Super for You, Bad for Me

by Asta Idonea

  “Give over before you make me blush like a schoolgirl. Come on. We still need to check the mask before you head off.”

  KANE WAS back in the country. He’d texted me yesterday evening, after his plane landed, to confirm our date. And now, an hour prior the appointed time, I made my way there. Wanting to avoid the inner-city hustle and bustle, not to mention the paparazzi, he’d suggested a picnic on Richmond Green. He was organizing the victuals; all I had to bring was myself. At first that had sounded an easy proposition. However, I’d agonized for two hours over what to wear, only to end up leaving the house in the first outfit I’d selected: my customary jeans and T-shirt. I had thought better of the tee with an image of Kane’s face from one of his early films, though, settling on a long-sleeved one with only a small sports logo across the left breast instead. My mother had once told me deep plum brought out my eyes. I hoped she was right and that Kane would notice it too. Despite being a pretty average shade of brown, my eyes were large and bright, and I’d always considered them one of my least questionable features.

  The train pulled into the station and I disembarked. Located at the end of the District Line, Richmond was generally a quiet stop at this time of day, so only a handful of other passengers joined me in the walk to the exit. Quitting the building, I blinked at the sudden onslaught of sunlight, shielding my eyes. I wished I’d brought my sunglasses; I hadn’t realized how much the day would brighten. Still, once under the shade of a tree, doubtless it wouldn’t be a problem.

  Since I was early—again—I stopped in at a pub I passed along the way, in search of a little Dutch courage. They had some excellent local brews on tap, so I ordered a pint, found an empty seat, and sipped my drink as I looked out of the window, watching the rest of the world go by.

  Some time later, when I’d reduced my drink to foamy remnants and my watch read five to the hour, I rose and proceeded to the gents to relieve my bladder. It was vital that I did this before meeting Kane because of the rigmarole involved. I’d taken to wearing my costume under my clothing when out and about, to be always ready to step in should the need arise. However, it wasn’t the most practical of outfits when it came to answering nature’s call. To take a piss, I couldn’t simply undo my trousers and pluck out the little fellow. I now had to lock myself in a cubicle, take my arms out of my T-shirt, unzip my costume, roll that down to my waist, undo my trousers, and finally push down both trousers and costume until I was free. I went commando these days, partly to shed a layer at toilet time and partly to avoid VPL. Movie and comic book heroes had it tough. Their stories never addressed this issue, but it was certainly a major one, and worthy of deep reflection and compassion. Pity the suit-clad superhero!

  By the time I’d shrugged and rolled and panted and pulled, I was running late. It was already two minutes past two when I dashed across the road to the park, and I was so terrified that Kane would think I’d stood him up, I lost all the equilibrium gained from my earlier pint.

  Kane waited, picnic basket in one hand and blanket slung over his shoulder. He waved when he saw me hurtling toward him, but despite the warm welcome, I mumbled an abject apology for my terrible tardiness.

  “It’s only two minutes, Oswell. I was going to wait at least five before I left.” He winked, and I relaxed and managed to return his smile.

  Although we’d kept in touch in the meantime, it seemed ages since last I saw Kane, and my nerves and general feelings of inadequacy returned as I trailed after him. We traversed the park, coming to a stop beneath one of the trees that lined the green-grassed rectangle. Kane handed me the basket, and I gripped it with two sweaty palms as he unfurled the blanket.

  Settled side by side a few moments later, the basket half-unpacked at our feet, Kane gave my hand a tentative caress. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Yeah, me too. I mean, you too.”

  He gave one of his most winning, ready-for-my-close-up grins. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let’s eat.”

  Kane had outdone himself with the picnic—the food was amazing—and as we ate, drank, and talked, my anxiety fled, leaving me contented and comfortable in Kane’s company. He told me of the highs and lows of his LA trip. Meanwhile, I regaled him with tales of my new workplace. We chatted about our shared interests and what movies we wanted to see that month. We laughed over on-set memories of the film that had brought us together. And then we lay back, stuffed and sleepy.

  I stared up at the canopy of leaves. They swayed in the breeze, and the sunlight penetrating through the gaps in the foliage occasionally forced me to shut my eyes. Kane’s fingers brushed my own, the slight contact electric, but not jolting. It was peaceful. It was idyllic. It was—

  “It’s you, isn’t it? Kane Teague?”

  I opened one eye and squinted at the round, flushed face peering down at us. There was something familiar about it, but I couldn’t quite place it. With famous actors I had near-perfect recall; however, I sucked when it came to recollecting everyday faces. I’d probably have forgotten my own if I didn’t see it in the mirror each morning and night.

  Kane sat up and offered a kind, if slightly strained, smile. “Yes, I’m Kane Teague. Did you want to get an autograph? A photo?”

  The man shook his head and waved his hands wildly. “Oh no, nothing like that. We’ve worked together. I was in special effects on your last picture. Laurence Bartholomew.”

  “Well, hi, Laurence. Nice to see you again. Thanks for all the hard work you guys do making the rest of us look good onscreen. What are you working on now?”

  “I just turned down a Peter Jackson movie.”

  “Why? Did something better come up?”

  Kane sounded politely interested. I remained incredulous how anyone in FX could turn down a Peter Jackson flick. Who wouldn’t want to spend several months making elf ears and constructing elaborate fantasy landscapes?

  “I heard you were back in town for a while. No point jetting off to some far-flung corner of the world like New Zealand when you’re here. I thought we could hang out together, even go on a date.” Laurence pushed his glasses back up his nose, cast me a pointed look, then returned his attention to Kane.

  Well! I was flabbergasted. You had to admire the guy’s confidence, but had he really just asked Kane on a date, with me sitting right here? What about the scene laid out before him didn’t scream “romantic picnic for two”? Nevertheless, I valiantly resisted the desire to mark my territory with a “Kane’s mine”—type statement. For one, we weren’t in a paranormal romance. Secondly, I still wasn’t entirely sure what Kane was doing with me, what we were to each other, or where things were heading (assuming there was anything more to come), so I didn’t want to be presumptive. As it turned out, Kane was ready with a quick response.

  “I’m flattered, Laurence, truly, but I’m afraid I’m already in a relationship.”

  “With him?” Laurence cast a scathing look my way. “You could do so much better.”

  Despite the provocations, I held my tongue. Kane appeared to have the situation in hand. My interference might only ruin his efforts. Unable to stomach doing nothing in the light of such an insult, however, I settled on a faint glower.

  Kane’s calm expression cracked, but he miraculously maintained his polite tone of voice. “That’s for me to decide, don’t you think? Thank you, Laurence, but the answer is no.”

  After glaring daggers at me for a full three seconds—I counted—Laurence spun on his heel and stormed off, and I released the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

  “Shit!”

  “I’m sorry about that. I’m afraid it… happens.”

  “Often?” I couldn’t imagine having to keep my cool while dealing with that sort of thing on a regular basis. But then, I was hardly likely to encounter the same. I wasn’t in the same league as Kane Teague when it came to looks.

  “From time to time. During principal photography on one film, before I came out, a makeup artist declared her love
for me via a letter she left in my trailer. Luckily, we only had a few days’ shooting left at that point because it made things rather awkward when I refused her advances. I swear, I lived in fear she’d send me out on set with my complexion a strange shade of orange, or sporting a Hitler mustache.” He shrugged. “The price of fame, sadly. You handled it well, though. Keeping out of the conversation was the best thing you could have done to avoid turning it into a major drama.”

  “Thanks.” I, too, was rather impressed with my serenity in the face of such horror. “So did you. I don’t know how you managed to maintain that calm tone.”

  “I do my best not to be harsh. Although, it’s hard when they won’t take no for an answer, and when they openly insult my boyfriend.”

  “Your boyfriend?” I had to have misheard. “You meant it, then, what you said about a relationship? You meant me?”

  A soft rosy hue tinged Kane’s cheeks. “If you want. No pressure. Not everyone wants to deal with the hassle from the press and the overzealous fans. I’ll understand if, after that scene, you’d rather cut and run.”

  “No.” I’d probably said that too fast, but I found I didn’t care. “I don’t mind all that. Not if it means being with you.”

  Kane grinned, then glanced around. “Listen, what do you say we get out of here?”

  “And go where?”

  “Somewhere more private. My place?”

  In that instant, my heart could have won a Moto GP, it was racing so fast. Was Kane suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? Given the unexpectedly hungry look he was flashing me, I was pretty certain he was. Fuck! I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to laugh, cry, or pee my pants. In the end, denied the power of speech, I plumped for nodding my agreement, and together we packed away the picnic things and folded the blanket.

  As we crossed the park, Kane slung his arm around my shoulder. “You know, Oswell, we actually owe Laurence Bartholomew a debt of gratitude.”

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

  “His slime brought us together.”

  Damn. No wonder the guy had looked so familiar. I remembered now that he’d been the one who’d announced the slime issue and prepared the emergency batch: the batch that had somehow imbued me with my powers. Something about that niggled in my mind, but I brushed it aside for later contemplation. After all, right now Kane Teague had his arm around me and was taking me back to his place. There were far more important matters occupying my mental faculties, not to mention my physical ones.

  Chapter Eleven

  KANE’S HOME wasn’t what I’d expected. Though a full-sized house that dwarfed my two-room flat, it sat in the middle of a terrace row in a neat, but far from exclusive, neighborhood in London’s west. From the painted cast-iron gate to the peony-filled hanging basket beside the front door, everything screamed “middle-class family” rather than “star of stage and screen.” I supposed that made sense in a way—it was a disguise. No one walking past would ever suspect that a major celebrity dwelt within. Hell, I’d ambled down this street a couple of times myself in the past and never given any of the residences a second glance.

  Inside, the place was spotless. The cornices were cobweb free. Not a single speck of dust was visible where the sunlight filtered through the stained-glass panel in the door. Even the front doorstep looked freshly swept. Kane guided me to a beautifully appointed lounge with a fluffy beige carpet, and immediately, guilt assailed me. I should have removed my shoes at the door; I was probably traipsing dirt and grass everywhere. A gurgling sound bubbled up my throat, and when Kane turned my way, I pointed to my feet.

  “Oh, if it makes you more comfortable. But don’t stand on ceremony for my sake. Trust me, this isn’t my doing. I have a lovely cleaner, Anna, who comes in three times a week. Once a week when I’m away. I don’t know what I’d do without her.” He cocked his head. “Clean it myself, I suppose. Though it would never look this good. Anna is an absolute angel—easygoing but thorough in her work and the soul of discretion.”

  The last remark gave me visuals of Kane engaged in a variety of kinky sexual encounters. Wasn’t that what people usually meant when they talked of needing discreet employees? Did that make me merely another notch on the bedpost? That idea didn’t tie in at all with the concept I’d formed of Kane, especially in the last few weeks as I’d gotten to know him better. Nevertheless, having thought it, I couldn’t now unthink it.

  Something of the nature of my contemplations must have shown on my face because Kane shook his head and added, “What I mean is, she doesn’t mention my name to her friends or reveal the secrets of my bathroom cabinet to the press.”

  I latched on to this new idea, which served to rid me of the old. “There are secrets in your bathroom cabinet?”

  “Stick around and perhaps you’ll find out. But first, a drink. What’s your poison? I’ve got scotch, brandy, gin, vodka….”

  “Brandy, thanks.” I didn’t really go in much for spirits, but I thought choosing a brandy would make me look more sophisticated.

  While Kane moved into the kitchen to pour our beverages, I took the opportunity for a little light snooping. The furnishings in the room were modern, but antiques peppered the space in the form of small sculptures and wall-hung artwork. I was no expert, but I’d watched enough episodes of the Antiques Roadshow to get the distinct impression that Kane was a man with refined tastes. Yet another chalk-and-cheese matter between us. Rather than dwell on this new example of our potential incompatibility, I continued my visual exploration.

  A framed photo stood beside a carriage clock on the mantelpiece. Upon closer inspection, it proved to be a family grouping, with a background that looked like somewhere in the Lake District. It was Kane, with his parents and younger sister; I recognized them from their occasional media appearances at Kane’s UK premieres. I judged the shot to be a recent one, given the length and styling of Kane’s hair. Everyone in the photo stood smiling and relaxed.

  Kane reappeared with our drinks, and we settled on the sofa. I risked a miniscule sip of brandy, which only served to confirm my dislike. Keen to disguise any sign of disgust at the awful taste in my mouth, I gestured around the room.

  “No awards? No pictures of you with famous costars?”

  Kane sipped from his own glass before answering. “Is that what you expected?”

  He sounded disappointed, and I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. Clearly I’d made a faux pas, but I wasn’t certain how to fix it. “I don’t know. Maybe?”

  “This is my private space, Oswell. It’s the one place where I can be myself, uninhibited. I know who I am to the world out there and what I’ve accomplished. I don’t need a constant reminder, and neither do my friends and family when they come to visit. They come to see me, not The Amazing Kane Teague.”

  “But you are The Amazing Kane Teague. I mean, at the end of the day, you’re one and the same person.”

  “I know. Confusing, isn’t it? If you ever work out a way to reconcile my two personas, I’d love for you to share the secret. I’d pay millions for such information.”

  Kane laughed, the awkward moment passed, and I forced another small sip of my drink before setting the glass on the coffee table—upon a coaster, naturally.

  “Sorry. Am I the only boyfriend klutz enough to make a point of it?”

  “Actually, you’re the only boyfriend I’ve ever brought here.”

  It took me a second to process that. I figured I ought to play it cool and casual. I could nod, accept the statement, and move on. There was no need to make a big deal out of it or—

  “Why me?” Yet again, my mouth ran ahead of my brain.

  Kane studied me with an intensity that nearly made me flinch. “To be honest, I can’t say. There’s just something about you, Oswell Outterridge. I feel as if I can trust you, with this secret and others, with my true self. I hope I’m not wrong in that belief.”

  “You’re not. You can trust me. Always.”

  In that moment, I was so i
n love with Kane, I’d have made any pledge he asked of me. At the same time, a little voice in the back of my head whispered that I was already being deceitful. After all, I’d never told him the consequences of that scene with the slime. I was pretending to be this average guy—which, apparently, was exactly what he wanted—when I was, as of a few weeks ago, anything but normal.

  “Thank you, Oswell. It means a lot to me. I hate deceit more than anything.” He smiled ruefully. “I recognize the contradiction there, coming from an actor, and since I’m asking you to conceal your knowledge of my address. But if in all other things you’re honest with me, that’s all that matters. Trying to date in this industry is tough. Everyone has ulterior motives. Everyone wants something from me. With all my past relationships, I’ve soon sensed that my partners were with me for my name and celebrity status, rather than because they liked me as a person. By the second date, they were asking me to help them in their careers or lend them money. However, from the moment we met, I was certain you were someone who could see past the outer layer to the real me underneath. And in all these weeks, the only thing you’ve wanted from me is my company and conversation. You have no idea how wonderful that feels.”

  Already smarting under the burden of secrets undisclosed, I found I couldn’t lie about my desires too. “It’s not true that I want nothing from you.”

  Kane pressed a finger against my lips. “As much as I appreciate the confession, there’s no need. I know what you’re going to say, and it’s all right. I want it too.”

  He leaned across the space between us and kissed me. Cupping my cheek, he shuffled closer, and I returned the embrace. Soon we were thigh to thigh. But it wasn’t sufficient. With a frustrated murmur, Kane encouraged me to straddle him. So I sat in his lap, my knees pressing into the sofa, tight against his hips, my fingers sunk into his hair, and the hard line of his cock occasionally brushing mine as we moved.

  When Kane eased his tongue into my mouth, I could taste the brandy he’d consumed. This time it didn’t worry me. Brandy taste. Kane taste. Whatever it was, I couldn’t get enough. I sucked his tongue deeper, lathing it. How I wished the kiss never had to end, but eventually I became light-headed and had to break away to draw breath before I passed out.