“You’re twenty-one?” That was the part that surprised me the most.
Brent laughed. “I know, I look a lot younger. I get that all the time. I bet you do, too.”
I nodded.
“You know, I couldn’t help but notice…,” Brent began.
“We could pass as brothers,” I finished.
Brent cracked up. Now that he was past his initial discomfort, he was as winning as a boy gets. He got me laughing, too. We were giggling like two schoolboys when our eyes locked and the mood abruptly changed.
“Listen,” Brent said. “You seem like a really nice guy. I don’t do this a lot, but would you like to get together sometime? Somewhere else? Like, a date?” A blush like a wildfire raced across his cheeks.
Lord, he was a cutie.
“I would love to,” I answered. “But I have a boyfriend.”
Brent took a step closer. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I cocked my head.
“I know,” Brent said. “You’re a Good Guy, right? One who doesn’t cheat on his man?”
“Guilty as charged. Although, if I did, you’d be number one on the list. You’re smart, you’re adorable, you’re funny-so, why are you single?”
Brent pointed at his poster again. “They all want him. They don’t even know who I am.”
“Who are you?”
“Promise not to tell?”
“Hey, I told you my secret,” I reminded him.
Brent’s expression turned serious. “The truth is…” He leaned in closer, his lips to my ear. His breath was hot against my face. “I really am your brother. Your parents’ secret love child whom they abandoned to be raised by wolves and porno producers.” He gave a sensual little nip to my earlobe and stepped back.
“So,” he concluded, “it’s probably better we don’t date. Considering the blood relation and all.” He grinned cockily.
I hoped he didn’t glance downward. His little flirtation had gotten a rise out of me.
Literally.
I’m only human.
I shoved my hands into my front pockets, trying to make it look casual. “So,” I asked, “how do you tell the difference?”
The cocky grin faded. “What do you mean?”
“Between the wolves and the producers?”
Brent laughed again, his musical giggle lighting up the room. “If you’re going to reject me, could you stop being so funny and interesting?” he asked politely.
“Believe me, it’s not that easy saying no to you. Of course, it’d be easier if you’d tell me who I was saying no to…”
“Right,” Brent said. He pitched his voice low. “You actually want to know the real me. It’s a nice change.”
This time, he extended a hand. “I’m Richard. Everyone calls me Richie, though. From Queens, New York.”
I took his hand in mine, this time with none of the earlier formality. I felt like we’d become fast friends. There was an immediate connection between us. I knew there’d be even more of one if I ever told him how I’d been making a living just a few months ago.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Richie. And, if you’re into it, I’d still like to get together for a coffee or something. Maybe we can figure out how you can meet a guy who isn’t only interested in ‘him.’ ” I made air quotes with my fingers while nodding toward his poster.
“Actually, I already have. This guy named Charlie. I kind of like him. But the problem is, he’s got major issues with my work. He doesn’t want me to ever be ‘Brent’ again. He can’t stand the thought of me being with other guys. Especially on film. He really hates it. I keep telling him to separate what I do from who I am, but I think it’s a losing battle.”
I thought of my own situation with Tony. He never pressured me to give up my work, but there was a time when I had to change the specifics of what I did to appease him. “Is this Charlie guy worth finding a new line of work?”
“Maybe. But not yet. And since he’s getting kind of pushy about it, I’m thinking I’m going to have to break it off with him.”
His face seemed to lengthen with sadness. “Which is really too bad, ya know?”
I nodded sympathetically.
“ ’Cause I’m kind of sweet on him. But these guys, they go from one extreme to the other. They either want the fantasy, like the old men who offer me fifty thousand a month to live with them and role-play characters from my movies, or they want to kill the fantasy, destroy ‘Brent Havens’ and everything that goes along with him.
“Besides”-Brent’s expression darkened-“it’s a lot easier to get into this business than to leave it.”
“What do you mean?”
Brent-or should I say Richie now? — dropped his voice again. “Look around you. SwordFight has spent a lot of money promoting me. Making me a ‘star.’ They could make it hard for me to walk away.”
My mind immediately went to organized crime. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a dirty business. But I have insurance. I know stuff about them, too. I could blow the lid off SwordFight.
“The stories I could tell could shut them down. Probably put some of them in jail. How they helped me…” He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes widened with a new idea.
“Hey, maybe I could do it here. On your mom’s show. Get my story out before they have a chance to spin things their way.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him Sophie’s Voice wasn’t exactly 60 Minutes. Plus, something about what he said didn’t ring true. I’d have to think about it later, when I wasn’t distracted by how damn adorable he was.
“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s add it to the list of things we can talk about over coffee.” I handed him my business card.
He tucked it into the back of his jeans.
“You should have my number, too,” he said. He grabbed a pen off a desk pushed against the wall. “Gimme your hand.”
Brent wrote his digits on my wrist, dragging it out to keep the physical contact going as long as possible. “Coffee’s so boring, though. Sure it wouldn’t be more fun to talk after a couple of drinks? Maybe at my place?” He arched his eyebrows suggestively. He finished writing his number and traced over it with his index finger.
I had to admit the boy was good. Too good. I wouldn’t trust myself at his place. Even without the alcohol.
His finger running along my wrist felt ridiculously sensual. Why was I so attracted to this kid? He was an undeniably well-put-together specimen, but not my type. Since falling for Tony I really hadn’t been particularly interested in anyone. Yeah, Andrew was tempting, and there’d always be a place in my heart-and pants-for my BFF Freddy, but Brent had me as hot as Sarah Palin at a gun show.
What was it about him?
Or was it me? Was the fact that he resembled me in so many ways part of the turn-on? Had I just discovered my kink? Not domination or plushies but clones?
For now, none of that mattered. Brent was an incorrigible flirt. He was going to keep wagging his tail and humping my leg until he wore me down. It was time to throw some cold water on this puppy.
“Did I mention my boyfriend’s a cop?” I asked him. I’ve found that tends to act like the anti-Viagra on even the most determined suitors. Knowing the guy you’re trying to cuckold has a gun is more deflating than a cold shower.
“Coffee it is, then,” he said, dropping my hand. “When should we-”
We were interrupted by the trumpeting voice of Mason Jarre. “Would you look at them?” he boomed.
He was walking over with Kristen LaNue at his side. “Magnificent,” Kristen whispered. “Like two angels.”
“Almost twins,” Mason marveled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That we need to get these two together on film?” Kristen asked him.
“I can picture the DVD cover in my head already. Brotherly Love Two, ” Mason suggested. “Or, Adventures in Twincest.” His eyes darted from one of us to the other, back and forth. I was pretty sure he wa
s imagining the climactic scene at that very moment. His voice was thick with excitement. “We can work out the details later.”
Mason pissed me off. I’d already made it clear to him I wasn’t interested. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a guy who won’t take no for an answer.
I would have told him off right then and there, but I couldn’t think of a way to express my aversion to appearing in porn without sounding like I disapproved of Brent for doing it.
It was Kristen who saved the scene from getting ugly. But then again, he was a director. “Now, don’t pressure the boy,” he advised Mason. Then, he turned to me. “You have our cards. Think about it, okay? We could at least talk. I promise-we could make it worth your time.”
Brent gave me an evil grin. “You really should, Kevin. You know, if we do it on film, it isn’t cheating. It’s work.”
Having made similar distinctions in my own life, I couldn’t blame Brent for trying.
“Sure,” I said, figuring it was a good time to make my exit. “I’ll think about everything. And maybe we will get together.”
But I said that last part to Kristen, not Brent. For some reason, I had a feeling it’d be better if Kristen and Mason didn’t know that Brent and I planned to meet. I’d keep that to myself.
Just like I wouldn’t tell Tony about the flirting between me and Brent.
Walking away, it struck me that in the past half hour, more lies had been told, secrets revealed, and new ones made than I’d have thought possible in such a short time.
It didn’t seem like a good basis on which to start a new friendship. Maybe I’d be better off if Brent didn’t call.
Speaking of which, I’d better not go home with a guy’s number scrawled on my arm. Even a guy without Tony’s professional investigative training would be suspicious of that. I went to the bathroom to wash it off.
I was about to start scrubbing when I thought, What the hell? I took a picture of the number with my iPhone. Who knows? Maybe I’d have a reason to call Brent someday.
A perfectly innocent reason. Yeah, Brent might be delicious, but I had no doubt I’d be able to resist taking a bite.
Does it count as another lie if you only say it to yourself?
4
Best Friends
A month later, I was in my apartment watching the “Kinks for Cash” episode with my best friend, Freddy. It wouldn’t air until later that week, but he’d been bugging me about seeing it since he found out Brock Peters was a guest. I got a DVD of the final cut from one of our editors so Freddy would forgive me for what he’d considered an almost unforgivable slight on my part.
It was the night after the taping of the show. Freddy and I went out to dinner, and I told him about meeting Brent Havens and the other weird experiences of the day.
“Wait,” Freddy interrupted me. “Let me make sure I understand you. You threw a party for a roomful of gay porn stars and didn’t invite me?”
“I didn’t exactly throw a-”
“How long has it been that you’ve hated me?” Freddy asked.
“I don’t-”
“Because the only thing I love more than a party is porn, and the only thing I love more than porn is actual sex, and it sounds like you somehow managed to keep me from all three at the same time!”
It was true that Freddy loved sex. I knew that firsthand. We’d started as lovers back in college, but the idea of a committed relationship was about as appealing to Freddy as sunbathing is to a vampire. His idea of monogamy was sleeping with only one guy in the same day. Once he knew your last name, it was a sign the two of you were getting too serious.
So, we became friends. Besties, as the Brits say. There was still a sexual tension between us, but over the years it’s faded somewhat. Whether that was due to time or to Tony is hard to say.
It took me a few minutes to convince Freddy there was no “party” and that I had no idea so many of Brock’s friends and co-workers would show up. Even so, I admitted, I should have told him that Brock would be on the show.
“If I knew you were a fan, I would have invited you,” I explained. “But I had no idea you’d even heard of him.”
“Heard of him?” Freddy asked incredulously. “I’ve done a lot more than heard of him. I’ve seen him. I’ve studied him. I’ve sullied myself to him, in all his throbbing muscly goodness.”
“So, you like his movies?”
“I’m talking about at the gym. In the steam room. We’ve gotten it on four or five times there.”
“Oh my god,” I marveled. “Is there any man in New York you haven’t slept with?”
If so, it wasn’t for lack of trying. Freddy was one of the best-looking guys I’ve ever known, and that includes men who got paid $2,000 for an hour of their time. A beautifully built African American with perfect features and the piercing eyes of a professional Casanova, Freddy exuded a sexuality that made me believe in the power of pheromones. Men were drawn to him like no one I’d ever met, and Freddy enjoyed his gift to its fullest potential.
“I haven’t slept with your husband, darling. At least not yet. So, stop pissing me off before I decide to steal your man, blondie.”
“As if,” I answered, channeling Alicia Silverstone from Clueless.
“Haven’t fooled around with Brent Havens, either,” Freddy continued. “Although I wouldn’t mind. That’s one sweet-looking kid. And probably as close to sleeping with you again as I’ll ever get.”
Huh. Freddy had noticed the similarities, too.
I told him about our awkward flirtation.
“He probably did it just to get on the show,” Freddy offered.
“Why,” I asked sharply, “would it have to be about that? Is it impossible to believe that he found me attractive?”
“Of course not,” Freddy said, enjoying this opportunity to yank my chain. “For a man in your late thirties, you’ve held up remarkably well.”
Freddy knew I was twenty-four, the insufferable bitch. “As have you,” I countered. “And I don’t care what anyone says, I think you look great with that extra weight. There’s nothing wrong with a little muffin top.”
Despite the fact he knew we were teasing, Freddy couldn’t help glancing at his perfectly flat belly.
“Ha!” I said victoriously. “Made you look!”
Freddy decided to ignore my triumph. “I’m just pointing out that Brent Havens sounds like a manipulative little thing who knows how to hook a guy. You said he wanted to get out of the porn business. Maybe he thought that appearing on your mother’s show could be the first step to a legitimate career.”
“You think he was playing me?”
“I think he’s a player. The problem with being a player, though, is you don’t always know yourself what’s a game and what’s real.”
“One real thing,” I said, “was that the guy who runs his studio, Mason Jarre, was a total sleazebag. He practically raped me with his eyes. He pushed me hard to consider working for him-too hard, if you know what I mean. Wouldn’t take no for an answer. I can see why Brent feels like a slab of beef.”
“This guy Mason is forcing Brent to make movies?”
“No,” I answered. “Not exactly.”
“So, he wouldn’t accept Brent’s ‘no’ when offered, then? When he said he wanted to get out?”
I tried to remember our conversation. “I don’t think Brent’s asked yet.”
“Huh. But you think Mason pressured Brent to work for him in the first place, right? Coerced that innocent-looking sweetie into a life of onscreen debauchery?”
I couldn’t say that, either. In fact, I distinctly recalled it differently. “Actually, I think it was the opposite. Now that you bring it up, I don’t know that Brent’s ever said ‘no.’ ”
“My kind of boy.” Freddy grinned. “I don’t know, Kev. I’ve watched some of Brent’s work-he seemed to be having a pretty good time. I’ve seen him in interviews and read articles, too. Feels to me like that kid’s doing exactly what he wants to
. Not by accident, either. He gets himself where he wants to be. And my feeling is, if he wants to move on to something different, he’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen.”
“I don’t know,” I answered. “You didn’t meet him like I did. He seemed very sweet. Genuine. Not the Machiavellian figure you’re painting.”
“Machiowhatnow?” Freddy asked. “What does a Starbucks drink have to do with anything?”
Freddy was what you call street-smart. Let’s just leave it at that.
I’d been a psychology major at NYU. Despite my ADHD, what I did learn stuck in my head like glue. “ ‘Machiavellian.’ From the sixteenth-century Italian writer and philosopher Nic-colo Machiavelli. He wrote about immoral men in a way that seemed to endorse the unethical use of power to get ahead. He’s become a symbol for selfishness and greed. Psychologists even have a test called the MACH-IV that measures a person’s likeliness to deceive and manipulate others for his personal gain.”
“Thanks for the lecture, Doctor IQ. Put simply: Brent’s power is his sexuality, right? So, that’s what he’d use.”
See? Street-smart. Not an insult after all.
Had Brent been planning to use me? Was I really so naive that I fell for it?
Of course, I hadn’t told him I worked for the show until midway through our conversation. On the other hand, maybe he noticed the ID his boss missed and figured it out when I first bumped into him.
Assuming he hadn’t planned the whole thing and been the one to bump into me.
My head was spinning out of control. I either needed to take more Adderall or get off this train.
Disembark, I decided. What did it even matter? Brent hadn’t called me and I hadn’t called him. Whatever happened, or might have happened, was behind us.
Except, I felt it wasn’t. We’d made a connection. I was sure of it. It didn’t feel “over” at all.
So, why hadn’t we been in touch?
I knew why I hadn’t called. Too much temptation.
Why hadn’t he?
“There’s only one thing I don’t get,” Freddy said, sounding genuinely puzzled.
I leaned forward. In his own way, Freddy could be very insightful. I felt lost in the dark trying to figure this out. Maybe Freddy would shine just the light I needed.
Third You Die (kevin connor mysteries) Page 3
