LIKE ERNESTINE’S on a Sunday, by the time Shep dragged himself up to the gate for the 6:10 L.A. departure, the Houston airport was a mob scene. Where had all these people come from? His reminiscing daydream had ushered in a short, sitting-up nap, and when he awoke, he had a brief flash of irrational fear that maybe he’d slept for four months until the Thanksgiving travel rush. Announcements were louder and more frequent, suitcases seemed larger and more unwieldy, and everywhere he tried to pick a pathway there appeared another family of corn-rowed tweens in matching beaded Playa Del Carmen! tees to slalom through. When he finally arrived, back where he’d started his Odyssey at Gate 48, he glanced out the window to see if We’ll Take You There! Lines had started flying jumbo jets. But what was surely the same little MD-80 he’d been looking at all day sat at the end of the jet bridge, and he wondered where in the hell the airline was planning to put all these people. Did this plane have handles dangling from the ceiling? Was the plan to smash ‘em in like a rush hour Tokyo subway? At this point, if they’d let him stand the whole way home, he’d jump at the chance.
The gate agents were two visibly harassed women Shep was seeing for the first time. He’d been at this for almost seven hours, and clearly there’d been a shift change. His heart dipped just a bit. If his new buddy Carlos was gone for the day, so too, he figured, were his best chances of getting on a plane out of town. Where no-nonsense women were concerned, his flirting skills were drastically reduced on a good day, and the agents at this gate were making an effort to get their message across loud and clear: they were in No Mood.
Still, he stood by. He had to stand somewhere, and as the crowd grew feistier, he began to pick favorites. He’d never been to a cockfight, but he imagined a similar, if smokier, atmosphere. When the Bluetooth earpiece business jerk jostled a pregnant mom to cut in line, Shep cheered to see her five-year-old stick her tiny fearless foot under the wheels of his suitcase. Business Jerk dropped the bag, along with a few choice swear words, and Mom herded her harried brood around him. A hipster kid in a handlebar mustache stopped in his tracks to ‘absent-mindedly’ tap at his phone, infuriating the seat-hungry rabble behind him, but clearing a path for Granny, in her wheelchair, and her slow-moving husband to splash into the otherwise relentless stream.
Clearly within sight of the end of her ever-lovin’ rope, and falling fast, one of the agents hollered a series of announcements. She eventually all but screamed that she wouldn’t even entertain the wild notion of trying to accommodate standbys, whipping the mob beating on her portable counter into a proper froth. Shep distanced himself from the torch-and-pitchfork hunt he saw brewing, but he shared the mob’s frustrated disappointment. He was supposed to be home this morning, by like ten. Felix had mentioned taking him out in his last text message. He had no idea what he had in mind, but whatever it was, he sure knew he’d rather be doing that tonight than this. Fucking Billy.
He was too busy feeling sorry for himself to notice Carlos stroll up to him. “Oh, honey, you’re still here?”
Shep allowed a sad nod. “Yeah. And I’m not going to get on this flight either.”
Carlos spared a glance at the boarding scene. “Or the next one, by the looks of it. San Diego canceled, and Las Vegas is on a mechanical delay. People just want out.”
“I can relate.”
“Poor guy.” Carlos pulled a sympathetic frown. That was about all he had to offer in the way of supportive small talk, but he hovered over Shep. He chuckled at one or two of his colleague’s more frantic announcements, and when she finally managed to beat back the unlucky tide of Not-Todays enough to close the door, Carlos turned to go. “Come on,” he said to Shep with a companionable wave. “You’ve suffered enough. Let’s get you out of here.”
There were more steps involved in Carlos’ plan than Shep would have preferred, but it was a plan, and one that Carlos assured him could not fail.
Carlos outlined it as they walked. At first, an anxious Shep offered resistance. “Phoenix? That’s like a six-hour drive....”
“So who said anything about driving? There’s a late commuter flight from Phoenix to L.A. on Express.”
“You mean one of those little planes?”
“One of those little planes that has a seat on it I can put your butt in, yeah. One of those.”
“I see,” Shep said. “Yeah, I guess that kind of little plane isn’t so bad. Can you really do that?”
Carlos nodded. “My friend is working the Phoenix flight. It’s getting ready to leave, but I know it has seats cuz another friend of ours is going on it to visit her mom. But we want to hurry and scurry before it pops up on everybody’s radar.”
“That would be fantastic,” Shep gushed. “Wow, thank you so much.”
Carlos shrugged. “I can’t stand to see a handsome man sad. I’m about to go home, and I don’t want to see you moping around here when I come back in the morning.”
“I promise I’ll be smiling if I get on the flight to Phoenix.”
“You’re smiling now,” Carlos pointed out. “Look at me, I’m a miracle worker.”
Shep had never been to Phoenix, and in general the desert held little appeal, but the airplane from Houston to Phoenix was a cool, welcoming oasis from the moment he stepped on board. The flight attendant that greeted him at the door was pleasant and unobtrusively nice-looking, and the seat next to his was empty. Shortly after he settled, the lights were dimmed, and a hipless twink steward glided effortlessly up the narrow aisle, closing overhead bins with a generic smile and a quiet click rather than the traditional snarl-and-slam. The captain made her announcements, the flight attendant made his. Rather than compete with their canned voices, Shep sent Felix a quick series of updates via text. I’ll b late, but I’ll b home, he sent by way of sign-off.
The airplane door was already closed, and Shep was making to comply with the request that he put his phone in airplane mode, when another photo from Felix slipped in under the wire. Captioned with a Yay! and a smoochy emoticon, this pic sent Shep to a pensive place. Compositionally, it was one of the better photos of them, surreptitiously snapped by Shep’s sister Colleen last fall. They were kissing, framed by postcard-worthy palms, backlit by a fiery sky as the sun did a swan dive into the sea over Felix’s shoulder. As the airplane turned onto the runway and began its crawl toward the sky, Shep set his head against the window. He didn’t see the Texas terrain recede below him as they climbed, but rather, in his memory, the night he begged Felix to be done with it and just dump him already....
BY THE time Shep’s parents and sister made it out to California for a visit, he’d been living there for three years. He’d been living with Felix for two of them, and with the most famous face in Hollywood for the last nine months. Shirleen’s instincts had not failed her: Felix ‘hit’ all right, and he hit it big. Say Cheese was a smash with test audiences, and the City-Mouse-Goes-Country set-up was a pet project of the network executive whose niece enjoyed a ‘Created By’ credit. It was ruthlessly marketed, and its Super Bowl Sunday premier set sit-com ratings records that Shirleen assured Felix, dollar signs cha-chinging in her eyes, would not soon be broken.
Once the money started rolling in, Felix started making some changes. He signed on as Raul’s silent partner, as happy to help buoy the Clarion behind the scenes as he was to sling his last plate the night before his first table reading. They left their Mid-Wilshire courtyard apartment in favor of a West Hollywood high-rise condo that was all bedroom and balcony, with a view of the Hollywood hills Lucy Ricardo would have killed for. Shep cut his walk to work from an hour and a quarter right down to seven minutes, which included his coffee stop, but Felix tooled to the studio in a tasteful new blue BMW convertible with a better sound system than most L.A. concert venues. When he wasn’t at the studio, he was at the gym. When he wasn’t doing television interviews, he was in hair and makeup, prepping for promos. When Shep came home after closing the café, Felix was usually face down and drooling, dead to the world. When Shep fina
lly dragged his own ass out of bed, the only sign of Felix was often the vague and fuzzy memory of his goodbye kiss. Shep wasn’t neglected, and he wasn’t unhappy, but the period of adjustment to life as a celebrity spouse was not short, and, while he tried not to pout about it, he was sometimes lonely.
Felix loved being at the swirling center of attention, in the English and the Spanish media, but he wasn’t ignorant of the changes his new status had wrought on his old life. It was now the norm for him and Shep to spend five or six nights a week apart, but if they carved out time on Night Seven, Felix showed up for it. They didn’t make a big deal about ‘rules’, but they did make the effort to connect. Flowers, but no phones. They’d talk, not tweet. They’d snuggle up with a bowl of popcorn and watch a movie, or curl up with a glass of wine and watch the sunset. And if they just couldn’t land on a plan that appealed, they always had every episode of The Love Boat that Amazon could provide on DVD.
And Shep had to admit, where maintaining a romantic connection was concerned, a gigantic new bedroom with a gigantic new bed in the middle of it was sometimes just the ticket. Felix had always been a fantastic fuck, but there were nights when Shep embraced his lover’s celebrity more fervently than was otherwise his habit. Not to put too fine a point on it, the realization that he was astride the most sought-after ass on two continents could be a real rush, and some nights it was the mental image of every other faggot in the Americas jacking himself off to the unattainable fantasy of being him, right here right now, that launched his load, in body-racking waves, deep into America’s howling Sweetheart.
When his sister Colleen finalized her divorce from her high school sweetheart, ‘Jello’ di Giacomo, the Used Appliance King of the Crescent City, Shep’s parents felt strongly that a celebration was in order. They knew that Shep and Felix were living large, and figured a little fun in the sun Hollywood-style would be as festive a distraction as any other. Felix was on hiatus from filming, and was still thrilling to the news that Say Cheese had been picked up for a second season. This was to be his introduction to the Shepherd family unit, and as plans came together, he was clearly aiming to impress. He sent a limousine to the airport, then squired the gang in his own sleek ride, top down, to Getty’s villa and Gehry’s concert hall. They dined ensconced in posh corner booths with vistas of star-studded dining rooms. He paid for every admission, picked up every tab. He bankrolled a Rodeo Drive boutique extravaganza that, in a film version of Mr. and Mrs. Shepherd Go To Hollywood! would have laid to rest the shopping-spree-montage trope once and for all. And when beach-time rolled around, he splashed out for a suite of rooms at the Ritz Carlton in Laguna that knocked Shep almost literally breathless with its shimmering tiled perfection.
“We can afford this?” he gasped, agog at the ocean vista afforded by the resort’s curving cliff-side terrazzo.
Felix put his arm around Shep’s waist and pulled him close. “For two nights we can.”
“You know,” Shep said, “they would have been just as comfortable with folding chairs and a sandy blanket at Venice.”
“But they won’t be uncomfortable here, right?”
Shep let fly a staccato ha! “Maybe if it burns down,” he said. “Although, I’m sure they have a guy for that, someone who hands out marshmallows for roasting over the burning rubble. Monogrammed blankets for those who don’t wish to come too close to the flames....”
Felix chuckled, and then gently pushed himself away at arm’s length, the better to see Shep’s face. “Are you okay here?”
Shep smiled. He hoped. “It’s gorgeous, obviously,” he said.
“Uh huh. And...?”
“It’s just a bit much, is all.”
Felix shrugged. “They might be my in-laws one day,” he ventured. “No harm in getting on their good side, is there?” He smiled.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t worry about that. After this trip, I’d say you can pretty much consider their love bought.”
Felix narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you’re okay? Cuz you don’t sound okay.”
“It’s just....” Shep sifted through his options, and was pretty sure he was going to say the less hurtful so much, but out it popped. “Enough already.”
Felix invited elaboration with raised eyebrows.
“We’re not fancy, Felix. The dinners, the clothes, now this place? You’re rich, we get it. Settle down.”
Felix removed his arm from around Shep’s waist. “I’m rich? What’s that supposed to mean? We’re rich, babe, I hate to break it to you.”
“If we’re spending my money here, the Ritz isn’t going to be too thrilled come check-out time,” Shep said. “It’s your money, Felix. All of it. You haven’t even let me buy my mom a cup of coffee. I look like some kind of gold-digging free-loader.”
“How many free-loaders do you know that work six nights a week?” Felix asked. “Shit, Shep, I wish you would free-load every once in a while. Maybe we’d actually get to hang out.”
“I like that job,” Shep said.
“And I like mine. So what’s the problem?”
“I just feel like a loser.”
“Cuz you’re with me?”
“You know that’s not what I mean.”
“I think it is.”
“Okay, but that’s not how I mean it. Here you are, showing everything off—new house, new car, new job, new money, same old Shep. How long’s it gonna be before you want to show off a new boyfriend? Some Next Big Thing from Dancing With the Stars who is home six nights a week? I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. If you’re gonna throw me over for younger and prettier, sometimes I wish you’d just do it. The suspense is killing me.”
Felix opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. “It’s our new house,” he managed.
“It’s your new everything!”
“You’re my everything!” Felix shouted, startling even himself. He looked around. Lowered his voice. Went on. “Don’t you get that? You’re the key to this whole deal for me. What the hell good is it without you? You don’t really think I want all this for myself? Yeah, I fully intend to enjoy the ride. As long as it lasts. Which in this town could mean anything—I could be on top for ten years or til tomorrow. But I want for us to enjoy it, Sheppy. Together. So maybe I have been showing off a little bit for your parents. Why not?” Shep worked up his Angry Retort face, but Felix hurried on. “It’s not because I want them to think I’m some kind of big deal. I want them to know I think you’re a big deal.”
“You do?” Shep’s angry face had fizzled.
“The biggest.”
“Bigger than the guy from Dancing With the Stars?”
“Well, he is pretty hot,” Felix said. “But considering he’s also imaginary, I’m gonna go ahead and say yeah, you’re a bigger deal. You’re my shoe, Sheppy. There’s not another one gonna drop.”
“You mean I’m stuck with you?”
Here Felix raised his eyebrows again. “You could do worse,” he said.
“Don’t I know it?”
“So....” Felix hazarded. “Jokes mean we’re okay?”
Unaware that Colleen had stepped out to join them on the terrazzo, Shep leaned in to answer with a good long kiss.
When his sister did approach, Shep invited her to pull up a chair. “You’re just in time,” he told her. “Felix is gonna order a bottle of champagne.”
“I am?”
“Well, I was going to,” Shep said. “To prove a point. But I’m not mad at you anymore, so you can buy....”
IT WAS dark when the airplane finally glided in over the twinkling sprawl of the city, and kissed the runway at Sky Harbor a fond hello. The roller coaster afternoon of hopes-up, hopes-dashed, hopes-up-again had been something of a slog for Shep, but now he was well and truly on his way home. One time zone closer, anyhow, with only a little prop hop to go. The flight had been quiet and smooth, the all-gay cabin crew sympathetic, and generous with the complimentary cocktails once his story leaked.
“W
hat’s your boyfriend got planned?” asked the twinkiest of them all.
“No idea,” Shep said. “I just hope it involves taking a shower.”
The flight attendant affected an exaggerated sniff. “Shouldn’t take too much convincing,” he quipped with a wink, setting another miniature whiskey on Shep’s tray and sashaying away.
In contrast to the prevailing cockfight and carnival barker atmosphere in Houston, the Phoenix airport was calm. Airline employees seemed busy, but not frantic. Passengers milled about, but not in a panicked throng. There were still plenty of Bluetooth earpieces and handle-barred hipsters, but they paid each other no mind.
A friendly gate agent assured Shep of a seat, and encouraged him to sit and relax until the plane arrived. He composed a quick almost home! text to Felix, but opted not to send it. He wasn’t on the airplane yet, after all, and he had nil interest in jinxing anything.
All signs pointed to success. Felix’s face grinned out at him from a ‘New Season!’ promo on the back page of almost every magazine in the gate room, like a high-gloss USO-style reminder: This is what you’ve been fighting for! Felix was everywhere else, signaling that ‘in Shep’s arms’ (or ‘driving Shep home from the airport’) wasn’t an unrealistic goal. And right on schedule, here came the little putt-putt prop plane taxiing into view. L.A. was an hour behind Phoenix this time of year, he reflected; they’d have plenty of time for a nice dinner. As long as they went somewhere that stayed open. Hell, it wasn’t like he’d say no to a Fatburger and a bottle of Two Buck Chuck.
Say Cheese Page 3
