by V. L. Locey
“You look edible,” Caiden called from his comfy chair. “Come sit down and join us. Devon, this is Polly Mayhew, my personal assistant. Polly, this is Devon Maxwell, my new friend.”
Friend. Well sure that fit, I guess. Friends who fuck. Got it. Man, I wished I had some clothes. Holding onto my towel for dear life, I walked over to the round table covered with platters of fruit and eggs as well as a mound of movie scripts. Polly stood up, smiled, and offered me her hand. She was a stunning woman in the fifties classic moviedom sense. Hair and face of Marilyn Monroe, body of Raquel Welch. Yes, I dug old films. What kind of cinematographer would I be if I didn’t see the beauty of the feminine form as well as the male?
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said in a soft, smoky voice that reminded me of Joan Holloway of Mad Men. “Join us, please.”
“We do this every other Sunday,” Caiden explained. I was thrilled to see he’d finally tied his damn robe. It would make keeping my mind on the meal easier. “Devon here is a film student. Goes to CUNY with Isamu.”
“We just love Isamu,” Polly gushed, sitting down primly, then placing a cloth napkin over her flowery shorts. “So, you’re the same age as Isamu then?”
“Yeah, yeah, same age. We’re both seniors next year.” The city sounds drifted up from below, not deafening but enough to remind a person of where they were. As if the skyscrapers and Empire State Building viewable from the white-fenced garden weren’t telltale signs of our location.
Caiden smiled at me from behind some killer shades. I felt so incredibly out of place and obvious. Polly had to know we’d hooked up last night. But she was totally chill about it, as was Caiden. Maybe they were used to half-naked young guys sharing coffee and crêpes with them. That thought made my stomach clench.
“And here are the crêpes!” Luis announced, arriving quickly, a large serving tray balanced on one hand above his head. “I make all the same, so no picking about which ones who gets.”
“Thank you, Luis, they smell divine,” Polly said as he whipped the silver lid off the platter and placed it in the center of the table.
“You has clothes over on the lounger chair.” He patted my still damp hair, winked, and then hustled off, leaving a soft cloud of bubble gum scent in his wake.
“Excuse me.” I got up, went to the lounge chairs behind me, and found my pile of stupid borrowed clothes. Someone had washed and dried them. I’d have to thank Luis for being so kind before I left. Glancing back, I saw that they were both intent on choosing which crêpe they wanted, so I dropped the towel and jumped into my briefs.
“I do love the view from up here,” I heard Caiden toss out. Heat flooded my face. I hurried to finish dressing. The pants were still too snug in the crotch and too short, the shirt far too tight across my shoulders and chest, but they were covering what needed covering.
“So, what are you doing with yourself for the rest of the summer?” Caiden asked when I was seated back at the table. He served me a fluffy crêpe then poured me some coffee. So polite. So sensual. So smitten. I was so smitten. Stupidly so because I’d likely never see the man again.
“Working. I need to get as much money in hand as possible before fall semester.”
“Would you like to sign on as an intern while Isamu is on his honeymoon?”
His question stunned me. “For Budgie in the Dell?”
“No, for Twentieth Century Fox,” he quipped and got a small giggle from Polly. She had really kind eyes, bright and blue. Her eyeliner was on point.
“What does it pay?” They both blinked at my frankness. “I’m sorry, that’s rude I know, but I have no money coming in from home anymore to cover my textbooks or really anything, so I need money. I know most internships don’t pay so—”
“Why aren’t your parents helping you with costs?” Caiden bluntly enquired.
“They disowned me when they found out I was gay. I kind of had a rough go of things last winter, slept in Central Park for a short time. Isamu and Brian took me in and helped me get the job at Babette’s.”
“Brian? Brian Gilles? He actually helped another human being?” Caiden stared at me in shock. I nodded, brown hair falling down into my eyes. “Get your ice skates ready, Polly. Hell has just officially frozen over.”
“He’s just distant,” Polly politely chided her boss. I liked her.
“Distant is one word for Gilles. A pompous prick is another.”
“That’s two words, Caiden,” she said then forked a bite of egg and mushroom into her mouth. “Also, do keep in mind that while Brian might be standoffish, he is the largest contributor to the LGBTQ Film and Arts Society, which you are a co-chair of.”
“Don’t remind me. That check of his every month is the only reason I don’t slap the smug off his face.”
“He was okay with me, so I’m cool with him,” I spoke up. Polly patted my hand in a warm, motherly way that I’d not realized I’d missed so much.
“Of course he was. Obviously he’s a good man or a warm, wonderful person like Isamu wouldn’t have married him. So, back to the internship. This might be a good time to make an incentive to the standard minimum wage.” She waved her fork at him when he opened his mouth. “Perhaps a mentoring program for young film students that would ensure they had time at your side learning and not simply making calls and going through the slag heap of scripts.”
Caiden gave me a long, assessing look over the top of his shades.
I looked down at my plate. “I’m not sure I can come and work for you after last night.” He lowered his sunglasses, bright green eyes latching onto my face. The look was incendiary. My dick took notice. I peeked at Polly who was wide-eyed. “We were…friendly.”
“We were friendly three times. What has that got to do with anything?” Caiden enquired then yipped and bent over to rub his leg. My face was beet red. “That was my shin,” he grumbled at Polly.
“Sorry. Restless leg syndrome. I just remembered I forgot to ask Luis for…ketchup! Love ketchup on my eggs,” Polly declared before she rose and hurried off, the patio door swinging shut behind her. Caiden sat back in his chair, removed his sunglasses, and met my skittish gaze.
“What is it you’re trying to tell me here, Devon? That you’re not comfortable working with me because we fucked last night?”
I nodded. “I know it’s stupid, and not really urbane and metropolitan to think like that, but I’m a product of the Corn Belt. Being friendly with someone who’s paying you seems…kind of Hollywood.”
He smiled. A little of my reservation melted away. His smile was incredibly pretty.
“Well, we are making movies, only ours here on the east coast are grittier and far less infused with generational homophobia and racism as they are out in La-La land.” He tapped at his lower lip with the earpiece of his shades. “Do you want me to not pay you? Isamu bitched about the interns being unpaid, so they’re now paid.”
“I…no, the money would be nice. I just…” Words were failing me. I generally sounded more intelligent than this. “It’s just me, I think. Can we maybe not be friendly during work hours?”
“Did you think I was going to lurk around the sets and pounce out at you, demanding you fuck me over the back of a sound man?”
“I…no, of course not! I just…maybe. No, of course not. I’m being so stupidly homespun right now, aren’t I?”
Again that smile. It did things to me. “You’re being rather adorable. Relax.” He crossed his heart with his sunglasses. “I promise you I will be far too busy to get grabby on set. Now after hours is a whole different thing. I take it you’d be okay with us still being friendly when we’re not at work?”
I poked at my crêpe with my fork, the intensity of this man bringing out all the awkward I’d worked so hard to hide.
“After work is fine, yeah.” I glanced up to find smiling green eyes resting on me. Again, my stomach tightened.
“Good. I like you. You’re refreshing and one hell of a top. So, you’ll be expected t
o be on the set this evening after your bakery job. We’re shooting in front of the library on 5th Avenue. This job makes for some long days; I won’t lie, but if you stick it out, you’ll learn more than any classroom can teach you.”
“Sounds good. Thanks,” I said, my cheeks warm from the sultry looks we were giving each other.
“Excellent. Finish your eggs, and I’ll drop you off at work.” He reached under the table, patted my knee, and took a sip of his coffee. An hour later I was on the sidewalk across from Bryant Park, Babette’s Brioches behind me, Caiden’s goodbye kiss on my lips, and a mountain of scripts in my arms.
Wow, a man’s life sure could change in twenty-four hours…
Chapter Two
“No, stop. The oil is too thick on my bicep. Great, now I look like someone greased me up! Can we get a clean towel? And please find an intern who knows how to apply baby oil!” A dirty, make-up encrusted towel was flung into my face. The urge to throw it back into Don Diamond’s handsome mug was huge. The only thing stopping me from doing so was the fact that he was the lead actor in Death Embraced the Dawn and that I was too tired to throw anything other than a whiny fit.
Midnight. It was midnight, and we were still on set, the street outside the New York Public Library closed down, and the final shot of the day not in the can. A hundred people were now blaming me for the delay because I used too much baby oil on Don’s substantial guns. Being an intern sucked. Ha! Sucked. And we were filming a gay vampire movie. I was funny. And punch drunk. The four or so hours of sleep last night plus a full shift at Babette’s and now nearly six hours on set had done me in. All I wanted was for Don to stop being such a fucking queen and let this final shot end so we could go home. We only had another hour on the permit, and the city would roll in and open up traffic. Time was running out. I wanted my bed. And some food. Maybe both. Food in bed. Yeah.
“Here, let me try.” Bernard, the head of the make-up department, wiggled in between me and Don. He gave me a kind little wink as he wiped off Don’s thick biceps then set into applying just the right amount of oil, I guess. Looked the same as what I’d rubbed on, but Don was happier with Bernard than me, and as long as the leads were happy, everyone was happy. “Don’t let that big bitch get you down. He’s notoriously fussy about his glistening muscles. Rumor has it he’s compensating for having a micro dick with massive muscles.”
Bernard dropped an arm around me, leading me away from the lights and booms and the cranky director. I’d been chewed out by him for a cup of coffee that had been too hot. Well duh, coffee is hot. He’d sent me back to the coffee shop on the corner for another one with the direction that I add two ice cubes to it. Not one. Not three. Two. So then I had to wander the streets seeking a shop that would sell me two fucking ice cubes. Ended up coughing up a buck a cube, but Marcel Clapton was happy, finally. Sure, he might be a great director, and a legend in the LGBT film industry, but he was a dick. The longer the night went on, the more dicks crept out of the woodwork.
“This should be the final scene of the day. Why don’t you go around the block, find a seat in Bryant, and take a load off?” I looked back over my shoulder. Caiden was around somewhere. I’d only seen him in passing once, and then he’d not even glanced in my direction. “I’ll let him know where you are.” My gaze flew from the mighty stone lion that Don was about to leap off in pursuit of a vampire and blinked at Bernard. His wide smile lit up his pasty face. “It’s obvious. Caiden has been watching you all night, asking about you and how you were faring. I know a budding love affair when I see one. Go on.”
He gave me a nudge, patted my ass, and then waved at me until I’d rounded the corner. I should have brought those scripts to read over, but carrying them around was a pain in the ass, so I’d left them at Babette’s. I’d read them over my breaks tomorrow.
Bryant Park was relatively quiet, but then again it was midnight. Only film production employees were allowed into the park after hours on our permit. There were a few scenes slotted to be shot here. The carousel sat silent, and the stage was empty—the chosen Shakespeare readings done hours ago—and the Bryant Park Grill was closed for the night.
The grass was slightly dewy, but I flopped down on it anyway, far beyond caring if my clothes got damp. What was one more layer of yuck? My skin and hair were caked with flour, sweat, and baby oil. I folded my arms behind my head, bent one leg, and lay there staring up into the night sky. There were no stars to see. The lights of Manhattan made stargazing nearly impossible. Add in the hazy humidity and there was little chance of seeing much. I closed my eyes and drew up the night skies of my childhood. Crystal clear Kansas nights, chasing fireflies under a velveteen black sky lit with a million points of light. Clean air, the buzz of insects, the lowing of cows, and the knowledge that you were safe and secure no matter how far from the house you ran.
I missed that most of all. That sense of knowing you were always loved and welcomed, that your parents would meet you at the door with a hug and a kind word. Of course, that had all been an illusion, because as soon as the real you was revealed, all that love and security was ripped away. A light touch on my cheek made me flail and jump, an overreaction from sleeping on park benches last winter that had never gone away. Caiden knelt beside me, his face drawn in concern.
“Sorry, did I scare you? You fell asleep right in the middle of the park.” He slipped his fingers into my hair, carding it back and away from my brow. His touch was soothing. I sat up, rubbing at my eyes with my knuckles. “It’s edging up on two in the morning. Are you ready to go home?”
“Yeah, sure.” I stood, stretched, and looked around me. A few people were strolling past the closed gates, most looking like they’d just left a bar or club given their loud laughter and wobbly gaits. “I’ll take the subway.” I didn’t want him anywhere near the basement room I was now renting under a Korean restaurant in Brooklyn. It was gross, dirty, small, and about as far away from his condo with the rooftop patio as I was from touching the moon.
Caiden wiped a hand down his face, his exhaustion clear. “Don’t be silly. Why pay when I can drive you?” I shook my head. His frown deepened. “You’re more than welcome to come to my place again if you want.”
Again, I shook my head. I had no clothes at his condo, and if I had to wear the same things three days in a row, despite Luis washing them, I just might lose my shit.
“I’m fine. The subway gets me where I need to go.”
He exhaled dramatically. A couple of drunken guys staggered down the street, arguing about Fortnite as if their lives truly depended on a video game. Man, to have crowing about your high score be the only worry in your life…
“Will you let me walk you to the nearest subway entrance if nothing else?” he asked, his voice tinged with aggravation. I wanted that, I did. I longed to stroll down the street, arm in arm, like two trendy lovers, the city alive and pulsing with late night energy all around us. But fantasy was what we did when the director shouted ‘Action!’ and it stopped when he yelled ‘Cut!’. Real life was not movie life. “We’re not on the clock anymore, so there’s no need to be this standoffish. Come home with me. It’s right around the corner.”
I should have refused the kiss he wanted. I should not have leaned down to seal my lips to his or slip my arms around him. I should have protested when I found myself pressed against the base of a granite block that a bronze Gertrude Stein was seated on, with Caiden’s plump cock grinding against mine. I didn’t do any of those things though. I fell into the illusion that colored my dreams. I wanted what Isamu had found. Someone to take care of me. Someone to shelter me. Someone to accept me. Someone to love me.
“Come home with me, Devon.” He moved against me in ways that robbed me of coherent thought and reason.
“I don’t…have clothes,” I huffed, my fingers biting into his hips.
“You won’t need them.”
“Change of clothes…for work…shit, oh shit.”
His teeth slid down my jugular.
“We’ll find you something. Come home with me?” He lifted his head, his eyes simmering green cauldrons of magic and pleasure. Yes, he was bewitching me, stealing all my well-planned moral decisions and swapping them with images of decadent pleasures.
“Okay, yes, but only for tonight.”
Chapter Three
Four days passed and I’d still not gone home. Thank God Luis and I shared the same size if not exactly the same taste. I’d given up even trying to justify making the trip to Brooklyn after day three of waking up in a big, soft bed with a lean, hard man at my side. I was so weak and so incredibly tired. No wonder Isamu had looked like a zombified extra who’d wandered off the set of The Walking Dead when he was interning and working full-time. How he managed to juggle school on top of everything else I had no damn clue.
My days consisted of baking, running errands for ill-tempered queer movie stars, fucking Caiden, and sleeping. There was plenty of the first three but little of the last one of that list. Probably if I had gone home I would have gotten a little more sleep. But the lure of Caiden’s place on 5th Avenue and 34th was too compelling. The condo was lush, the food freshly prepared by a charming man from Ecuador, and the sex was incredible. There were no roaches, no rats in the walls, no gunshots, no irate Korean landlords, and no mass transit to deal with. The Concord Way Condominiums were less than five minutes away from where I worked and where we’d been shooting our gay vampire movie at the library every night. It was a no-brainer. Or so I told myself.
Waking up with Caiden curled into my back kicked off all kinds of feelings that I had no idea how to handle. My experience with guys consisted of an awkward blow job in my freshman year, a drunken hand job in my sophomore year, and a couple of kisses, one from Mike and one from Isamu. The kiss with Isamu had not been reciprocated and had put a real strain on our friendship. So much so that he’d stopped associating with me for months. During that time my life had fallen into the sewer in just about every way, and my self-esteem was right beside my shattered future in the gutter. Then…Caiden. Why was he with me? He could be sleeping with Don Diamond or any other elite celebrity in Manhattan. Why me? And how long would it last? These were the questions that woke me up an hour before my alarm and kept me awake, my mind a dervish of worry.
