can be your pretty boy magnet without the sex stuff."

"Speaking of pretty boy," Bradley gasped, "look what's headed our way!"

Full pouty lips, thin aquiline nose, dark smouldering eyes in a smooth tanned face framed by dark wavy hair - an angelic Menudo grown to full manhood slowly sauntered past our dinner table. Pausing ever so slightly he cast a furtive glance at Marco and turned quickly away, heading for the lobby.

"Be still my heart," Bradley breathed out as he nervously fanned his face with a dinner napkin, "we've just been privileged to view a living Botticelli!"

We all stared in breathless silence as the vision disappeared through the front door.

"I want him on my cover, Marco. Go get 'im!"

Marco looked over at me, as if asking for my permission.

"It's your job," I smiled. "I trust you, Marco."

"Catch up with him, take him to the bar down the street for a drink. We'll finish our coffee and join you in a few," Bradley promised.

La Puerta Verde (translation: The Green Door, no kidding!) was a well known watering hole for rich gentlemen looking for the casual pick-up. Our host had recommended it for our unknown model search. Bluejean clad young men were encouraged to hang out at the bar for reduced drink prices to attract the older, wealthier big spenders. This is where we had sent Marco for his "catch of the day".

"Well, my dear, I don't see them at the bar," commented Bradley as we surveyed the rococo decadence spread out before us, a half flight down from street level.

A long ornately carved mahogany bar ran the length of the room. We picked our way through intimate groupings of plushly upholstered velvet loveseats, each with an accompanying candlelit cocktail table. At this early hour, the room was sparsly populated. The swarthy mustachioed bartender was chatting up two slim hustler-types lounging against the bar. No rich dandees in sight - yet.

"Que pasa? What can I serve you gentlemen tonight?" he asked, politely nodding as he approached.

"We were meeting two others for drinks," Bradley explained. "They don't seem to be here."

"Perhaps you mean the two in the baño." He nodded toward the restroom sign at the end of the bar. "They just walked in a few minutes ago."

"Order for us, Bradley, I'll see if it's them." I strode toward the door marked 'Caballeros' and pushed in.

A marble topped counter had three wash basins, each topped by a gilt framed mirror. Crystal wall sconces cast a dim light through the seemingly empty room. I stepped toward the nearest sink to wash my hands. As I turned on a goldplated faucet, a rustling sound came from one of the stalls lining the opposite wall. I heard a low and familiar voice "Oh, baby, I need it real bad. Yeah, do me good, baby. I need to get off."

It was Marco. I dried my hands quickly and retreated to the bar.

"I believe negotiations are underway," I said grimly, responding to Bradley's raised eyebrows. "Where's my drink!"

The two soon emerged from the restroom, Marco looking sheepish, his new friend following at his heels like a puppy.

"Ah, my Botticelli," Bradley crooned, rising from the barstool.

"Bradley, Rick, meet Paco," Marco annnounced, stepping aside so we could see the whole beautiful package. "I didn't have time to explain the deal yet," he added.

"I guess not!" I interjected bitterly.

Marco shot a sideways glance at me, a startled look painting his face slightly red.

"What do you mean, Rick?"

"I was in the restroom. I'm not stupid!"

"Now, boys, this is not the time or place for a family feud. We've got work to do," Bradley interjected.

"Paco, do you speak English?" Bradley continued.

I got up from my barstool and turned toward Bradley, "I'll see you back at the inn," and walked swiftly for the door.

"Rick, where you going?" Marco called after me.

I ignored him and pushed out into the sultry night.

I strolled slowly down the sidewalk, past our dinner restaurant, heading back to the inn. I just couldn't understand Marco's actions. Where was the loyalty we talked about, forsaking all others, yada, yada, yada. He was right back to his old ways. It hurt me deep inside. And in front of Bradley - how embarrassing!

"Hey, papi, you gotta light?"

The voice came from behind, startling me right out of my reverie. I spun around.

"I don't smoke, sorry."

"How 'bout a cerveza? You drink?"

"Yeah, I drink, but I was just on the way home."

"You look like you could use some company."

I stood staring at him. He looked harmless enough - and very cute.

"Why not?"

I was rewarded with a brilliant smile as fell in step beside me.

"Señor Rick, you are back early," Ramon greeted me as I led my new friend toward the stairs to my room.

"Yes, but the others are staying on for drinks."

"Good to see you again, José," Ramon said somewhat distantly to my companion.

"You've been here before, eh, José, is it?"

"Yes, I am José and I used to be a friend of Ramon's lover. A special friend. Ramon, he became very jealous."

"I don't want to get in the middle of any triangle here. I got enough trouble on my own home front."

"No trouble, Rick, is it?" he grinned slyly up at me.

"Touché!"

As we reached the door to my room, I cautioned, "My friend Marco may be along soon. So if I have to explain your presence here, go along with anything I say. Okay?"

"Of course, Rick, whatever you say," he murmured as he drew me close and kissed me gently. "May we go in your room now, please?"

José plopped down in the middle of the double bed and slowly drew his shirt up to his chest, revealing a lean tanned sexy stomach.

"May we have drinks now please, Rick?"

"I don't have any cold beers, but we've got vodka and tonic."

"No tonic, just vodka straight - like me!" he added, slowly peeling his jeans down to reveal white jockey shorts.

"I hope you're kidding," I answered, staring at his thickening cock straining through the white fabric.

My own cock throbbed and begged for release as I leaned over the bed to pass his drink to him.

"I see you're straight also," he purred as he reached up and gently massaged my bulging crotch.

Drinking deeply and setting the glass aside, he stripped the rest of his clothing off dropping them into a pile on the floor.

"Come here, papi, I want your hot mouth on me."

I eagerly dropped down beside him, taking his lengthening shaft deep into my throat.

"Oh, yeah, now give me your love," he bent over my bobbing head, his hands skillfully unbuttoning my shirt, then undoing my pants.

"Now come up here beside me. I want to drink of your love."

I stretched out beside him, but he quickly reversed himself. Straddling over me, he drew my hardened member deep into mouth as he forced his huge cock back into my throat.

Later, both of us sated from the deep passion of our lovemaking, we sat back against the satin pillows, my arms wrapped around José's slim muscular frame, his head resting gently against my chest.

"May I see you again, Rick?" he asked softly.

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. I do have a lover, a very jealous lover."

"Then what are we doing together now?"

"I was angry with him, but I still love him."

"Then we have no chance. Perhaps I should leave now." He slipped out of my embrace and began dressing quickly.

"I enjoyed being with you, José. Let me give you something for your trouble." I rose from the bed and walked to the pile of clothes on the floor, searching for my wallet.

"You think I am some street hustler? Some prostitute?" he said indignantly. "I was attracted to you. I do not need your money, I have a job and I am a student at the university. You insult me, Rick!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt your feelings. I'm turned on by you, too. Maybe we can see each other while I'm still here."

"I would like that," he replied, somewhat mollified by my hurried apology. "I will leave a discreet message for you at the front desk. If you wish, we can meet at my place. If not, you may throw it away and forget all about me."

Fully dressed, he kissed me lightly and strode to the door.

"I hope you do not throw it away, Rick."

He quietly closed the door behind him. The room seemed very empty, and I, very lonely.

I was awakened by the warm body sliding into the sheets next to me.

"Marco? Is that you?"

"You were expecting Ricky Martin?"

"No you'll do just fine."

I suddenly stiffened with memories of earlier in the evening.

"And your friend, Paco?"

"Spending the night with Bradley."

"The old queen and the young prince, what a combo!"

"If I'm not mistaken, you and Bradley are about the same age."

"Go to sleep, Marco!"

CHAPTER THREE

"You boys want to join us downstairs for our first shoot," Bradley called through the door after tapping lightly.

"Bradley, it's only nine o'clock," I protested, opening the door a crack to peer out at his beaming face.

"We want to catch the morning light around the pool. Thought you might want to see Paco dripping wet in his bikini. Today I make him a star," Bradley gloated.

"And what did you make him last night?" I whispered. "Your knight in shining armor or your princess?"

"I'll never tell, dahling," Bradley grinned coquettishly, "see you downstairs."

"Marco, shall we?" I looked over at the disheveled lump of bedcovers.

"Go ahead, be down later," he murmured sleepily from the lump.

"Guess you've seen most of Paco already," I said testily, disappearing into the bathroom.

"Isn't he gorgeous!" Bradley sighed as I joined him poolside.

"If you like that sort," I responded with sarcasm, "all silky smooth skin the the color of mocha, six pack abs, biker's thighs, and the face of DaVinci's angel."

"Botticelli, my dear."

"Whatever."

"Señor Rick, you have a message. It was left at the desk last night," Ramon interrupted us. "I thought it best to give it to you personally," he whispered conspiratorily.

"Thanks for your discretion," I whispered back.

I opened the sealed envelope and read:

Dear Rick,

I hope you will come visit me. I have a small place near the

university where we can be alone. Please call me on my cell phone

whenever you can get away, for I know I cannot call you there.

José

"Troubles with the darkies down on the plantation?" Bradley peered over his shoulder at me.

"Everything's okay in Jamaica. It's a local problem, an ardorous admirer."

"Only been in town twenty-four hours! I swear, Miss Scarlett, you do get around!"

Crumpling the note, I threw it in the nearest waste can.

"No good can come of that," I muttered to know one in particular.

Bradley merely raised his eyebrows and turned back to his work.

"Paco, dearest, please grab that bar above your head with both hands. Now lean in to the camera a bit. You two in the pool, spread legs, arms at hips. That's it."

The cameraman began to click away as Bradley called encouragement, occasionally repositioning the three models with special 'hands on' attention to Paco.

"That's enough for the pool, you kids dry off and change into the sports outfits. We're doing the gallery shots next," Bradley called out. "Come on," he turned to me, "let's hit the breakfast bar back in the courtyard."

"Should we wait for the others?"

"They don't eat 'til their work's done," he explained firmly. "We can't have food stains on their clothes, everything has to be returned."

"How about cum stains?"

"Remind me to put hemlock in your morning tea, my dear."

A continental breakfast was served each day in the palm filled patio of the main building of the guest complex. Bradley and I were filling our plates from the delectable array of fresh fruits, cheeses, and flaky croissants just as Marco descended from our room.

He glanced bleary eyed at our food and turned toward the coffee urn, muttering, "I think I'll stick to black coffee."

"A tad bit hung over, are we?" Bradley giggled.

Marco joined us at the table in glum silence.

"Our next shots will be in Ramon's private art gallery," Bradley began. "It's not open to just anyone. He's supposed to have some very valuable pieces, so I want you two in there with us to keep your eyes on things."

"Señor Bradley," Ramon announced, "the gallery is open whenever you're ready."

"You boys go ahead with Ramon, I'll check on Paco. Have to make sure his clothes fit properly," Bradley grinned.

I pulled Marco to his feet, reluctance to move already written across his face.

"Come on lover, you'll feel much better if you keep moving."

We followed Ramon through the main corridor toward the entrance lobby..

"We constructed our gallery behind the office," Ramon explained, motioning us to follow him behind the front desk. "Better security."

Ramon ushered us through the inner office to a large iron studded plank door at the back.

"This was part of the original stone structure built in the early 1800's. Walls are three feet thick at the first floor level. Just like a bank vault," he smiled.

We stepped through the arched stone doorway into a cavernous room. Mini spots from the beamed ceiling shown down, highlighting each work of art. The oak planked floor was bare of furnishings. Not a place to linger and contemplate the artists' work, more like a sparsely lighted warehouse.

"Of course this is rarely open to the public," Ramon apologized, perhaps sensing our surprise at the lack of accessories or furnishings. "Some of these works are quite costly. Please feel free to browse, I will await Señor Bradley and his crew in the office."

"I don't know much about the landscapes at the other end," Marco commented, "but a couple of these others seem slightly familiar, in style, I mean."

"My lover, the art expert."

"I did minor in art history at the University of Miami," Marco retorted.

"Ah, here you are my dears," Bradley breezed in with Paco in tow.

The camerman and lighting assistant were close behind.

"This first series is for my new star," he said, stroking Paco's smooth hairless chest. "Please stand over here by the Matisse," he continued, leading Paco to a rather small but striking contemporary swirl of colors. "Now, strike a pose!" he commanded.

"Oh, dear, tell me he didn't say that," I grinned turning to Marco.

"Ah, my youthful innocent comtemplating the ageless innocent - 'The Virgin'," Bradley went on, totaling ignoring my snickering.

"The star of my collection," Ramon explained, "the long lost work by Henri Matisse."

"...meets the star of my collection of beauties - Paco!"

"I think I'm going to puke," I chortled, trying to keep from laughing out loud.

"Shh, he'll hear you," Marco pleaded, grasping my wrist and pulling sharply.

"Quiet on the set!" Bradley turned and glared at me.

And the show went on.

Quite skillful at handling prima donnas, being one himself, Bradley soon had the series of shots in the gallery completed. The models were dismissed to change into afternoon wardrobe. Marco and I remained behind at Bradley's insistance to hear Ramon's story of the famous painting.

"My lover Arturo studied in Paris at the Sorbonne long before I met him. Being an avid collector of other's works as well as a painter himself, he haunted the famous flea markets in his spare time, always buying canvases, some to keep and some to paint over. On one such excursion he came across a curious but amateurish landscape, one of his favorite genres. After arriving back at his little loft he began cleaning it to see if it had any redeeming qualities hidden under years of grime and neglect. The cleansing process, although so gently carried out, began to dislodge the painted surface revealing another more interesting painting underneath. Of course you can imagine his curiosity. He carried the find to one of his professors at the university who helped him in the restoration process. They both recognized the style of Henri Matisse. Although unsigned, it was authenticated as his work."

"And why was this precious work painted over?" Bradley inquired while we listened with fascination.

"Many valuable works were hidden away during the wartime Nazi occupation to prevent looting and confiscation," Ramon explained. "Perhaps the owner of this work chose to leave it in plain sight with a very clever disguise."

"So what's the painting worth today?" I asked innocently.

"Don't be crass my dear," Bradley scolded.

"It is no secret," Ramon smiled, "for we have it insured by Lloyds of London. The appraisal exceeded a quarter of a million dollars, U. S. dollars, that is."

I let out a low whistle. Marco gasped. Bradley looked stunned.

The afternoon's shooting finally drew to a close. Marco drifted off to the pool to catch the last rays of the day.

"Bradley, you up for cocktails?" I suggested.

"Of course, darling," he smiled, "I wouldn't want you cruising alone, and I need a friendly ear to bend."

"Uh-oh, sounds serious."

"Love is always serious, my dear."

We walked around the corner from the inn to a little hole-in-the wall called 'Johnnies', pool tables in front, bar across the back, a little stage at the side for the nightly strip shows. It was a typical hustler bar with cheap drinks and sleazy decor.

"It's not the 'Green Door' but it's convenient," Bradley sighed as he settled in a corner booth and motioned me to the seat across from him. "It's about Paco, I think I'm in love with him."

"Of course you are, you just met 24 hours ago, you silly twit!"

"My dear, don't you believe in love at first sight?"

"Sure. Watch this!"

I got up from the booth and followed a cute young Rican into the bathroom.

"You speak English?" I asked as he slouched against the tile wall, staring openly with hungry eyes.

"Of course, Señor, I am an American."

"My friend out there is in love with you but too shy to make the first move. You interested?"

"I just do dates, no serious stuff. You wanna date?"

"Not me, but I'll make it worth your while if you go out there and put the make on my friend. Get very serious and real heavy - I'll pay you for the whole night."

"For that I need serious bread. Two hundred otta do it."

"Here's fifty now. You get the rest at breakfast tomorrow, if you last that long. Deal?"

"Yeah, man, but you better be good for it."

"Just do your job. Follow me."

I led the young man out to our booth and pushed him in beside Bradley.

"Look what I found in the bathroom," I grinned widely. "He was too shy to come over and talk to you, but I told him you wouldn't bite - much!" I glanced at my watch. "You two have a couple of drinks on me. I'm going back and check on Marco." I dropped two twenties on the table. "If he hasn't drowned, I'll bring him back and we'll go get some dinner."

Bradley looked a bit uncomfortable but waved me off. The young man winked slyly at me, leaned close to Bradley and kissed him on the cheek. Bradley turned immediately and kissed him squarely on the mouth. I think I proved my point.

Marco wasn't at the pool. I checked our room and found his speedo draped over the shower door, still dripping, but no sign of Marco. Now what was he up to? Saved by the bell, the bedside phone rang.

"So, Rick, you haven't called me," came the soft accusation.

"It's been a busy day here at Casa Gallerie," I responded lamely.

"Want to come over and see my etchings? I promise to let you go early," José said seductively.

"Well, I was planning on dinner with my friends, but..."

"Be right over to pick you up," and he clicked off.

CHAPTER FOUR

"My dear, where have you been?" Bradley turned at my entrance to the lobby. "Where has everybody been?" he continued excitedly, hands waving in the air.

"Uh, early breakfast," I responded lamely. So much for my plan to sneak in quietly and unobserved.

"More like late date to me!" he glared back. "And Marco?"

"Still in bed?"

"No sir, I checked your room."

"Who else is missing?"

"Paco!"

"I should have guessed. And how about your little friend from last night?"

"Oh, that." He sighed wistfully, eyes looking heavenward, "Gone with the dawn, but, oh what a night!"

"So what's all the excitement about?"

"There's been a burglary. The painting is gone."

" 'Whatchoo talkin' 'bout, Willis!' " I tried my best Gary Coleman imitation.

"The Matisse is missing!"

The rest of the morning was a blur as police arrived to inspect the crime scene, interview guests and generally make a shambles of our photo shoot attempts. Of course, without Bradley's star performer, it was better to postpone everything until afternoon. Marco came dragging in about noon, looking sheepishly guilty as usual.

"Reporting a little late for work, aren't we?" Bradley commented sharply.

"Sorry, went out with the guys last night. Guess we had few over the limit."

Apparently, Marco didn't realize that I had been out all night also.

"And my boy Paco? Was he out drinking with you?" Bradley continued.

"Yeah, we crashed at his place," Marco sighed. "I'm going up to the room and lay down, I don't feel so hot." He headed for the stairs.

"Wait up, I'll join you," I said following after him. "We need to talk."

"I hope his royal highness shows up," Bradley called after us sarcastically, "we still have lots of shots to get this afternoon."

I closed our door and began quietly, "Marco, I know you need to get out and have a little fun, but I hope you're not back into drugs. You don't need any problems with your parole."

A knock at the door interrupted his reply.

"Señor Rick, I must speak with you about an urgent matter," Ramon drew me out into the corridor. "Your young visitor the other night..."

"You mean José?" I whispered.

"Yes, that one. He may be responsible for the theft of my treasured painting."

"I thought he was a friend of your partner. Why would he do anything like this?"

"He threatened to get even with me. You see, I had to intervene in his relationship with my beloved Arturo. You understand how these things are. I permitted their relationship to continue until it interferred with our business. He was stealing from us. I had to ask him to leave, it ended very badly."

"I was with José last night at his place, he couldn't be involved."

"He has access to the gallery," he confided. "You must ask him to return the painting immediately, no questions asked."

"But Ramon..." I protested.

"It means more to me than value in dollars. I don't want to mention his name to the police - unless I must. Please help me, señor." He turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Just then Bradley came bounding up the stairs. "Toss that young man of yours into a cold shower. Paco's back and we've got work to do. What's up with Ramon?"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He just passed me on the stairway. Didn't say a word."

"Oh, just asking if we saw anyone suspicious hanging around here last night."

"Like you would know, my dear! Off with one of your little tricks, Marco off with my precious Paco. Makes us all look suspicious."

"I better go entice Marco into the shower," I grinned, changing the subject.

"I want him downstairs in thirty minutes," Bradley commanded. "If you must have sex in the shower, make it a quickie!"

"Why Bradley, what a wonderful idea. Thanks."

Marco finally returned to the land of the living, after a hot session and a cold shower. Deciding to lay off the lectures, I sent him on his way downstairs to rejoin his work crew. A quick phone call to José went unanswered. Perhaps a casual stroll through the historic streets of Old San Juan might give me a new perspective on my problem. To clear José and divert any suspicion from the rest of our photo crew, I would have to track down the real thief. But where to start? How to begin?

My walk took me to the old fort. Climbing the chiseled stone steps to the gun rampart and the lookout towers was a great physical workout and mental soother. Crystal blue waters below were an awesome sight, so were the young men hanging out in the shadows of the great walls. I looked down at one in particular, he looked familiar. Rushing back down the steps, across an inner courtyard, through the vaulted tunnel, finally reaching the great arched outer gate, I approached the half naked sun worshipping body.

"Hey, papi, you gotta light?" I asked teasingly.

"Rick, what are you doin' here?" José looked up surprised.

"My E.S.P. kicked in. I was thinking about you, and my feet just led me to the old fort."

"I hope they were good thoughts, I been thinkin' 'bout you, too."

"Can we go somewhere? I've got a lot to tell you."

"How 'bout a café? I know a quiet little place by the water, just up ahead."

He untied the shirt draped around his waist and shrugged into it.

"Come on, cutie, let's go."

"Long as it's not a Starbucks, I'll follow you anywhere," I grinned.

We chose a table under the shade of a great tamarind tree. José leaned into the window to place our order. Turning suddenly he caught my eyes lingering on his well packed jeans.

"Like the view, Señor?"

"Looks familiar, like I've been there before," I teased.

"And will be again, I hope," he said seductively, throwing me a kiss.

He sat down opposite me, placing our cups on the table. Tilting his chair back against the tree, he brought his knees up to the edge of the table, taunting me with his bulging crotch.

"So what's this hot news you got to tell me? A declaration of undying love, or 'get lost, my lover's on to us'?"

"A lot more serious than that. A valuable painting has been stolen from the Galleria."

"Not the Matisse!" His chair thudded to the ground as he sat up suddenly.

"Yeah, you know about it?"

"It's their most famous piece, Arturo's greatest treasure."

"Where is this mysterious Arturo? I haven't met him at the inn."

"This time of year, he's usually up at their mountain retreat to paint in solitude."

"Ramon's so uptight, accusing everyone in our group - even you! Says he'll drop your name to the police. That's why I'm here now. We must find out who did it to clear all of us."

"That vicious queen!" he spat out vehemently.

We discussed possible scenarios, likely suspects, but nothing seemed to fit. Finally, finishing our cafés, I hugged José close and whispered to him, "When can I see you again?"

"How about now? or later tonight?"

"I'll try to come later, let me call you. You shouldn't go near the inn or call me there, considering Ramon's attitude and threat. Oh, I lost your cell number, may I have it again please?"

"You can have me and my number anytime, cutie."

We embraced again and parted at the street.

I found the crew still busy shooting in the main courtyard of the inn. Bradley was shouting orders, Marco running the lighting cables, Paco and the two oriental models strutting their stuff for the camera.

"You're just in time, my dear," Bradley turned at my approach. "Will you please help us with the lighting, I want Marco in a speedo with the other models. We're still one person short."

"I'll have to renegotiate his contract. I can't have my client modeling for the same fee as boy toy procurer," I said teasingly.

"Just be glad I gave him a job, Mr. Agent, or neither one of you'd be here."

"I was only joking Bradley, geez, you get so uptight."

"Sorry, my dear, this painting business has me on edge. I'm going to need a Valium or at least a half dozen martinis, and soon!"

I don't know if I was 'best boy', 'gaffer', or 'grip', but I handled the electric cables and reset the lighting fixtures. I filled with pride as Marco filled out his speedo, my own lover a model for the gay world's hottest fashion magazine.

"That's a wrap for today, guys, hit the showers," Bradley called out. "And you, my dear," he said turning to me, "are going with me to Johnnies for drinks. I need your advice about a delicate matter."

"I'd rather the Green Door, if you don't mind."

"Avoiding somebody at Johnnies, are we?"

I glanced away, trying to hide my guilty thoughts.

"Don't worry, I paid him off this morning after he told me about your little deal."

"Oh, geez..."

"I'm perfectly able to buy my own tricks, thank you very much!"

We strolled around the corner and slipped into the corner booth from the previous day. The place was empty of familiar faces, thank goodness.

"It's about Paco," Bradley began.

"Isn't it always."

"This is very serious. Ramon thinks he stole the painting and accused me of bringing a degenerate street hustler into his inn, putting him and the other guests at risk."

"Come on Bradley, don't take it seriously, he's accusing everybody."

"We must do somethng about it. It reflects on my whole company, not just me. Would you look into it for me, please?"

"Oh, I get it, the Hardy Boys thing again."

"You were so successful cracking the case of your haunted plantation house in Jamaica and your missing chum on Fire Island. You're a natural sleuth."

"Do I get a little bread with all this butter?"

"My dear, you solve this case and I'll squeeze in a free photo shoot for your Jamaican resort."

"Bradley, you said the magic words. You got a deal."

CHAPTER FIVE

I left Bradley in the booth, perhaps waiting for his latest flame to show up again, while I strolled back to the inn to use a telephone in privacy. I wanted to see José, but I needed to start interviewing the photo crew, the staff at the inn, all the usual suspects.

"I'm sorry, José, I can't get away tonight. Bradley's given me a special work assignment."

"Your loss, cutie...and mine."

"Tomorrow?"

"Got classes all day."

"Call me when you're free?"

"You said I shouldn't call there."

"Forget what I said. I want to be with you."

"We'll see."

He hung up. I went on up to our room, looking for Marco. Might as well start grilling him first.

"Hey, Babe! Where ya' been?" He looked at my reflected image in his steamy bathroom mirror.

"My pretty model is already talking like a Hollywood icon, eh?"

He just grinned mischieviously, continuing to towel his hair dry. I slipped my arms around his dripping shoulders, pressing my growing bulge into his firmly rounded ass cheeks. Marco wriggled back into me, pulling my hands slowly down his smooth muscular chest, lower across his tightly ribbed abs, and even more slowly down to his damp pubic curls.

"You want some of this?" he offered, curving my fingers around his hardened penis.

"Yeah, baby, I want it all," I breathed into his ear.

"Then get on your knees and take it now," he commanded roughly.

He forced me down on the floor, my head against the cabinet as he leaned over the sink and pushed his engorged member deep into my hungry mouth. Slowly drawing back, then slamming into me again. Over and over he fucked my throat.

"Come on, babe, take it all. Open up."

He banged my head back against the sink edge and cut off my breath with his huge pumping prick. I writhed in the pleasure of this newfound roughness. Faster and faster he pumped. I could feel him begin to stiffen, his cockhead enlarged even more. The burning liquid suddenly erupted like molten lava and flowed down my battered throat. Withdrawing from my mouth he collapsed down onto me. Globs of creamy white cum still spurted out, covering my shirt with viscous stains, as he kissed me deeply, once again shutting off my air as he forced his tongue past my bruised lips.

We lay together on the bathroom floor, holding on to each other tightly. Basking in the warmth of this newfound closeness, I decided questions could wait until another time.

A pounding on the door was followed by a highpitched and familiar voice, "Am I interrupting anything?"

The door slowly opened, a blonde tousled head appeared.

"Did I come at a bad time?"

Bradley stared down at us still snuggled on the floor.

"As usual, your timing is perfect," I moaned, struggling to my feet.

"You really must expand your wardrobe, Marco," Bradley said looking down at the towel clad form still on the floor.

"And you, my dear, must do something about that eggwhite dripping off your shirt, before it stains," he giggled.

We all three burst out laughing.

"I'm taking all of you to dinner, cast, crew, and management - that's me, of course. Maybe with all of us together, we can get to the bottom of this painting thing."

"I thought I was supposed to do some discreet sleuthing," I protested.

"This will give you the perfect chance to get at everybody at once. After a few drinks, which I will push, you can get in your questions and no one will know what we're up to. We've got to fast track this thing. Our stay ends next weekend."

"What is he talking about?" Marco muttered.

"I'm going to be Hercule Poirot, and you'll be my Capt. Hastings," I explained.

He looked at me oddly, like I'd lost touch with reality.

"Perhaps Agatha Christie was not on your book list."

"Agatha who?"

"That's what I thought. Bradley, we'll meet you downstairs in fifteen minutes."

Dinner at El Clavel, another gay friendly restaurant recommended by our host Ramon, was a festive affair, especially after the third round of drinks. I had no trouble chatting up the crew. They never knew what hit them. Paco, however, was not with us. I'd have to enlist Marco's help to get to him.

"Well, that's it for this bunch," I whispered to Bradley, seated next to me. "They all seem to have good alibis for the night of the disappearance."

"You clear Paco, too, and I'll be very happy," Bradley whispered back. "Then we're all off the hook."

"I just don't understand how anyone could walk out with a huge oil painting and nobody notice."

"They left the frame, my dear, left the stretcher, and rolled up the canvas."

"I'd say that's taking a chance, what with that being so valuable and all. It might get damaged."

"You may have hit on something. It would take an expert to attempt that."

"Or someone knowledgable about the stress an oil painting can take," I added.

"Seems to narrow the field of suspects a bit, I'd say," Bradley mused.

I immediately thought of José, my cute little art student. Perhaps I'd better go pay him a little surprise visit.

"Bradley, do you mind if I scoot out of here, quietly? I've got something I need to check out - about art."

"Of course, go ahead, but explain to Marco. I'm not answering any questions. You've made enough strange disappearances for one trip!"

I slipped around the table to whisper some excuse to Marco.

Bradley blurted out, "Say hello to 'Art' for me!"

"Who is Art?" Marco turned to me with a puzzled look.

"Never you mind, honey, it's a field trip for Bradley - a little research about the painting."

"Research, at this hour?" he asked increduously.

"I'll be back soon as I can. Meanwhile, you might try to find your friend Paco. I need to know what he was doing the night of the theft."

"We all crashed at his place, I told you that before."

"You and the others, but did Paco? Did he match drink for drink with the rest of you? Maybe he faked it and slipped away."

"Oh, yeah, I get it."

"Go find him and do whatever it takes, but get the truth."

"Whatever it takes?" Marco grinned.

"Within reason, of course. I'll be back as soon as I can, so meet me back in our room. No more allnighters," I warned.

The walk to José's apartment was a long one, but I needed the time to formulate a plan. I just couldn't blurt out an accusatory question, but more than one secret's been revealed between the sheets. Oh what a devious devil I've become!

"Hola," the barechested man greeted me at the door.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Must have the wrong apartment."

"You looking for José?" he asked, smiling at my confusion.

"Yeah. You speak English?"

"And French and Spanish."

His eyes crinkled kindly as he looked me over and motioned me inside.

"He just got back from exams and headed for a quick shower. Helps him unwind."

"Me, too, but usually a steamy shower and a cold drink. By the way, I'm Rick. Sorry if I interrupted something."

"Thought you might be. José's mentioned you. I'm Arturo," he announced as he offered his hand. "I can get you the drink, but you'll have to ask José about joining him in the shower."

My shocked expression turned to red-faced chagrin when Arturo burst out laughing.

"Sorry, man, couldn't help it. You looked so serious when you came in."

"Probably more confused than anything. José's said a lot about you, too, but I thought you were at your mountain retreat - painting."

"Necessity brought me in to San Juan, ran out of supplies," he said, looking away distractedly.

"I'm staying at your inn, with a group from the magazine doing the photo shoot."

"Hey, that's not my inn. That's Ramon's baby. I just stay there when I'm in the city."

"But not this time?" I questioned.

"No, don't want anyone to know I'm even in town."

"Your secret's safe with me," I grinned conspiritorily.

"You guys talkin' 'bout me?" José appeared dripping wet in the doorway, wrapped in his bath towel.

"What makes you think anyone cares about you?" Arturo kidded, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.

"You better care, baby," José retorted, " and kiss me like you mean it."

He locked Arturo in his arms and kissed him passionately.

"Don't want to intrude on your reunion," I said shuffling from one foot to the other, "just stopped by to ask about the Matisse."

"What about the Matisse?" Arturo pushed away from José and stared at me.

I glanced quickly at José who just rolled his eyes upward.

"I didn't tell him yet," he said flatly.

"Tell me what?" Arturo demanded.

"Well, that went over big," I muttered to myself on the walk home. "Broke up their reunion, spilled the beans about the theft, and still didn't get any info. And that big display of passion - for my benefit? José giving me the boot, or just playing up to his lover to keep suspicion away?"

I kept walking toward the Gallerie Guest House with the uneasy feeling that I'd just been hustled - big time.

Reaching the inn, I entered the deserted lobby and sprinted up the stairs to our room. Charging through the door, I found Marco propped up against the headboard of our bed, cradling Paco in his arms.

"Just in time," Marco said looking up calmly. "Paco here needs a little lesson in humility. Thought you might want to join in," he grinned.

"What the fuck you talking about," I replied, irritated by the sight of Paco's lean trim body curled tightly against Marco.

"Remember your little friend Miguel on Fire Island, that little tramp that needed taming?"

"Yeah, what about it?" I retorted harshly.

"We're just about to give Paco the same lesson. Get undressed!"

He spoke like we were the only two people in the room. Paco didn't utter a word, just looked at Marco with adoring eyes. With my imagination running wild about what José and Arturo might be doing at this very moment, I needed my own diversion. Paco would do just fine.

I slowly stripped watching Marco work his pre cum slickened cock up and down. He pulled Paco down over it with both hands, thrusting upward deep into his eager mouth.

"Fuck his ass 'til he begs for mercy," Marco commanded me.

CHAPTER SIX

"That was fun," Marco smiled over at me, just as I emerged from a deep sleep. "What'll we do with him now?" He pointed down at Paco curled in a fetal position at the foot of the bed.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot," I replied sleepily, rubbing my eyes. "We need to get him out of here before Bradley comes nosing in our room again."

"He might like the taming we gave his wild creature."

"Don't think so," I replied. "He's gonna kill us for messing with his boy toy. You throw him in the shower. I'll slip downstairs for the coffee. We still need to know where he was the night of the theft."

Ramon set up a tray with a fresh pot of his houseblend coffee (Medaglia d'Oro mixed with a local brand). It comes on smooth then jolts you awake with concentrated caffeine. He didn't blink when I asked for three cups.

"Coffee for three," I called out, entering our room.

"Coming," Marco yelled back from the bathroom.

"What're you doing in there so long," I asked testily.

"Cumming, I told you."

"Yeah, right, funny boy."

Marco finally emerged from the steamy room, wrapped in his towel. The suspicious bulge at his crotch confirmed his statement.

"You weren't kidding," I exclaimed indignantly.

"Remember what you told me, 'do whatever it takes'," Marco replied. "So I loosened him up just a little bit more. He'll be putty in your hands now. Ask him anything you want."

"Bring him out here, then I'll pour."

Paco emerged from the steam next, no towel, just smooth tanned body, no sign of modesty, no embarrassment. Sitting on the edge of the bed he took the cup I offered him while his eyes followed Marco moving across the room to the rattan settee.

"You seem awfully interested in my lover," I began.

"I ain't never felt like this 'bout no one," he mutttered looking back down at the floor.

"I'm sure Marco feels the same way," I smirked, "but we need to know what you did with the painting you stole from here."

"I never took nothin'," he protested, "it was already gone!"

"Aha, so you do know something about it."

"It was Ramon's idea, he said I owed 'im, for gettin' me the photo job and all."

"But we met you at the restaurant," I shot back.

"Ramon, he tol' me to show up there and put the make on d' cute one." He looked longingly at Marco as he said this. "Said I'd be 'discovered' and might get t' be a big time model."

"So you knew Ramon before?"

"He brought me here, from New York."

"I thought you were Puerto Rican," I said, stunned.

"New Yorican, from d' Bronx."

"He brought you here...as...what? A boyfriend?"

"Yeah. He set me up in my own place. Said I could 'date' around for extra cash, but when he wanted me, I'd better be there."

"Let me get this straight," I nearly smiled at my word choice and blew the stern image. "You're Ramon's kept boy, you hustle for extra money, and he asked you to steal his own painting?"

"Said I was to get it outta here on the Q.T. t' keep his partner from sellin' it."

"Now it's gone and you didn't take it?"

"Naw, somebody musta beat me to it. Ramon, he's pissed as hell, thinks I's holdin' out on 'im. But that night I snuck out of my place when Marco and the other guys was passed out, I came here to get it and saw a guy comin' out o' the office. Had somethin' rolled up under his arm."

"Who was it? Did you recognize him?"

"Yeah, guy what worked here a while back. Arturo's boyfriend."

I just about dropped my cup.

"Maybe you better get moving, before Ramon or Bradley finds out you spent the night," I said quickly.

Paco got to his feet and started dressing. He glanced across at Marco as if asking permission. "Will I see you later?"

"See you downstairs," Marco assured him. "Just go out the back and come around through the lobby."

I closed the door on Paco's retreating figure.

"Looks like you've got a sex slave," I observed.

"You seemed to enjoy last night, too," Marco retorted. "He say something to make you nervous?"

"This whole business makes me nervous, it's getting weirder by the minute."

Our few moments of peace were shattered by Bradley's chirpy voice calling through the door, "Marco, dearest, let's get a move on it."

His beaming face appeared around the doorjamb.

"Interrupting anything?"

He didn't wait for an answer.

"Paco actually showed up early this morning," he stage whispered, "so we'll take advantage of it and do our beach shots before the crowds arrive."

I begged off from further duties as grip on the set, although a few of the models I wouldn't mind getting a grip on. Marco and Bradley went on to gather the group, while I slipped off to confer with Ramon.

"...so the gallery was locked up all day and the gallery doorkey was locked in your desk drawer, is that right?"

"Where we always keep it. A mistake, I suppose."

"And any of your employees, including former employees, would know where the key was kept?"

"That is correct, Señor."

"Anyone been discharged recently?"

"Your evening visitor, José, is the only one who comes to mind. He has the technical knowledge to handle such a valuable piece."

"Yes, that thought ocurred to me also. Perhaps I'd best confront him."

"I would appreciate anything you can do to help Señor Rick. Of course the insurance company will offer a reward for the painting's return, at least ten percent."

"Ah, yes. Well I'll do my best."

Time to bite the bullet and call on José again.

Once again I knocked at José's door, unannounced.

"Hey pretty boy, glad you came over. I got some explaining to do."

"I'll bet you do," I said sarcastically, pushing my way inside the apartment

"About me and Arturo..."

"Forget Arturo. It's you coming out of the Gallerie Inn office with the oil painting rolled up under your arm that I'm interested in hearing about."

José looked aghast, confused.

"Well?"

"It belongs to Arturo. He asked me to get it for him."

"In the middle of the night, by breaking in, ripping it from it's frame?"

"We had to remove it quickly. Ramon was going to sell it or steal it himself, for the insurance money."

"Why didn't Arturo just march in and claim it, if it's his property?"

"Come on, baby, you know I wouldn't steal anything."

He came over and tried to put his arms around me. I pushed him away.

"Save it for your boyfriend, baby!"

"Guess you don't want to believe me," he said, looking sadly down at the floor. "Would you believe Arturo?"

"Is he here?" I looked around startled.

"No, he's back at the studio, in the mountains. You got time to take a little trip with me? Please baby, go with me?"

Reluctantly, I agreed to a little excursion. What the hell, I had nothing to lose. And I wanted to be with José, even if I was steamed at him for pulling this stunt.

We headed southeast out of San Juan toward the mountain country. José's little red Geo Tracker ate up the miles surprisingly fast. The intimacy of the little car and the scent of José's cologne was like an aphrodisiac. My icy facade began to melt a bit.

"José, I'm sorry if I came on a little strong."

"Tell me about it tough guy, you scared me!" he grinned. "Kiss and make up?"

He turned toward me and leaned over. The car swerved off the edge of the road.

"Hey," I yelled, " let's get there alive. I'll do the kissing, you watch the road."

I nestled against his wiry but muscular body, nuzzling his smooth evertanned neck, my hand resting lightly on his bluejean clad leg, fingers searching out his tightly packed crotch. Feeling a stirring beneath the coarse cloth, I slowly undid the buttons, one by one. The turgid cock sprung out of it's confinement, a life of it's own. My head lowered toward the welcome warmth of his lap, my tongue eagerly searched out the throbbing member. My mouth enclosed it with my own warmth.

The smooth level road rose sharply as we entered the foothills. José geared down to third as the car began to labor under the strain. A narrow lane broke off to the side, following close to the edge of the hillside. Gravel spun out from the tires as we turned sharply into the rutted road.

"Won't be long now," José explained.

Several rooftops poked through the lush greenery of the surrounding forests.

"At one time, it was very fashionable to retreat to the high country to escape the heat of summer," José went on. "Now, with air conditioning and job necessity, everone stays in the city. Most of these places are only for weekends. Great place for artists seeking privacy - and young lovers!" he added, turning toward me with a wide grin.

"Eyes on the road, please!" I cautioned again. "You spend much time up here?" I prodded.

"You mean, are Arturo and I still lovers? Yeah, like you and Marco. Lovers....and players!"

"And here I thought you cared about me," I mocked sadly, with downcast eyes.

"You're like the tides down at the beach, just in for a brief visit, then gone," José teased.

"But unlike the tides, I come more than twice a day," I promised.

"We'll see," he replied mysteriously. "Ah, here we are now."

José halted the car, pointing up at the wooded hillside. A concrete terrace loomed out of the trees, 200 feet above our heads.

"Eagle's Nest," José explained, "Arturo's aerie, his painting loft in the sky."

The Tracker's tires bit into the gravel of the steep drive, as we zigzagged up to the carport neatly tucked beneath the house. A limestone stairs curved around to the side of the house leading us to an entrance door shielded from view by the lush green growth of the encroaching forest. The thick oak planked door opened easily at José's touch.

"Our first visitor of the season," Arturo greeted me warmly with a quick embrace and a kiss on the cheek, latin style. "Come join me on the terrace, the view is magnificent."

"I hope we're not disturbing your creative process," I apologized.

"Of course not. We must celebrate my completion of a new work." Arturo led me through the living space to the cantilevered terrace. "José will do the honors and pour us a special drink of the house." He winked broadly at his lover as he propelled me by the elbow out to the very edge of the steel-railed deck. "Is not this view magnificent? I find it very invigorating - and stimulating," he breathed casting his eyes into the distance.

"This certainly is an engineering feat," I responded somewhat nervously, peering down over the edge at the wild terrain below. "Kind of like a Frank Lloyd Wright design."

"So you recognize the work of the Master Architect!" Arturo beamed proudly.

"I never knew he designed any homes in Puerto Rico, though."

"Alas, he never came here in person. He designed this from his winter retreat at Taliesen West. You are familiar with that place?"

"Of course. His enclave in Paradise Valley, Arizona."

"Yes, that fellowship of apprentices produced many fine architects, including the one who oversaw the construction of this home, just as if the master himself were on site."

The approaching footsteps and tinkling ice signalled José's return with our drinks.

"Drink deeply and I will show you the painting," Arturo invited as he tipped his own glass back, draining every drop.

I sniffed the glass before sipping.

"What is this?" I asked curiously.

"Your Miami deejays would call it the 'house mix'," Arturo grinned mischieviously. "My own secret concoction of a fine Puerto Rican rum, fresh squeezed lime juice, Cointreau, among other things."

I can't say he didn't warn me.

"Allow me to set the stage and present the painting properly. José will conduct you to the studio in a moment."

Arturo left us alone on the terrace.

"Kind of theatrical, isn't he?" I commented quaffing the drink.

"You don't know the half of it, amigo," José smiled seductively, then encircling me with his arms, continued, "Are you ready for the experience of your life?"

"I'm already experiencing something, what was in that drink?" I asked, relaxing into his embrace.

Not answering, he led me toward the back portion of the house, across the living space and through an open doorway at the other end.

"Behold the studio and the artist," José flourished with his arms, leaving me temporarily unattended.

I struggled to maintain my balance, grabbing him for support. Arturo stood before us, totally naked, a large canvas behind him covered with the waving seagrasses of an ocean floor. Arturo stepped sideways, allowing us to see the nude male figure at the center of the painting sporting a huge erection.

"My self portrait," he smiled, "how do I compare?"

"Rising to the occasion, I'd say," I mumbled slurringly as I ogled his own lengthening shaft.

That was the last thing I remembered as I crumpled to the floor.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Cool morning breezes wafted through the open window, rattling the louvers of the bedroom shutters. Crisp white bedsheets bore the faint trace of a familiar cologne. The white paneled door opened quietly. A slim suntanned young man carried a wicker tray into the room, placing it gently on the bedside table. It contained a tall frosted glass of orange juice, a steaming mug of coffee, a plate of crisp buttery pan tostado, and a brilliant orange-red hibiscus bloom floating in a low crystal bowl. I must be dreaming.

"Hate to wake you, cutie, but you should get back to the inn before your lover thinks you were kidnapped," José apologized.

"Where am I?" I muttered, looking bewilderingly at my surroundings.

"My bedroom of course."

"Weren't we at Arturo's place in the mountains?"

"What do you think?" he replied mysteriously. "Time enough for a shower, then I'll drive you home. I've got classes this morning."

We rode in silence the short distance to the inn. I felt curiously relaxed, refreshed. A few jolts of the car on bumpy streets revealed a slight muscular soreness. My mind went over yesterdays events, but couldn't get past our arrival at Arturo's retreat.

"Here we are, I'm letting you off at the corner."

"What happened last night?" I asked, searching his face for some clue.

"Call you later, cutie," he smiled, avoiding my question.

"My dear you've done it!" Bradley exclaimed, hugging me in the courtyard.

"Done what?" I asked horrified.

"Ramon is ecstatic at having the painting back!"

"It's back?" I asked increduously.

"Just like you to be modest, dearie."

"And Marco, is he pissed at me? I haven't been up to our room yet."

"He's very proud of your detective work, in spite of your disappearance. He and the rest of the crew are already down at the old fort setting up for the last shots of our trip."

"May I see the painting, make sure it's really there and not damaged?"

"Of course. Ramon's in the gallery right now, going over it with a fine toothed comb, so to speak."

The painting was just exactly as I had last seen it, before the disappearance. Ramon was bustling about the gallery dusting all the frames.

"Señor Rick, my deepest gratitude," Ramon bubbled. "You are an honored guest, welcome at my inn anytime. The reward, of course, has been cancelled by the insurance company due to the mysterious circumstance of the return."

"Yes, I think that's best."

"You know who was behind the theft?" he whispered conspiratorily.

"Not exactly. I just rattled a few doors and nature took its course."

I excused myself from Bradley and Ramon and returned to my room. I needed time to sort out my thoughts. I was being hailed as the hero, but knew nothing. Was Arturo behind this? How was José involved? Was our relationship a complete charade? My questions needed answers.

I slipped out of the inn the back way, unnoticed, and walked toward José's apartment.. Just as I thought, his car was back in his parking space. Not bothering with formalities, I banged on the front door.

"Missed your classes?" I accused as he opened the door, a startled look on his face. "Ah, the gang's all here!" I said, seeing Arturo behind him on the sofa. "What have you guys been up to all night?" I shouted.

"You were with us all evening," Arturo said soothingly. "We can show you the videotape. And what a splendid performance you gave."

"What are you talking about? You put something in my drink?"

"Just a little relaxer, makes for better cooperation. You took it like a man, not many can take it all the way when I'm really hard."

I gasped and turned to José, but he had slipped quietly out of the room.

"You have all this on tape?"

"Just a little insurance. We need your cooperation and complete silence."

"Where is the tape now?"

"In a safe place. However, I will be glad to give you a little demonstration if you like, a sort of 'replay'," he grinned.

"I think I'll pass."

Just then José returned to the room.

"I'm sorry you got mixed up in this thing, Rick. Arturo needed the painting out of there before Ramon did something foolish with it."

"But why did you return it? I saw it myself, in perfect condition."

"We didn't," Arturo broke in. "What you saw was a well made copy done by my old professor at the Sorbonne. We planned on switching the paintings with out all this ruckus, but Ramon was ready to do something stupid, like have it stolen or sold."

"The copy was not quite perfect," José continued. "Side by side, the finishing touches could be made, the copy put back in place of the original."

"And where is the original now?" I didn't really expect an answer.

"You saw it," Arturo explained, "right before you passed out."

"You painted over it, your new creation?" I blanched at the thought.

"An overpainting served well, protecting the piece through all those war years in France. Now it is once again protected."

I dropped down on to the sofa, my mind overloaded with this new information. Arturo placed an arm gently around my shoulder.

"Can we count on you?" he asked quietly, looking me directly in the eyes.

"I guess so. The painting's actually yours. Sorry to bust in like this. Better leave you two lovebirds alone and rejoin my crew down at the old fort. Just one thing bothers me. What did you put in my drink and how did I end up back here in José's apartment?"

"We had a lovely party, with you as guest of honor. Then José and I drove you back here to San Juan and carried you in to bed. The painting was quietly replaced and we were here with you all night. As for the drink, a little 'G' did the trick."

"I was date raped!" I gasped in horror.

Deciding to bypass the photoshoot, I returned to the Gallerie and headed straight through the lobby toward our room. I needed time alone to prepare my story for the guys. Bradley, in particular, could weezle anything out of me and Marco usually dragged the truth out sooner or later. How much could I trust them with?

"Señor Rick," Ramon interrupted my thoughts just as I reached the stairway. "You have an urgent message to call your agent in Key West."

"My agent?" I looked puzzled.

"Your real estate agent, I believe."

"Oh, Jorge! Yes, thank you Ramon. I'll call him right away from the room."

Now what could he want so urgently to call me here. Hope there wasn't any trouble at Sugar Hill Plantation. Taking the stairs two at a time, I rushed into our room and placed the call.

"Jorge, what's the problem? My house burn down or something?"

"No, Rick, it's closer to home - in Key West."

"Well what is it? What happened?"

"Your landlord was found dead under unusual circumstances."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but I've never even met the man since he usually stays in New York. What happened?"

"Found in bed, nude, handcuffed to the headboard. A pair of empty drink glasses in the study. No sign of forced entry. No fingerprints, nothin'."

"What was he doing in Key West?"

"Who knows, a long weekend getaway with his boyfriend, whatever. Chief Whitehead, our good ol' boy police chief suggested I get you back here right away. I thinks he's stumped and wants your help. Your reputation precedes you, baby."

"Yeah, that's the problem - my reputation gets me into these messes. Be there as soon as I can. Get my drink ready, I'll need it."

"You got it. Ciao, baby!"

Marco and company got back fron the final shoot around four. Bradley announced a final party to be thrown for cast and crew, a celebration of the end of the project and the sucessful return of the missing painting. I begged off.

"Got to get back to Key West, Bradley. Someone murdered the guy that owns my apartment."

"My dear, you're just like Aunt Jessica. Trouble follows you like a shadow."

"I'll get our bags packed," Marco offered, looking somewhat letdown.

"If you'd rather stay for the party...," I began.

"Could I? You don't mind? I could come back home with Bradley and the guys," he said excitedly.

"Okay if you promise to stay out of trouble," I whispered in his ear, "and if you have a goodby fuck with Paco, wear your rubbers."

"I heard that last remark," Bradley interjected, "and I'll be chaperoning this young man until we get back to Miami. After that, he's all yours."

"Thanks a lot, Bradley!" Marco feigned hurt feelings.

"Don't worry about me baby," Marco said, hugging me tightly. "I love you more than any one night stand. And I certainly won't do anything you wouldn't do," he added with a grin.

"That's what worries me," I retorted, but with a wide grin. "I love you, too, baby!"

Marco finished my packing for me while I headed down to the lobby, ostensibly to say goodby to Ramon, but actually to make a quick call to José.

"Leaving so soon?"

"Emergency at home, got to go."

"I'll miss our times together, cutie."

"You can always visit, down at our place in Jamaica."

"You might be shocked when I show up at your front door. And about the video tape, don't worry, there never was one, and nothing happened while you were passed out. Arturo's idea, to buy your silence."

"He didn't need to, I can see his side of it."

"I know, you're a good friend, but he didn't know."

"See you in Jamaica, then?"

"You got it, cutie!"