Personal Demons

by Jay Lygon

  He nodded. “The holidays are coming up. That’s a difficult time of year for many people.”

  “Ophir, a friend, invited me over to his place for Thanksgiving. He promised it would be quiet, and I believe him.”

  “Have you thought about spending some time with family? Familiar surroundings may be good for you.”

  I laughed. “My family? I love them, but they would drive me nuts. I may go see them for Christmas, but I have to be in Palm Springs for the Film Festival right after New Years. And immediately following that is Sundance, and the G-G-Golden Globes.”

  His eyebrow crooked up. “Still stuttering over that word.” He made notes.

  “I’ve been dreading doing the pre-show ever since the magazine hired me.”

  “Have you tried talking to them about your concerns?”

  “I had dinner with my editor when I was in Toronto. I think I made it clear that if he put me on TV, it would be a huge disaster.”

  “What did he say?”

  “If I remember right, he made a pass at me. It was a long time ago.”

  “Two months.”

  My forehead furrowed. “No. It’s been much longer than that, hasn’t it?” I counted out the weeks on my fingers. “I guess so. Huh. I guess time flies when you’re miserable.”

  “Speaking of time,” he checked his watch. “I’m sorry, but our time is up. I’d like for you to think about going to three sessions a week.”

  “I’m that fucked up?”

  “If you refuse to take medication, we’re going to have to work through this another way.”

  ***

  Alberto jumped to his feet when I came out of my therapist’s office. “Okay?” He wriggled around like an excited puppy.

  “Yeah. I don’t know if it’s the pills wearing off or what, but I actually feel a little better.”

  We headed down the stairs. Alberto pushed ahead of me on the narrow stairs and lunged out the door.

  “Alberto?” I shoved open the door. Bright lights went off. I put my hand up to protect my eyes.

  People taking my picture? What the hell? I was too stunned to move.

  Alberto brought his little car around to the curb. My hands still in front of my face, I jumped in and slammed the door.

  “Go, go go!” I shouted as the paparazzi started to surround the car.

  He rolled forward slowly.

  I reached behind me for the seatbelt. Dodging low, I tried to see if any photographers were in pursuit. “What the fuck was that about?”

  Alberto pulled out of the parking lot. “Think about the headline. ‘Dumped by Harris Smith, sex god movie critic Sam Dewey has breakdown, commits himself to mental hospital.’” He actually grinned as he did jazz hands to emphasize each word.

  “What? That isn’t what happened.”

  “You’re famous now. People want to read about you.”

  “Stop the car.”

  “Oh, come on, Sam. Do you have any idea how many magazines bought that picture of Harris fixing your bow tie at the AIDS fundraiser? Of course, in my shot it looked like he was untying it. Very hot. I made a fortune.”

  “Stop the car.”

  Alberto pouted. “You’re angry with me?”

  “How many times have I told you that I don’t want to be famous?” I shouted.

  “Come on. Everyone wants to be famous.”

  “Not me. I couldn’t even tell Hector that I had a problem with depression. Do you think I want the whole world to know?”

  He got prissy. “I did you a favor. Do you have any idea how many people pray to me for just the tiniest bit of recognition? Millions. And I give it to you for free. You should be thanking me.”

  “I should be spanking you, you brat.”

  His wide grin was a thing of beauty, but I was immune to his charm. “Would you?”

  “No. You need it, no doubt. But if anyone ever gives you the punishment you deserve, it won’t be me. You can be sure of that.”

  “Be careful, Sam. I can take away fame as easily as I can give it.”

  “Take it away! Please! I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

  Alberto slammed back in his seat, pouting. “Sometimes, you’re no fun at all.”

  Chapter 12

  Ophir sat at one end of his long, formal dining table, and I sat all the way at the other. Even though his slave boys were home, they didn’t join us.

  “I’m not partial to turkey, but the boys feel cheated when they don’t have it, so I allowed them to serve turkey this year,” Ophir said.

  Spanish guitars strummed softly in the background. Number Three placed a plate of the ritziest turkey meal I’d ever seen in front of me and refilled my wine glass. Maybe it was just me, but how could it be Thanksgiving without a ton of people crammed around the table and a big bowl of mashers being passed from person to person? I chided myself for being ungrateful. I could have gone to my parents if I wanted that. Ophir was kind enough to open his home to me. I had no right to complain about how he observed the holiday.

  “How have you been, Sam?”

  “I’m still digging myself out of the hole I fell into, but I’m much better.” I took a bite of the fresh green beans. Chris was an incredible cook. “Having too much time to think is dangerous, but I’m also figuring out some things. I don’t do well on my own. I mean, I can survive. I did for a long time before I moved in with Hector.” It would probably be a long time before I could say his name casually, but it was getting easier. “I do better in a structured environment.”

  Ophir nodded. “Have you tried the sweet potato casserole? That’s the light yellow with the pecan topping.”

  I tasted it. “Nice. It reminded me of my aunt’s sweet potato pie.” Someone put butter on my mashed potatoes instead of gravy, and there was no gravy boat on the table, so I dipped a forkful of potatoes into the au jus that barely covered the turkey.

  “Are you happy where you are, or are you going to look for a structured environment?”

  I loved the way we were dancing around the words, especially considering that we both knew damn well what they meant.

  “This turkey is very moist.” I reached for my glass of iced tea. “I have to be out of the room I’m renting by the end of December. So I guess I’m looking.”

  Ophir leaned forward. He put his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “I sense that you don’t really want to make any changes.”

  How long were we going to cloak everything in euphemisms? Sure, I was in awe of the man, but I was sick of the awkward formality. “Honestly, I don’t want another Master right now. It could be a long time before I’m ready to have sex with anyone again. My heart’s not in it. It wouldn’t be fair to any man I tried to serve, and it wouldn’t solve anything for me, except that I’d have duties to help keep me focused.”

  “Don’t be so sure about that.”

  “What? That I’d make a lousy slave right now?”

  Ophir chuckled, but I didn’t feel as if he was laughing at me. “No, Sam. I have every faith in your ability to serve. As I told you, when I first saw you, I was prepared to dismiss you as a very pretty boy with no substance. Since then, you’ve constantly proven me wrong. Any man who could walk away from Hector is a man to be reckoned with. Any man who can walk away and not crawl back when things get rough has my deepest respect.”

  There was a lump in my throat.

  “What I doubt,” he continued, “is that there’s a Master out there who would measure up to your high standards.”

  I started to object, but a gesture from his hand silenced me.

  “Keeping a slave takes a great deal of energy. Submissives are notorious attention whores.” He smiled at that. “When they feel ignored, they tend to break rules in order to get noticed. A good Master doesn’t let a slave set the pace, though. He metes out just enough attention to keep his boy happy, but still hungry for more. Attention usually means sex. Seeing what a slut you are, I suspect that Hector had to fuck you every day,
if not more often than that, and yet you still needed more. Did you get punished every day, too?”

  My mouth was dry. I felt like a specimen pinned to a board. “Not every day, but at least three times a week. My butt was always bruised.”

  ”You must have exhausted him.”

  “Suddenly, I feel like a spoiled brat.”

  “Spoiled? Yes. Brat? No. But tell me, what other man do you know of who can spend that kind of time and energy on a boy? None. And I know some of the best Masters in the United States. No one will ever measure up. No matter how many duties they hand you, you’ll never feel that sense of all-encompassing structure like you did with Hector. I should know. I was spoiled, too.”

  My shoulders slumped. “So you’re telling me that I’m hopelessly screwed.”

  “I couldn’t run my household if I had to watch my slaves the way Hector serviced you. This is why Number One’s duties include training and monitoring Two and Three, and Number Two also supervises Three. I couldn’t get anything done otherwise. Even I live under a set of rules, Sam. My day is orderly. My house is orderly. My duties are defined, and my life has structure.”

  Maybe I was too dense to figure out what he meant, so I said nothing.

  “Have you ever thought of being a top?”

  It was my turn to laugh. “Me?”

  “You belong in the lifestyle, Sam. You’re no role-player. This isn’t a game to you. It’s a true way of life. The trick is finding a new niche where you fit. Don’t be so surprised at my suggestion. Some of the finest submissives make the best Masters, and the world is so woefully short of good Masters.”

  “I wouldn’t even know where to begin, even if I was crazy enough to think I could be a Master.”

  Number Three came in and cleared our plates. He returned with a strange dessert.

  “Pumpkin crème brulée,” Ophir said. He tapped his spoon on the hard covering of melted sugar on top until it shattered. Then he tasted it. “Very good. Like silk on the tongue.”

  I picked up my spoon.

  “Don’t answer me now, but think over this offer. I could train you to be a Master. I have a spare bedroom you could live in until you’re ready to establish your own home.”

  My gaze flitted down to the dessert as my mind reeled. The way he put it, it sounded so reasonable, but part of me protested that I didn’t want to be a Master. “That’s very generous. Too generous.”

  “You helped my Number One when he was lost and alone, Sam. I will never forget that. You are lost, and alone, and I will do everything in my power to help you. But as I said, think it over. This isn’t a decision you should make quickly. And even if you turn me down, if you need a place to stay after December, the room is still yours to use until you make other plans.”

  Chapter 13

  That Sunday, the storm was sitting over Los Angeles with no signs of moving, so playing basketball with Brett, Joey, and Alberto was out of the question. Alberto and Joey came over to hang out anyway. We pushed the couch back and played Wii games.

  “So, Sam, what have you been doing with yourself, other than dating movie stars?” Joey asked. He tossed a piece of popcorn in the air and tried to catch it in his mouth.

  I bowled a strike and handed the game controller over to Alberto. “That’s over now. Harris got a real boyfriend. I’m just little old obscure me again, thank goodness.”

  Alberto grinned over his shoulder. “Not for long. Palm Springs. Sundance. Golden Globes. The Oscars. Plenty of opportunities for you to get your picture in the paper.”

  “No, thanks.”

  He pouted. “You act like fame is a bad thing.” He turned back to the TV and cued up his avatar. His first ball went into the gutter.

  “I’d love to be famous,” Joey said.

  Being polite, I held my tongue and didn’t say anything about how fame started out as this nice, manageable thing that smoothed out rough moments, but it quickly moved into your life, forgot to respect your privacy, and became a little out-of-control monster.

  Alberto bowled again. He danced around, as if body language would help guide his ball down the center of the lane. He spun around and pouted. “Always in the gutter.”

  “Next time, let me help you,” Brett offered. “It’s all in the wrist.”

  “Yeah, like jacking off,” Joey said.

  “Then maybe Sam should teach me.” Alberto winked.

  Brett sat up straight. “So, Sam, how’s your apartment hunt going? Will you need help moving?”

  We hadn’t mentioned moving out for a couple weeks. I was sort of hoping that after the nightmares stopped and I made a real effort to be less annoying, he’d cut me some slack. Obviously not.

  “I haven’t made a final decision.”

  “Well, you better get cracking.”

  “You can move in with me!” Alberto batted his eyelashes. “I have that big house all to myself.”

  “Yeah, but you live right next door to Hector. You can’t expect Sam to feel comfortable there,” Joey pointed out. “With all the millions of houses in southern California you could have picked, you moved right next door to Sam’s old place. What were the odds?”

  “Astronomical,” I said.

  Alberto grinned. I was beginning to think that when he smiled, angels didn’t sing -- demons cackled. “You make your own luck. Sam taught me that.”

  Sam should have been shot for ever suggesting you move to LA.

  Brett made fussy noises. “Sam, you’re running out of time.”

  If there was one upside to my bout of depression, it was that at least Brett had stopped hitting on me all the time. Of course, as soon as he stopped trying to get into my pants, he made it clear that I annoyed the hell out of him. I guessed maybe he let me move in because he thought he’d catch me on the rebound. How many times had I told him that he didn’t stand a chance with me? Maybe he finally got the clue. I wished he’d take it like a big boy.

  “Are you even looking for a place?” Brett pressed.

  “I’m working on it.” I wasn’t, but he didn’t know that. I’d be out of town most of January anyway. If I had to, I could move my stuff into a storage locker and live in a hotel. Hell, I could move back with my parents and phase back and forth to Long Beach. Talk about your long commutes, though. I hated to waste my power like that.

  Alberto tossed the Wii controller to me. “Sam, really, you could always move in with me. Although I understand it might be a little hard for you to live next door to Hector, especially since he has a new lover, and you’re still alone.”

  That shouldn’t have hit me so hard, but it felt as if I’d been sucker punched. “Hector is seeing someone?”

  “Oh yeah. I’ve seen them together. He was paddling--” Alberto put his hands over his mouth. “Oops. Did I say something I shouldn’t have?”

  “You’re a complete fucktard,” Joey said. “Why would you say something like that to him?”

  I was wondering that myself.

  Brett came rushing to Alberto’s defense. “No, he isn’t. Sam needs to hear the truth. He’s been moping around long enough. I’m glad Alberto told him.”

  Joey leaned forward, his face tense. “I thought you were a jerk for throwing Sam out, Brett, but now I’ve decided that you’re a really shitty friend. In fact, you’re dead to me from now on. And you, Alberto, it’s no wonder you have to attach yourself like a leech to everyone and try to take over their lives. You use people. You used me to get closer to Sam. You’re cruel, Alberto. Cruel and a user. Sam, I only have one bed, and my apartment is tiny, but you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you need to.” Joey got to his feet. “And I think with that, I’m out of here.”

  For a moment, my mouth hung open. It was as if Joey was saying everything I felt. I got off the couch. “Joey, wait.”

  “Sorry, Sam. I can’t hang with these jerks any longer.”

  “Neither can I. I think I’m leaving, too. Brett, I’ll be moved out before you know it. After that, don’t bother to ca
ll,” I told him.

  “Sam, the drama queen,” Brett said. “No wonder Hector didn’t try to get you back. You’re just a dizzy, fucked up, train wreck, drama queen who thinks he’s hot shit because he dates stars like Harris Smith.”

  There were so many hateful things I could say to him that would make him hurt twice as much as he hurt me, but I wasn’t about to go there. “Thanks for that, Brett. If I’m ever tempted to forgive you, I’ll remember what you just said, and then I’ll get over it.” I opened the door. “Let’s go, Joey.”