BLUE JAY
A. ZUKOWSKI
Beaten Track
www.beatentrackpublishing.com
2
Blue Jay
Published 2019 by Beaten Track Publishing
Copyright © 2019 A. Zukowski
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval
system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the
prior permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated without
the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other
than that in which it is published and without a similar condition
including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
ISBN: 978 1 78645 367 9
Cover design: A. Zukowski
Beaten Track Publishing,
Burscough, Lancashire.
www.beatentrackpublishing.com
3
ABOUT BLUE JAY
Third part of the London Stories
Boxing was all Alex had ever known, his entire
being now shattered beyond repair. One night and
four years in jail changed everything. These days,
Alex prefers the shadows and dreams of
nightmares. Will he find rainbows and glitters in the
run-down flat he’s moving into?
Chris has been selling their looks and body for too
long. It may be time for a life change, but one thing
is clear. The fairest of them all will make a lousy
lover until they stop acting the smart-mouthed and
blasé cynic. Their story begins with an elegant tango
up the narrow stairwell…
A match made in London.
Featuring Chris from Liam for Hire, Blue Jay is a
hopeful and romantic story with genderqueer and
bisexual characters.
This title contains material some may find
objectionable or trigger-inducing. However, reading
the following triggers may cause spoilers:
Brief mature content, depressive illnesses, drug use,
child abuse, sexual violence; references to past
abuse, transphobic violence and rape, miscarriage
4
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Special thanks to Emily Alter and Laura Zakanych
for their beta-reading. The reviewers of Critiques
Circle and Skye gave me helpful feedback for the
opening chapter of the story. But I am solely
responsible for the errors.
Massive thanks to Debbie McGowan, A.M.
Leibowitz, Jor Barrie and Paul Iasevoli at Beaten
Track. As always, you have all my admiration.
I think my floating gender pronouns capture well
the refusal to resolve my gender ambiguity, which
itself has become a kind of identity for me. ~ Jack
Halberstam, Trans*
Some days Chris is only pretending, passing
between the gender boundaries, desperate for a
comfortable position.
Chris Neeser is one of a kind; they got under my
skin until I had to create a character easy to fall in
love with. They are genderqueer but their daily life
isn’t an exercise in political provocation. If I were
writing a rhetorical piece about queerness, I would
have been more forceful, but Blue Jay is a story.
Chris’s gender and sexuality are rooted in lived
experiences. They don’t always challenge others
when they call them names and attack them; they
appear more feminine as they interact with Alex
5
because genders are embodied, performed and
reiterated.
They
have
to
survive
in
a
heteronormative binary culture. All the pronouns
they/them/he/him/she/her are used to refer to
Chris throughout the book. I struggled to write
Chris more than I’d imagined, but the creative
process also brought out the gender variance within
me. The novel shows my struggles and my refusal to
conform as much as that of the protagonists.
Alex learns about himself, too, and about who he
and Chris are as he journeys through the narrative.
His revelation is incremental. Readers may decide
he is a slow learner but please bear with him. Chris
and Alex are also the products of their
socioeconomic backgrounds, and Alex has mental
health issues. As always, the creation of a novel
makes me become aware of a range of emotions,
sometimes painful. In subtle ways, I hope Chris and
Alex complicate some preconceived ideas about who
we are and who we can be. That’s all.
6
CONTENTS
About Blue Jay
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About A. Zukowski
Other Books by A. Zukowski
The Boy Who Fell to Earth
Liam For Hire
7
Courting Light
Beaten Track Publishing
8
CHAPTER 1
TANGO
THE CHEAP LANDLORD has set the timer on the landing
lights, so Chris can’t get to the next level without
being plunged into complete darkness. The musty
scent of the old apartment block hits them as they
touch the bare wall to get their bearings. The cold
concrete surface reflects the neglect it has suffered
over the years.
All they can hear is the whisper of their own
breaths. They hate this place with a passion. If they
had a legitimate job, they could have references and
move to a better apartment instead of staying in a
cramped, shared flat. They are not short of money,
however. In fact, they give some to their mum every
month and save the rest in a bank account. A secret
account for their retirement fund. Laugh out loud.
Everyone assumes they’re stupid. Oh, no. They have
a brain behind the pretty face, so they must be a
masochist to punish themself by staying in this
dump.
Chris has returned from the hotel after a quick
wash. These days, they can’t get away from the
appointments fast enough. Even luxurious hotel
rooms hold little appeal.
Washed up. That’s what they are. They sigh
silently.
For an escort who works late a lot, this lighting
9
arrangement is highly inconvenient. Chris curses
and walks up the stairs as fast as they can, almost
running.
Forward step in a tango. Cruzada. An Argentine
cross.
&n
bsp; Bang! They bump into someone massive at the
first turn. The impact knocks them back down
several steps.
“Hey, you okay?” says a gruff voice.
“Shit.” Chris stops and feels their way around the
walls to find the light switch.
It’s gone one in the fucking morning. Who is
standing in the stupid stairway, blocking my way?
When their hand touches the other person’s, they
recoil. Long and strong fingers connect with theirs,
sending a shot of electricity through them.
Chris finds the switch; they and the stranger are
bathed in the bright light from the bare bulb once
more. They squint, uncomfortable with the glare of
the yellow hue. They really should get their eyes
tested—if there was anything they could actually
read.
“What the—” Chris exclaims.
The guy must be about six feet six and built like
Hercules. He shoulders a large black holdall. Chris
is stunned silent by the bulging biceps and arms,
of the stranger contrasts with Chris, who’s tall and
slim like a catwalk model.
Crap. The man had better not be a burglar.
Chris stops a shudder, not wanting to betray
weakness. They weigh up their limited options.
They highly doubt they can take on the hulk in the
10
middle of the night. Summoning their best act of
caution and confidence, their hand reaches for the
pepper spray in their trouser pocket. Out of
necessity, self-preservation has become part of their
routine.
“Where are you going?” they ask, praying the man
has a legitimate reason to be in the building.
“I’m looking for Flat Five.”
Holy shit. What does he want in my flat?
“It’s on the third floor. Who do you want?” Chris’s
suspicious eyes run up and down the other’s body.
He is probably visiting Chris’s Russian flatmate,
Dmitri, the part-time drug dealer. It’s not that
unusual to have strange drug fiends turning up all
hours of the day, but this late and someone who
looks like a thug? Chris makes a mental note to have
a go at Dmitri again. Give him shit for putting them
all in danger by inviting desperate addicts to the flat
to trade.
Before the guy can answer, they are in pitch-
darkness again.
“Fuck! Can you go up?” Chris orders. “I’ll find the
switch.”
They move with caution, and as Chris is feeling
the wall for the next light source, their head is
whacked by the man’s bag and they’re knocked back
down a few steps again.
Caida. A fall.
“Shit, will you be careful with your fucking
possessions?” Chris’s fear turns to annoyance. They
can’t help it.
“Sorry.”
Phew. A burglar or murderer wouldn’t apologise
11
in these circumstances, would he? The apartment
block does house some unsavoury characters.
In this inopportune moment, Chris also notices
how deep the man’s voice is, gravelly without
sounding like he smokes forty a day. The stranger
must have found the light because he is now staring
down at Chris with a frown, his brows knitted close,
adding to the seriousness of his face. Chris wonders
for a second what the other man sees and whether
they might get their arse kicked for the way they
look. It wouldn’t be the first time.
Chris is wearing a kind of work uniform: tight
dress shirt and skinny jeans. They like to think their
gender-fluidity flows through the garments and
aligns with the surface. Nuh-uh. Wish it were that
simple. Clothes are a shell that has little to do with
the insides, and the insides have little to do with the
anatomy. Most days, Chris is passing—performing
roles back and forth and never still—a dear price
they pay for living in a binary world.
Their hold on the pepper spray tightens.
“I’m moving in. Flat Five.”
“Okay, can you go up to the third without turning
around or hitting my face with your bag? Can you
do that?”
Calesita. Carousel.
The man twirls, taking care in the narrow
staircase, and proceeds.
Both hurry up the last flight while the light
remains. Chris pulls out their keys and hits the
switch by the door.
The keys. The spray. Weapons of little
consequence.
12
“I can’t let you in, mate. I’ve never seen you
before.” Chris uses their most threatening voice,
pushing their chest out for extra effect. Who am I
kidding? Chris’s appearance is the complete
opposite of their hardened attitude.
“You mean you live here, too?” The man’s frown
deepens. Something unreadable shifts in his face,
amidst the dark stubble. Deep, soulful eyes. Chris
never aspires to that kind of masculinity but they
could fall for it.
Shadows. Great. The light has gone out again, so
Chris conveniently hides the pink flush on their
face.
Cuarta. The finale.
They have performed a dance, antagonistic and
graceful like a tango in the dusk. The two bodies
swing in the narrow space, his yang complementing
“No, I am pretending I have a key and I’m about
to go into my accommodation,” Chris retorts,
sarcasm dripping off them like overloaded syrup.
Their eye-roll in the dark is wasted on the giant,
though. “I’m not opening the door unless you have
proof you live here, mate.”
They turn the light on once more.
The big man schools his face to an unintelligible
expression. “I’m…moving in. Proof…” He sighs.
“At one in the fucking morning?” Chris arches
their right eyebrow.
“I got delayed.” A man of few words. Chris doesn’t
mind that. They have to talk to too many clients as
it is.
“Let me see your keys.” Chris is rather pleased
13
they sound authoritative to their own ears, while
they hold their palm up.
The big guy exhales again and rummages in his
pockets until he finds his set. Ignoring their
outstretched hand and gesturing Chris to move
aside, he asks, “May I?”
Chris watches him as he inserts the right key and
turns the lock. They heave a sigh of relief. A couple
of rooms have been vacant since their friend Liam,
who used to work as an escort as well, ‘retired’ and
moved in with his boyfriend Ali. Another flatmate
left a couple of months ago. Even though the
residents of the flat are usually eccentric, the middle
of the night is still a stupid time to move to a new
place. Chris scowls at the back of the guy as they
follow him in.
The man stands
in the sitting room and looks
around. A corridor leads to three rooms, and off to
the side of the lounge are Chris and Liam’s adjacent
bedrooms.
Chris reluctantly plays host and gestures to the
short corridor. “Well, the room next to mine’s free.
Or you can have the one over there. This one here is
a
little
bit
bigger.”
Chris
indicates
their
neighbouring room with a twirl of their smooth
hand, their slender wrist rolling in mid-air.
The space in question isn’t bigger by much. Apart
from Chris’s room, they all have single beds like
prison cells with the bare minimum of functional
furniture. As Chris has lived here the longest, they
have replaced the bed with a double so they can
bring hookups home.
The man takes a peep in Liam’s old room. “This
14
will do.” He puts down his bag on the narrow bed.
Chris stares at the strong back; the guy’s muscles
stretch, seeming far too bulky for his T-shirt.
“Well, good night.” Their new flatmate disappears
behind the door.
A challenge.
An ill-mannered but intriguing bastard will fit in
well with the other occupiers of the dingy flat. Chris
is now wide awake after the impromptu tango of the
night. She has no appointment until later tomorrow
—or today—so she’ll sleep in. She goes into her
room and smokes a joint.
When Chris has done smoking, she grabs her
towel and shower gel. Dressed in a faded T-shirt
and briefs, she opens the door to use the bathroom.
Crash!
“What the—” In the dusk of the lounge, her new
flatmate has also emerged. Chris has run headlong
into the giant by the bedroom door. The new tenant
is making their apartment appear far too crowded
all of a sudden.
You will meet someone new and alluring.
It must be her destiny. Chris laughs at how that
sounds like her horoscope for the day.
She turns the light on once more. She’s so aghast
by the sight, she has to stop herself from gasping.
The man wears only a pair of black boxers, revealing
his huge back covered by two wild animals and a
sundial.
He turns to bare a large eagle with wings that
spread from his shoulder to his chest. One of his
arms is tattooed with an intricate pattern; two
snakes grace the other, where the word ‘Sam’ is
15