Building Us: A Gay Romantic Comedy and Adventure (Marketing Beef Gay Romance Book 2)

by Rick Bettencourt

  I hadn’t been privy to Dillon’s plans that far out—two days. “I’ll talk to Dill and let you know.”

  The door opened and Pike emerged with a smile.

  “Javier, I’ll call you right back.” I hung up. “Well?”

  “It’s a boy.”

  I hugged him.

  “A premature boy,” he muffled into my neck and dampened it with tears, “but alive.”

  “Madeline?” I petted the curl of hair along his neck.

  “She’s a tough broad, you know that.” He chuckled.

  Madeline lay connected to intravenous lines hanging from bags, one of clear fluid and another of blood.

  “Evan,” she whispered hoarsely. She held out a flimsy hand bandaged with white tape. “How are you?”

  “Me?” I grabbed the bed railing. “How are you?” I kissed her on the cheek and held her hand.

  “Where’s Dillon?” She coughed and held her stomach.

  “Easy,” Pike said behind me.

  “Dillon sends his love,” I lied. “He’s in California.” I’d fill him in during our nightly check-in.

  “California? Again?” Her voice barely registered, and her eyes drooped.

  I kissed her on the forehead. “You should get some rest.” By the time I stood back up, her head lolled to the side in sleep.

  “She’s been through a lot,” said the blonde nurse, whom I hadn’t seen when I entered. “The medicine will keep her calm.”

  Pike swept around me. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll have arrangements made.”

  Chapter 46

  Dillon

  Hollywood isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, and I despised LA with its self-absorbed people. But it paid the bills—and then some.

  I drove a rented BMW down Luxor to meet Vilhelm for a private dinner so I could get the name and contact information for a big production company looking to film a movie in Seattle. My job was to persuade them otherwise. My NEFO contract had transformed me into a salesman tasked with influencing movie-industry muckety-mucks to change their on-location plans to New England. In doing so, I got a nice bonus. So far, I’d convinced Johan Sebastian to film Suddenly Susan 2 in Boston, Mark Cumming to make Why Not Me? in Salem, and Minnie Tonka to shoot an untitled project in Bar Harbor, Maine.

  My Brooks Brothers’ wardrobe was replenished. I’d ordered seven new Oxfords, one for every new spring and summer color, two new suits, another Rolex, and a few pairs of expensive shoes. None of this thrilled me with the buzz of excitement like new purchases used to. High-end fashion was a requirement.

  After Tapped in New England, things between Evan and I soured worse than a kid’s puckered mouth while gobbling fistfuls of those tart gummy candies, which I used to eat by the dozen as a youngling.

  The car’s Bluetooth rang with an incoming call from Evan.

  “Hey,” I said, “how goes it?”

  “Madeline had her baby.”

  “What? She’s not due for weeks. Months!”

  “She fell on the ice. We had a bad storm.” The lack of affect in Evan’s voice made him sound like a teenager who was called on to read during class. He continued with monotone assessment of the situation.

  “What the hell was she out shoveling for?” I cut him off.

  Evan sighed. “I told you. She wanted to get out of the house and help Pike.”

  “Is she all right? The baby? Pike? Are they—”

  “They’re all fine. It’s a boy. The doctor says he’ll be in the hospital for a while, but…he’ll survive.”

  “Survive.” I stopped at a red light, and a blonde in a convertible Camaro pulled up beside me. “Evan, this is terrible. Why didn’t you call me?” The woman smiled at me. The light changed and I sped forward.

  “You didn’t answer.”

  “I didn’t?”

  “Besides, I’m calling you now. It’s our usual time.”

  The Camaro sped past me, tooted, and the woman waved. I offered a curt smile; you never know who’s who. “Evan, when did this happen?”

  “Look, it’s late. I’m stuck in Salem. I should—”

  “Stuck in Salem…what are you talking about?”

  “Well, not stuck. I had to go to Marblehead to check on Mad and Pike’s place for them. It’s a long story. I’ll call you tomorrow.” The phone died.

  “Evan?” I picked up my cell from the cupholder. “God damn it. Why does he…?” I raked a hand through my hair. “You didn’t say you loved me.” I called back and got a busy signal.

  Chapter 47

  Evan

  “I love you, Dillon,” I said into the cell, sitting alone at my old college stomping grounds—Major Magleashe’s Pub near Salem State. I waited for his reply. We usually ended with a quip of love ya, an attempt to mend, but this time I’d poured more emotion into it. “I miss you. I want things to be better between us.” I knew his LA trip was business. I trusted him. Right?

  The waitress dropped off my burger.

  “Dillon?” I held the phone out. “Dill?” Had I shocked him? I checked the phone again. Dropped call. I sighed and redialed but got no answer.

  “Can I get you anything else, hun?” The waitress picked up empty beer mugs from the table across from me. The place was desolate.

  “I’m good.”

  “I haven’t seen you here in a while. How’ve you been?”

  “Great.”

  “That guy you used to come in with, how’s he?”

  My mind wandered back. Had I taken Dillon here? It hit me. “Gary?” My old boyfriend—or sex buddy, rather, from college—and I hung out here all the time. “Oh, him. I haven’t seen him in years.” Not since Evan and I first dated.

  “Well, it’s good to see you.”

  Major’s—as we called the pub in college—served one of the best burgers in Salem. Since Pike had lent me his truck to check on his dog and get myself home, I figured I’d stop for a bite to eat. The Scotch I’d had earlier had been my only sustenance for the day. Hours later and caffeine from the hospital’s café had sobered me up.

  I sipped water and checked my phone—a missed call from Dillon. “Maybe we’re just not meant to….” I redialed. His phone rang several times. I hung up without leaving a message.

  Chapter 48

  Dillon

  A valet nosed the BMW 7 into a spot a few yards from where I’d handed him the keys. No one walks in LA. I trotted up a couple steps into The Oak Moss—one of the finest restaurants in town, which catered to celebrities.

  In the back, I found Vilhelm sipping wine in a private room shaped like a large, cutout wine barrel. The establishment had installed several of these nooks back in the ’70s—from what Vilhelm told me on our last visit—to lure “oenophiles during California’s wine nascence,” as he’d put it.

  “You crushing grapes or something?” I undid the top button of my suit coat—from Saks in Manhattan.

  “Excuse me?” He returned his glass to the table.

  “It looks like you’re in a wine barrel.”

  He looked over his shoulder and extended a hand toward the chair adjacent to his. “We’re having venison filets. I already ordered since you’re late.”

  “I got stuck on a call.”

  “With?”

  I sat. “An agent.” I placed the napkin on my lap. “How about a glass of wine?”

  He poured.

  I sipped.

  “Cheers.” We clinked and he sipped his. “It’s been a while.”

  The wine’s firm taste smacked of black cherry and vanilla, and its tannins pleased my palate. “It has been a bit since we’ve seen each other. What, a week or so?”

  “Eleven days.”

  And counting. I placed my nose in the glass as taught by Vilhelm and inhaled—hints of cedar and plum. “The wine’s wonderful.” I sniffed again.

  “It’s a Bordeaux.”

  “From?” I looked at the bottle.

  He chuckled like h
e does when I make a faux pas. “Ah, that would be France.”

  “I was merely testing you.”

  We progressed into business. Vilhelm bandied about names of a few contacts, and I jotted notes until our glasses emptied.

  When I refilled his glass, he held a white-as-a-sheet hand near it. “Remember, only four to five ounces at a time.”

  “Right.” I gushed a soda can’s worth of the stuff into my own.

  Vilhelm chuckled. “You make me laugh. I love your spunk.”

  Oh geez. “Spunk, huh?” I had overpoured my own to flunk the test of appeal.

  “You’re like a teenage boy.”

  “Boy? I’m in my thirties.”

  “You old man, you.”

  Only a few years spanned between us, but Vilhelm acted more like a Palm Beach retiree than a millennial teen idol turned Emmy Award-winning actor.

  After cups of white-bean soup and bantering over his career, Vilhelm discussed the editing reels from “Tapped,” as he called it. “Our scene came out particularly nice.” He nodded to the waitress, who took his dish.

  “Perhaps I’ll have an acting career after all.” Not that I wanted one.

  “I told you, if you want, I can get—”

  “I don’t want.” I wanted my quiet life back with Evan. Any more stress and I’d burst.

  “Have it your way.”

  “I’m trying to.”

  Vilhelm lifted an eyebrow. “Problems working the New England Film Office gig?”

  I dabbed my mouth with the edge of a linen napkin. “Actually, plenty of success. Things are going quite well.” I updated him on my latest accomplishment, the Minnie Tonka project for Maine, which I hadn’t had the opportunity to tell him about. The money poured in.

  “Wonderful,” he replied after I finished speaking. “Something’s troubling you.”

  “Me?” I scratched my earlobe. A surge of emotion, like Evan’s burned bagels popping out of the toaster, billowed. “I’m fine.” My voice cracked. I longed for peace between Evan and me. “What would give you the suspicion that…” I hitched further. Tears welled. “I have nothing to worry….” My mouth quivered.

  “Dillon?” He rubbed my hand.

  A light flashed like we’d been photographed, but sobbing consumed me too much to check. I covered my face—a hand pressed to my forehead with an elbow digging into the table. “I miss being married.” I inhaled snot. “Acting married…” I had to let it out. “…and pretending everything’s all right when it’s not.” I blew my nose into the linen.

  He rubbed my arm. “Dillon, you don’t have to be anything you don’t want to be.”

  “My dog! I did all this so they wouldn’t take Deet, plus we needed the money. And now look what it’s done to my relationship. I fear Evan’s cheating on me.”

  “Oh good Lord.”

  I cried louder and turned my back to the wine barrel’s entrance. “I think Evan’s fallen out of love with me.” My shoulders trembled.

  Vilhelm rose. “I hope our relationship isn’t interfering. I told you I didn’t want our friendship to interfere with your marriage.”

  “You did?” I looked out through the V formation I’d made with my fingers. I straightened and dabbed the linen to my dripping snout. “Well, yeah, you did, but Darlene….”

  “Darlene? What does she have to do with this?”

  Perhaps he didn’t know she’d set me up to friend him and threaten my relationship with Evan. “She drugged me, and you jumped into bed with me. Don’t you remember?”

  Vilhelm shook his head, moved his chair closer to mine, and sat. “I’m sorry about that, Dillon. I shouldn’t have listened to her. She wanted me to—” When the waitress appeared, he shooed her away. “Darlene tries to pair me up.” He licked his lips, inhaled, and continued, “She…she has problems.”

  “You could’ve fooled me!” I snorted and turned around to see if anyone heard me.

  “She’s bipolar.” He moved in closer, comforting me.

  Another flash shot out from a side window.

  “Schizophrenic?” I ignored the distracting light.

  “No, bipolar.”

  “Got it.”

  “She’s been in and out of mental hospitals for some time. I try to please her, so as not to get her riled up, if you know what I mean.” He reached for his water goblet and held it while resting his arms on his thighs. “She wants me to find a mate.”

  “A mate? As in a friend or as in—”

  “Well—” He sat up and drank some water. “—both, actually. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not very good with people.” He returned the glass to the table. “I have a bit of bipolar in me myself.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Vilhelm held a hand up. “Thank you, but I’m on the mend. She isn’t. Our depression is our bond, if you would. We’ve been together so long, sometimes I wonder if I’ve picked mine up from her.”

  “In a learned fashion?” I reached for my water and drank.

  “I suppose. Anyway, I don’t mix well. I’m a recluse.”

  “Adam told me.”

  His eyebrow rose, as though he was considering a reprimand, then he relaxed his shoulders. “It’s pretty obvious.”

  “Why do you hide?”

  “From paparazzi, I suppose. But I’ve always been that way. Even as a child…. My parents were filthy rich and sheltered me.”

  I nodded and drank more water.

  “I mean they were downright filthy rich. My dad ran an investment firm in the UK and was always worried that people would know they drank too much.” Vilhelm folded his hands across his chest. “They weren’t violent toward me. Mostly dismissive. Darlene was all I had, really.” Our venison arrived. “Not now,” he snapped at the waitress.

  “Shall I…?” She held the plates, dressed with colorful vegetables and smattering of potatoes.

  “I don’t care what you do with them,” he continued, not bothering to relax his arms at his midsection. He turned my way. “Are you okay with waiting to eat?”

  “Sure.” I hadn’t been looking forward to consuming Bambi, anyway. “I’m not very hungry,” I said to the waitress. “You can pack mine.”

  “Same for me,” Vilhelm said, and when she left, he edged closer. “I’ve never really admitted this to anyone. God, even myself.” He bit his lip. “I’m a loner.” He smiled. “I don’t want a relationship. Sure, I lean toward men…I guess. But, remember, that’s between you and me.” His head wobbled in thought. “And Darlene and Adam…and probably a few others on the crew. But….” He sat back. “Where am I going with this?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  He chuckled and tapped me on the knee. “I like you, Dillon. In fact, I probably do have a crush on you that is, most likely, not appropriate. You being married and all. While part of me would love to get under the covers…I’m being honest here. Don’t wig out on me.”

  “I’m not.” I shifted for my wineglass, which had a sip left.

  “While part of me wants to—” He looked over his shoulders. “—perhaps have sex with you,” he whispered the later part, “I don’t think I can.”

  “Phew.” My shoulders relaxed.

  “That awful, huh?”

  “Well, it’s not that you’re awful.” I swigged the swill of wine. “You’re an attractive man. The pressure to…I don’t know…bed you? That pressure’s been a lot.”

  “Bed me? There’s zero intention on my part. In fact, I’ve never told this to anyone either, but I think I’m asexual.” He lifted up the empty wine decanter. “I think we need another bottle.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “I’m paying.” He snapped a finger for service. “I’ll have you and your car returned to the hotel. Waitress!” She rounded the bend. “Another bottle of Bordeaux.”

  “Yes, Mr. Strom.”

  “As for Darlene,” he said, “she wants me to be happy. She knows she’ll never be. Some believe happiness lies in coupling. I don’t.” He scoo
ted closer to the table. “It’s sad, really. The old witch will die a recluse.” He leaned back. “Maybe I will too, but the difference is I don’t want or need anyone.”

  “What about love?”

  “Love?” He smirked, a Tom Cruise-like grin from Interview with the Vampire, minus the oversized incisors. “I may be asexual, but that doesn’t mean I haven’t dabbled. Love, I’ve found, comes from within. Most like to share it with others. For me, it doesn’t work well. I prefer this.” He placed a hand over his heart and then over mine. “This is enough love for me. A bond. Again, I’m not hitting on you. God, I don’t even know how.” He smirked. “It’s an innocent connection between two people, regardless of sex and of having sex.”

  Another light flashed. Vilhelm cocked his head, annoyed.

  The sommelier entered with our wine and showed it to Vilhelm, who nodded an approval. We were quiet while the woman opened the bottle, then placed the cork in front of Vilhelm. Vilhelm picked it up, inspected it, and returned it to the table. I’d learned one didn’t sniff the thing—another faux pas I’d previously made.

  “Would you like me to decant it?” the sommelier asked.

  “Please,” Vilhelm said and watched the Bordeaux glug into a crystal carafe. When she left, Vilhelm swirled it around in the decanter. “We don’t really need to wait.” He caught my eye and poured me some into a fresh glass.

  “Cheers?” I held up mine while he poured his own.

  “Cheers.” We clicked.

  Chapter 49

  Evan

  I’d left Pike’s pickup parked across from the Western Union on Harbor Street. While I’d dined on Major’s finest, a snowplow had swept the street and left a frozen pile of slop for me to climb over to get into the truck.

  Ever since falling in the ice back in Settlement, my fingers tended to freeze faster, and I rubbed my hands together to keep them warm when I got inside.