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The next week was agony. Unable to wait for a Friday, I was back at the Plaza every night. I drove through so often the other rentboys learned not to approach my car, knowing there was no business in the silver merc, just a broken guy asking questions bout some hooker by the name of Darren. I didn't even know his last name. Evenings at the Tavern, nights at the Plaza. Days curled in ball on the bed in my hotel room, every curtain drawn, not letting the hotel staff change the linen. Willing the phone to ring and when it did, not picking it up from the machine cos it always turned out to be Lynne. It was a pathetic existence but I lived it. Every waking and sleeping moment haunted by a pair of ice-blue eyes. And I couldn't forget the look on his face the last time I saw him. Stricken, splintered, betrayed. I promised myself I'd see him again, no matter what it took. I would find him. When Friday rocked around and he wasn't at the Tavern I had to admit to myself that maybe he didn't want to be found. As dawn approached on Saturday morning and my back ached from spending all night on my feet, holding surveillance at the Plaza I had to admit that there were no maybes. Darren didn't want to be found. But I would find him. I had to.
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