Two days later, on Friday, Sam was still chuckling over the exchange between Bill and Officer Andy, but when he related it to Toby the story came out rather flat. "Well," he said, "I guess you had to be there. You know, you really ought to come out and see the place someday."

Toby nodded distractedly. "Yeah, I guess I should. Where are we going to dinner?"

Sam smiled. "I told you I'd think of something. It's just down the road, in Cathedral City. Place called The Red Tomato. I've never been there but it was recommended as cheap and simple."

Toby brightened. "Good food, too. It's been a while since I've eaten there, but the pasta is terrific. Good choice, Sam."

Toby was right. The pasta dishes all sounded wonderful, and they both had a hard time making a choice. When the food came it was even better than described on the menu, and a comfortable quiet settled over the table while they savored their dishes.

Sam found himself thinking about how pleasant Toby's company was and began to wonder how he could prolong their time together. One answer came to him rather quickly.

"Say, Toby, don't I remember you saying you would give me some help finding some pictures for my bare, lonely walls?"

Toby smiled. "Yeah, I think I did make such a rash offer. Why? You getting tired of large, blank, off-white spaces?"

"In a word, yes. What say we go hit some of the better galleries tomorrow?"

Toby reflected for a moment before he nodded. "Sure. Tomorrow would be good. You just going to look, or are you going to buy?"

Sam shrugged. "Why put it off? If we find something we like, we'll buy it."

"Hey, what's with this we stuff? They're going to grace your walls, so you'd better pick out stuff you'll like. I'm just going along to keep you away from the fake Tom of Finland drawings."

"There's little chance of that," he laughed. "Not my thing. Although the bathroom could use a little something."

"No, Sam. Not even in the bathroom."

Sam pretended to pout. "Not even one naked man?"

"You can have all the naked men you want, only they have to be originals. No fakes, no bad copies. Okay?"

Sam nodded. "Okay. No bad copies of hugely endowed naked men. I tell you what, we'll start early with breakfast somewhere and then hit the galleries. Okay?"

"Well, if you're really serious about buying, why don't I pick you up in my truck? There'll be lots of room for those monumental Tom of Finland originals."

"Done. And you can take me to breakfast."

"Eight o'clock sharp. Bring your checkbook."

A few minutes after eight on Saturday morning, Sam and Toby were on their way to The Country Kitchen for a hearty breakfast.

"I wanted to start early," Toby said after ordering eggs, sausage and biscuits and gravy, "because I thought we'd start at the consignment stores. Sometimes you can make a real find at one of them. Besides, the galleries downtown don't open until around ten."

Sam, who was diving into an omelet of bacon, goat cheese and spinach, nodded. "I've heard of the consignment stores but never been in one. It'll be an adventure."

It was.

The first thing Sam saw as they walked into his first consignment store was an enormous chandelier made out of antlers. When he pointed it out to Toby, Toby just laughed. "Oh yeah, always look up. I once saw one made entirely out of Ray Charles CDs."

"You hang around these places a lot?"

"Not really, but when you're trying to furnish your first apartment, these places are a treasure trove of goodies at generally reasonable prices. Come on, the pictures are in the back."

At first glance there wasn't much that interested Sam, but when Toby picked out several paintings and moved them away from the sea of pictures filling the room, Sam began to see possibilities. In the end he bought three of them and charged twenty-eight hundred dollars on his Visa card.

They went to two more consignment stores but didn't find anything that really spoke to either one of them. Then they went to the downtown galleries, which were another story altogether. For one thing, the paintings were widely spaced, so each could be viewed without the interference of five or ten others. For another, the prices were triple what they'd seen at the consignment stores. However, they were given cups of very good coffee and offered plates of small pastries.

Sam did find one painting in the Early California style that he liked and put a hold on it. The gallery manager gave him a postcard-sized photograph of it, complete with a biography of Case Paul, the artist, on the back, saying the hold would last three days.

They went to half a dozen galleries but didn't buy anything, although Sam did put a hold on a near life-sized sculpture of a naked man. Then they wandered around town a bit, looking in the stores and stopping at Starbucks for coffee. Finally, around two o'clock, Sam realized he was hungry and suggested lunch. They went to the Rainbow because they could sit outside and have a drink with their meal.

Over lunch Toby grinned and said, "You know what I'd do if I had a million dollars? I'd buy that sculpture right out from under you. And then you know what I'd do? I'd do the same thing with that Case Paul in the Early California style."

Sam's initial impulse was to say "Well, let's go get 'em," but he stopped himself, thinking, This sounds like some sort of test. Careful, Sam. You want to pass this one. What he did say was, "I don't know. I'd probably let you do that. But I need to think about them for a while. I'm just not sure."

Toby smiled. "Well, you don't really have to worry about me snatching them away, so take your time."

After lunch they went back to the consignment store and picked up Sam's paintings and took them home. When Sam asked Toby to come in, Toby declined, saying he had some things to do. Sam then called both the galleries and told them he wanted to buy the pieces he had a hold on. He also asked them to keep them for a while, but not to put a sold tag on them. Both galleries agreed.

Sunday was spent hanging the paintings he'd bought and then sitting with some iced tea, studying them. The longer he looked at them the happier he was that he'd bought them. I gotta take that boy shopping with me more often, he thought. I never would have bought these on my own.

Late in the afternoon he decided he'd been slothful enough for one day, so he grabbed a towel and went to the gym.

On Tuesday there was a Prime Timers lunch at The Deck. Sam almost skipped it, knowing it was a work day for Toby but decided at the last minute to go. He was glad he did; it was a good crowd of guys, and conversation never lagged, both at the cocktail hour and at lunch. Matthew Stevens was there, entertaining a small group of guys with his tales of the Coroner's Office, and Sam thought again what a nice guy he was.

As he was getting ready to leave after lunch, he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw it was Martin, his next-door neighbor. "What are you doing here, Martin?" he asked. "I thought you had dropped Prime Timers."

Martin nodded. "I did, but my friend Chuck couldn't make it and, since it was already paid for, he gave me his place. He had ordered the hamburger, and it was a damn good one."

"Yeah, I had that, too. They sure don't stint on the meat."

"Hey, Sam, if you're going home, could you give me a ride? My car's on the blink again, so I had to walk over. Probably should walk back, too, after that lunch, but..." He shrugged.

"Sure, Martin, glad to. I'm parked in the garage downstairs."

When they got home Martin invited Sam in. The look in his eye made clear the sort of invitation it was, and Sam thought, What the hell?, and accepted. His dick stirred in his pants at the prospect.

Martin stopped at the little rock garden by his front door and picked up one of the rocks. "Gift from a friend," he said as he turned the rock over and opened a little door set in the bottom. "I'm forever forgetting my key, and he thought this would be a safe place to keep an extra." He extracted a key, opened the door and put the key back in the rock. Back in its place, Sam thought; no one could ever tell that it was a fake without picking it up.

Once inside, Martin lost no time in getting Sam out of his clothes. They ended up on the living-room floor in a sixty-nine position, where they brought pleasure to themselves and each other slowly, without any sense of urgency or competition. At one point Martin caressed Sam's ass and pulled off Sam to say, "That sure is a fine ass, Sam. Pity I can't have it."

Sam let Martin's balls slip out of his mouth and replied, "Breaks of the game, fella. You can't have everything."

Martin smiled up at Sam and patted the ass in question. "That's okay. But it sure is a pretty one."

Later, after they'd satisfied each other, they lay together in companionable silence, enjoying the afterglow. After a while Sam got up, saying, "Hard floors and me don't mix for too long anymore." He stretched, arching his back. "I guess I'm getting old."

Martin got to his knees and fondled Sam. "Well, you may be getting old but this thing sure isn't. Look at that."

Sam looked down at his dick which was rapidly growing hard again. "I guess it likes what you're doing." He ran his fingers through Martin's hair. "I know I sure do."

Martin got to his feet. "Let's find a more comfortable place and see it I can make that big ole thing throw up again, huh?"

They went outside to a wide lounge chair and brought each other off again. Later, after getting in the hot water of the spa, Martin put his arms around Sam and kissed him. "You're very talented, Sam. We have to do this again. Soon."

Sam went home with a vaguely uneasy feeling. He had really enjoyed the sex with Martin, but there'd been something not quite right, both with Martin and with himself. Martin he could understand; he was obviously under some financial pressure and that always took a toll on the quality of a man's sexual performance. As for himself, there was always something missing these days it seemed. Just what it was, he couldn't put his finger on.

He heated some soup and made a sandwich for his evening meal and then called Toby and asked him to dinner.

Toby was involved in a series of meetings and dinners at work and couldn't get away for an evening until Saturday. "Okay," Sam said. "I'll make reservations for Saturday somewhere."

"I have a better idea," Toby said. "I'll come over and mess up your kitchen again. Lamb chops okay?"

"A favorite," Sam said with a grin Toby could hear through the phone. "I'll get a nice, mellow red wine."

The next three days passed slowly for Sam. He went out to the house in Las Palmas a couple of times, but nothing much seemed to be happening. Once, when he was there, Bill tried to explain about scheduling workmen and subcontractors, and Sam said he understood, but inside he was thinking, Throw enough money at them and they'll be here yesterday. He kept his thoughts to himself, however, and let Bill do it his way.

He had lunch with Jeremy on Thursday and they both enjoyed it thoroughly.

He also had dinner with Tom and Dan one evening, listening to stories of their early days together in Chicago. It was interesting to learn about gay life in the times before Stonewall and gay pride.

On Saturday he went to Jensen's and found they still had a few bottles of 2002 Silver Oak Cabernet Sauvignon. He bought six of them and made a mental note not to let Toby know what he paid for them. Then he went to a florist for a couple of bouquets.

By the time Toby arrived on Saturday the table was set, the flowers arranged, and the gin was in the freezer. After a tight hug and a kiss from Toby, Sam helped him carry in the groceries.

"It seems silly, you know, that you have to bring all this stuff. Why don't you just give me a list and I'll..."

"Because this is my dinner."

The lamb chops turned out to be racks of lamb, which Toby had already covered with a garlic-rosemary crumb crust. There were also tiny Yukon Gold potatoes which he would sauté in butter, and green beans which would be steamed and seasoned with dill. He was delighted with the wine Sam had bought.

"Silver Oak," he exclaimed. "Wonderful! But it must have cost you..." He let it drop and then insisted that they have glasses of wine instead of martinis. Sam found out just how good the wine really was.

"You know this stuff?" he asked Toby.

"You bet," Toby said. "One of the bartenders at the hotel gave me a glass of it when he was trying to get in my pants." He grinned at Sam.

"And?"

"It worked."

Unbidden, Maybe there's hope for me flashed through Sam's mind. He didn't say it. Instead, without comment, he asked how Toby liked the placement of the pictures they'd bought.

"Nice," Toby said. "Just where I thought they should go." He turned to Sam and winked. "You've got really good taste."

The evening progressed nicely, and the food Toby prepared was wonderful. After dinner and over chocolate ice cream they sipped more of the wine. Toby left around ten, leaving Sam to deal with the kitchen.

Toby was a tidy cook and Sam's cleanup was finished before eleven. He took a last glass of the wine and went upstairs to sit on his balcony and enjoy it. He saw a number of guys out walking, probably on their way to the pool area. He briefly considered joining them but decided against it in favor of his own hand when he went to bed.

On Sunday Sam went over to the gym and worked out. He was happy with the way his regular sessions in the gym were going and felt that he was building stamina. The mirrors showed that he was building a bit of muscle, too.

Sam liked the gym on Sundays because there were always other guys there, working out and sharing an easy comradeship. There was also the chance that he might find a bit of casual sex in the steam room. In any case, there were always other men to look at in the showers.

After the gym he went to Las Palmas, mostly in hopes of finding Dan and Tom home with bloody Marys. He didn't find them at home and ended up going to the movies for something to do.

On Monday there was a Prime Timers mixer at a restaurant called Blame It On Midnight. He hoped to find Toby there but was again disappointed. He went home early.

Sitting on his patio with a glass of wine, he found he was both lonesome and horny. He decided to see if Martin wanted to share a pizza or some Chinese food and, hopefully, something else. Putting on some shorts, a tee shirt and some sandals he went next door.

He rang the doorbell several times, but there was no answer. That was odd, because he knew Martin's car was still not working, and he could hear the radio inside. He called Martin's name several times and, getting no response, tried the door. It was not locked.

He called Martin's name several times again and then went inside. It was getting to be dusk and Sam let out a little yelp when the lights suddenly turned on. There was still no sign of Martin, so he decided the lights must be on a timer, just as his were at home.

It seemed so unlike Martin to leave the house unlocked that Sam made a tour to see if Martin was ill or hurt and unable to call out.

Sam found him in the bathroom.

Martin was in the bathtub, stretched out, his head under water, which was tinted pink with blood. Sam just stood for a minute or two, studying him and not fully comprehending what he was seeing. When it dawned on him, he was stunned. His first impulse was to pull Martin out of the tub and try to revive him, but then he saw the slashes on Martin's wrists and knew it wouldn't do any good. Instead, he went down to the living room and numbly dialed 9-1-1.

He described the situation to the operator who told him to stay where he was until the police and paramedics got there. He started to say the paramedics were not necessary but stopped himself. They'd find that out when they got there.

When he hung up the phone he noticed a stiff white card lying on the desk. In a very controlled handwriting it said:

Sam stepped back so the tear forming in his eye wouldn't fall on the card and mar it. The police found him standing in the middle of the room, staring at nothing.

The police brought paramedics and general chaos with them. Sam led them up to the bathroom and then stood back and watched while the paramedics looked Martin over. They didn't touch him until after the photographers had arrived and taken pictures of the scene from every conceivable angle.

While the photographers were doing their work, the police, in the person of a Sergeant Elgar, questioned Sam about his relationship with the dead man and what he was doing in his house. Sam explained it all to their seeming satisfaction. Then he watched while Martin was lifted out of the bathtub, covered with a sheet, put on a gurney and taken downstairs.

And that was it. The police locked up, put some yellow tape across the door and left. Just like that.

Sam spent the next hour explaining what had happened to the little crowd of guys standing around on the sidewalk in front of Martin's condo. They all seemed to accept what had happened without a lot of surprise.

"He was in big trouble financially," Pete Addison said. "I think everyone knew about it. He'd borrowed money from most of us."

"Yeah," Nick said. "Even me."

Walt, his lover, turned to him angrily. "When? What were you doing with him that you'd give him money?" He glared at Nick for a long time and then turned on his heel and left, calling "I'll see you at home, slut!" over his shoulder. Nick trotted after him.

There was silence for a minute, and then everyone started talking at once. After a few moments Charlie and Ben came up to Sam and Ben said, "Don't let them bother you. They do this all the time. I think it makes their sex better or something."

Charlie nodded. "We hear them sometimes. But what about Martin? Is there anything we should do or anyone we should call?"

"I don't know," Sam said, shaking his head. "Did he have any family? Or close friends?"

Ben shook his head while Charlie repeated the question to the others. It appeared that no one knew a whole lot about Martin, his family or his friends outside of Desert Pride. Finally there seemed nothing else to talk about, and they began to disperse. Pete Addison stopped Sam and asked him if he wanted company. "That must have been a hell of a shock, finding him like that. Shall I come in, maybe fix you a drink?"

Sam shook his head. "No, I'll be all right. But it was a shock. I've never known anyone who killed himself." He put his hand on Pete's shoulder. "But no, I'll be fine. I probably will have that drink though-alone."

Sam did have that drink-and a couple of others-before he went to bed. He didn't sleep for several hours, but finally the combination of the alcohol and the lack of food got to him. He slept badly, dreaming of Martin lying in that bathtub. Then he woke, not wanting to go back to sleep, to see the scene all over again. When he finally became exhausted, he did get a little sleep and woke a little after ten in the morning. He lay in bed for a while, trying to get the ghost of poor Martin out of his head. He had to talk to someone, and the first person he thought of was Toby. He called his office.

From the sound of Sam's voice, Toby knew right away that something was wrong and asked Sam to meet him at the Blue Bar by the pool at the hotel.

When Sam got there, Toby was waiting for him, nursing an iced tea. "Sam, you okay?"

Sam nodded, took a stool and ordered scotch. When his drink, a double, arrived he took a swallow from it. He talked for nearly an hour, braced by another scotch. When he was finished, Toby asked the bartender for the house phone. He called his office and said he was taking the rest of the day off. Then he ordered two more scotches-one for himself this time-and led Sam to a table.

"You shouldn't take the afternoon off just for me, Toby. I'll be okay. I'll just go home and..."

"Shut up, Sam," Toby said gently. He signaled one of the waiters and ordered rare steaks and garlic bread. "This has really gotten to you, hasn't it?"

Sam admitted that it had. Somehow, it seemed to be the most senseless thing he'd ever known to happen. And, it seemed, it was all over money-or the lack of it. "God, Toby, if only I'd known..."

Toby caught his eye and held it. "But you didn't, Sam. He did what he had to. It's a damn shame, but that's the way life is." The waiter served their steaks. "Now eat."

Sam began to feel better as he ate, and by the time they were finished, he was almost back to being the Sam that Toby knew. Toby signed the check and suggested they take a walk. Sam agreed, mostly because he wanted desperately to spend the time with Toby.

They walked ten blocks down Palm Canyon Drive, looking in the shops and commenting on things in the windows, then crossed the street and walked back to the hotel.

"You want to have dinner with me, maybe take in a movie?" Sam asked, not wanting the day to end.

Toby looked at his watch. "Sure. But it's too early for dinner. Let's do the movie first, then get something to eat."

They went to a film about Maria Callas, which they both enjoyed immensely, and then had a light dinner at a little Chinese place. Sam was sorry to see the evening end and almost asked Toby to come home with him, but resisted the impulse. His gut told him the time still wasn't right. Instead, he invited Toby to dinner on Friday night, to someplace special to show his appreciation for the way Toby listened to him and shored him up that afternoon.

To his surprise, Toby nodded and said, "Seven-thirty, okay? And no place where I need a tie. Please?"