“Anything for you.”
“That’s exactly what I wanted to hear.”
* * * *
They showered together, just as lovers often do after making love. Cameron soaped Stone’s chest with a bar of Ivory.
Is this love? Or is this just sex with a buddy? I’m really feeling that it might be love. I’m not sure, though. Who could be sure in my situation?
“You’re drifting,” Cameron said, working the bar of soap up and down Stone’s firm chest, concentrating on the man’s pecs and hard nipples. “What are you thinking about?”
“Us,” Stone admitted. “I’m not really sure what today means for us.”
“Does it have to mean anything? Can’t we just have fun together without hurting each other?”
“I don’t know. I like you, and I like spending time with you.”
“Likewise,” Cameron said, rolling the Ivory bar over one of Stone’s mounded shoulders, and then the other. “You’re overthinking this. Whatever happens, will. Do we really have any control over it?”
“I would hope so.”
“Me, too, but I don’t think we do. Now stop thinking about us, enjoy me tonight and tomorrow as a blizzard sets in, and we’ll bring this confusion up later. Is it a deal?”
Stone felt Cameron turn him around for a quick rinse under the shower’s spray. “Deal,” he said, realizing Cameron was right. They could have fun tonight and tomorrow and worry about their emotions later. Why not?
* * * *
Following their shared shower, they lay in bed together, naked in each other’s arms. Stone smelled their combined sweat on the sheet and comforter. He listened to the wind and snow outside, whipping against the Tudor.
“Are you upset that all of your guests cancelled?” Cameron asked, kissing Stone’s forehead, holding the man close to him.
“Not really. I’m glad they’re safe from the storm. I would have hated to see them drive here and have an accident. Besides, there’s always next month to read and discuss a Robert Riley novel.”
“That’s selfless of you. Hearing you say things like that only makes me like you more.”
“I’m not done yet,” Stone laughed. “Here’s the heavy stuff.”
“I can hardly wait.”
In the bedroom’s dim light, Stone turned his gaze to Cameron’s and concentrated on the man’s handsome eyes. He saw things there he hadn’t seen with any other man: a future life with Cameron, dating for the next month, becoming boyfriends, and eventually marrying. He saw Cameron living with him, sharing breakfast every morning with the man, and holding him close to his body every night, wishing him sweet dreams. He had a vision of them enjoying major holidays together with their families, coupled, as newlyweds, and what Stone’s friends would someday call “the old married couple.”
He saw nothing of hardship or tragedy, although he imagined some days would be imperfect, but useful, knowing Cameron would always have his back, supporting him, and vice versa. He saw the two of them watching movies on Friday nights, curled on the sofa beside each other, antique shopping on Saturdays in springtime, and spending an August weekend in the woods, camping. Quick flashes of a life with Cameron became unstoppable within Stone’s mind, a movie of sorts with various scenes, flickering. He watched the scenes unfold of two men growing old together, cherishing their love for each other, until the end of eternity, or God Himself decided to end such a union. He saw…
“Stone,” Cameron said. “Are you drifting again?”
“Is it that obvious?”
“Totally. What are you thinking about?”
“Us. A future together. The heavy stuff.”
Cameron laughed, brushing fingers against one Stone’s cheeks. “So I have your approval to spend the weekend with you?”
“Or longer.”
“I’ll drive you crazy by tomorrow night.”
“I doubt that, but give me a try,” Stone said, meaning his words.
They kissed once, twice, and three times. When Stone pulled out of the kiss, he asked, “You’re a lot like one of Robert Riley’s characters, do you know that?”
Cameron grinned, brushing the tip of his nose against Stone’s. “How so? Explain.”
Stone couldn’t explain the reasons, though, at least not yet in their relationship. Maybe later he could, after they dated for the next two months, moved in together, and he started to completely understand Cameron Phillips better, inside and out.
For now, their connection was a scene out of Riley’s Until You Push Me Away or Embark, two easy-to-read romance novels that really hadn’t sold well for Robert Riley, but were filled with romantic clichés, strong themes of love, and heavy duty sex scenes. Neither novel made the New York Times best-seller’s list, but the books did offer a different side of Robert Riley to his readers, one of a flighty and emotional grandeur, thick with heart-pounding scenes of lust and faithfulness. Stone enjoyed both books, reading them sometime apart, and relished their pages. Truth told, he had always wanted Riley to write a third romance, something to keep him up during the late hours of the night, wide-eyed and reading. A tale Stone could finish in two sittings, incapable of putting down and…
“Stone,” Cameron whispered. “You drifted again.”
Stone chuckled, numb against his evening lover, feeling warm and cozy from the blizzard-like conditions outside the Tudor. He couldn’t help letting his mind stray. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. And not if Cameron chose to stick around for the next year or dozen years as his lover. Stone’s mind had always strayed. Always. Ever since he had been a small boy, he could remember his thoughts running away from him, or as Cameron called it, drifting. Never had there been a time in his life he could remember thinking clearly and without a compilation of various scenes floating through his thoughts.
“Come on,” Stone said. “I’ll show you what I mean.” He patted Cameron’s right thigh, stirring the man out of bed.
Cameron snickered. “What do you have up your sleeve?”
“Throw something warm on. You’ll need a hat, gloves, and scarf.”
Cameron climbed out of bed and started dressing. His winter things were downstairs in the foyer, exactly where he had left them.
Stone followed suit, dressing. “I can convince you to do anything, can’t I?”
“I guess you can. Call me foolish, but I like you. Plus, I trust you.”
“That’s your first mistake, Stone teased. He slipped into his jeans, T-shirt, and a thick pair of cotton socks.
Once they were dressed, Stone escorted Cameron downstairs. Facing each other, they pulled on their winter jackets, hats, and boots.
Cameron said, “This better be good.”
“I think it will be. Give me a chance.”
* * * *
After they were dressed, they walked outside into the snowstorm. Stone held one of Cameron’s hands within his own and gently squeezed it through their gloves. He pulled Cameron with him, into the front yard, which looked like a white-gray canvas in the bright moonlight, accented with spiraling snow.
Near the mailbox and Messgrove Avenue, Stone told Cameron, “Sit down in the snow with me?”
Cameron shook his head, stumped because of Stone’s instruction. “What the hell are you making me do?” Then he let out a solid laugh, obviously having the time of his life.
They plopped down in the seven inches of snow, sitting side by side.
Satisfied, Stone said, “I once read this in a Robert Riley book.”
“Which one?”
“Falling Powder. It was about skiing and an accident. Some critics called it a bad attempt and literary mess. Others kind of liked it.” Stone exhaled warm air from his lungs. “Lay back in the snow and look at the moon.”
Cameron listened.
Stone thought the moon stunning: a glimmering, white-blue-gray sphere hanging in the night. Cold and wet snow fell down from the heavens against his face and Cameron’s.
“Now what?” Cameron asked.
&nbs
p; “Make a wish. But don’t tell me what it is, or it won’t come true.”
“What kind of wish?”
“Whatever you want it to be.”
They became quiet in the snow, still on their backs. Snow started to cover their winter jackets and gloves.
Stone wished for this night to last forever, enjoying Cameron’s company. He wondered if Cameron had wished the same thing, but would never find out. Rules were rules, of course, when making wishes under the winter moonlight. Some things between men could never be shared, he guessed.
“You done wishing?” Cameron said.
“Done. How about you?”
“Done. Are you sure I can’t tell you what I wished for?”
“Never. Keep it to yourself.”
“Damn,” Cameron playfully chanted. Then he rolled on top of Stone. He kissed Stone, melting his world a little more. “I’m going to fall for you, Stone Daye. You might want me to or not, but it’s going to happen. And don’t be surprised when I fall in love with you.”
“Try me,” Stone whispered, raised his lips to Cameron’s and kissed the man, beginning a life with him, becoming his new boyfriend, melting in the snow underneath him. No longer did it feel like winter outside to Stone, warm under Cameron Phillips, already falling in love with the guest. His to keep from that moment on in their lives together.
Cameron sighed, sounding happy next to Stone. He nuzzled his lips against Stone’s ear and whispered, “I know your secret. You don’t have to tell me. And I promise not to tell anyone. But I want you to know that I know what it is.”
“What secret?” Stone asked.
“That you’re Robert Riley. That your Catfabulous business is just a front, and you spend all your time writing books. I think I’ve always known this about you. Robert Riley is your pseudonym. You two are the same man.”
Stone felt his chest heat up, caught off guard by his unexpected guest. Then he chuckled, thinking Cameron smart, catching on to his secret life. “So you do read Robert Riley, don’t you?”
“Always have. Always will. It’s a fine art for me, if you want to know the truth.”
“And you’ve known for over a year?”
“Maybe longer. It wasn’t very hard to figure out.”
Stone smiled, holding the man. He kissed Cameron, delighted to be with him, trapped in the snow, and under his scrutiny, but not really minding. When the short kiss ended, he whispered, “Don’t tell anyone. Promise me that.”
“I promise. I won’t say a word. It can be our little secret.”
Stone felt delighted that Cameron had figured him out. He knew the man had a high IQ, but didn’t know exactly how high. His secret was out and in the good hands of Cameron Phillips. He could trust Cameron. His secret wouldn’t be exposed, and Stone could continue writing as Robert Riley, novel after novel, for his publishing house, Smithington Company.
“Good then. Where were we?”
“Kissing,” Cameron said.
“That’s right,” Stone replied, placing his lips against Cameron’s, his future, caught up in the moment, their secrets, and lives together, knowing they would be lovers for many years to come, inseparable.
THE END
Mr. Hideaway
For Kenito Padilla.
June 3
Josh Hideaway couldn’t think of anyone else in his life that had temporarily lost their minds at the young age of thirty-five. Not Andy Apple, his best friend of forever. Not his parents, Debbie and Mitch. Not his coworkers at Hatch Films. And certainly not any of his prior boyfriends and lovers, most of which he believed deserved to lose their minds because they had all broken his heart. Losing one’s mind couldn’t have been construed as a positive challenge, he deemed.
Two shrinks both told him, “It can happen to anyone. Disparage is common among the living. There’s nothing to worry about. You just need a little help.”
Truth told, there just happened to be an overabundance of things to worry about in Josh’s world. Comets were coming closer to the planet every day. Isis had planned to annihilate the human race. Electric cars were driving themselves. Viruses were becoming out of hand. Guns in the United States were still legal. Honeybees were almost extinct. Water would eventually be rare to find. Everything concerned him about the world, a little too much.
When did he first notice that his mind spiraled out of control toward insanity? June of last year. Right before the Fourth of July. Approximately three days after Andy Apple told him, “I’m going straight. I’m done with men. They’re all shitheads, ignorant, drama queens, high maintenance, dogs, and impossible muscleheads. I don’t need that in my life anymore. I’ve decided to try women out for a change.”
So Josh blamed Andy Apple for losing his mind. Why not? No one else had the broad shoulders to handle the position. Plus, Andy Apple knew everything about crazy, since he had spent a good few times in the local looney bin, rehabbing his mind and life, suffering from being bipolar.
There were some people in Josh’s life who couldn’t understand that he was half-baked. All of his coworkers at Hatch Films had a hard time relating to his situation. Most of them thought that his good looks (blond hair and blue eyes, six-three frame, one hundred and eighty pounds of muscle) and his intelligence (IQ equaled 135) were promising features in his life. Josh also drove a nice car: Mazda 3, nothing too sporty and fun, but just right. And he owned a condominium along the Allegheny River in downtown Pittsburgh: two bedrooms, two baths, access to an in-ground and heated pool during the winter months, free parking.
Lately, life couldn’t be considered perfect for Josh, though. Honestly, those coworkers didn’t know that he feared egg yolks, would never climb into a car without checking if someone decided to carpool in the trunk, and always read the last three chapters of any mystery. Bottom line: Joshua Franklin Hideaway was plenty fucked, both emotionally and mentally. He’d finally decided to do something about it that summer, listening to his physician, Dr. Shamir Ahmed at Regional Medical in downtown Pittsburgh.
Ahmed told him during his last visit, “You simply need to relax. Too much is going on inside your head. You have the summer off from making movies. Take a month or two and obtain some mental repair. Head north. Your family owns that camp in the woods near Erie that you’ve told me about. Take advantage of it. Rest up. The crazy will then go away.”
“The cabin’s in Templeton. Closer to Ohio than Erie.”
Ahmed waved at Josh and said, “Whatever. Find some sanity. Relax up there. Read a few good books. Take some pictures with a camera. Learn how to paint if you want to. Forget about the city life and your job.”
* * * *
Two days later, Josh forgot about making movies and his executive producing position. He packed a bag with clothes, a few paperbacks to read, and jars of instant coffee. Then he took his Mazda 3 north on Interstate 79 and ended his voyage at his family’s camp next to Lake Penichowaba, a tenth the size of Lake Erie.
* * * *
The seventeen acres butted against the Penichowaba State Forest. A manmade dock hung over the small lake. Oaks, maples, and pines surrounded the single building that looked more like a shed than a cabin. The camp itself resembled a crayon box; somewhat narrow but tall. It had a deck out front, one in the back that overlooked the lake, two bedrooms, a bathroom, no dining room, kitchen, and a cellar filled with blackberry moonshine, which Josh was told to stay away from. Doctor’s orders.
The property and cabin had been in the Hideaway family for the last seven decades. Josh’s long-lost cousins, two brothers who were both established lawyers in their days, purchased the acres in 1954. Locals believed the brothers committed suicide in the cabin. Some forty years later, the so-called cabin felt haunted. Josh’s uncles hung themselves from the cabin’s rafters. Their bodies were taken down by a coven of warlocks and buried behind the cabin. Josh believed their spirits were still at the cabin, among a variety of warlocks’ and other family members’ and strangers’ spirits.
Ghosts, g
oblins, and warlocks didn’t frighten Josh because his family, known for their obscure connections with voodoo, herbalism, dark witchery, channeling spirts of the dead, and other challenging practices of the occult, didn’t faze him in the slightest. Frankly, adapting to a spirit’s companionship turned out sometimes to be easier than that of a living human. Hence why Josh had minimal friends and enjoyed his time alone.
* * * *
He unpacked in the upstairs bedroom that overlooked the lake. The view resembled a dreamy and enchanting pre-summertime postcard, and everything that comprised an unknown heaven. Blue-green waves licked the rocky shore, and a light wind fluffed the lake’s surrounding trees. He opened the two windows inside the bedroom and felt a luxurious breeze against his chin and cheeks.
Somewhere in the distance, a whippoorwill called out. It sounded as if the creature resided at Zeth Mandell’s house, a cozy, small, and neighboring A-frame that sat back from the lake, built by his own muscular arms and chest. Zeth just happened to be the only other resident on this side of the lake, a park ranger year-round, paid by the state to enforce and control the park’s security and to perform emergency services. Zeth patrolled the park to ensure a safe environment for the park’s visitors and detected and investigated any criminal activity, which rarely ever happened.
Now, looking out at the lake, Josh took in the quality scenery that didn’t at all look like the city and its busy sidewalks and skyscrapers. It was nice to leave behind the screenplay writers, line producers, casting directors, location scouts, directors, script supervisors, a cinematographer, and sound mixer. No longer did Josh have to think about the Chicago International Film Festival and Sundance. Nor was he concerned about the Academy Awards, Saturn Awards, and Screen Actors Guild Awards. Crazy had set in for Josh Hideaway, and he needed to mend his mind and life. It could take a week or through the summer. Fortunately, he was willing to take as long as he needed for repair, living off his savings account for the time being. Relax time had come in his life. Mending time. Sanity felt as if it were long overdue.
* * * *
Men of All Seasons Box Set Page 7
