Free Don't Order Dog by C. T. Wente Page A

electronic lock dragged him back into consciousness, momentarily disorienting him as he lifted his head wearily from the couch. A blonde-haired young man with boyish looks and broad, muscled shoulders strolled into suite 805, a large leather satchel slung over his shoulder.
    “Knock knock,” the young man announced quietly, walking into the large room.
    “Christ, Tommy, you look like a damn college freshmen,” he replied as he examined the man standing in front of him.
    Tommy smiled, exposing a broad row of perfect ivory.
“Aww… thanks Chilly. You yourself look like that rock star from the 80’s right after he tried masturbating from a hangman’s noose and slipped on his own sauce.”
    “To hell with you… I loved that band,” he said as he sat up slowly, his body stiff with exhaustion. “For one thing, he was from your country, so show a little respect. Second, auto-erotic asphyxia is highly underrated. Maybe you should try it sometime.”
    “Who says I haven’t?” Tall Tommy replied, his sarcasm laced with an Australian accent.
    He smiled and nodded. This would only be his third time working with Tall Tommy , but he’d liked him from the moment they’d first met. One look at the handsome, twenty-something Aussie told him that Tall Tommy was the kind of guy who won every athletic competition he entered, aced every class he studied and deflowered every cheerleader he came across as a kid before heading off to college for a repeat performance. He had the naturally-graced gift of chiseled looks and perfect physique that women adored and lesser men detested, but beneath his mockingly self-absorbed behavior, he seemed clean of any genuinely prickish qualities. One thing he knew for certain about Tall Tommy from their first project together in Mexico City was that he was both razor-sharp and highly skilled. Having both him and Dublin on this project was like having Michael Jordan and Scottie Pippen together on the court; he was working with a dream team of talent.
    He glanced again at his watch. 3:03am.
    “Thanks for giving me a full five minutes of sleep.”
    Tall Tommy shrugged as his eyebrows rose in mock surprise.
“Hey mate, you called me .”
    “Yeah, but I didn’t know you were practically waiting by the goddamn door when I did.”
    “Jesus Christ, Chilly… my room is two floors down,” Tommy snapped.
“I’ve just spent the last two hours lying on the bed watching a fucking Barbra Streisand movie, bored out of my head. Of course, I wasn’t really watching the movie as much as I was wondering why the hell Robert Redford would be interested in an emotionally unstable Jewish chick with big hair and questionable political views, or better yet, why the wonderful people of Nigeria would give a damn about two white American folks falling in love and having a shitty marriage.”
    “‘The Way We Were’,” he replied. “That’s a great movie. Sydney Pollack flick. I think that one won an Oscar, Tommy.”
    Tall Tommy glowered at him for a moment before scratching his chin with his middle finger. “Yeah, that’s absolutely awesome, and you know how much I appreciate your extensive knowledge of movies that suck, but that doesn’t make up for the fact that I’ve been stuck in this fucking hotel for the last twenty-four hours.”
    “What do you mean, stuck?” he asked.
    “C’mon, be reasonable,” Tommy replied, staring at him as if he were mentally challenged. “Do you really think a white guy – wait, strike that – an incredibly good-looking white guy like me can just go strolling out on the town around here and not get noticed?”
    “Good point,” he answered. “Especially when you’re dressed like a Goeffrey Beene model.”
    “Fuck off.”
    He stood from the couch and twisted into a pronounced stretch as Tall Tommy carefully rested his satchel on the coffee table and began to unpack it. He pulled out a small, brightly labeled vile and twisted the top off, catching his colleague’s