Page 80 of Don't Point at the Moon

Pure culture? Maybe not. But a welcome respite from a punishing work life.

Ollie, his first post-Patrick choice, had turned out to be perfect. Previously an intern at Kennedy’s corporate security company, the blond Adonis had flirted shamelessly with Kennedy and all other male staff, whether straight or gay. And even though Kennedy had been flattered and tempted, he had never succumbed. After the placement had ended, however, he’d made a point of keeping in touch. Once Patrick had decided to walk, Ollie had been his natural choice as lab rat companion. Perfect, as things had turned out, because Ollie had recently lost his job, so Kennedy had sweetened the deal by offering a sum of money to accompany him. Which was how the arrangement had first begun.

That first year the holiday had gone so well, Kennedy had not only stayed in touch but had invited Ollie along for a second helping. A huge mistake, as things transpired, because Ollie had incorrectly translated the gesture to mean that not only were they equals, but that they were going steady. And Kennedy no longer did ‘steady’ with anyone.

If his friends suspected anything, they said nothing. Only Steph knew the truth. And he made a point of telling any candidate the arrangement would be strictly nonsexual, unless they wanted more—which was how the idea of the playing card had come into being. But more than anything, he wanted a companion, not an escort. If the rationalisation might have meant anything to any of them, he would have cited Forster’s novelA Room With A Viewand the chaperone arrangement between the two main female characters. But after he’d mentioned the reference to Ollie, and had then been lectured about that‘old James Bond movie they keep showing on Netflix’, he’d stopped bothering to explain altogether.

For the first time since Patrick had walked out, he had been in two minds whether to ditch the charade, to simply bite the bullet and turn up alone. Only five friends had signed up for this year’ssojourn—after last year’s debacle—and one of those was Leonard Day. Kennedy not only had feelings for him but respected his business acumen. Maybe this year he would finally make his feelings known. If only Leonard didn’t come with baggage of his own.

But Kennedy accompanying a plaything had become something of a tradition, a joke among his friends, and he wouldn’t want to let them down.

“S’cuse me. You Kennedy Grey?”

Kennedy peered up from his thoughts to find an extremely blond, extremely buff young man standing over him. Steroid buff, Steph would have labelled him.

“I am, yes. And who might you be?”

“Who might I what?”

“Who… What is your name?”

“Francis.”

Kennedy glanced down at his notes. Francis Slade, twenty-five years old, three o’clock appointment. Ten minutes ahead of schedule. One point in his favour. Kennedy swore by punctuality.

“Ah yes, Francis. Please sit down. So do you prefer Francis, Frank or Frankie?”

“Francis.”

“Great. You’ve read the advert?”

“Yep.”

“Good. So let me go into a bit more detail, give you a few minutes to relax. Then I’ll ask you a few questions and finally let you ask any questions you may have. I’ve got other candidates to see, but I’ll let you know whether you’ve been successful or not by Friday. How does that sound?”

“S’all okay.”

Taking the response as his cue, Kennedy went into further detail about the holiday, explaining that in Singapore theywould be staying in Kennedy’s parents’ house. However, the person would be introduced as a friend and would have their own bedroom. Whenever he delved into specifics—especially the rawer aspects—he always studied the candidate’s face carefully to see if any of the information caused a reaction. Francis’ flat face appeared incapable of showing any kind of emotion.

Whenever Kennedy got onto the subject of the cruise and his friends, he found himself becoming defensive. Yes, they could be a bitchy bunch, and a couple of companions had found them bordering on rude, but they were his long-time friends.

Bali, at the end of the holiday, was not only the cherry on the cake, but the icing, marzipan and ornate decoration. If the companion managed to survive until then, they would be able to enjoy the delights of that magical Indonesian island. By then Kennedy would usually be ready to get back to work, so would spend most of the last week either on his laptop, mobile phone, or writing up proposals.

“So far, so good?”

“Yep,” said Francis, yawning and stretching his hands above his head. When his tee pulled tight, Kennedy spotted the outline of nipple rings beneath the material. Tick. Another point in the boy’s favour.

“How tall are you?”

“Five-seven.”

“Nice,” said Kennedy, reaching next to his laptop for the supplementary document. “So here’s a list of other requirements. You’ll need to take a medical examination before you travel.”

“Why?”

“A precaution. To make sure you’re in good shape, physically.”

“I’m negative, if that’s what you’re asking.”

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