For the rest of the week, Declan's days were the same. Most mornings, he woke at Shane's and showered there before going back to the bed and breakfast. After an hour or two there, he tired of the noise or decided he wanted to paint, and returned to Shane's.
Declan had to admit he was being illogical. It made no sense to hold onto the bed and breakfast room when he was hardly ever there. The expense wasn't worth it. But it allowed him the illusion of waiting to move in with Shane. He might have been spending nearly all his time at Shane's house, but he wasn't living there as long as he had the room.
Friday afternoon, the bed and breakfast owner stopped Declan on his way out to go back to Shane's. "How long is this going to go on?"
"I'm not sure what you mean," Declan said.
"You're almost never here. You show up for a little while, then disappear again. I'm not sure you've slept here since you've been here. I don't understand why you insist on keeping a room you don't use."
"With all due respect, as long as I pay the rate you've required I don't see where it's your concern whether I use the room or not."
"I could give that room to someone else," the owner said. "I've gotten plenty of calls from people looking for rooms around here, and I have to keep turning them away."
"Are any of these people willing to pay twice your standard rate?" Declan asked.
"As a matter of fact, some of them are. And they'd be here, not gone all hours. It's poor advertising for my place that a guest as well-known as you refuses to actually be here."
"I doubt I'm that well-known to most of your clientele. I'm an artist, not an actor or other celebrity."
"That isn't the point. It's clear that you don't like it here. You've complained about the noise, and you spend all your time with that friend of yours you say lives here in town. I kind of have to wonder just what kind of friend he is."
It hit Declan then what the man's problem really was. His complaints about whether Declan was using the room were just a cover for his real issue. If it wasn't for his assumptions about Declan, it probably wouldn't have mattered if Declan was there every night or not at all, as long as he paid for the room. "Your problem with me is that you believe I'm gay?" he said.
"That's exactly what I believe," the owner replied. "You've mentioned that your friend is male. I have guy friends, but I don't spend near as much time with them as you do with this guy. I can't do anything about what you do behind closed doors, but I don't want it in my home. My wife and I live here, you know. I have to protect her and our other guests."
"I don't do anything in your home. As you've noted, I'm rarely here." It had been a long time since Declan had encountered such blatant prejudice and ignorance, and he wasn't certain how to respond to it. "And what is it you feel you need to protect them from?"
"You're here enough that who knows what you might be bringing in, even if you aren't doing anything here."
Declan felt his temper rise. "Ah, I see. Everyone knows homosexuality is contagious, is that it? Or perhaps in your mind all homosexual are disease-ridden fags. You needn't worry. You're far more likely to catch a disease from one of the guests I'm sure you're screwing behind your wife's back than from me." Declan had no basis for saying this, but the guilty look on the man's face let him know he'd struck a nerve. "I'll be leaving, regardless. I'd prefer not to remain in a place run by an ignorant bigot."
Some other guests had come downstairs and were watching the conversation with great interest. The owner frantically signaled Declan to be quiet, but Declan was on a roll. Although he normally let people's negative comments roll right over him, he'd never tolerated prejudice. "Don't worry," he told the owner. "I'll be out within an hour. That should give you plenty of time to fumigate the gayness from my room before you allow another guest to use it. You can expect a complaint to be filed against you for discrimination."
"I didn't discriminate!" the owner protested. "I've let you stay here, haven't I?"
"Yes, but you've just told me that you would like me to leave, and you made it quite clear that you're making that request because of my sexual orientation. That's discrimination. My lawyer will contact you."
Declan pushed his way past the other guests and went back up to his room, where he quickly gathered the belongings he'd brought there. He started bringing things down to his car. On his first trip outside, one of the other guests stopped him and said, "I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you. Did he really tell you to leave because you're gay?"
"Not in so many words, but that was the implication," Declan replied. "I took several of his statements to be discriminatory."
"What I heard sounded discriminatory," the man agreed. "My friends and I've decided to stay elsewhere. You aren't the only gay man staying here; you're just the only one he's ranted at."
"Thanks for the support." Declan wasn't sure what else to say.
"Not a problem."
Declan finished moving his things to the car and went inside one last time to leave his key at the front desk. "Who the hell do you think you are?" the owner demanded.
"Declan Morrissey, last time I checked," Declan said.
"I've lost four guests because of you!"
"No, you've lost four guests because of your own prejudice. Have a nice day."
Declan turned to leave. "I'll sue you!" the owner threatened.
"Then I'll see you in court." Declan walked out.
When he arrived at Shane's, he sat in the car for a moment debating whether to bring his things inside. With nowhere else to go, he would obviously move in with Shane. But even though Shane had said over and over that he wanted Declan to live with him, Declan didn't want to take it for granted.
He left most of his belongings in the car and took out just his art supplies. He didn't feel any need to disturb Shane at work to inform him of what had happened; Shane had called every day during his lunch break, and the news could wait till then. Declan carried his easel and paints down past the house to the rocky beach, where he set up and began to paint.
By the time his cell phone rang, Declan had completed half of his painting and was sweating profusely. The day was turning out warmer than he'd expected; he wouldn't be able to stay outside much longer. He took his cell out of his pocket and answered it. "Hello, Shane."
"Hi," Shane replied. "Are you painting?"
"Yes, but I was about to stop and move inside. It's getting hot out here."
"Did I show you how to work the air conditioning?"
"No, but I'm sure I can figure it out. How was your morning?"
"Long and boring, as usual. But it's Friday, which is always a good thing. How was yours?"
"I was informed that since I'm gay, I must be spreading disease at the bed and breakfast, and I was asked to leave."
"You're joking!"
"Unfortunately, I'm quite serious. Once I get inside, I'll put in a call to my lawyer."
"Meanwhile, you have nowhere to stay."
"Essentially."
"Then you'll be moving in?"
"Yes."
"Woohoo!" Shane laughed. "Sorry, had to do that. That's fine. Glad you finally made the decision. Maybe this weekend, we can go back to your apartment and get some of your stuff. Meanwhile, just make yourself at home."
"We'll see about going to the apartment," Declan said.
"We can talk about it when I get home. Anyway, make yourself comfortable, okay? If you want to move things around, go for it. Maybe you could find a corner of the living room to set up as a studio for yourself. Or you could use the guest room for that."
"We'll see," Declan said again. "Right now, I still have to get my paints inside before they melt in this heat."
"Okay, okay. I'm getting too far ahead again. I'll talk to you later, okay?"
"Okay."
Shane hung up. Declan put away his phone and carried his easel and supplies into the house. After turning on the air conditioning, he walked around the house, poking into closets and corners and trying to decide where to put his art supplies and other belongings. If it was his choice, how would he arrange the place? Although Shane had given him permission to rearrange things as he wanted, Declan wasn't comfortable changing much in someone else's house. Granted, it was his house now as well, at least as far as Shane seemed concerned, but it would take him a while to get used to thinking of it that way. He'd lived in the same apartment since he and Shane had first moved in together, fifteen years earlier, and it would take time to adjust to living somewhere else.
He started bringing things in from his car, but wasn't sure where to put any of it. There wasn't even a place for his clothes; the bureau and closet in the guest room were nearly as full as Shane's.
By the time Shane got home from work, though, Declan had managed to find a semblance of order. His suitcases, still unpacked, were on the guest room bed. He had cleared the best-lit corner of the living room for his easel and art supplies. Some of his other things were still in his car; others were in the middle of the guest room. "You haven't done much," Shane said.
"I've done what I could," Declan replied.
"I expected you to rearrange at least some of the furniture."
"It's your house."
"Yours, too, and I said you could move things around. Are you going to use the guest room or mine?"
"I've slept in your room every night this week," Declan pointed out. "I'll most likely continue to do so. But I'd like to keep the guest room available. At times, I just need to be alone."
