by Kim Fielding
Jordan’s eyes gleamed in the parking lot lights. “And how do you feel about me?”
“Attracted. Confused. Conflicted.”
“No click?” Jordan asked sadly.
“I feel more contented, I know that. Somewhat better… aligned. I’m not sure that I’d recognize a click if I felt it.”
Their car rolled up to the curb. They climbed into the wide back seat and sat, silent, not touching. Splashes of color from the neon lights washed across them as they rode.
They took the elevator up to their suite, where that same soft jazz played on the TV screens and the housekeeper had neatened the little stacks of magazines. Landry thanked Jordan very sincerely for a good evening. Jordan promised to tackle a new list of chores in the morning.
Landry washed up in his overlarge bathroom, took off his shoes and socks and trousers, and climbed into bed. He used the tablet to douse the lights.
He still wore Jordan’s T-shirt. Jordan hadn’t asked for it back. It had probably cost twenty bucks at a big-box store. Soft, slightly frayed at the cuffs. Comfortable. Uncharacteristically, Landry fell asleep almost at once.
He dreamed he was at the Suzee Show, but instead of standing onstage, he sat in the audience. Strangers filled the other seats, all of them gazing raptly forward at Suzee, who was interviewing one of the penis puppetry performers. The guy wore nothing but tennis shoes. He and Suzee were talking about who might win next year’s Golden Globes.
Then suddenly the man disappeared and Suzee stood at the edge of the stage. “Time for prizes, people!”
The audience cheered. So did Landry, because he wanted a prize very badly. Not Portuguese napkins, though. He already owned those. Slot machines popped out of the floor in front of each seat. They were smaller than the ones in Vegas but just as sparkly, each with a different theme. Landry’s theme was the Midwest, and the face of the machine bore cartoon images of corn and soybeans, pigs and cattle, and an old-fashioned windmill like the ones that still graced some Nebraska farms.
“Take your chances!” Suzee shouted.
Landry pulled the lever. The reels spun, at first too quickly for the symbols to be visible, and then more slowly. Instead of traditional things like cherries or sevens, the reels showed chairs and items of clothing. But when the reels stopped entirely, Landry couldn’t make out the symbols at the pay line; everything was too blurry.
“Will you take this payout or try again?” That was Suzee, and she must have been addressing him, because the rest of the audience had disappeared.
“I don’t know what the payout is!”
She gave him a shinier, showbizzier smile than the real Suzee ever would. “Take your chances, Wormy.” Music started blaring, and Landry recognized it as the tune that ended the Suzee Show. The stage lights switched off.
“Fine!” Landry desperately shouted. “I’ll stand!” Even in the dream he knew the term applied to cards, not slots, but it seemed especially apt when his seat began to quake, forcing him to leap to his feet.
Jordan crawled out from under the chair. He wore overalls and nothing else. “Congratulations, Landry! I’m all yours. And all you have to do to keep me is be someone else entirely!”
Landry awoke with a start, his heart racing. “I don’t even know if that was a nightmare,” he whispered. He didn’t seem to know much of anything about his inner self anymore. With a sharp pang, he realized that one of the things he missed about Steve was advice. Whenever Landry had faced a quandary, Steve had immediately set aside whatever he was working on so he could listen carefully to Landry’s situation. Then he gave balanced and well-reasoned suggestions. Until now, Landry hadn’t recognized how heavily he’d relied on Steve’s counsel.
Who could he turn to now?
Glancing at the bedside tablet—which also served as a clock—Landry saw it wasn’t as late as he’d assumed. He must have tumbled into that dream very quickly. And since it was barely past midnight in Nevada, it wouldn’t be rude to text someone just after ten in Hawaii.
With mixed relief and guilt, he reached for his phone.
Can we talk?
He waited three eternities for Elaine to text back, and then he breathed a huge sigh at her response. Sure. Call me.
He considered FaceTiming her, but he knew his hair must resemble a fright wig. Also, she’d notice the shirt he was wearing, and she’d know it wasn’t his—that would just complicate things further. He opted for a regular phone call.
“Am I interrupting something?” he asked.
“Nope. I’m in the middle of a hard session of lanai-sitting.”
“Mai tai in hand?”
She laughed. “Not tonight. Mom and Dad went out to play mah-jongg and turned in as soon as they got home. I’m feeling naturally relaxed, alcohol not needed. But what’s wrong and why are you whispering?”
Damn. Of course she’d notice that. “I don’t want him to hear me.”
“Who? Are you being held hostage in a car trunk? ’Cause then you should’ve called 911 instead of me.”
“Hilarious. I’m in a hotel suite in Las Vegas. Jordan’s in the room next door.”
“Is he now?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Landry, what’s your crisis?”
“Augh.” He flopped back against the pillows. “I’m not even sure. My head’s a mess.”
“I always thought you were relatively sane for a guy who lives in LA. You don’t go around telling everyone that vaccines are part of a conspiracy between extraterrestrials and the Illuminati, and you’re not wearing anyone’s placenta as jewelry.”
Her words comforted him, mostly because he knew plenty of people who did those things. Compared to that, angsting over his love life was incredibly normal. “Thank you. You’ve helped already.”
“What other precious drops of wisdom can I bestow?”
“I don’t…. I can’t even explain this.” He thumped his forehead a few times with the heel of his free hand. It didn’t help. “Jordan.”
“He’s not working out for you?”
“No, he’s great. He picks things up really quickly, and he’s completely dedicated to me.”
“That doesn’t really sound like a problem.”
Landry dropped his voice even more. “He’s too dedicated.”
“Meaning?”
“He has this theory about people clicking—”
“Oh, yeah. His parents. It’s part of the official family lore.”
Relieved he didn’t have to explain, Landry nodded in the darkness. “He thinks he’s clicked with me.”
“Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
“Elaine!” He remembered he was supposed to be whispering. “We haven’t um….”
“Enjoyed the benefits of physical congress? I get it, Lord Thistlebottom.”
He could have mentioned the kisses, but they weren’t really the point. “I don’t know what to do about this.”
“Are you into him?”
“I… yes. God, yes. He’s like… like digging through a pile of thrift shop knickknacks and discovering an original Henry Moore. Like biting into a dumpling and discovering it’s filled with perfectly spiced meat. Like—”
“Got it. You’re into him.”
Landry let out a long breath. “Yeah.”
“Again, doesn’t sound like a problem. You’re both single. And he really is a good kid.”
“I’m his boss.”
“Uh-huh. And does that aspect bug him?”
“No,” Landry admitted. “He promised not to sue. But I guess that’s not the real issue anyway. I just…. I don’t know.” Great. Whining was going to solve everything.
“Did you ever take any psych classes?”
“I majored in design. We covered the psychology of color.”
“Then no. I did take psych classes—real ones. And one thing I learned is that nobody can be in a healthy relationship until he feels comfortable with who he is by himself.”
/> That made perfect sense. If you were planning a meal, you couldn’t choose the right side dishes if you hadn’t decided on a main course. But it didn’t apply to him. “I was in a healthy relationship, remember?”
She paused before answering. “You were practically a baby when you and Steve met. Your relationship worked really well for the Landry you were then. But what about now? Do you really know who you are? Who you want to be?”
“No,” Landry whimpered. “So I should stay away from Jordan until I’m done with my pre-midlife crisis? Oh my God… I’m hurtling toward midlife. I think I’m going to have a panic attack.”
“Focus, Landry. Breathe. What you do with Jordan is up to you. I wouldn’t recommend the two of you running off to the chapel tomorrow and getting hitched by Elvis, but that doesn’t mean you need to wear hazmat suits around each other. Try out being friends. Maybe even try out being lovers. Just try to make sure neither of you gets hurt.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“That’s my job—making things easier for you. Even still.”
It felt good to smile. “You’re the best.”
They spent some time after that chatting about a great beach she’d discovered that week and how she’d been doing aqua aerobics classes. She and her parents were considering repainting the kitchen, so Landry pledged his input if she sent him some photos. He told her about the penis puppets. She laughed herself into a snorting fit.
“Thanks, Elaine. For being there.”
“I’ll always be here for you, Landry. Even when I’m far away.”
Chapter Ten
LANDRY set down his phone and used the tablet to open the blackout curtains. Unfortunately, the lights from the Strip weren’t enough to keep him from tripping over the slippers left by the turndown service. He recovered without damaging hotel property or incurring bodily injury, made his way to the window, and gazed down at the spectacle.
Simon and Garfunkel had sung about neon gods, but he saw nothing divine in the garish signs. The Strip was one long facade—a veneer of easy wealth, easy sex, easy entertainment. He was getting tired of veneers.
“Can’t sleep?”
Landry spun around and discovered Jordan in the doorway, wearing nothing but boxer briefs with an image of Darth Vader. The shadows and colored lights played off his bare skin, giving him an ethereal air. He was so beautiful, and nothing about him was a facade.
“I was asleep,” Landry said. “Woke up. You?”
“I was kinda tossing and turning. I don’t think I got enough exercise today.”
“I kept you too tied up. Make sure you take a break tomorrow to use the fitness center.”
“I wouldn’t mind if you tied me up.” The wide grin sent shivers of want down Landry’s spine.
When Jordan continued to linger in the doorway, Landry waved him over. They stood side by side at the window.
“Everything out there looks so far away,” Jordan said. “Like it’s not even real.”
“Like a movie set.”
“Yeah. When I was a kid, sometimes we’d fly to Philly to visit my grandparents. I used to look out the airplane window and pretend the landscape was a toy. Like a giant Lego set or something. I’d think about how I wanted to rearrange stuff. How about you?”
Landry shook his head. “The first time I flew, I was eighteen and on my way to college. And I was scared to death. I was certain California was going to eat me alive. I thought every person I met would take one look at me and think, Oh, that’s just Wormy Bishop from Peril. What a hayseed.”
“Wormy?”
Oops. He hadn’t meant to let that secret slip. “Childhood nickname. Bookworm. Because I spent more time in the library than playing football with my cousins.”
“If it makes you feel any better, I was Beaver Boy—until I got braces and my face caught up to my teeth.”
Landry chuckled. It did make him feel better. “You have very nice teeth.”
“I’ll let my orthodontist know.” Jordan moved an inch or two closer. “If leaving Peril was so scary, how come you did it?”
“I had to.”
“Law on your heels?”
Although Landry wasn’t looking at him, he heard the smile in Jordan’s voice.
“I’m fairly certain I avoided the Most Wanted list.” He set a palm against the cool glass. “Living in Peril was like always wearing somebody else’s clothing—somebody with completely different tastes and sizes. Nobody was awful to me there. But it didn’t fit me.”
He would sit in the bleachers during high school football games, or in a booth at the local Dairy Queen, or in a pew at church, and feel like a movie extra who’d been badly miscast. Everybody played along as if they didn’t notice that he didn’t belong there, but he noticed. Always. And it wasn’t just because he was gay, although that didn’t help. A boy who stockpiled issues of Martha Stewart Living and fantasized about owning a La Cornue range was never going to be truly happy in a town where folks tended toward John Deere baseball caps and wagon wheels décor.
Jordan’s question came quietly. “And LA does fit you?”
Landry didn’t answer.
Down below, cars still trolled the street and vacationers marched up and down the sidewalks in search of their next drink, their next sure bet. But Landry’s room was quiet and cozy, and Jordan stood so very close. Landry had seen him several times wearing less than he was now—once wearing nothing at all—but window glass and yards of concrete had usually separated them. No barriers stood between them now except for Landry’s own hesitancy.
He took a small step sideways and wrapped his arm around Jordan’s waist. He could have happily remained like that for a long time, even though the long sleeve on the T-shirt meant he couldn’t feel Jordan’s bare skin. Landry’s hand sat comfortably on Jordan’s Vader-clad hip.
Jordan sighed like an exhausted worker finally getting into a warm bed. He mirrored Landry’s movement, draping an arm around Landry’s waist, and then tilted his head to rest in the crook of Landry’s neck.
It was the last part that undid Landry.
Lots of people hugged or kissed him—people did that in Hollywood all the time. But the world contained over seven billion human beings, and exactly one of them could lean against him and make him feel so perfectly in place.
Was that a click? He had no idea. Even if it wasn’t, the feeling was far too important to ignore.
Landry kissed Jordan’s hair, which still smelled of product from the hotel salon. Then he kissed again, squeezed Jordan just a little more tightly, and rubbed his cheek along the crown of Jordan’s head.
Jordan tightened his grip too, and he made a deep, happy sound somewhere between a moan and a purr. He squiggled around to face Landry, which allowed each of them a fuller embrace. Nose to nose, hips to hips, their mingled breaths coming a little faster, their lips millimeters apart.
“Do you know something I like about you, Landry?”
“My ass?” It was a natural response, considering Jordan’s hands had migrated there and were kneading gently at Landry’s glutes.
“It’s a very nice ass, yes, but I was going for deeper qualities. I love how you work so hard to make things more perfect—prettier, tastier, better themed. And I love how you have a solid core of integrity.”
Landry chose to ignore the use of love. The word terrified him. “That’s two things.”
“Consider one a bonus compliment. How have you stayed so grounded even though you’re famous?”
“A minor celebrity at best. And… I don’t know.” You can take the boy out of Nebraska, but you’ll never take all the Nebraska out of the boy. “So do I get to compliment you now?”
“Please do.”
“You’re special. A jewel.”
Jordan laughed so softly that Landry felt it more than heard it. “Nobody’s called me that before. Usually I’m more of a flake.”
“Anyone who labels you a flake isn’t paying attention. When you focus on somet
hing, you give yourself a hundred percent to the effort.”
Jordan responded by giving himself a hundred percent to kissing Landry.
This kiss wasn’t a sweet brushing of lips. It was deep and needy, with both Landry and Jordan gasping and groaning, clutching each other’s ass, tangling tongues. He felt Jordan’s pulse pounding with his own, and even through closed eyes, Landry saw sparkling lights. Something inside him released—not a click but a pop, as if something had just snapped into place. Not just a joint realignment, but a fundamental sense of rightness and completeness.
Suddenly filled with urgency and tight, hot want, Landry pulled Jordan forward. Jordan tripped on those damn slippers, but Landry kept him from falling. And then Jordan was falling, but gently, landing on the mattress with Landry on top of him.
Years ago Landry had helped a pop music star plan a retro luau in her backyard. Everything had gone smoothly—pupu platters ready for serving, Don Ho blasting from the speakers, rum drinks poured into tiki cups with pineapple and maraschino cherries speared on plastic swords. The hostess had looked darling in a grass skirt and floral bikini top. Then her dolt of a boyfriend, deciding the fire in the pit wasn’t big enough, poured lighter fluid onto the flames.
Whoosh! Luckily there had been no casualties.
Landry thought of that whoosh—of glowing embers turning suddenly into a roaring inferno—as he writhed on top of Jordan’s warm body, groping what he could reach and kissing Jordan’s mouth and neck and shoulders. Jordan was kissing and licking too, and Landry was being consumed. But damn, he was going to revel in every moment until he burned to ashes.
Landry’s shirt came off. Magically—just a few tugs and it somehow disappeared. Landry’s Calvin Klein underwear dematerialized next, followed closely by Darth Vader. That left nothing but skin against glorious skin, and Jordan and Landry did their best to maximize that contact.
Landry hadn’t brought condoms or lube, since he hadn’t expected to need them. If Jordan happened to be more prescient or better prepared, Landry didn’t want to wait for a run to Jordan’s bathroom. Anyway, they didn’t need supplies tonight; fingers and tongues sufficed. They stroked here and there, sucked and nibbled on exquisitely sensitive bits of flesh, rocked against each other as their sweat united them in sticky, sex-scented splendor. The flashing lights from the Strip lit up the room like a silent fireworks show.
