by Rowe, Brian
Kevin Huvane, eat your fucking heart out.
It was now after dark. The depressing family of six who took the trash every night had come in today, too, and they looked at him with confusion as to why he was in the building. He tried to avoid eye contact.
Tyler had been making calls for more than five hours, and he still had another hour to go, at least. Tyler loved that he had no commitments. He didn’t have a girlfriend to have to spend quality fucking time with or a dog to have to fucking walk. He was finally on his own and able to pay his own way. Tyler Stiletto was a happy man.
But his cheerful demeanor soon turned to one of discontentment. He remembered who was heading over to his office.
He tried to forget about the stupid little ‘meeting’ and focus on his work, but he struggled keeping the client out of his mind. He thought about their first meeting together from nearly two years ago, back when the boy was actually attractive and had the potential to earn him some real deal moolah.
Then you had to go and cut open your fucking chin.
His client had shown some promise in the beginning, but a hiking accident he suffered just days after Tyler signed him had ruined everything. The nasty cut faded after a few weeks, but the injury left an unavoidable mark below his lower lip. Tyler had recommended plastic surgery and a variety of healing creams, but his client didn’t have enough dough for the former or luck with the latter. It looked like the scar was there to stay.
The actor had managed to book some commercials early on, but Tyler discovered that lately he was taking roles in shorts with deferred pay, and—vomit—student films. It saddened Tyler, because he had seen so much potential. The kid had been cute, after all.
But now, unfortunately, it was time for Nathan LeMille to go.
---
“I’m sorry, Nathan. This just isn’t working.”
“What do you mean?”
Tyler turned on his lamp to lighten the room a bit more, sat back pensively, and crossed his left leg over his right. “This is tough for me,” he said. “But I think it’s the right thing to do. I think we should part ways.”
Nathan seemed surprised. “I don’t think I understand.”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m an idiot. I know about the student films.”
“OK. So what?”
“What do you mean ‘so what.’ You know what I mean.”
“I’m just trying to build my reel, Tyler. What does it matter?”
Tyler crossed his arms and sighed. “I’m not an agent working out of fucking Simi Valley, Nathan.”
“I know.”
“My reputation’s on the line and you are not going to make me look like a has-been. You’ve been on my team for twenty months. And in all this time, the most money I’ve seen from you is a motherfucking PETA commercial.”
“That commercial actually did have a lot to say—”
“SHUT UP.”
Nathan looked rocked with grief. “I’m sorry, Tyler. I just think you should give me a little more time. I promise. I will prove you wrong.”
“Time? Time? I’m not your manager!”
“Then help me! I’ve been building up my reel. I’ve been taking acting classes. I swear my career is about to explode.” He paused and crossed his legs like Tyler. “You don’t want someone else to sign me just when I’ve hit my stride, do you?”
“I don’t have time for this.” Tyler slammed a termination agreement down on the table. He started flipping through the pages, not even looking at Nathan. “OK. You need to sign here, here, and initial here.”
He glanced at Nathan, whose eyes were welling up with tears.
“Oh Jesus,” was all Tyler could say.
Nathan got down on his knees and crawled in front of Tyler. He put his hands together and started pleading. “Please, Tyler. I beg of you. Just give me one more shot. I promise I won’t let you down. I can feel it. I know you might not believe it, but I know my big break is right around the corner. If you drop me now, I’ll have nothing.”
Tyler was unmoved. “Do I look like I give a shit?”
“Don’t give up on me!” Nathan wrapped his arms around Tyler’s legs and smashed his left cheek up against Tyler’s right foot. “Please, Tyler. Just give me one more month. Give me one more audition. I won’t let you down.”
“No. This is pathetic.”
Nathan peered up at Tyler with a face more red than the planet Mars. He moved himself closer and put his arms out on top of Tyler’s legs. Tyler wasn’t pushing him away. In fact, he was letting Nathan get awkwardly close.
“Please,” Nathan said. “I’ll do anything. I need you, Tyler. I need you so much.”
“How much do you need me?”
“More than life itself.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“What if I allowed you to stay for six more weeks, and only six more weeks? What would you do for me?”
“Anything.”
“Are you sure?” Tyler asked.
“Yes.”
Tyler turned down the brightness on his lamp. The building was almost pitch black now and had a haunted feel to it. Tyler imagined there were angry ghosts lurking behind every corner. “OK, Nathan, here’s the thing. This has been the busiest week ever for me. And today, well, I’ve been in this office for more than twelve hours.”
“Oh my God. Do you need food? Coffee?”
“No.”
“Then what is it you need?”
“I’ll tell you what I need.” Tyler pulled down on his loud, gold zipper. “I need a fucking release.”
Tyler put his arms behind his head and leaned back. He could tell that Nathan wanted nothing more than to shoot him in the face with the world’s deadliest pistol, but he knew the mediocre actor wouldn’t go anywhere. Tyler wasn’t gay—while he didn’t have a girlfriend, the thought of having sex with another man made him want to gag. But in the dark shadows of his office, more built up with tension than he had been in weeks, he would be able to imagine anyone’s lips wrapped around his penis.
When he felt Nathan’s hand touch his right thigh and the cowardly boy’s mouth start roaming his throbbing cock, he could feel warm tears dropping in the area around his belly button.
-22-
Happy birthday, you fuck.
It was a smoggy Sunday morning in the San Fernando Valley. Vivien pulled onto the 101 freeway and met traffic just as bad as any weekday afternoon. By the time she turned onto Laurel Canyon, she was suffering from an extreme case of road rage.
She pulled into the bike lane and started speeding past a long line of cars. There was loud honking, and she counted four middle fingers by the time she reached the intersection of Laurel Canyon and Mulholland Drive, when she made a sharp turn to the right and pulled into Franklin Canyon Park.
Vivien smiled. A hidden oasis awaited her.
Ever since Vivien had moved to the banality of Los Angeles from the historic, sweeping landscapes of Ellsworth, Maine, she longed to re-visit the calmness and serenity of small town life. While she struggled finding it in L.A., despite stumbling upon some cute spots in Calabasas, she had come across a hiking spot three years ago that sat hidden, nearly undiscovered, between the charms of Studio City and the horrors of West Hollywood.
Vivien didn’t exercise often. Her bike at home wept with isolation, and her gym membership had expired four years ago. But she and Patrick had always shared a love for hiking. During their years together, they hiked up to the Hollywood sign and traveled into the forests of Topanga State Canyon. It was the hike up Franklin Canyon, looking out over the city and the Pacific Ocean, however, that had become Vivien’s favorite of all.
Today, it’s more appropriate than ever.
Vivien made the sixteen turns necessary to find the trail entrance. She parked her car along the edge of the street and got out with a buoyant jump.
She started ascending the mountain and found herself surprised that she wasn’t fainting from exhaustion by the ten-min
ute point, considering her extreme lack of walking in the last few months. She tried to guess how much walking she did in a typical working day. She imagined any more than a hundred steps would be a surprise. She liked to sit whenever possible and only enjoyed standing if food, sex, or yelling was involved.
The first half of the hike was child’s play. She thought she could just go on walking forever. Taking in the fresh air and the scenic landscape filled Vivien with a calming joy. She felt at peace, knowing she was supposed to be here. She turned a corner and started climbing up a steeper hill.
It was this hill that started the dreaded huffing and puffing. The trail narrowed into a winding pathway that was too thin for even the sickliest anorexic. Her legs brushed against some plants on the way up, and she wondered if she was going to be stricken with scrapes, or—gulp—poison oak.
At one point she slipped and thought she was going to fall to her death. She laughed and thought how clumsy that kind of end would have been. Worse, everyone she knew would’ve thought it had been a suicide. She wasn’t going to allow anybody around her to think that Patrick’s behavior would condone the swallowing of even one Tylenol too many. Instead, Patrick’s decision to make rumpy-pumpy with his twelve-year-old secretary had finally given Vivien something she hadn’t had in awhile—choices.
And today, there was a big one to make.
She walked for another forty-five minutes until she was able to see the top of the final hill. She took a moment to breath. Her feet currently felt like the world’s heaviest ski boots.
She looked back up at the top and decided it was time to realize her goal for the morning. She looked at her watch and couldn’t believe it was only 7:45 A.M. There was still so much for her to do today. And the future was starting to look bright.
She took five more steps and stopped. She heard a low shuffle noise from the tiny bushes in front of her.
Then she heard the rattle.
Vivien veered her eyes to her left to see a rattlesnake on the move.
Oh, no, she thought. This thing looks pissed.
She took a step back, trying not to scream. Before she knew it, the snake was slithering toward her so close she was afraid she didn’t have time to escape.
The snake stopped a few feet in front of her and started coiling, the buzzing of the rattle becoming louder by the second.
Vivien took a deep breath and started walking backward at a glacial pace, not taking her eyes off the unfriendly reptile. It seemed to be staring at her, trying to tell her to go away.
She glanced up at the top of the hill.
I made it this far.
She grabbed hold of the heavy frame in her tired hands and crouched down.
It’s kill or be killed.
She surveyed the framed poster and shook her head with embarrassment. The poster featured the bat, the cat, and the penguin.
Batman Returns? What was I thinking?
Today was Patrick’s forty-ninth birthday. It would be his first that she wouldn’t spend with him in nearly twenty years. She had mixed emotions—right now a strong sense of danger was high on her list—but overall she felt something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Vivien felt free.
She charged forward with the speed of a high school sprinter and jumped up in the air before the rattlesnake could make a move.
It all happened so fast.
First, the rattlesnake bowed its head and sprayed two shots of venom out of its salivary gland.
The venom hit the front of the poster.
As Vivien’s feet struck ground again, the bottom of the framed poster struck the head of the snake.
And the rattle stopped.
Vivien took two more giant leaps forward before she turned around to view the scene of the crime.
The rattlesnake was headless.
She lifted the poster to see the severed head dangling from the bottom of the frame. It still seemed to be looking at her. She didn’t know whether to drop the poster and run screaming, or stare with wonder at the severed head for the next hour. It was truly the most revolting and fascinating thing Vivien had ever seen.
She swore the eyes moved. Then, when the mouth shot open, like in a horror movie when the bad guy comes back to life for one final scare, Vivien jumped back and started pounding the bottom of the poster against its head until there was nothing left on the ground but a mound of snake jelly.
She patted herself on the back, briefly, and made her way up the final few steps to the top of the hill.
Five minutes later she was looking out over the city with awe, wonder, and a sense of purpose. She looked at the poster one last time. Michael Keaton seemed to be staring at her with the same vehemence as the rattlesnake.
She grinned as she chucked the framed poster over the cliff and watched it smash against the sharp rocks below.
Vivien took in the magnificent view. She could see everything, from the large buildings of downtown L.A., to the charming beachfront houses in Santa Monica. The Pacific Ocean looked serene in the distance, and she could even see part of the Getty Museum.
She turned and looked back the other way. Scattered clouds in the Valley prevented her from seeing much, but most of the letters of the famous Hollywood Sign appeared before her.
She laughed to herself, thinking how this stupid sign built up so many false hopes and dreams in so many people. She put both her middle fingers up in the air.
The snake killer does not approve!
Vivien stayed up top the hill for another twenty minutes, thinking about everything that had led to this moment.
Patrick’s poster didn’t mean anything to her. This day of the year, once special in Vivien’s heart, felt to her now just like any other day. She still cared for Patrick, of course—she always would. But for the first time in nearly two decades, she felt the capacity in herself to find love with another person.
Or, at least, a good screw.
Vivien thought for a few minutes how she would go about finding the next guy in her life. She didn’t want to troll the bars or walk up to strangers in over-priced Indian restaurants. And online dating, which struck Vivien as too desperate, not to mention super lame, was out of the question.
She wanted to find a guy on her terms, her way. She wanted him to be interesting. She wanted him to be cute. And she wanted him to be young.
He was out there, she knew it. But how would she find him?
If only I could cast him.
Vivien stared forward, and the whole world went silent.
Like the Grinch did before her, she got an idea.
Vivien Slate got a wonderful, nasty, awful idea.
-23-
Brandon was topping his boyfriend with the breakneck speed of a gay porn star on coke when his phone started ringing a few minutes before eight on Monday morning.
“Who’d be calling you this early?” his boyfriend asked.
Brandon pulled out, ripped off the condom, and sat up in bed. His penis was already going flaccid.
Vivien, if that’s you, I swear…
Brandon’s boss had started texting him a lot in the last few months when he was off the clock, but she never dared call him. He put on his boxers and stepped across the room to look at his phone. By now it had stopped ringing, and a voice message awaited him. He was right. It was Vivien.
Brandon’s boyfriend leaned over to his left and rested his head on one of the pillows. Brandon stared at him while he listened to the message.
“Brandon, hey, it’s me,” Vivien said in the voicemail. “Sorry to bother you this early, but I have a big favor to ask. I need you to get to the office as soon as you can, OK? No excuses. We have a new project. This is a project that’s going to change your life.”
She didn’t say anything else after that. He listened to the strange message again.
Change my life?
Brandon tried to imagine the possibilities.
He wondered if the new project would be an international field t
rip that would take them to Paris to hold casting sessions for a French thriller.
He wondered if Vivien had secured a studio movie that would finally pay him the money he deserved. The last two independent films had paid him less than a thousand dollars each, yet the work he put into them made him feel like he was balancing two full-time jobs. Vivien gave Brandon twenty-five percent of everything she earned, and he had been speculating lately what exactly a quarter of zero amounted to.
He wondered if Vivien wanted him to actually act in this one. He hoped not. He got anxiety attacks in front of the camera. Besides, she knew he wanted to direct. He had recently given her his newest screenplay, an adaptation of Moliere’s The Misanthrope, and had been waiting anxiously for her response.
But most likely, he figured, was that this project would be chockfull of young male characters, which meant session after session with twinks aplenty. While Vivien still never directly addressed the fact that Brandon was gay, she had been making awkward comments lately like “do you think he’s hot?” and “I bet you get lots of ass.”
Whatever the early call time for today meant, Brandon still didn’t like it. He was enjoying a rare Monday morning with his boyfriend, after all. Derek was a nineteen-year-old Asian boy whom Brandon met online. They hit it off right away. Brandon loved his boys young, needy, and horny. Derek was looking for a father figure with his own place and a big dick. It all worked out.
Brandon put the phone down, jumped back on the bed, and started spooning his boy toy. He kissed the back of his neck and licked his right ear with his tongue.
“I have to go to work early today,” Brandon said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. My boss didn’t say.”
“It’s so stupid,” Derek said. “She doesn’t even pay you for the hours you work. You need to start looking for another job.”
“Derek, I’m paying my dues.”
“You’re twenty-seven!”
“So?”
Derek turned around and faced Brandon. “I don’t mean to put you down. I just think you’re being taken advantage of.”
Brandon smiled at Derek. He hadn’t felt this kind of infatuation for someone in years. Derek was tall for an Asian, almost six feet. He had the smoothest of skin, with a cute little patch of chest hair above his nipples. He was thin, with an attractive swimmer’s build, and a butt as full as the moon.
