Sid was continuing, "I took the liberty of getting you an apartment in Bellaire."
Les sat up straight in his chair, "But what about Russ ?"
Les asked, suddenly feeling overwhelmed.
"What about him?"
"He's my partner. I love him. I'm..." Les stammered.
"A movie star," Sid reminded him. "At this stage you can't have both. You'll have to choose: a boyfriend or an acting career?"
"I can't. I...what will I tell Russ?"
"You don't have to tell him anything," Sid said all businesslike and practical. "I talked to him this morning."
"You what?" Les exclaimed, somewhat alarmed.
"Relax," Sid said with a reassuring smile. "He understands what's at stake here, and he's on board with it. I'm moving him to a new apartment, too. You guys will be miles apart. For the time being it'll be best if you two don't see each other too often. You're all moved out already. Your clothes and personal belongings were taken to the new place today. It's furnished.
Here are the keys and the address. Russ will stay in your old place another month until the story in The Examiner goes cold and the fuckin' paparazzi stops sniffing around. If he moves out too soon it will look suspicious."
* * * *
Les sat in his car in the parking lot outside Sid's office building, staring at the set of keys and the slip of paper with his new address scribbled on it. His heart was pounding and he felt panicky. Cold sweat dribbled down his back. His life was suddenly out of his control. On the one hand he was a pampered up-and-coming movie star with the world at his feet; on the other he was a gay man who had been forced, not only back into the closet, but to abandon his partner as well.
He opened his cell phone and called Russ, fighting back tears as the phone rang.
"Hi, Les," a sad, but strong voice said. "I've been waiting for you to call."
"Russ..." Les couldn't talk.
"It's okay," Russ said soothingly. "I understand. It's going to be all right. I promise. We'll work this out some way."
Les mumbled, "Okay."
"They came and got your stuff this morning. I helped to make sure you got all the things you would really want: pictures from home, your favorite DVD's and CD's, and I slipped in a picture of us...just so you don't forget what I look like." He laughed softly but Les could tell he was trying to stay in control.
"I'm so sorry, Russ, really."
"Hey, I said we'd work it out so we can have the best of both worlds. I'm gonna read Rock Hudson's and Tab Hunter's biographies to see how they kept it hidden for so well for so many years," he said with a soft laugh. "Maybe I'll get some ideas."
Again Les could tell Russ was attempting to keep it light.
"I miss you already," Les said feebly.
"Me, too. Call me. They can't tap our phone or hack our computers...yet." He laughed. "I love you, Freddy."
Les wished in someway he could still be Freddy Perkins.
He smiled. "Love you back."
They said goodbye.
* * * *
"So, it's been three weeks since you've seen him? Turn this way a little, sweetheart," Arnie said as he applied Les's make-up for that day's scenes.
Les sighed. "Yes, Sid feels we need to give it time so that nothing more is published about us."
Arnie tsked. "Those gossip mongers can be soooo tenacious. Are they still putting stuff out?"
"Not that I know of, but just yesterday somebody was shooting pictures of me when I went into my new apartment. I guess they still want to find out if Russ was anything more than a roommate."
"Honey, they're not going to give up. You're a hot commodity right now. Close your eyes. Now look up."
After finishing the eye make-up, Arnie looked at Les, critically inspecting his work. "Okay, stand up. Time for the body treatment."
Les stood and took off his shirt. Next he slid his jeans down and kicked them off. Today they would shoot a love scene, and he would need total body make-up. He thought it was a bit silly as he had worked on his tan and thought make-up was just overkill.
Arnie began applying body toner to Les's back and shoulders. "Well, you have been out with Tiffany, Tina, and Hillary. So, that has them somewhat distracted from Russ but also curious as to which one of them is capturing your heart. Turn around."
Les did as he was told. "Yeah, I know. But you know there's nothing that's going to come of those prefabricated dates."
"Oh, don't be too sure. The studio has ways of putting pressure on their stars to protect their investment."
Arnie began applying toner to Les's chest and inadvertently stroked Les's sensitive nipples. Due to his enforced celibacy, Les's response was almost instantaneous.
Arnie giggled. "Oh, my. It has been a long time since you've seen your man," he said, looking down at the bulge in Les's briefs.
He continued to apply the make-up, working his way down Les's torso. When he reached the waistband of the underwear he teasingly cupped Les's full package and said, "You surely do need some kind of relief here, sweetie."
Les laughed and shook his head. "Yeah, I do. We can take care of only so much on the phone at night, but it sure isn't the same as being with him."
"If there's ever anything I can do," Arnie said, batting his heavily made up eyelashes.
"You'll be the first to know," Les said, laughing again.
Inside he had the urge to take Arnie up on his offer. No, he wouldn't go there. His horniness at being separated from Russ was no justification for playing around. He'd played with Orin but that served a purpose, or so he thought at the time. This would just be to get his rocks off, and he couldn't do that to Russ.
Arnie smiled a sweet, pouty smile and said, "Well, sugar, if you change your mind, just give me a call."
* * * *
That night, after filming for the day was done, Les drove home. He parked in his covered stall and walked toward his building. He looked around warily. No one seemed to be around checking him out with a camera.
Good, he thought. Maybe if this goes on for a few more weeks Russ and I can get together.
He let himself into the foyer and picked up his mail.
After showering, he lay on his bed, naked and hard. He picked up the phone and called Russ's number.
Three rings later the voice of the man he missed with every fiber of his being, said, "Hi, Les. I love you."
"Oh God, Russ, I miss you so much. I don't know if this is all worth it," Les said, slowly stroking his erect cock.
"Of course it is," Russ replied. "It won't always be like this. We'll find a way to be together."
"I wish you were here now. Are you naked?"
"No, but I can be. Hang on. I'll put the phone on speaker. There, can you hear me?"
"Yes," Les breathed, trying to picture Russ disrobing. "Tell me what you're doing."
He heard two clunks. "I just kicked my shoes off," Russ said. "Now I'm unbuttoning my shirt and running my hands over my hairy chest and abs, pretending it's you."
Les pictured Russ's hairy body and thought about his hard nips---at least he assumed they were hard. "Is your cock stiff yet?" He continued to stroke his dick, painting his cock head with the pre-cum that oozed from the tip.
Russ chuckled. "Hold your horses there, my man. I just got the shirt off. Now I'm undoing my belt and undoing my pants."
Les could hear the zipper. "Oh God," he moaned.
"I'm sliding my pants off."
"Don't take your briefs off yet," Les requested. "You are wearing whities aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Russ replied.
"Well, cup your balls and squeeze 'em like I would if I was there."
"You got it. Jesus, Les. I'm so hard. I want your mouth on my cock so bad."
"I know, baby, I know. I feel that way, too," Les said as his breathing became more irregular and ragged. "Take your cock out. Jack it. I'm gonna cum soon and I want us to do it together."
"Okay," Russ said. "Out and strokin'."
&nb
sp; "Yeah, Babe. Pretend your hand is my mouth on your cock. I'm doing it too. I miss you so fuckin' much, Russ."
"Me, too, Les. I need you, man. I need you."
Les's nuts tightened and he felt a tingle in the small of his back. "I'm gonna shoot, Russ. Are you close?"
"Right there, baby. Right there. Oh God! Fuck!" These words were followed by strangled moans and grunts.
Les could picture what was happening at the other end of the line. It pushed him over the edge. His cum spewed from his throbbing dick, coating his pecs and abs with ropes of creamy, white fluid.
Les lay still, squeezing his dick as it softened. Then he rubbed the cum around on his abs as his breathing returned to normal.
"I love you, Les," Russ said softly.
"I know you do, and I love you, too."
Before saying goodnight Les told Russ about his day on the set. Russ teased him about becoming the next John Wayne and related his own day at the office. They talked a few practical money matters and once again lamented their forced separation but came to no solution for the time being.
"Sleep tight. I love you. Bye for now," Les said, making a kissing sound into the phone. This was echoed by Russ. Then they hung up.
Les got up, went to the bathroom, pissed, washed the dried cum off his chest, and went to bed.
* * * *
"You're sure there's nothing I can do to help you out?"
Arnie asked, stroking Les's hard cock as Les lay on his back on a bed with Arnie between his legs.
"You could put your mouth where that hand is."
Arnie did as he was asked and swallowed Les all the way, making appreciative mewing sounds as he did.
Suddenly the scene shifted and Les was sitting on the side of the bed. Arnie was straddling him, lowering himself onto Les's stiff dick. When he was fully impaled he wrapped his legs around Les's waist and his arms around his neck. Les got up and, with Arnie still fully skewered on his throbbing prick, began to waltz around the room while Arnie sang "Shall We Dance."
When Arnie finished the song Les stopped dancing and Arnie lowered his lips to Les's. Just as they were about to touch...
Les woke with a start as he felt his dick erupt and coat the sheets with cum. When the orgasm subsided, he rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling.
"Shit," he said aloud to the room. "I can't take this anymore. I gotta be with Russ. There's gotta be a way."
* * * *
Shooting on the Morris film was complete. Les had a few days off before retakes of several scenes were scheduled. He left his apartment to do some shopping and pick up a few groceries. He wore a baseball cap, baggy shorts, a nondescript tee, and sunglasses. All the tales of celebrities going out incognito were not myths. Since the success of his first movie he could scarcely go out without someone recognizing him. It was both gratifying and tiresome. And there was always the paparazzi lurking somewhere.
Standing in line at the checkout, he glanced at the rack of tabloid magazines. He was on the covers of several. Pictures of him with Tiffany, Tina, or Hillary smiled up at him while the banners proclaimed him the Casanova of the year, breaking the hearts of first one starlet then another.
Frederickson's doing his job. That's for sure, he thought.
The lady in front of him began to unload her cart. Les moved forward and another magazine caught his eye:
STARLIGHT: The magazine that sheds light on the private lives of the Stars. The main story involved the revelation that one of the prominent candidates running for state office was actually the love child of Hopalong Cassidy---an old-time cowboy star---and a Martian.
Where do they get this ridiculous stuff? Les thought, chuckling to himself.
He picked up the magazine and, there in the corner, saw a small picture of him and Russ. They were standing on the pier of the marina near his apartment. They were dressed in swim trunks; Les had his hand on Russ's shoulder and was pointing at something in the distance. The caption read, Bannister's hunky mystery man is back.
"Holy fuck!" Les exclaimed.
A woman in back of him with two kids and a full cart of groceries reprimanded him. "Young man! Watch your language! There are impressionable children present."
"I'm...I'm sorry," Les mumbled and stuffed the magazine in his cart.
"Hey," said one of the kids, a girl of about twelve, "ain't you Les Bannister, the movie star?"
Normally Les would have admitted that he was and given the autograph that would have inevitably been requested.
However, all he wanted to do was check out and get to the car and read what the gossip rag had said about him and Russ without drawing attention to himself.
"No, I'm not. Sorry," Les said.
"Are you sure? Take off that cap and them sunglasses. I bet you are him," the girl persisted.
"Marti," the mother stepped in, "watch your manners. Of course it's not him. Movie stars don't do their own shopping. You leave the man alone." Then she added, in an undertone that Les assumed he wasn't supposed to hear, "'Sides he's not handsome enough to be Les Bannister."
Once checked out, Les hurried to his convertible with his groceries and magazine. He pulled the car into a less populated area of the lot, parked next to a minivan, and opened the periodical to the page indicated.
There were three somewhat blurry but recognizable pictures of him and Russ on the balcony of Les's high-rise apartment, obviously taken with a telephoto lens.
He remembered that evening. They had made love, donned robes, and stepped outside to enjoy a glass of wine and watch the sunset over the Pacific. The photos showed them standing side by side, arms around each other. There was another of them kissing and one holding each other at arms length, laughing, raising their glasses as if they were toasting each other.
The article started with, After being in the shadows for several months, Les Bannister's hunky mystery man reappears.
After going on to identify Russ by name and insinuating his role as Les's financial advisor was a cover-up, it ended with, So, what will the studio come up with to continue to make it look like America's newest infatuation is a straight shooter?
Les's mouth went dry. His frustration with not being able to see his boyfriend had led to this. Despite Russ's caution, Les had talked him into meeting and coming over to the apartment. Les thought they had been careful, discreet. Obviously they hadn't.
Damn those bastards, he thought.
He took out his cell and called Russ's office.
"Wilson, Tyler, and Trinkley," came the sweet but professional voice of Anna, the receptionist, over the phone.
Normally Les would have identified himself, but today he felt like an escaped slave, fleeing from the overseers, who had to keep his head down or get it blown off. Maybe that was all he was now, a slave to the star-making system.
"I'd like to speak with Russ Williams," Les said, taking on an accent, trying to make himself sound less recognizable.
"I'm sorry; he's with a client right now."
Damn it!
"I'd be glad to take your name and number and have him call you back?"
In frustration Les disconnected the call. He sat, leaning his head on the headrest. He took off his sunglasses and closed his eyes.
"Mama! I told you it was him! Look, Mama, that's the yellow car that was in the picture of him and Tiffany Goldwin in that magazine you were reading in the store."
Les sat up with a start. It was the young girl from the grocery line.
"Why, Marti, I do believe you were right after all," the mother said as she pushed her cartload of groceries to the minivan Les had parked next to.
She let go of the cart. It glided on its own, careening into the side of Les's car as she came up to him. The kids crowded around, too.
"Oh, Mr. Bannister," she gushed. "We all loved Survival. We can't wait until your next movie comes out. I know you're busy and all, but would you mind...?"
She thrust her cash register receipt into his hand and rummaged in
her purse for something to write with, emerging a moment later with the stub of a blue crayon.
Les could barely focus. Getting on top of this mess was all that was on his mind right then. But somehow he agreed and took the crayon.
"Would you sign 'To my biggest fan, Tessa'?" the woman began.
"And Marti, that's Marti...with an i," the girl chimed in.
Les looked at the boy. The lad apparently was unimpressed that he was in the presence of a star, and just shrugged his shoulders. With some difficulty, as he was using a crayon and writing on a flimsy strip of paper, Les wrote what was requested.
He did his best to be gracious, in spite of the stress he was feeling, and asked if they would mind removing their grocery cart from the fender of his convertible.
The mom sharply yelled to the boy, as if he'd been the one to allow the cart to crash into the vehicle. "Henry! Take the cart away from Mr. Bannister's car right now! Right now, I said!"
Les thanked her and began to pull away. Tessa and Marti stood and waved, Tessa clutching the autographed cash register receipt to her breast.
Unless I do something to fix this mess, that may be the last 'graph signing I have, he thought ruefully as he watched the family shrink from sight in the rearview mirror.
As he unlocked the door and carried his purchases into his apartment his landline was ringing. He dumped the bags on the couch and rushed to the phone.
"Hello?" he said hesitantly, expecting it to be Frederickson from the studio to chew him out about the story in Starlight.
"Les, this is Russ. Anna said you called earlier but didn't leave a message."
So much for being a character actor, Les thought realizing the accent he had faked didn't fool Anna. That'd be all that was left for me after this fiasco, and I can't even do that right.
"Russ, I have awful news."
He went on to tell Russ about the photos and the story in the tabloid.
Russ was quiet for a few seconds, and then said, "Well, at least it's Starlight. That's the least believable and least read of all that trash."
The Price of Fame Page 6
