by Jay Bell
“Are you sure?” his mother asked as she watched him work. “I talked to your father. We can get you your own place in Connecticut. It’s not too late.”
“This is what I want,” he said, even though he wasn’t certain. Maybe it was all a big mistake, but doing something crazy made it easier not to go crazy. “This is what I need.”
“What if the new job doesn’t work out? What will you do without a degree?”
“Live off the land,” he said easily.
This seemed to worry her even more, but she didn’t try to talk him out of it again. Not even the next morning when they said goodbye. Once on the road, he felt liberated. Zero had his head out the window for much of the drive, perhaps basking in the same freedom. Their lives were their own now. No treacherous friends or lovers, no heartless owners. Just the open road and an address Marcello had texted him. Their new home.
When they arrived at the apartment complex in Austin, he let Zero out to pee, then put him back in the car. No sense in letting the new landlord discover that a feral beast was about to move in. He reported to the complex’s office and learned that everything had been taken care of. The leasing agent walked Nathaniel through a one-bedroom apartment on the third floor. Nothing luxurious. It was barely bigger than his old place minus one bedroom, but he did appreciate the balcony that overlooked a green lawn. Soon it would be dotted with Zero’s calling cards.
Once the keys were placed in his hand, he moved in. This process didn’t take long. He hung the clothes in the closet or placed them folded on the floor. An unzipped sleeping bag went in the bedroom, extra blankets on top. A laptop plugged into the dining room corner was his new office. The TV was set up on the living room floor, a Blu-ray player off to one side. He arranged the couch cushions across from it so he’d have somewhere to sit. Until he got a few paychecks, most of his home life would take place on the floor. At least the kitchen was fully equipped. He had just enough money to go grocery shopping, which he planned to do soon. First he sat down on his makeshift couch, Zero crawling on his lap and trying to initiate a play fight. Nathaniel pushed him away to glance around at undecorated walls and rooms so empty that a faint echo answered him when he spoke.
“Home, sweet home!”
* * * * *
“Male escorts,” Nathaniel said, not hiding his irritation.
“A gentleman’s club,” Marcello repeated patiently.
Nathaniel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Where exactly is this club full of gentlemen? Because from what you described, we send boys out like taxis to please any old geezer with enough cash to afford them.”
“Taxi boys,” Marcello said musingly. “I like that!”
“I’m serious,” Nathaniel said.
“Perhaps it’s more of a gentleman’s network. Better?”
“No!”
The week had started so well. Marcello had greeted Nathaniel enthusiastically outside a drab studio the size of a warehouse. After ushering him inside and up an elevator to the second floor, Marcello presented Nathaniel with his own corner office. This meant two of the walls had windows, illuminating the wooden desk. A small table and matching chairs sat to one side, a bottle of champagne and two glasses waiting there. They had toasted each other, chatting idly before Nathaniel signed a number of contracts. He wished he’d read them more carefully, because after days of poring over accounts, he was realizing what he’d gotten into. Now he was on the top floor, an addition built on the flat roof that consisted entirely of Marcello’s spacious office. Granite floors, comfortable couches, a wet bar against one wall, and a view of Austin’s distant skyline. Nathaniel had found the place elegant the first time he’d been there. Now it seemed decadent. Marcello seemed completely at home, sitting behind an antique desk in a high-backed chair that made him resemble a Bond villain.
“Do you have a moral objection to prostitution?” Marcello asked. “Some people struggle with loneliness and frustration, others with financial difficulties. If two consenting adults find a mutually agreeable solution to these problems, who are we to judge?”
“You paint a rosy picture,” Nathaniel said. “How many prostitutes do their job willingly? How many are beaten or forced into the situation because of human trafficking?”
“Which is exactly why it should be legalized and heavily regulated. Governments create the shadows they force people into, then waste our tax money persecuting those very individuals. Wouldn’t that effort and expense be put to better use protecting sex workers and legitimizing their profession? That would generate tax revenue instead of wasting it, lining the coffers of—”
“Okay, okay,” Nathaniel said, waving him into silence. “I don’t want to argue. But from a practical point of view, why take a risk like this? Hell, why didn’t Kenneth expose your escort service if he wanted to oust you?”
“Because there is nothing illegal about it. My agency simply helps like-minded people meet for a night out on the town or a cozy dinner at home. What happens during these dates is none of my business, not that I mind hearing details.”
“It’s a risk. You and I both know what’s really going on. I can’t imagine anyone who doesn’t, law enforcement included.” He pushed an account summary across the desk. “It doesn’t even generate that much revenue. Not compared to your legitimate business. So why bother?”
“Why not?” Marcello said, gesturing grandly. “I refuse to subject myself to the backward values of the current century. For me such issues are as controversial as women being allowed to vote or black and white people sharing the same drinking fountain. Such restrictions were once the law of the land, but legality by no means made them morally sound. Would you like a list of all the countries where homosexuality is still illegal? Would you prefer the men in those places not take a risk, not fight for change, and instead live within the confines of laws that punish them for their natural feelings and urges?”
“Of course not,” Nathaniel muttered.
“We look back at the past decades and shake our heads in disgust at the conservative values that infringed on personal liberties. Future generations will do the same when reflecting upon our time. I’m merely ahead of the curve.”
“Which brings us to your porn movies.”
“My film division,” Marcello said, smiling pleasantly.
“Porn isn’t forward-thinking. It’s a trashy remnant of the past. Aren’t you concerned about the reputation of your company?”
“You disappoint me. In my lecture at Yale, you yourself acknowledged that recognition trumps reputation. The name ‘Studio Maltese’ is synonymous with media production. I work hard to keep it that way. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the other divisions are owned by limited liability companies that themselves are— Well, suffice to say, even I barely comprehend all the smoke and mirrors.”
“I wanted to ask you about that, because those different divisions all make regular payments to one person.” He tapped a reoccurring name on the accounts. “Who is this?”
“The CEO.”
“I thought you were the CEO.”
Marcello winked in response.
Nathaniel leaned back. “That’s your real name? No wonder you don’t go by it.”
“I know little about my biological parents, but clearly they had atrocious taste.”
“But if you chose your name… Come on! You must have seen The Maltese Falcon!”
Marcello stared hard at him. Then he chuckled. “As a boy. Almost every single day after school when it aired in a local cinema. That story resonated with my very soul. So many people determined to get what they want, no matter how much they are forced to sacrifice. How inspiring!”
“You know it’s a cautionary tale, right?”
“All good stories are. I’ve since tracked down the magazines the story first appeared in, and a first edition copy of the novel. Oh, and I might just own the Maltese falcon itself.”
Nathaniel sat upright. “You mean one of the actual film props?”
&nb
sp; Marcello smiled mysteriously. “I appreciate your concern for the reputation of my company and the well-being of others. I have no doubt you’ll become a valuable asset. Perhaps though, you’ll consider setting aside your judgment. That will relieve you of a burdensome weight. Here.” Marcello opened a drawer and took out a shrink-wrapped DVD that he slid across the desk.
Nathaniel took it. The cover showed two young men staring longingly at each other. His eyes scanned the title. Then he snorted. “Love is the Hottest Season?”
“One of my personal favorites that this studio has produced. The most popular seller too. You should at least have a passing familiarity with our products.”
Nathaniel blanched. “You want me to watch your porn.”
Marcello smiled. “Adult romance. Porn is a trashy remnant of the past, or so I’m told. And yes, I do expect you to watch that. Unless you have more engaging plans this weekend. Is there someone special in your life?”
“No.” Nathaniel frowned and considered the cover again. “I don’t suppose you have it on Blu-ray?”
* * * * *
Establishing a routine took little time. Nathaniel’s first order of business when he returned home was to let Zero take care of his business. For all his behavioral problems, Zero didn’t need potty training. Not unless duffel bags were involved, apparently. Out in the yard, Nathaniel would try exhausting him with exercise, which meant chasing him around like an idiot. Once they were both panting, they went upstairs for dinner. When first arriving in Austin, Nathaniel had planned cheap meals, buying ingredients in bulk and cooking in the largest pot he owned. Chicken and rice. Canned tuna and pasta. Cheap cuts of beef and potatoes. These dishes lasted for multiple nights. In the morning he had a bowl of oatmeal; at lunch he ate a sandwich he had brought from home.
Zero lived off the same food once his kibble ran out. Not the oatmeal or sandwiches, but whatever dinner Nathaniel made, twice a day. He didn’t seem to mind. In fact, his skin had cleared up considerably and a light fuzz—like a teenage boy’s facial hair—covered most of his bald patches.
“You’re growing up!” Nathaniel joked as they settled down for another movie night. As Zero cuddled up next to him, Nathaniel noticed the fur felt less coarse. Maybe this diet was a good idea, even if they could afford kibble again. After three weeks of work, Nathaniel had finally received his first paycheck and had decided to splurge on fast food. Zero got his own quarter-pounder with cheese. Greasy burgers probably weren’t healthy for either of them, but having money again—and a respectable sum at that—had him in the mood to celebrate.
For him this meant sitting on stolen couch cushions with a dog and rewatching old movies. That might appear sad from the outside, but Nathaniel looked forward to this ritual every day. When it came to fulfilling companionship, a dog was ideal. In most areas. When the synth-powered credits to a John Hughes film rolled, he regretted choosing the movie because for a comedy, it sure had romantic moments. This made him question if an essential piece was still missing from his life. Or maybe he was just horny. His eyes drifted to the copy of Love is the Hottest Season that Marcello had given him. He had ignored it previously, but now his curiosity—and hormones—got the better of him.
First he took Zero outside to potty, then shut him in the bedroom. Nathaniel, despite the lecture he’d given Marcello, had nothing against porn. He had indulged in his fair share. Blood was rushing to all sorts of areas when he put in the disc. Twenty minutes later, he got up and let Zero out. Not because he was finished, but because so far the movie was sweet. The story was about two guys who meet in high school, both closeted and harboring secret feelings for each other. Fate separates them, but they meet again in college. Only toward the end of the film do they confess their feelings. And more.
The sex scene was graphic, except the motions weren’t mechanical. Most gay porn followed a tired formula: mutual blow jobs, one guy getting rimmed and fucked, followed by the money shot. Usually a facial. The sex in this movie felt more spontaneous, as if the actors had been allowed to ad lib their performances. In fact, he could believe they had fallen in love during filming and were genuinely eager to be together. The story had so much emotional buildup that Nathaniel felt more moved by the performances than turned on by the sex. Of course that didn’t stop him from shutting Zero in the bedroom once the film was over so he could rewatch the sex scene and relieve himself.
Afterwards he felt haunted by the story. The movie had been low budget, sure, but the heart of it rang true. Love could survive separation, could remain strong over the years. He had once experienced that himself. Part of him wanted to again. Not with Caesar. Nathaniel wasn’t foolish enough to open himself to that sort of pain again. But maybe someday he’d meet someone special.
These thoughts were on his mind when he reported to Marcello’s office Monday morning. The big man was behind his desk, scowling at the computer screen, but his expression brightened when Nathaniel spoke aloud a key line from the movie.
“Don’t run away from love. Chase after it.”
“You watched it!” Marcello said, transparently pleased. “What did you think?”
Nathaniel sat down across from him, nodding slowly. “I have a newfound respect for what you do. I’ve never seen a movie like it before.”
“You will,” Marcello said, sounding confident. “Those cheesy porn movies of days gone by, they were ahead of their time. Sex is much more erotic when framed by a real world situation, even if it involves a mechanic spilling motor oil on his crankshaft. The human mind responds to stories.”
“You’re right,” Nathaniel said. “Usually with porn I don’t care about the guys. All that matters is how good they look. Even then I’ll skip ahead to the best parts. Afterwards I never think of them again. The guys in this movie… I was really excited when they were finally able to be together. I was happy for them. And for myself, for getting to watch.”
He laughed, Marcello joining him. “I do love a good plot. I keep pitching a new idea to my writers for a superhero movie. It’s similar to Spider-Man, except instead of shooting webs from his wrist, they come out of his—”
“That newfound respect is plummeting,” Nathaniel interrupted.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way. Not all of our films are so romantic, but they have their fans. Have you ever wondered why people obsess over celebrity sex scandals? We get to see their breasts, a flaccid penis, or maybe a shaky home recording, and the Internet explodes with excitement. Seems ridiculous when you consider the hardcore material just a click away. Celebrity sex tapes are more enticing because we know who they are. We know their stories. And yet we judge these people harshly when they are caught. It’s ridiculous. Most celebrities I know are shameless exhibitionists, their audience wanting to see them naked and going at it. Once again we enter the realm of mutually beneficial agreements between adults. My movies will never take their place among classic films, but in the future Hollywood will stop beating around the bush—so to speak—and give audiences what they want. Fifty years ago, films were forbidden to depict a kiss lasting more than three seconds. Progress marches along no matter who stands in the way. The good old days are straight ahead of us. I just hope Hollywood gets more comfortable with male nudity while George Clooney is still around.”
Nathaniel laughed. “Or how about Joseph Gordon-Levitt? I’d commit serious crimes to spend a night with him.”
“Was that a risqué comment?” Marcello pretended to be scandalized. “And here I was beginning to think you didn’t possess a libido!”
“Hey, I might not be as open as you about this stuff, but I’m still flesh and blood.”
“I was only teasing. I know you are. Kenneth shared enough details to convince me of that.”
Nathaniel grimaced. “That’s not who I am.”
“No?”
He looked away and shrugged. “Maybe it is. I don’t know. I prefer to actually like the guy. The same as in your movies. When you care about the other person, even
if it isn’t love, it’s much more satisfying.”
Marcello eyed him for a moment before smiling warmly. “Was I ever as young as you? Was I ever so innocent?”
“I doubt it.”
“As do I. Satisfaction comes in many forms, as I’m sure you’ll discover, and what you desire sounds rather noble. Are there any candidates?”
“I’m still recovering from the last one.”
“He will be much easier to forget when someone has taken his place, believe me. You can either stew on old memories or simmer up new ones.”
“I’m not ready yet.”
“You sound just like a good friend of mine. Handsome as can be, hopelessly single, and absolutely impervious to my advice. Whenever the topic of love comes up, he mutters those same words.” Marcello made his voice deeper, sounding more like a jock. “I’m not ready yet. I still love him.”
“I do,” Nathaniel said defensively.
“And you always will, so stop letting that hold you back and find some other miserable fool who needs to move on.” Inspiration struck Marcello. “My goodness! What a pair you would make!”
“No,” Nathaniel said immediately. “I’m not interested.”
“You haven’t even seen him yet.” Marcello focused on his computer, clicking the mouse repeatedly. “These photos are old. Nearly eight years. Still, you’ll get the idea.”
He turned the monitor so Nathaniel could see. The photos were professional, two shirtless guys with their arms around each other. Both were good-looking, one of them especially so. Nathaniel stared.
“The one with the dark hair and silver eyes,” Marcello prompted, poking at his keyboard to cycle through the images. “What do you think?”
