by Andrew Grey
“Margaret has good instincts most of the time,” Arty agreed with a relieved sigh, grateful that he wouldn’t open a random magazine and see his boyfriend’s nakedness splashed over the pages.
“True. But I made the decision myself, and I can continue to make them for myself going forward.”
Arty leaned back. “Of course you can. You already made the hardest decision—you left home in search of your own life.” Arty smiled. “Did I tell you that your dad showed up in Florida after all? Yeah, I’m sure I did.”
“And you didn’t tell him where I was. I called my dad, and he was furious, stewing in a hotel room near the airport, waiting for the flight home. God, he was so angry with me. He blamed me for the fact that he came to Florida and I wasn’t there, even though I had told him not to come. Apparently he thought that I’d said I was going to New York just to put him off.” Jamie shook his head slowly.
“I wish I could have been there for you,” Arty said.
“Well, I had to be there for myself, and I told my father that I wasn’t coming back to the farm. I told him about my play here and that I was going to be in a magazine ad for cologne and one other, maybe. It seems the cologne people really like me and are negotiating with Margaret for me to be exclusive with them.” He shrugged. “I’m not holding my breath on that one.” It seemed Jamie was too excited to stay on his train of thought. Not that Arty minded. He didn’t particularly want to talk about the drama with Jamie’s father right now anyway.
Arty groaned. “I’m gone for a few weeks, and you become a cynic. What the heck have I done?” He fanned himself with his hand, and Jamie pushed him back on the cushion, his weight pressing wonderfully down on top of him.
“I sort of figured things out. If they want me to be exclusive with them for a period of time, then they have to pay me to compensate for the other work I might get. It’s that simple. Just like on the farm, when you choose to plant corn and then the price of sorghum goes through the roof. It’s all about weighing one thing against the other, because you can’t do both.”
Arty grinned. “Damn… just damn.”
“What?”
“Here I thought you were a country kid, and I was afraid the city might chew you up and spit you out. But damn it all if you aren’t playing the game better than I did.”
“It isn’t a game. It’s making your choices and sticking with them. I had to do that on the farm. I had Dad to help me there, and here I have Margaret and Ryan. And now you.” He laid his head on Arty’s shoulder with a soft sigh. Arty wound his arms around him, and Jamie relaxed into him.
“I hope we have each other, because I’m going to need you just as much as you’re going to need me. I somehow have to kick-start my own career, and I don’t quite know how I’m going to do that.” Still, he would figure it out.
Jamie lifted his head, meeting his gaze. “Are you going to be jealous if things take off for me and not for you?” Sometimes Jamie knew exactly how to get to the heart of things. “You know stuff is happening for me, and I could just not tell you about it. But I should be able to share good news when it happens, and I don’t want to feel bad about it.”
That was the heart of what Arty had been fearing, and Jamie had just brought it out into the open. “You should never feel bad about anything good or exciting that happens for you.” He held his breath. “I can’t say I won’t be jealous sometimes, but I’ll also be happy for you even if the green-eyed monster kicks in.” Sometimes things weren’t fair, and that was how it was. Arty was going to need to fully understand that. “As long as you aren’t jealous when I land a big movie role.”
Jamie shivered. “I don’t know if I want to do that kind of work. I really love the stage, and it feels so amazing to be working in that theater. There’s an energy there that I think I want to have in my life forever. Maybe Broadway is in my future and maybe it isn’t, but I do love doing live performances. They feed my soul.”
Arty tugged Jamie down into a kiss. He had an amazing soul, and Arty was lucky to have him in his life. “Just never sell it.”
“Sell what?” Jamie asked.
“Your soul. People do that all the time in this business, and I don’t want you to ever do anything that makes you uncomfortable or unhappy. You and I can work as waiters and eat mac and cheese every day for a year, and I’ll be happy as long as we can look ourselves in the mirror.”
“I can’t sell my soul any more than I could sell my heart, because they don’t belong to me anymore.” Jamie kissed him once again, and Arty felt his own heart warm and his pulse race.
“Are you two still up?” Ryan asked as he padded out of his room and over to the kitchen. “For goodness sake, go to your room, and please keep the screaming to a minimum. Some of us haven’t had a date in weeks and have to get up in the morning to go to work.” He opened the small refrigerator and pulled out some juice.
Jamie stood, blushing. “We’re going to bed now.” He took Arty’s hand, tugging him toward the bedroom. “Night, Ryan.” He closed the door and pushed Arty down onto the bed. “I think it’s time that you and I get reacquainted, and I don’t mean by talking the entire night.” He crawled toward him on the bed. “Sometimes talk is cheap, and tonight I have much better ideas about things we can do.” He took possession of Arty’s lips, energy radiating off him like a heater, surrounding Arty in a bubble.
“When did you get so bossy?”
Jamie’s eyes darkened as he reached for the light next to the bed. “I’ve been waiting for you to come for weeks. What do you think I did here night after night? I stared up at that ceiling, imagining what I was going to do to you once I had you again.”
Arty shivered as Jamie tugged off his U of Florida T-shirt, tossing it over his shoulder. He clearly wasn’t wasting any time—something Arty was more than grateful for. His hands shook as he reached for Jamie, trying to get at his skin as Jamie bared Arty’s.
Between the two of them, it didn’t take long until they were naked, heat to heat, Jamie pressing Arty against the mattress. It may have been cold outside, but the small room was warm and growing hotter by the second. “I’m not going to be slow,” Jamie warned, and Arty understood. There was plenty of time for slow and tender later. Right now, the attraction and need were too great. Jamie grabbed a condom out of the single bedside stand and rolled it onto himself before getting into position. “Tell me if this is too fast….” He gave Arty about three seconds before pressing into him.
The burn was exquisite and nearly overwhelming as they joined together once again. This was the intimacy and intensity Arty craved. Arty gasped, his muscles tensing.
“Did I—?”
“Don’t you dare stop,” Arty told him before Jamie could finish whatever he was saying.
“I won’t for as long as you’ll have me.” Arty arched his back as Jamie proceeded to send him on a trip to heaven that he hoped lasted for hours. It sure as hell felt like it. Time finally seemed to stand still. After weeks of wanting, hoping, and even his own idiocy, he was here with Jamie.
“Is it too much?” Jamie asked.
Arty cupped his cheeks in his hands, drawing him down into a sloppily deep kiss. “It will never be too much. You are all I could ever want.” He groaned as Jamie continued moving, rolling his hips, driving deep until Arty could hardly breathe and then pulling back to give him a respite, only to drive him forward once again.
“You know we’re going to wake Ryan.”
“Then he’s going to have to get himself a set of earplugs,” Jamie countered, moving faster. Arty’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and he reached for himself, but Jamie batted his hand away, stroking him in time, keeping Arty on the edge until he quivered from the depths of his toes. This was intense control, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold off much longer. The heat from inside intensified and bubbled toward the surface.
Arty held his breath as pressure built more and more until he could hold it no longer and tumbled into release, with Jamie fol
lowing right behind him. Arty held Jamie close, gently stroking up and down his back, content and damned happy. “I love you, Jamie,” Arty whispered. Yes, he still had the postsex floaties, but that had nothing to do with it.
“How can you?” Jamie asked, and Arty paused, slowly angling his head until he could see Jamie’s eyes. “I mean….” He smiled. “I love you too, and I missed you like I’d miss a limb. But are we jumping into this too soon?”
“Says the man who’s been sleeping in my bed for the last month.”
“Alone,” Jamie retorted.
“Yeah, and I missed you every second of the time I stayed away. I know what it’s like to be in love, because it felt like some part of me was missing and now, right now, it feels right once again.” Arty cleared his throat. “The longer I was in Florida after you left, the more I kept thinking how easy it would be to stay there.” He wanted to say this right. “I haven’t had any good parts in months, and I figured that maybe my career was over… is over. I don’t know. Maybe what I’ve gotten is all I’m going to get and staying there was the best I could do.” He had to be honest.
“Why didn’t you stay? Because your dad fired you?” Jamie slowly sat up, his eyes filling with doubt and hurt that Arty knew he’d put there by not being clearer.
“No. As soon as he fired me, he freed me. I didn’t have to worry about him anymore because my dad, the fisherman, was back. I think that maybe this was one of those ‘life coming full circle’ sorts of things. In order to appreciate my father, I had to spend some time in his shoes. And he had to stay out of them, in order to appreciate what he had and what he wanted. God, I don’t know. I don’t write plays or shows—I act in them… when I can get the work.” Arty shook his head as his heart sped up. He’d been rambling, and he needed to get to the point. “I came back… hell, I couldn’t get on a plane fast enough, because of you. I don’t know if my career is going to stay in the toilet forever. I have no idea if I’ll ever work again, but I pictured myself in five years, and I don’t know what my job was or much of anything else. But I was happy and I was standing right next to you. That much I knew.” He held Jamie’s gaze. It was frightening to say those words, but he was more afraid that if he didn’t, he’d regret Jamie not knowing exactly what was in his heart.
Jamie swallowed and nodded. “Damn, you sure know how to sweep a guy off his feet.” Jamie pounced, kissing Arty as he pressed him against the mattress again. “God, I missed you. Don’t worry so much. Nobody knows what the future is going to bring. We never really have a clue.”
“True.” Arty closed his eyes, holding on to Jamie tightly. It was time to face whatever the future held. But at least he wasn’t going to have to do it alone.
Chapter 14
JAMIE PACED the living room of the apartment, staring at his borrowed phone. He needed to get a new one, but he hadn’t had time. Still, he wasn’t sure what to do.
The key sounded in the lock, and Arty strode into the apartment, closing the door after him. “How did the audition go?” Jamie asked.
“Really well. I think I have a chance at this job.” Arty put his bag down on the futon and hurried over, wrapping his arms around Jamie’s waist. “I got a call from Margaret, and it seems that you and I have a job next week.” He grinned, and Jamie hugged him in return. “Andre apparently liked my look as well, and when Margaret told him that you and I were together, she said he was thrilled.”
“See? Sometimes things do go right.” Jamie grinned. He had indeed called Margaret, and things looked like they were going to work out. The shoot was for another fragrance print ad.
Jamie had asked if this was a good idea with the other company still in negotiation for exclusive representation. “Honey, you can’t turn down work because they can’t seem to make up their minds,” she had said. Margaret had something up her sleeve, and Jamie had booked the job.
“That’s excellent. Maybe my dry spell is over.” He flashed a smile, but Jamie saw the strain in Arty’s eyes. He had been to so many auditions and calls in the last few days. Jamie wondered how there could be that many in the entire city, but apparently there were. When Arty wasn’t sleeping or working, he was coming or going from an audition.
“What does Margaret say?” Jamie asked.
“That it’s just a matter of time before everything lines up and things come together. It’s what she always says, but I’m holding on to that anyway because it makes me feel better than the voice in my head that tells me I’m a worthless hack who just got lucky before.” Arty smiled, but Jamie knew it was forced.
“You know that isn’t true, so let that crap go.” He hugged Arty. “I could talk to some of the people I’m working with to see—”
Arty’s eyes became hard as granite. “I’ll find my own jobs. I’m really grateful for the one we have together, but you don’t need to be the one to find me jobs. Your career is your own, and I’m happy for your success. If my fortunes turn, then that’s wonderful, but I need to know any success I get will be because of me. Not because you did something, okay? You’re a rising star; I know that. Don’t worry about me. I’ll make it on my own, or I won’t. I don’t want to be an anchor around your neck. It’s your time to shine, so make it happen.” He sighed. “What were you pacing about when I came in?” Arty asked as he stepped away, took off his coat, and hung it up in his closet.
Jamie held up the phone. “I need to call my dad and I don’t want to. But I have to explain things to him one more time. I can’t leave them the way they are.”
“I see.” Arty patted the seat next to him. “If you feel you have to do this, then make the call and get it over with.”
“That’s just it. I don’t know what to say to him. I’ve been running through things in my head, but nothing sounds right.”
Arty chuckled. “That’s because this isn’t a play and you don’t have a script to work from. Just tell him the truth and let it come from your heart.” He pulled out his phone and handed it to him. “Does your dad have FaceTime?”
“Yeah…,” Jamie answered.
“Then call him that way. Let him see your face, and you can see his. I know it isn’t the same as being in the same room, but it could help.” He slipped an arm around Jamie’s waist, and Jamie took the phone. Maybe Arty was right… well, right and wrong at the same time. This wasn’t a play and there wasn’t a script, but Jamie had to play to his audience. That was something he’d learned the first time he was onstage. With live theater, every performance was different because the audience was different. They laughed at different times, and the energy was different, so you gave a different performance. He needed to try something else, give a different kind of performance with his dad—take a different tack if he wanted to get different results.
He dialed the number he knew by heart and waited as it rang. Jamie expected his father to decline the call, but instead, he was surprised when his dad answered.
“Jamie,” his dad said, rather happily.
“Yeah, Dad.” He tilted the phone so Arty was in the frame. “Arty’s here with me.” He turned the phone again, so it was just him on the screen. “You and I didn’t exactly leave things very well the last time we talked. In fact, you and I haven’t talked in a long time. We either yell at each other or tune the other out.” His breathing shuddered, but he held it together.
“I take it you’re in an apartment in New York,” his father said.
“Yes. I’m living with Arty and Ryan. The three of us share the place. It’s small, but it’s nice.” He slowly turned the phone so his dad could see it. “The entire place would probably fit in our living room and kitchen, but it’s ours, and we live differently here.”
“I see,” his dad said.
“Mr. Wilson,” Arty said from next to him, and Jamie shifted the phone. “I know you want the best for Jamie.”
“Yes. I always have. I’m his father.” It sounded more like a royal pronouncement than a tender expression of love, but Jamie hadn’t expected anything d
ifferent.
“Dad, I didn’t call to fight with you. I really didn’t. You’re my dad, and nothing is going to change that. Not the fact that I live in New York or that I don’t want to farm. I’m still your son, the one you held in those pictures that hang on the wall as you go up the stairs. And I’m still the kid that you got a pony for when I was five years old. I remember you walking me around the farmyard for an hour after I got her. She was the best gift ever.”
“That was your mother’s idea,” his dad grumbled.
“Maybe. But you were the one who walked me around the yard on her back. That wasn’t Mom. You did, every night after you came in from your chores.” Jamie could feel a lump forming in his throat. “We’ve been fighting and at odds with each other for so long, I was beginning to think there was no way you and I could communicate any other way.” His hand shook, and Jamie transferred the phone to the other hand to steady the video.
“I suppose so.” His dad’s voice held none of its usual fight.
“Dad, I don’t want to spend the rest of my life on the farm. I really don’t. I love being onstage. And I think I’m good. I told you I was in a play here in New York, and the director really likes my work. The play is called Fathers and Sons, and it’s about two dads and two sons and neither set can talk to each other. But the sons can talk to their friend’s father about just about anything. It seems weird until you realize that the fathers and sons have all these expectations about each other that the others don’t. I play one of the sons, and it’s a huge role.”
“And you think you and I are like that?” his dad asked really skeptically.
“In a way. You have a bunch of expectations about what I should be and how I should act, and I don’t meet them. I want to be someone different from what you want me to be.” Jamie paused because he needed a second to get his thoughts together. “Let me ask you this. Do you want me to be happy?” It was a loaded question, and Jamie knew it.
