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

by Rick Bettencourt

  He sighed. “She was the only thing close to a mother I had. My real one spent too much time with Johnny Walker. Oh, and vodka on the weekends.”

  “Worse than Darlene?”

  “Made Darlene look like a saint. Darlene keeps Dina and the kid at bay. Though—” He chuckled. “—at one point she wanted me to marry her, until she cobbled together this idea that I was gay. Which, as you know, has met a hung jury in my mind.”

  We watched the security team mumble to one another. A guard returned her binoculars to a case.

  “You want to know something else?” Vilhelm asked. I didn’t have to answer, and he took a long deep breath. “Darlene Jonas owns a company you probably heard of.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?

  “Rocket Marketing.” He smirked.

  I grew cold. “Rocket Marketing?”

  “I thought you would have heard of the firm.”

  “Heard of them! They’re my biggest compet—”

  A man in a black suit hurried toward us. “Bring the decoy around front,” he said into a walkie-talkie-like device.

  “Roger,” said someone on the other end—a squelch of interference. “We’ll have an identical outback.”

  The man jutted a chin to Vilhelm. “The rats have arrived.”

  “Rats?” I asked Vilhelm.

  He sighed. “The paparazzi.” He threw back the rest of the Scotch.

  “Is Mr. Deiss with him?” the talking box squelched.

  “Roger.”

  Vilhelm fumbled getting out of the chair.

  “You okay, man?” I asked.

  “I’ll be fine. Let’s get out of here.” He looked to the black suit as if waiting for a cue.

  At the windows on Tremont, onlookers gathered and peered in.

  “Word’s out,” the suit said. “Now!”

  People in the room darted as if a bomb exploded. “Let’s move!”

  I bumped into Vilhelm. One of the guards dragged him by the arm.

  “Through here.” A woman leaped out from the kitchen door.

  We rushed through it and met security in the alley. I recalled the paparazzi situation at The Oak Moss that had landed me in the papers. This time felt frighteningly different.

  Out back, a black Mercedes roared, waiting. Head-tucked in, we were whisked away before getting our belts on.

  Vilhelm’s head slammed against the headrest as we sped out onto School Street. Tears welled. “I hate this,” he said.

  I placed a hand on his knee. “We’ll be—”

  “I hate my life.”

  I was at a loss for words.

  “Thank you for being my friend.” He clutched my hand, and a tear slid down his cheek.

  “Vilhelm….”

  “This. All this. People think I have it made. Do you think this is living?” The car sleeked around a corner and he fell against me. “I can’t even meet a friend.” He looked out the window. “I can’t even make friends.”

  The sedan bolted down side streets and through back alleyways I didn’t know existed.

  We spit out onto a street somewhere in Chinatown. Cars honked, and the driver screeched into an alley and stopped short before slamming into a dumpster.

  I braced. Vilhelm slid forward like a done-in potato sack.

  Behind us, a white van parked, barricading us in, and we waited in silence. The engine ticked.

  “Darlene chairs Rocket Marketing,” Vilhelm broke the silence. “They had a huge contract with PetShop and some other companies that cater to dogs.”

  With all the craziness, I’d forgotten about what he’d told me. I’d heard they won the PetShop bid but never put it together. “She runs Rocket?” I faced him. My heart still pounded from the chase.

  “Bought her way into Rocket a couple of years ago.” His words slurred. “It was to be her foray into becoming a real businesswoman—a real, fucking person.” Vilhelm rarely swore, and the cuss rolled off his tongue with the clarity of a sober man.

  “She’s not just a dog owner?”

  “She doesn’t raise pups anymore. She markets them.”

  “So she runs an ad agency.” I adjusted the air-conditioning vent.

  “The power’s gone to her head.”

  I wondered how Conant Marketing fit in with all this “Then why did I get the NEFO contract and not Rocket?”

  Vilhelm’s bloodshot eyes stared at me. “No one at Rocket is good enough…yet.”

  “Yet?”

  The truck behind us drove away, and our driver edged the car out.

  Storefronts with red Chinese lanterns whizzed by, this time much slower.

  “Did we ditch the rats?” I asked.

  The driver caught my eye in the rearview mirror and looked to Vilhelm as if waiting for his approval to speak.

  “Who knows,” Vilhelm said before the chauffer could. “Darlene thought you’d be good for me.”

  “Huh?” I asked.

  “Darlene. She thought she’d break your company, your marriage, and make you dependent on me.”

  “What! Is that what this is all about?”

  “Dill, it was never my idea.”

  My heart returned to racing. “Don’t call me Dill! Only one man does.”

  In an instant, the car launched into rocket speed.

  “Jesus!” My head slammed against the headrest. “What the hell is…?” I reached for my belt and snapped it in.

  A red car matching our speed slinked up besides us. Their window lowered and cameras flashed.

  “Unlock the windows,” Vilhelm asked the driver.

  “But, sir.”

  “You heard me.” Vilhelm reached across and lowered mine.

  The air whipped across my face. Vilhelm’s hair flapped into my mouth.

  “Fuck you!” Vilhelm flipped them the bird.

  Their camera flashed again.

  He leaned out the window.

  “Careful, Vilhelm.” I held him steady. His knee dug into me, like Deet’s when he won’t sit still during a long car ride.

  Vilhelm reached back inside in the car, removed a bottle of San Pellegrino from the cupholder, and whipped it out the window. It hit the door of the paparazzo’s car.

  “Vilhelm, don’t!” I yelled. “Get back in—”

  The Callahan Tunnel approached.

  Another burst of light.

  The Mercedes swerved.

  Tires screeched. Unrestrained, Vilhelm smashed against the window frame. “Jesus!” our driver yelled. And we lurched forward. The brakes caught with an ABS crunch.

  The smell of burned rubber filled the cabin.

  Chapter 63

  Evan

  Inside Pike and Madeline’s house, the couple showed pictures of their baby on a large-screen television.

  “Oh, he’s so cute,” said a lady in a striped blue polo shirt with sunglasses resting in her piled-high hair. Her husband, presumably, stood beside her.

  “Adorable.” He folded his hairy arms across his chest and tapped Sperry loafers on the hardwood floor.

  Pike clicked the laptop’s keyboard and another photo of the baby, in a bathtub, spun into view. Oohs and ahhs filled the room.

  A PowerPoint presentation of their baby. I sighed. “Cute.”

  An auburn-haired woman, seemingly as bored as I, perused notifications on her cell phone.

  Chapter 64

  Dillon

  White light faded in and on out. My eyes stung. I tried to piece together the situation. Am I alive? “Vilhelm?”

  A loud hissing noise and the stench of gasoline and burning rubber crammed my senses.

  “Hello?” I coughed. Smoke filled the cabin. A weight on my legs pinned me down.

  A gust of air came in from my window and a break in the smoke occurred.

  Across from me, Vilhelm was wedged between the seats with his back to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth. A gash oozed from his forehead and dripped into his eyes.

  In the cracked rearview mirror, our chauffeur slumped ov
er the airbag. He didn’t move.

  Outside, a shoe dangled from the mangled red car that had collided with us.

  Again, I tried to move, but the seat belt prevented me from doing so. “Vilhelm? Anybody?”

  “Dillon?” Vilhelm smiled and blood covered his teeth. His voice was weak. A Jersey barrier had caved in his side of the car.

  “Vil! You’re going to be okay.” I stretched my hand out but couldn’t reach him. “I’m sure help is coming.”

  Rustling came from outside and onlookers peered in.

  “I’ll never get out of this.” Vilhelm’s head lolled.

  A light flashed as another paparazzo snapped a photo.

  “Get help!” I yelled to the man. “Don’t take fucking pictures!”

  Sirens bellowed. Another camera flashed.

  “Get the fuck out of here!” I tried to move, but it hurt too much. “Get—”

  The light blinded me. My head throbbed. Dark enveloped me.

  Chapter 65

  Evan

  Pike launched into a second round of baby photos. This time Joey was dressed in bunny ears for Easter. “He was so good. He kept them on the whole time,” Pike said to the crowd.

  Would he even know how to take them off? I checked my phone for a message from Dillon. Nothing.

  “Oh my God,” said the equally bored auburn-haired woman paging through her phone. “There’s been a big-time accident in the Callahan.”

  An eerie numbness crept over me.

  In what appeared like slow motion, Madeline spun my way, her hair catching up in time. “What?” she mouthed. Her eyes caught mine. “Evan,” she mouthed and came near. A mother’s and a gay man’s intuition knew.

  Pike drove me to Mass General. “Everything’ll be fine….”

  The radio squawked nonsense.

  “You’ve got us, Ev,” he said.

  More nonsense fumed from the radio.

  “We’re almost there.” He glanced my way.

  I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

  The radio blared. “Accident….” “Former teen heartthrob….” “Vilhelm Strom was pronounced dead….”

  I blacked out.

  Chapter 66

  Dillon

  The sun descended over Los Angeles, and a somber mood fell over the city. Days of buzz about the death of Vilhelm Strom now hushed LA into silence. Evan and I sauntered out of the cathedral. My crutches aided me down the church steps. Bagpipes played.

  In the week since the accident, my emotions had run the gamut from gratitude for making it out alive and grief for a friend I’d made and now lost. News reels reported me as “Vilhelm Strom’s lover,” but Evan knew the truth.

  My husband squeezed my hand. He dressed in a black suit and yellow tie. We’d all donned something in Vilhelm’s favorite color.

  I sniffled. “I’ll be fine.”

  Photographers greeted the mass exit. Bette Midler, Vanilla Ice, Lady Gaga, Carolyn Sohier, and others flanked us. Vilhelm’s casket followed behind.

  Surprisingly, I hadn’t seen Adam or Darlene at the funeral.

  The next morning, we shared a shuttle ride to the airport with Patty and her now-steady girlfriend, Debbie McCandless. We stayed at the same hotel.

  “I hate these early flights,” Debbie said after buckling into a seat in the van.

  “Me too.” I yawned. “Debbie, this is my husband Evan. I don’t think you’ve met.” They exchanged greetings. In the hubbub of the ceremony, we hadn’t had a chance to socialize.

  “Good mornin’, Patty,” Evan said.

  “I remember you from the Settlement Inn,” Patty said. “I thought I recognized you yesterday at the ceremony. Dillon talks so much about you.”

  Evan smiled at her and tapped my knee.

  “You’re the hyphenated-name man,” she added.

  “What?” I asked.

  “When we met,” Evan said, eyeing me, “at the Settlement Inn, she clocked me as your husband.” He turned back to her. “I’m so sorry about your loss.” I had told Evan how Patty and Vilhelm grew up together and that their families vacationed in southwest England.

  “Thank you. He was a good—” Her voice choked with emotion. “I’m going to miss him.” She removed a tissue from her bag. “I told myself to stop crying. He wouldn’t want it like that.”

  A tear rolled down my cheek. While Vilhelm and I had our differences, he became a good friend in the end, and even though our connection had been short-lived, something told me we’d been brought together for a reason. “I didn’t see Darlene.” I changed the subject. “Was she not able to make it? Adam either.”

  Patty rolled her eyes as the shuttle pulled out of the lot. “Adam’s in LA. Darlene Jonas. That woman.”

  The van stopped at the hotel’s gate.

  “What do you mean?” I sat with my back to the window in order to face her.

  “She was too depressed to make it. I offered to drive her to the airport and even sit with her through the flight, but she’s not one for traveling.”

  “Even for Vilhelm?” I shook my head. “He was like her son. She practically raised him after his mother died.”

  “That’s a whole other story.” Patty waved at hand at us. “Don’t get me started on that.”

  My suspicions got the best of me. Evan’s knee met mine, and we both looked back at her.

  Patty took us in, obviously knowing our interest. “She was banging the boss.”

  The shuttle bus turned onto the main road.

  “What? Who?” I leaned in closer.

  “Vilhelm’s father. They were having an affair. Rumor has it she slipped the mother something during cancer treatments to put her out of her misery.”

  “No!” Evan had never met the old kook, and his open mouth demonstrated his incredulity.

  “I wouldn’t put it past her,” I said.

  “You’d think she would be able to confront her fears for Vilhelm’s sake, show up, and pay respect,” Patty said. “She’s a bit of a recluse.”

  The bus stopped at the freeway entrance.

  “Is that where Vilhelm got it?” I asked.

  “Maybe, but Vilhelm’s reason was because the poor guy couldn’t go out in public without being accosted. There’ll be a lawsuit over his death, let me tell you. Darlene stays holed up because, excuse the phrase, she’s fucked up.”

  Evan chuckled. “I never met her.”

  “You’re not missing much,” I said.

  “It’s sad”—Evan folded his arms—“to think that she won’t leave the house, not even for something as important as this, especially since she raised him. Perhaps she’s agoraphobic.”

  “Angora?” Patty said. “Like in my Armani sweater?”

  Evan laughed. “No. Afraid of leaving the house, fear of public spaces.”

  Now wasn’t the time to rehash my animosity toward the old biddy. “So what time’s our flight leave?”

  “Seven,” Patty said. “You can sleep on the plane.”

  “Not him,” Evan said. “He’s afraid of flying.”

  “I am not.” I folded my arms. “I’ve gotten better.”

  “Who has to hold your hand during takeoff?”

  “I’ve been flying by myself quite a bit lately. Thank you very much.”

  Patty chuckled. “Oh and Dillon, thanks again for all your hard work on NEFO. Business is booming.” She looked to Debbie. “Things couldn’t be better.”

  Evan and I took our seats in first class and left Patty at the gate for her later coach boarding.

  “Tim!” Evan yelled after taking bottled water from the stewardess.

  A man, a little soft in the belly, approached. “Evan!”

  “Carolyn?” Evan’s mouth dropped when Carolyn Sohier walked in next. Evan elbowed me. “She’s on our flight.”

  “I can see that, Ev.” My days of being starstruck had faded long ago. I nodded a polite hello to her. She smiled at me. During Vilhelm’s ceremony, the celebrities were mostly kept in a separate
area like royalty.

  Tim and Carolyn made their way to the row in front of us. She smiled affectionately at those who recognized her. She wore a sleeveless halter in a golden shade that hugged her form and rose to her neckline. Her auburn hair was long and thick with blonde highlights. Jewelry jangled at her wrist.

  “Tim,” Evan said, “I’d like you meet my husband Dillon.” He extended his hand. “Tim Benton.”

  I’d put any bitterness toward Javier on hold. Something about almost dying in a car crash rearranged my priorities.

  “Dillon. Evan,” Tim said. “This is Carolyn.”

  She smiled, still standing in the aisle. “Tim’s told me about you.”

  “He has?” Evan said.

  Her smile grew wider. “He has.” She turned to her assistant. “This is the couple from Conant, you were telling me about.”

  Tim nodded.

  She moved into the row in front of us. “I grew up in Pea-biddy.”

  “You did!” Evan and I said.

  The flight attendant placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “Could I ask you to take your seats?”

  Carolyn stepped in farther. “Oh, I’m sorry. My fault.”

  They settled into their seats and chatted. A little while later, Tim turned to us with his face between the two-seater. “Dillon, would you mind if we swapped seats?”

  “If it’s not a problem.” Carolyn’s face peered over the top of her headrest. “I’d like to chat with you about Vilhelm’s pet project.”

  “Sure!” I unbuckled my belt.

  Tim rose. “Evan and I can catch up.”

  I’d never met a celebrity as humble as Carolyn Sohier. An aura spilled out from her that spoke, in a magical way, of peace, tranquility, and love. While the crew readied the flight for departure, she talked about Vilhelm’s script. She wanted to help it come to light.

  “He wrote the script, you know,” she said. Her beaded bracelet and hoop earrings clinked as she pushed back strands of her thick mane.

  I recalled the copy still in my charred briefcase back at home that we reviewed at the Omni Parker House a little over a week ago. “He showed it to me.”