Fausto laughed. “I’m no fortune hunter. I do all right, myself.”
“My point is, the two of you can pretty well live where you want to, and do what you want, right? So why shouldn’t you think about doing it together? And if you’re worried about me—I’m not a kid any longer. I’ll be moving out on my own, soon.”
They were interrupted by Gene, who kissed Fausto good morning—in front of Marc, Fausto realized. A small gesture, perhaps, but a significant one.
During breakfast, Fausto felt the need to make small talk.
“I was thinking about David Carlyle last night, for some reason,” he remarked. “What ever happened to him?”
“Oh, David and I still exchange Christmas cards, that sort of thing. Didn’t you know? He lives on the West Coast now. It’s funny, isn’t it? We used to think of him as ‘an older guy,’ didn’t we, but he was only about thirty back then, so he’s only fifty or so now. He has a lover, a house full of antiques, a dog—the whole middle-class ‘gay marriage’ thing. I used to think that was kind of corny, but now—” Gene smiled and shrugged. “Now, I’m not so sure. Listen—how much longer is this book tour of yours going to last?”
“Another week.”
“And after that?”
“I’ll be home in LA for a while. No real plans, just resting up after all this traveling around.”
“Good.” Gene hesitated. “Maybe you’d like to come back up here for a real visit. Or I could come visit you.”
“I’d like that, Gene. Either way.”
“You haven’t taken a real vacation in years, Dad,” Marc interjected. “Maybe you and Fausto ought to run away together, to some romantic hideaway.”
“Oh, shut up.” But Gene grinned at Fausto over his coffee cup.
An hour later, Fausto and Gene were in the BMW, on their way to the airport. Fausto had said goodbye to Marc, and he and Gene had stopped at the hotel to collect Fausto’s things and get him checked out.
They didn’t talk much during the ride, but as Gene pulled into the parking lot, he suddenly said, “About us going away on a trip together—maybe it’s not such a bad idea.”
“Yeah, I’d really like that. And I have some free time, before we start shooting Gradivus again.”
“Where would we go?”
“I don’t know. I don’t care, really. Anywhere.”
Gene handed Fausto a slip of paper. “Here. I’ve written down my phone numbers—home and work. Call me, and we can discuss it. Or—just call me if you get bored during the rest of your trip, and we can just talk.”
“Thanks. I will.”
“I guess this is going to have to be goodbye—for now.”
Fausto didn’t want to get out of the car. Some instinct told him that what he did during the next few minutes would affect the rest of his life. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, the way it used to on the football field, during a game, when he had to execute some vital play and was unsure of the outcome.
“Gene, I have to tell you something.”
“Sure, what?”
“It’s bad, really bad.”
“For Christ’s sake, Fausto, you look like you’re going to pass out or something! What is it?”
“You’re going to hate me for this, but I have to tell you. I can’t lie to you about something like this. I can’t get on the plane and leave here without telling you.”
Gene stared at him. “Are you HIV positive? If you are, it doesn’t matter to me.”
“No, nothing like that. This is worse.”
“What could be worse than that?”
Fausto avoided Gene’s eyes, and stared straight out through the windshield, while he blurted out the whole story—how he’d gone to the restaurant, how Marc had waited on him, how they’d had sex with each other in the hotel room, how they’d pretended in front of Gene the night before and that morning. The words came out of him in a breathless rush, and afterward, he fell silent, his heart still pounding away madly.
He’d expected Gene to react violently—to shout insults and curses at him, maybe even to punch him in the face. He almost wished Gene would hit him. But, instead, his friend just sat there beside him, staring out through the windshield, too, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.
“Well,” Gene said, after a long pause. “I guess that’s the end of the ‘Marc could just be going through a phase’ theory. Shit!”
“Gene, if I’d known he was your kid—”
“Well, you didn’t know, did you? How could you, when he didn’t bother to tell you?”
“I’m nothing but a lousy whore. I’m absolutely worthless.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up.” For the first time, there was a hint of anger in Gene’s voice. “I don’t want to hear you talk like that. So you got laid. A hot young number throws himself at you, and you take him up on it. I don’t blame you. I’m not exactly in a position to throw stones, you know. It’s kind of ironic, in a ‘serves me right’ way. Marc’s doing exactly what you and I did when we were his age.”
“I couldn’t lie to you about something as important as this. Even if it means you never want to see me again.”
“I appreciate it, Fausto.” Gene sighed. “If only—when I first found out you were coming here, I should’ve tried to write to you, or call you, instead of playing silly games. But I wanted to surprise you at the bookstore. Some surprise, all right! Jesus, I can’t believe it—that Marc is really gay, I mean. I always suspected, but I hoped—”
“You don’t think there’s anything wrong with being gay, do you, Gene?”
“I don’t know. If I had my life to live over again—let’s just say that we never want our kids to go through what we had to, if they can avoid it. You want to protect them, even though you can’t, not always. If you had children, you’d understand.” Gene sighed. “And Marc already has one stroke against him, with that fucked-up father of his. Frankly, I’m surprised he hasn’t acted out more. Fooling around with a buddy his own age is one thing—throwing himself at older men is another. I’m not sure it’s the smartest thing to do. And—I was sort of counting on being a grandparent some day.”
“Gay couples have children nowadays. They adopt. That was unheard of, back when we were Marc’s age.”
“How cozy,” Gene snapped. For the first time, there was bitterness in his tone of voice. “I can see it now. A family reunion, with Marc, his ‘domestic partner’ or whatever the hell they call it nowadays, their adopted kids—and me and my goddamn one-night stands. Something to look forward to in my old age!”
Fausto bit his lip. Is that what I am to him—just another of those “goddamn one-night stands?” And if I am, isn’t that exactly what I deserve to be?
Fausto consulted his wristwatch. “I have to catch my plane,” he said, feeling miserable.
“I know.”
“What are we going to do now?”
“I don’t know, Fausto. You’re going to have to give me a little time, to let all of this sink in.”
“I do love you, Gene.”
“I love you, too.”
“I’m not just saying it.”
“Me, neither. If I didn’t love you, I mean really love you, I don’t think this would hurt so much. All of it hurts—remembering the old days, wondering whether I made the right choices, seeing you getting ready to leave again.” Gene sighed. “Maybe I let myself get a little too carried away yesterday. I admit it—ever since I lost my wife, I’ve been lonely. Oh, don’t get me wrong. Marc’s a great kid, and he’s wonderful to have around, but…he’s my son. It’s not like having a partner. Another person to really share your life with.”
“I really have to go,” Fausto said, after sneaking another look at his watch. “Unless…I could always take a later flight. We could spend a little more time together, and talk some more.”
“No, you mustn’t change your schedule for my sake, Fausto. And—no offense—but I feel kind of talked out, for now. What I need to do is take some time by
myself, and think.”
“All right. I’ll go. Good-bye, then.”
“Good-bye. For God’s sake, take care of yourself.”
“You, too.”
Fausto touched Gene’s hand, resting on the steering wheel, then grabbed his suitcase and got out of the car. He walked through the parking lot and inside the airport, not looking back.
He was sure he would never see Gene again. People always talk about being given a second chance, he thought. Well, I was given my second chance—we both were, Gene and I—and I blew it.
Damn it, we didn’t even kiss. I didn’t even have the guts to kiss him good-bye. Maybe he didn’t want to kiss me. Maybe he’s disgusted with me, the same way I’m disgusted with myself. Damn!
As he presented his boarding pass, he felt numb, like an automaton. Ordinarily, he experienced some mild anxiety about flying, at least until the plane was actually in the air—but not this time. He was absolutely certain that this particular plane was not going to crash. He was not going to be let off that easily.
Chapter Eighteen:
An Unexpected Visitor
Brent persuaded Fausto to stay throughout the weekend. The three men went shopping on Saturday afternoon, went out to some clubs on Saturday night, and went out for brunch on Sunday morning. Most of the time, though, they spent at Brent’s place, relaxing, talking, and making love. Brent insisted that Fausto sleep over on Sunday night, as well, although in fact none of them got much sleep. On Monday morning, a fucked-out Fausto reluctantly tore himself away.
“You guys are going to wear me out,” he complained, happily.
Brent laughed. “Not likely. We’ll do this again, sometime soon.”
“Maybe I’ll start looking for a house,” Fausto said. “And then you two can be my guests.”
He gave first Brent, then Paul, a goodbye hug and kiss. Fausto was beginning to feel quite fond of Paul, who was very sexy in his laid-back, unassuming way. He was beginning to understand the nature of the other two men’s relationship. They were friends with benefits—fuck buddies. As, Fausto had to admit, were he and Brent, for that matter. Joining themselves up to form a triangle seemed like elementary geometry, and perfectly logical.
Fausto checked in with Jake, and they devoted part of that Monday afternoon to business, over lunch.
“Be honest with me, Jake. Am I financially secure enough that—assuming I don’t live too extravagant a lifestyle—I could live wherever I want, or do or not do whatever I decide to? To make a living, I mean?”
Jake’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. But he answered promptly and succinctly enough. “Yes, you are.”
“Good.”
“But I don’t like the sound of that ‘not do’ bit. Ten percent of nothing is zero, you know.”
“Oh, I imagine I’ll go on working, in some capacity or another. This acting thing seems to be working out okay for me, so far.”
“You sound awfully light and airy about the whole thing, Fausto. What’s brought this on?”
Fausto smiled. “Maybe I’ve fallen in love.”
“Oh, no. An agent’s worst nightmare! The client’s girlfriend, or wife—or, in your case, his boyfriend, or his husband. God help me.”
“The guy I have in mind—he’s a very astute businessman in his own right, as a matter of fact.”
“Even worse.”
“Afraid of the competition, Jake?”
“I’m afraid you’ll lose your head, over some young stud, half your age.”
“Not to worry. He’s the same age as me. He has a son half my age.”
“You mean you’re going to become a stepdaddy?”
“I hope so.”
“Unbelievable. Obviously, I can’t let you out of my sight for a minute. I send you off on what was supposed to be a perfectly harmless little book tour, all business, and you come back all starry-eyed and giddy. When am I going to get to meet this guy?”
“Soon, I hope.”
“Don’t even think about hooking up with the son of a bitch until I do meet him, and get to know him. He’s going to have to meet with my approval.”
“Jesus, Jake. You’re only a little older than me, but you’re acting as though you were my father. If I do end up marrying Gene,” Fausto half-joked, “do you intend to be the one who gives me away?”
“Hell, yes. After I’ve drawn up the pre-nup, for you two guys to sign!”
At home that evening, Fausto checked his messages, on his phone’s answering machine, then turned on his computer and read his e-mails. To his disappointment, there was no message from Gene. He began to experience a lover’s typical anxiety. Maybe he’d come on too strong, during their previous phone conversation, and Gene was having second thoughts. Maybe he’d scared Gene off.
Lingering guilt had something to do with his overreaction. After all, he’d just spent an entire weekend enjoying himself with Brent and Paul. For all he knew, Gene had been doing the same thing in Seattle, with one or more of the locals there. Rebound sex.
Finally, Fausto made himself a stiff drink, gulped down half of it to give himself quick courage, and picked up the phone—but not to call a fuck buddy or the escort service, as he might have done a few weeks previously. He nervously punched in the cell number Gene had given him, and which he’d now memorized. There was no answer. Fausto consulted his scribbled notes, and tried an alternate number, that of the land line in Gene’s house in Seattle.
“Boudreau residence.” It was Marc’s voice.
“Marc! It’s, uh, Fausto.”
“Jesus, man! Where are you calling from?”
“Home. LA. I’ve been here a few days.”
“Glad you got home okay. How’d the other stops on your trip go?”
“Fine,” Fausto said impatiently. In fact, the rest of the trip was already a distant memory for him. “Marc, I have to talk to your father.”
“Damn, you just missed him. And speaking of Dad—” Marc paused, then, suddenly sounding much more serious, went on. “You just had to spill your guts to him before you left, didn’t you?”
“Oh, God. He told you?”
“Oh, we had one hell of a father-son talk when he came back from taking you to the airport that day. I’m lucky he didn’t turn me over his knee, spank my ass, and then make me write a thousand times, ‘I will not pick up customers at the restaurant, or have sex with my Dad’s old boyfriends!’”
“Marc, I had to tell him. I couldn’t go on lying to him about it.”
“I understand. It’s all right. Things got a little heavy between the two of us, after that. It was like one of those made-for-TV movies, you know? We ended up bawling and hugging, the whole intense male-bonding bit. I guess it could be considered a sort of breakthrough. It sure cleared the air. All kidding aside, Dad’s a lot more comfortable, now, with the idea of me being gay. And he’s a lot less embarrassed about talking to me about his own sex life. I guess we owe that to you, big guy. Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. But tell me. When will Gene be back?”
“I honestly don’t know. When I came home from the restaurant tonight, I found a note he’d left me. All it says is that he had to go out of town on business unexpectedly. Nothing about exactly where he’s going, or when he’ll be back. Don’t you have his cell phone number?”
“I just tried it. No answer.”
“Sometimes he puts it in his briefcase when he’s traveling, instead of in his pocket.”
Fausto groaned. “Didn’t he even tell you where he is, or how to reach him?”
“No, but I imagine he told somebody down at his office all that. His secretary must know. She always makes his travel arrangements for him. If you want me to, I can call her tomorrow morning, find out, and then call you back.”
“Please do that for me, Marc. I’ve got to talk to your Dad, even if it means calling him long distance and interrupting him on his business trip.”
“You sound kind of bent out of shape, man.”
“I guess I am.
I guess I’m a little nervous, and I won’t get over it until I’ve had a chance to talk to your Dad, as a matter of fact.”
They talked for some time, and Fausto felt better after confiding in the boy.
“Ah, Fausto?” Marc asked. “One other thing.”
“What?”
“Maybe I shouldn’t bring this up, under the circumstances. But I really enjoyed having sex with you. Especially when you fucked me. Even if it turns out to have been just a one-night stand, I’ll never forget it. I hope you and Dad end up together. I really do. But, whatever happens, I’d like you and me to be friends.”
“We are friends, Marc. And don’t worry. You’ll meet some guy and fall in love with him, maybe someday soon. Then you’ll really be able to understand how your Dad and I feel about each other.”
They conversed for a few minutes longer, about trivial things. After he said goodbye to Marc and hung up, Fausto finished his drink, but decided not to have another. Getting smashed, alone at home, wasn’t going to solve anything. Talking to Marc had gone a long way toward soothing his jangled nerves. He might as well take a long hot shower to complete the process, then go to bed—alone.
He stripped, lingered in the steamy shower until the walls of his bathroom were dripping from the condensation, then dried off and slipped into a pair of worn old sweatpants. He was about to go over to a bookcase and select a book, to take it into his bedroom and read it in bed, when the doorbell rang.
Too preoccupied even to speculate about who it might be, Fausto opened the door—and found himself facing Gene!
“If you’ve got some guy waiting for you in the bedroom, throw him the hell out,” Gene said matter-of-factly. He looked tense.
“Gene! What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Chasing after you, like a fool, I guess. Hang on a minute. I didn’t want to send the cab away until I knew you were home.” Gene dropped a small travel bag on the floor, then turned and vanished, as abruptly as he’d appeared. Had it not been for the bag on the floor, Fausto might’ve thought he’d imagined the whole thing. But a moment later, Gene was back, smiling, looking slightly more relaxed.
The Fortunes of Fausto (Siren Publishing Allure ManLove) Page 22
