Martin hated this.
He was sitting in the Avalon, talking with a young man, smiling at him, laughing at his jokes, engaging him in conversation, pretending to drink so as not to arouse suspicion. And he hated every second.
I am in the Rack, he thought in dismay as he listened to him prattle on about some movie he hadn't heard of. I am in the Rack like a common neonate, and although I am grateful that the Hound allows his domain to be used as such, I shouldn't have to be here.
I need a herd.
A herd, a haven, a stream of income--having to start over in Sacramento, he had access to none of the things he'd had in San Francisco. Even something that had been so simple, like feeding, was a chore.
Martin didn't dare invite the man--boy, really--to his place; Martin knew that the pay-by-the-night hovel he was currently occupying would not match the boy's expectations. And that would make this night's necessary end so much harder to achieve.
So he used his Lordly Words. His skill was not enough that he could openly command the young man--Jerry, Joey, his name was something like that--but he tried little pushes, here and there. Working words like "invite" and "bring" into his conversation, subtly flexing on those words, willing them to work.
He wasn't sure if this technique worked or not. In the end it didn't matter; Jerry/Joey suggested they leave, they paid for their tab (Martin picking the whole thing up, not wanting the boy to see that Martin had only ordered a single, mostly untouched, club soda), and they left the club for a cab. The boy was laughing, saying something about loving to come here on "80s Night," hearing the DJs play those "classic songs."
What does he mean, classic? That was Duran Duran. They must still be considered new, certainly? Well.. new-ish? They can't have disappeared, it hasn't been so long, only twenty years. Sinatra's career lasted decades. But Martin just laughed, and nodded, and they slid into the cab and went to see where Jerry/Joey/Whatever-the-Hell-his-name-was lived. And Martin would feed, and leave the boy a little note with his number. And maybe Martin would see him again. And maybe he wouldn't.
He rather hoped not. Perhaps it was just the change in scenery, but something about being with this young man made Martin feel old, in a way he never had before.