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

by Rick Bettencourt

  “You want to know if I’m attracted to your husband?”

  “No.” My eyes darted up to him from my colorfully striped socks. “I mean, if you are….”

  Javier chuckled. “Your husband is a very handsome man. As are you. You’re lucky to have each other. But I’m happy with Tim.” His smile brightened.

  I reverted to the Riedel stemware. “Back to Adam, he told me you hit on his boyfriend.”

  “Ha!” Javier laughed. “I hit on him? They wanted me to have a threesome. Possibly a foursome if I could convince Tim.”

  “Adam told me they were monogamous.”

  “Adam says what he wants people to think. He’s about as monogamous as Tyler Banks.”

  “Tyler…?”

  “The actor who played Hamilton in Tell It to Me Gently.”

  “Oh, him.” I recalled the star’s face plastered in an article next to photos of Vilhelm and me in one of the rag’s write-ups.

  “I refused, by the way, Adam’s offer to engage in a threesome…or anything else. Ever since, he’s had a thing to ruin me. I swear. That whole lumberjack-attire thing was his making. He liked when I dressed up like that. He said it was for the film…to create a sense of authenticity about the production. That was bullshit. It turned him on. His hubby back home was too busy filling illegal opioid prescriptions.”

  “Adam’s jealous. Of you and Tim. Of me and Evan.” Since the production ended, Adam seemed to vanish, not that I minded, but his lying still troubled me.

  Javier shrugged. “Adam’s a good-looking guy, but the type that knows it too. Truly, I think he had a thing for Vilhelm, maybe a money thing, and was devastated by his death.”

  “So devastated he couldn’t even show up to the funeral?”

  “And face the truth?”

  “The truth? What do you mean?”

  “The pain pills Vilhelm had been on just before he died. Where do you think they came from?”

  “Adam?”

  “And his husband.”

  I thought back to the night in Boston before the wreck. Not only had Vilhelm been drinking heavily, he had been popping pills. I wondered if he’d been in a better state of mind, if he would have reacted toward the paparazzi that way—throwing bottles at them out the window—and not wearing his seat belt. “I wonder if things would’ve turned out different.”

  “I think he wonders too,” Javier said.

  “Enough of him.” I shook my head, my suspicions about Adam’s integrity verified. “You and Tim seem to have it all. Romance, happiness, a child, fun careers.”

  “We’ve made our happily ever after. Sure, life’s not a fairy tale. Any relationship has challenges. That’s what makes them…well, perfect.”

  I knew what he meant. I felt it with Evan; paradoxically, we were perfect in our imperfection.

  Javier retrieved his wine. “Cheers.” He held it up. I leaned closer, and we clicked glasses.

  After dinner—a fabulous pot roast with fingerling potatoes and more wine—I wandered back to the Summerwind Inn. It was a peaceful, mile-long stroll replete with the resonances of water lapping the shore, owls hooting, and crickets chirping. A crescent moon glimmered on the ocean.

  At the inn, after I settled in bed, I rang Evan from the room’s cordless. Cell reception proved spotty.

  “I’ve been trying you all day,” he answered, apparently recognizing the 207 area code. “Where have you been?”

  “I told you. We worked late with Minnie Tonka today. Carolyn had me stay for dinner. I just got back.” I looked at the alarm clock. It read eight p.m. “How was your—”

  “Dillon, have you ever done heroin?”

  I scooted up against the headboard. “What? Don’t tell me Mikey’s gotten into that shit. Did you see him?” Cricket sounds infiltrated the room through my open window. “Evan?”

  “I’m here. You didn’t answer my question.”

  My mind rewound. “Have I ever done heroin? Of course not. Why do you ask such a thing?”

  Evan sighed. “I’m so confused. I met Darlene Jonas today.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “She hasn’t been taking her medication, according to Mikey, so she’s complete loony tunes. I don’t know what to believe, but she said that…are you sitting down?”

  “I’m in bed.” I pulled the comforter up. I wore only underwear. The open window offered a cool ocean breeze. “What did she say?”

  “Well, while you were making the movie, you, um, leaked a little in your union suit and left behind some sweat.”

  “Leaked what? For God’s sake, I’m human. I didn’t do any—”

  “I understand. But your semen and sweat was analyzed.”

  “Analyzed? Why?”

  “The saliva Adam got from you at the Hawthorne Hotel wasn’t conclusive.”

  “Evan”—I threw the comforter off and got out of bed—“what the hell are you getting at? Spit it out.”

  “You’re Mikey’s father.”

  The crickets quieted. I moved to the window and sat in the chair closer to the breeze. “Are you insane?”

  “According to Ms. Jonas, you and Dina—”

  I shot up. “Dina? Mikey’s mother? What?”

  “Darlene said you got her hooked on heroin back in Renton.”

  “In Renton? How does Renton, Washington, factor in?”

  “That’s where she’s from. Renton. Just outside of Seattle.”

  I paced. “Evan, I know where Renton is. I was born and raised there.”

  “So you didn’t get Dina Westmore hooked on heroin?”

  “I never even met Dina Westmore until that day at McDonald’s when we first met Mikey. Who the hell is spreading these lies?”

  “You’ve never done heroin?”

  I hooked a hand on the neck. My head hurt. “You know I’ve never…I do pro bono for the rehab clinic in Beverly, for goodness’s sake. I feel bad for opioid addicts. Of course I’ve never done heroin! Evan, you believe that old biddy?” The crickets returned.

  “No, of course not.” Evan cleared his throat. “So when are you coming home?”

  “My flight leaves early tomorrow morning. The studio’s hired an aviation-concierge to jet me into Beverly. I should arrive around nine. Can you pick me up?”

  “No limo?”

  “I don’t want a limo. I want you. You and Deet.”

  “Consider it done. Oh, wait a minute.”

  “Yeah.” I waltzed back to the bed.

  “I sold VeriPay today. We made a lot of money.”

  “You sold it? I thought you were going long.”

  “I changed my mind. I called about that house in Salem, but it’s already sold.”

  “Evan.” My heart warmed. I nestled back under the covers. “You called about the house on Old Farm Road?”

  “I did.”

  “I thought you liked living in the cottage?” I couldn’t help but smile.

  “I do, but I got to thinking you’re right. Perhaps it’s time to change. Move up in the world. We can afford it…now. The government will take their sumptuous share from capital gains, but we’ll have a decent nest egg left, but unfortunately not for that house.”

  “I don’t care.” I rested my arm on my forehead. “That you’re willing to compromise counts.”

  “A gorgeous, historical home in Salem isn’t quite a compromise, but I get your point. I love you, Dillon.”

  My cheeks hurt from grinning so much. “I love you too, babe.”

  “What are you doing?”

  I snickered. I knew where this was leading. “I’m getting an erection is what I’m doing.” I snapped the band to my underwear. “My leaky faucet’s kicking in.”

  “Maybe we should do something about that.”

  I shut the light off. “What do you have in mind?”

  Chapter 69

  Evan

  Beverly Regional Airport sprawled along a flat stretch of land beneath a hill of office buildings no more than four or five stories tall. Far
ming pasture once occupied the land. I stopped at an ice cream shop nearby and enjoyed a treat before picking up Dillon.

  He arrived in a Leer jet normally commandeered by celebrities and executives, such as Carolyn Sohier and members from the New England Film Office. I was grateful not to make the trip into town to pick him up at Logan.

  The door to the plane’s cabin opened. The jet engines spurted and stopped. Dillon stepped out like a president returning from an international summit. His leather satchel—the one I’d given him for his birthday months back—swung from his shoulder. He wore jeans and a buff-colored suit coat. His shoes matched his bag. Deet whined in the back of the car when he saw him.

  “He’s coming. He’s coming to see you.” I scratched his jaw. His tail whipped in time with The Pretenders song playing on the stereo.

  Dillon walked across the asphalt walkway, tugging a carry-on behind. The pilots disembarked as he approached the fence.

  As I got out of the car, Deet cried louder. His nose slobbered the window. I opened the hatch. “Stay!” I held my hand out. “We got to put Daddy’s suitcase in the back.”

  Dillon’s steps neared. “Hello, family!”

  I eyed him through the SUV’s window. “Hi, handsome.” I’m sure he couldn’t hear me over Deet’s barking.

  “Detritus!” he said when he got closer. He opened the rear door, and Deet bounded out.

  “Don’t let him run.” I moved to the opposite side.

  “He ain’t going nowhere.” Dillon petted him. The dog jumped, yipped, and rubbed against his legs. “Did you miss me, buddy?”

  “Me? Or the dog?” I took Dillon’s luggage.

  “Both.” He kissed me on the cheek and handed me his briefcase. “Thanks for picking me up, sweetie.”

  “Beats Logan.”

  “The flight did too. I felt like a celebrity aboard my own private plane.”

  We drove the short trip back to Conant with Dillon informing me about the Vilhelm Strom project, Carolyn Sohier’s enthusiasm for it, and her zeal for life in general. “She’s so dynamic.”

  “Now I wish I’d gone with you. I watched Witches of Salem while you were away. It’s such a camp movie, but she was really good in it. It made her a star.”

  At home, I made him a turkey sandwich, a fruit cup, and poured him fresh iced tea I’d made earlier. He ate voraciously.

  “Don’t they feed you on these private flights?” I leaned against the island.

  “I had a yogurt and some nuts,” he said through the food.

  “Ah.” I knew my husband’s appetite. He preferred to eat six small meals a day, but when traveling, he got thrown off. “Back to the exercise and diet routines?”

  “Uh-huh. I’m looking forward to your home-cooked meals.”

  “My limp whole-wheat pasta?”

  “You can skip the limp part.”

  “I’m working on it.” I winked.

  “Well, the home cooking may have to wait a bit.”

  “How’s that? I planned on making chicken piccata tonight.”

  “We’re going to Seattle in the morning,” Dillon said.

  “We?” I set down the pitcher.

  Dillon’s phone rattled on the counter. He bolted up. “Who the hell’s bugging me now?” He shoved the last of his sandwich in his mouth and licked his finger. “Mikey? What’s he calling me for?”

  I rolled my eyes. “He probably wants to talk to his father.”

  Dillon sighed. “I’m not his….” He answered. “Hey, Mikey. What’s shaking?” He turned his back. “Yeah, about that…amazing, huh?”

  I set Dillon’s dish in the sink and handed him the rest of his iced tea. He took it and returned to his conversation while diverting mention of his alleged paternity.

  We touched down at Sea-Tac around dinnertime. We ate protein bars en route to the address Mikey’d given us. Dina’s house nestled in the bottom of Kent Valley, an area east of the airport. Cars were parked on the front lawn. A chain-link fence was jammed open. Music piped from the garage where we found one of her roommates, as he described himself, tooling around with a pickup in the driveway.

  When we approached the porch, Dina unlocked the screen door and opened it wide. She looked trimmer than before. Her strawberry hair was pulled back in a tight ponytail that accentuated her stunned face. “What…what are you doing here?”

  “Mikey gave us your address.” I held the door open as she stepped back.

  “Come in. Come in.” She walked across warped hardwood floors marked by stains. A television set blared the local news, and she muted it. Hints of a kitchen were off to my right through piles of clothing and mattresses. “It’s not much,” she said as we eyed the place, “but I’m trying.”

  Empathy came over me. “It’s fine.” I swallowed. The stench wasn’t as putrid as her place in New Hampshire. Cinnamon scented the house with a spice of change.

  “You look better,” Dillon said. “Are you using?”

  She smiled. “I’m not. I’ve been clean for eight days. I was in rehab in Puyallup. I just got out. That’s why I came here.”

  “For Puyallup’s rehab?” Dillon said. He wore jeans, Nikes, and a Seattle pullover we’d bought at the airport. We hadn’t expected the weather to be so cool. “I didn’t know the town had such a good reputation.”

  “Well, it’s the only place I knew. I had to get away from New Hampshire and my mother. Too much temptation in that town.” She extended a hand. “Can I offer you a seat? I’d make tea or something but there’s nothing much to eat or drink.”

  “Oh, we don’t want to be a bother,” I said.

  “No bother.”

  The engine from the pickup her roommate worked on roared outside.

  Dina suggested we head outdoors, and we did.

  Houses similar to hers dotted the street. However, none other had a man working loudly on a pickup truck in the driveway. The cacophony lessened as we traveled.

  “A lot of this is affordable housing.” She extended her hand to a neighboring abode. “I’m waiting for the local McDonald’s to return my call.” She clutched her cell with her other hand. “I applied this morning.”

  “It’s wonderful that you’re getting back on your feet.” I sidestepped a discarded needle by a sewer drain.

  “I’m trying.” She pocketed her phone into her jeans. She’d never spoken so much to us.

  “Good for you.” Dillon placed an arm on her shoulder.

  We banked right down a street with a park at the end.

  “Look, I’m sorry for putting you guys into this mess.” She glanced at Dillon. “I’d always been a sucker for green eyes.” She blushed.

  Dillon and I furrowed brows.

  “You probably want to know the truth,” she said.

  “It’s always a good place to start,” Dillon said.

  She sighed. “For years, Mikey had been pressuring me to tell him who his father was.” We passed a hedge of rhododendron. “My original intention of moving to New Hampshire was to get into rehab and leave him with her. But that plan didn’t work out so well.” She dragged a finger along a chain-link fence with a beat-up cottage in its armor. “My living near the queen of addiction only made things worse. I spiraled. She too. Mom said she had plans to talk to Vilhelm Storm about adopting Mikey.” Dina hesitated by an old Ford in the driveway of another white cottage. “I can’t take care of myself. It would’ve been better for Mikey.”

  We sauntered past more white houses.

  “Mikey said he wanted two dads,” she blurted. “I think he might be gay.”

  “He hasn’t told—” I shut my mouth.

  Dina’s mouth formed a straight line. “I figured he might be gay.” She shrugged. “I don’t care, really. I mean I care I just….”

  “We know what you mean,” I said.

  Dillon shoved his hands in his sweatshirt pocket. “We’ll let him be the bearer of his own news.”

  “Agreed,” I said.

  “This is hard.” She re
sted against a fence. “If this were a couple weeks ago, I would’ve turned to fentanyl or at least a shot of vodka in order to talk to you two.”

  “You’re doing fine,” I said. “We’re not here to judge.” What exactly are we here for?

  “A couple years back, when I waltzed my way back into her life, my mother had this grandiose plan to hook me up with Vilhelm Strom. Ha!” She shook her head. “Can you imagine? Mr. Teen Idol and me? Then she found out Vilhelm was gay and that all fell apart.”

  “Actually,” Dillon said, “he’s…was asexual.”

  Dina grimaced. “Oh.”

  “He was?” I asked, but Dillon didn’t answer.

  We approached the park. A clump of evergreen served as a backdrop to a ball field, a few swings, and some benches. We crossed the street.

  “My mother planned on asking Vilhelm to adopt Mikey. Not that either of us don’t love him, we’re just not equipped.” She sniffled. “Then she gets this opioid-induced idea to hook you”—she pointed to Dillon—“up with Vilhelm.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Because Vilhelm saw his picture in the scout’s photo log and told Darlene how handsome he thought you were.”

  I cleared my throat.

  “Mikey wanted two dads. My mother’s drug-infested mind thought it’d be a good idea to hook you up.”

  Dillon glanced my way, then back to her. “Some opioid fantasy caused all this?”

  “Well”—Dina sat on a bench with her back against a picnic table—“I confess I didn’t help.” She smiled. “There was one really tight closeup photo of you. ‘Those eyes!’ I told them. And that’s what did it.”

  “That’s what did what?” I asked. Dillon looked confused too, so I didn’t mind sounding dumb.

  “Well, my mother and her newfound wealth had you investigated.”

  “The crank phone calls,” I murmured. “Is that what that was?”

  “Coincidentally she discovered you and I grew up in the same area, Renton,” Dina said.

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “I got pregnant there.”

  “I wasn’t here when you got pregnant.” Dillon’s temper rose, his face flushed. “I’ve never been with a woman! Not that you need to know that much detail, but I’m surprised your mother’s PI didn’t find that out.”