Husband Hunters

by Rick R. Reed

  When he opens the door, not surprisingly, he is completely naked.

  Martha pulls the door shut. “As nice as that view is,” she shouts through the door, “please cover it up.”

  When he reopens the door, he’s wearing the hotel-issue fluffy white robe. “Martha. I don’t know how you could pass up the chance to feast your eyes.”

  “It just about killed me, Al.” Martha smirks. “Cody told me what happened last night.”

  Diesel’s eyes widen. “He told you he turned me down?” He smiles, still not knowing he’s in any sort of trouble. “Hard to believe, isn’t it, hon?” He makes to undo the robe, but Martha is quicker, and she slaps his hand away from the belt.

  Martha continues to smile, which belies the speech she is about to deliver. “We can cut the nonsense. We both know that what happened last night was very close to attempted rape. You are lucky that neither Cody nor the network has opted to press charges.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” And at last that delicious caramel complexion begins to edge closer to vanilla.

  “You do. You may not be all that bright, but you know. And you know the trouble you could be in.”

  “Martha, please, this is all a misunderstanding. He came on to me. Just let me tell you my side of things.” Diesel opens his door wider to admit her, but she stays where she is, outside the room.

  “Normally, I would agree to hear you. But I have watched you all through the audition process and all through shooting yesterday. You are a conceited, selfish, and egotistical bastard. And it’s those qualities, Mr. Goff, that make you really extremely unattractive. While you have an exterior some may admire, and yes, even lust for, we both know there’s something rotting inside or something very, very unwell.”

  Diesel stares down at the floor.

  “We no longer require your services for the show.” She holds up a sheaf of papers she’s had at her side throughout their conversation. “This is our nondisclosure agreement. Sign this and you walk away.”

  “What? And I won’t be on the show? Are you crazy? What about all the shooting we did yesterday?” Diesel appears panicked. His face contorts in a combination of rage, fear, and injury. It’s ugly.

  “It’s all digital. We just press delete and it’s gone. Like you.”

  “No! No, I need this exposure.”

  “I think you exposed yourself enough already.”

  “You can’t do this. We have a contract. He’s lying,” Diesel hisses.

  Martha pulls the paper away. “Well, I suppose we can leave that for a judge to determine. I can go talk to Cody now about pressing charges. And if I can convince him, and I will, know that the network has considerable legal firepower we can bring to bear.”

  Diesel looks defeated. It’s almost sad.

  “Sign the papers. Get out of here. And we’ll just forget this weekend ever happened. I wish I could say the same for Cody. You didn’t see how shook up he was last night.”

  Diesel takes the papers from her, holds them against the door, and scribbles his signature at the bottom. He hands them back. “Yes, I did.”

  Just before he slams the door in Martha Stewart’s face, something like contrition makes a brief flicker across his perfect features.

  * * * *

  Cody would never know exactly what had happened, but he would bet money it was something similar to what he imagined, except for maybe the last part. He didn’t think Diesel, or Albert, had a smidgen of care for anyone other than himself. He sat up in bed, expecting to feel somehow vindicated after letting his little fantasy play out, but all he felt was sad.

  The bottom line, the end of this tale, he thought, heading toward the shower, was that he had discovered yet another gay man who was a jerk. His gaydar seemed to be a finely tuned instrument that sought out the worst attributes of his homosexual brethren.

  Weren’t there any good guys out there? He sat back down on his bed. Before he took his shower and got ready for what he was certain would be a very weird day of filming—pretending to date a straight guy, really?—he needed to talk to Matt.

  Cody really didn’t expect him to answer. After all, it was early on Sunday morning, and his friend had probably gone out the night before, had a few drinks, maybe even gotten lucky and brought someone home. The thought gave him what he recognized as a very irrational twinge of jealousy. He also felt a kind of homesickness for their weekend carousing.

  But Matt did answer. He sounded sleepy.

  “I woke you up, didn’t I? Go back to sleep.” Cody had his finger poised over the End icon on his phone’s screen.

  “No, no. I was just lying here. Just had a wank.” He chuckled. “The sheets are all sticky.”

  “I don’t need to hear that!” Cody shouted, laughing. But he didn’t. He really, really didn’t.

  “Hey, just being honest. It’s my way of welcoming in the morning. You know that.”

  “I most certainly do not.”

  They were quiet for a while. Finally Matt said, “Hey. Aren’t you shooting this weekend? I mean, shooting as in cameras and shit, not like me.”

  “Yes. I have to be downstairs to meet the crew in—” He leaned over to peer at the alarm clock. “—like, twenty minutes.”

  “So what’s up? Everything okay?”

  Cody brought Matt up to speed on all that had transpired the day before, including his chilling late night visit from his potential husband. As if!

  “That’s terrible.”

  In spite of everything, it was good to hear the genuine concern in Matt’s voice. He had been so cold lately, so distant.

  “Isn’t it? When the day started out, I really thought this guy had potential.” He laughed bitterly. “Hell, I even thought I was out of his league. Turns out he was out of mine. He’s so low, it’ll take forever to scrape him off the bottom of my shoes.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  Matt didn’t say anything for a long time, and then finally all he said was, “Listen, I gotta go.”

  “Oh? Plans?”

  “Yeah. Lots of them. Laundry, for one. I hope today goes better.” And with that, Matt hung up.

  Cody said to the black face of his phone, “I do too, buddy. I do too.”

  * * * *

  Cody sat on his bed, waiting for the knock. Twenty minutes passed, then thirty. Finally he called Martha Stewart. “Hey, hon, what’s up? I thought you’d be by to pick me up this morning. Am I supposed to meet you guys somewhere? Sorry if I was—this is what happens when you assume.”

  “No worries, Cody. Listen, you should just hang tight for a few hours. Order yourself up some room service. Please get a Bloody! Chill. We’ll come get you this afternoon.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought we had to make up for lost time.”

  “We do, sweetheart. That’s what the magic of television is all about. We’re going to redo your day from yesterday.”

  “Huh?”

  “Don’t let me bore you with technical details, but what we’ll do is this: we’ll film Paul at every location you and that jerk went to. He’ll sit at a table and laugh, he’ll catch a Frisbee, he’ll look over at someone with loving eyes as they jog along a path, he’ll hold a bite of food out for you to taste, only you won’t be there. We cut out Mr. Goff and cut in all of your reaction shots. When it airs, it will look like you and Paul were together for the whole day. Easy peasy.”

  “That sounds, um, diabolical. I shudder to think what evil purposes editing like that could be put to. Do you guys do stuff like that a lot on the show?”

  “You think I’m gonna tell you that? Let’s just say my answer is a horrified ‘No, never!’”

  “So what will I do?”

  “You and Paul will have a nice dinner tonight at the Whale Wins.”

  “That’s in my neighborhood! Just down the street from where I live.”

  “I know. Don’t get any ideas, though, about bringing Paul back to your place. He’s engaged—to a woman. Not that
there’s anything wrong with that.”

  They both chuckled.

  * * * *

  Paul Rheingold was a very nice-looking man. Cody tried to keep the thought “What a waste!” out of his head and failed. He couldn’t help it: sitting across from him at the intimate table at the Whale Wins with two nice glasses of cabernet sauvignon before them and a shared plate, half-eaten, of the restaurant’s award-winning steak tartare between them, Cody thought he could fall in love with this guy.

  It wasn’t just that Paul was good-looking. He was that, in spades, but not in the otherworldly, almost plastic way Diesel Hunter was. Paul was a man with a full red beard, twinkling pale green eyes that his forest green shirt brought out even more, a stocky but muscular build, and a smile that could melt candles into puddles. His laugh was easy and infectious. Cody had a fetish for his large, freckled hands.

  They talked about everything. The childhood TV shows they’d loved. What was on their bucket list. Their hope that Hillary would one day be president. Their favorite Ben & Jerry’s. What song was best to make out to. (Paul said Daft Punk’s “Get Lucky,” and Cody almost told him that a straight guy would say that and then caught himself. The cameras were, after all, rolling.) Favorite board game, color, hot dog condiment. If they had ever ridden in a helicopter. Been in a car accident. Trained a puppy.

  By the end of the dinner, Cody really felt he had forged a bond with Paul. He was so easygoing and showed such interest in everything Cody had to say. It was a shame this was all a sham, because Cody felt like Paul was someone he could really grow to like, maybe even fall for. Talk about unrequited love! Husband Hunters, he reminded himself, was a lighthearted reality show and not a tragedy.

  The fact that Paul was willing to pass himself off as a gay guy for all of America to see and even convincingly flirt with another gay man just made him that much more adorable.

  When the cameras stopped rolling, Cody couldn’t help it. He felt so warm toward Paul, as though they had truly become good friends during the course of their amazing meal together. They had shared so much and talked so freely about their intimate personal details, Cody had to admit that the silver lining to this cloud was that he and Paul had at least become friends. He threw an arm around the guy’s shoulder and pulled him close. Just a brotherly squeeze…

  But he immediately felt a flash of fire rise to his cheeks when Paul stiffened under this grip. Cody quickly removed his arm, and Paul stepped away, giving him a very sheepish grin.

  “It was really nice getting to know you, man,” Cody stammered.

  Paul did not meet his eyes. “Yeah, sure,” he said quickly.

  To where had the warm and open man Cody had just had dinner with disappeared? They stood, suddenly awkward strangers, next to one another. Cody strained for something else to say. Should he thank him?

  Before Cody had to worry about thinking of anything at all to say, though, Paul was moving away from him and heading toward the camera crew.

  Cody watched from a distance as the guys, all presumably straight, began laughing and talking. He didn’t feel they were laughing at him. After all, they worked on a gay-themed show that appeared on a gay network. But he could see an immediate and easy camaraderie between the men.

  He felt excluded.

  Although there was nothing to stop him from going over and joining them, he knew he never would. They would tolerate him with good humor, he was sure, and that would hurt. Tolerance was not always a good thing.

  He shrugged. He guessed what Paul had done was acting.

  As if on cue and as if to confirm it, Martha sidled up to him. “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

  “Fabulous,” Cody said. “Although I think Paul would use a term like awesome instead.”

  “Now don’t be hard on him; he’s a good guy.”

  “Oh, he sure is.”

  Martha stared at him, leaned in, and said softly, “Honey, we have all fallen for Paul at one time or another. He’s everybody’s dream man. He’s not only good-looking, but he’s genuinely nice. There isn’t a rarer bird on the planet.” She laughed.

  “I hope that isn’t true,” Cody said, suddenly tired. “Remind me what’s next.”

  “We’re doing Vancouver Island in BC next weekend. It’ll be a blast. High tea at the Empress,” Martha said, as though she were holding out some special prize.

  “I can hardly wait,” Cody said, failing to put conviction behind his words.

  “And you’re paired with a real dreamboat.”

  “Uh-huh. Listen, I’m close to home, so I’m just gonna walk.”

  “Are you sure? We can drop you off. We have all your stuff.”

  Cody waved a dismissive hand. “Keep it. It’ll save me from bringing it next weekend. See you then.” He bent down and gave Martha a quick peck on the cheek. He whispered in her ear, “Thank you.”

  And then he walked off into the darkness.

  Chapter 10

  The day looked like what the uninitiated think of when they imagine Seattle. Dreary. Gray. Incessant rain.

  Cody rose early to peer out his window and saw banks of bruised, low-hanging clouds plodding across the horizon. The wind had applied drizzle to his windows like glitter. Thunder rumbled. A flash of lightning turned Stone Way into a noir movie set. A runner below him veered left to avoid being splashed by an SUV going too fast.

  “Great.” Cody turned from the window. Ryder sat on the floor at his feet, staring up at him. “Say no more, buddy.” The dog wagged his tail. Cody grabbed the leash, and the two of them went out into the damp, which Ryder loved and Cody didn’t.

  After they were back inside and Ryder had shaken so hard it was like giving a shower to Cody’s living room, Cody went into his kitchen to make coffee and an English muffin. He smiled cynically. “Perfect day to be out on the water.”

  Ryder barked.

  “And yes, I’ll get your breakfast too.” He’d have to hurry. Aside from getting himself ready, he needed to drop Ryder off at the kennel. He hated leaving the dog there, even though the staff was uniformly great and it was clean and comfortable. Yet he couldn’t help but be consumed by guilt as he thought of Ryder curling up in a cage at night instead of in bed next to him. Dogs didn’t know any better. He was sure Ryder wondered if he’d ever return.

  Cody thought that whomever his husband turned out to be, he must love dogs and be willing to share a bed with one. There was no room for negotiation on that score.

  The Husband Hunters crew would pick him up within the next couple of hours, and they would whisk him away to the downtown waterfront—Pier 69 to be exact—so he could board the Victoria Clipper. The boat would ferry him and his potential husband to Vancouver Island in British Columbia.

  They would be spending the weekend at the glorious and historic Empress Hotel and enjoying all the sights the island had to offer: the harbor front, Butchart Gardens (which made Cody picture a place designed by Tom of Finland, a fact he was certain wasn’t the case), Craigdarroch Castle, and much more.

  Cody had always wanted to go to Victoria but had never made the trip.

  But why today? He inwardly moaned. With the dark skies, thunder, and lightning raging outside, all he could visualize for their three-hour-or-so ferry ride was seasickness, ashen complexions, and trying gamely to endure.

  He shook his head and sat down with his simple meal, Ryder at his feet, ever hopeful for a stray crumb or a plate to lick. He wasn’t proud.

  Cody was now sorry—very sorry—he had not listened to his inner voice that day last winter when Matt had called to tell him about the Husband Hunters auditions. That voice had very reasonably told him the whole enterprise was one that was bound to be fraught with fakery, shallowness, and hopelessness. Why he’d even considered for a minute that he might find a potential mate by allowing himself to be humiliated on national TV was something he didn’t want to ponder. Whatever the reason, he did not come out looking smart.

  And look what it had done to h
is friendship with Matt! If a friendship even existed, it was now, Cody feared, irreparably damaged. He thought sadly that he and Matt would never be on the same footing again.

  Feeling numb and anticipating the weekend more like he “anticipated” a visit to his dentist, Cody headed for the shower. Perhaps the feel of warm, rushing water would elevate his spirits enough to at least get in the proper frame of mind. He knew dropping Ryder off certainly wouldn’t.

  He tried to tell himself there was a man out there who was also greeting the day and eager to meet him. It wouldn’t be fair for Cody to take out his frustrations on this stranger he was about to become fast traveling companions with, if not something more.

  Cody was surprised, once he got dressed, to see that the day had done a complete about-face. Sunlight streamed in his windows. The blue of the sky had chased away all but a few clouds, and the ones still hanging around were pristine, white, and bore no relation to the gray monsters that had preceded them only a short time ago. These were like fluffy strands of cotton. Ryder had curled up in a swatch of sunlight on the bed and snored softly. Cody hated having to disturb him, but he didn’t have time to feel guilty. He lay down beside the dog and whispered, “Time to get up, little buddy. Go to the doggie hotel.” Ryder flicked his ear as if Cody’s breath were an errant fly but did not open his eyes. “You can pretend to be asleep, but it won’t change anything.” Brown canine eyes at last opened and regarded him with suspicion.

  When Cody got Ryder’s leash, the dog got a burst of energy. “Let’s go!” Cody shouted, his voice extending the promise of a treat, an exciting trip outdoors, or, please, please, please God, a trip in the car. As Cody fastened the harness around Ryder, he hoped both of them would return home from their weekends filled with only pleasant memories.

  * * * *

  Later, Cody took a quick glance outside once more. The tarmac actually steamed, promising heat. Any dampness out there would most likely be burned away by noon.

  That fact lifted his spirits. Before he turned away, he saw the white van with its Husband Hunters signage pull up to the curb in front of his building. Simultaneously his phone began to play its ringtone.