by Cody Ryder
“God, you don’t even know, Will. Ever since I read your wiki, I could barely stop thinking about how you had a girlfriend and how you were straight and how fucking broken up I was about that. And then I went and forgot about it. And now look at us. This is just unreal.”
He took me in his arms, and I hugged him back, nuzzling my face into his neck. God, he smelled good. “It is,” he said. “You want something to drink? Coffee?”
“Sure.”
He went to the kitchen and pulled out two mugs from the cupboard and set the pot on to boil. When the water was bubbling, he poured it into a French press. “Milk, sugar?” he asked me.
“Just a little sugar,” I said.
When the coffee was ready we took them over to the couch that sat facing his television, and both reclined onto it. He put his arm around me, and I felt the steady beat of his heart. “So what does dating a famous pop star entail?” I asked him, half teasing.
“Well,” he said, “you might get a song or two written about you.”
“I thought you didn’t write your own songs?”
“Sometimes the label lets me put one of my own on the record,” he said. “But either way, a song or two will be written about you.”
I chuckled, and then took a sip of my coffee. It was rich and flavorful, the real good stuff. “We’ll have to be a secret, won’t we?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Yes,” he said. “Are you okay with that?”
“I’m okay with it,” I said. “Counting you and Frankie, only my friend April knows that I’m…that I’m into guys.” I still wasn’t able to say it about myself. “I’m still very much in the closet. Yeah, I’m okay with it.” And I was. I still wasn’t ready to say it, and if things between us had to be a secret then that was just perfect. At that moment, I couldn’t have asked for a better situation. I didn’t know it then, but things would change.
“We can go out together,” he said. “You’re my photographer. No one will suspect a thing. You could even come on tour with me. And this place will always be a safe spot for us.” He looked at me, his ocean eyes flashing. “Come to my album recording tomorrow.”
“Would that be a good idea?” I asked doubtfully, though I really did want to.
“I want you to be there.” That was all he needed to say to convince me.
After finishing our coffees, I kissed Will, savoring his lips and the lingering flavor of the coffee that was there, and then stood up. “I should get going,” I said. I wondered if he would ask me to the stay the night, but he didn’t, and I was fine with that. A lot had happened that night, and taking things slow seemed like the right thing to do now, despite having been practically bursting at the seams for him not too long ago.
“You should come separate to the studio,” he said, seeing me off at the door. “I’ll text you the address.” He leaned in and kissed me, and as he did I felt my cock pulse with want. If he had wanted it, I would’ve gotten on my knees right then and there, but I resisted. Waiting would be better. Plus, though I didn’t want to admit it to myself at that moment, I was still nervous. Kissing was one thing, but taking the next step? I’d fantasized about it before, but actually doing it was something else. I’d never even seen another man’s cock before, let alone had one touch mine. I didn’t know if I would even know what to do.
“See you tomorrow, Will,” I said, feeling a strong surge of both happiness and longing for him. “Goodnight.” And then I stepped outside, and slowly closed the door behind me.
On the drive home, “Don’t Stop Believing” by Journey played on the radio, and belted along at the top of my lungs, my head swimming with a giddy joy because Will and I were together. It had to be a secret, but we were together.
“I feel like you should owe me money or something,” April said. It was the following morning, and I was talking to her through the Bluetooth wireless in my car as I slugged through traffic.
“I’ll buy you dinner,” I said, laughing.
“Nah, it’s cool. Just introduce me to one of his hot celebrity friends or something, and then I’ll call it even. So you have to keep it secret, huh? That sounds like it's going to be tough.”
“I don’t think it will be. We just have to stay apart in public, is all.”
“And that’s not going to be tough?” she asked. “Never being able to be public about your relationship? Never being able to tell anyone?”
“I don’t know, April. I’m alright with the idea.”
“You know yourself best. But as your best friend, I still think you need to admit to your parents and friends that you’re gay. Your relationship is a step, but you’re still holding it inside.”
“Come on, Aril,” I said, a little annoyed. Why did she have to bring it up? “I don’t need to come out and tell everyone. I’m fine with how things are, and besides, Will could never come out publicly. It would hurt his career.” I was saying this, but I honestly wasn’t sure how true it was.
“Maybe,” she said. “Yeah, maybe. Anyway, I’m happy for you, man. And not going to lie, just a little jealous. Seriously, introduce me to one of his hot celebrity friends. Does he know Chris Hemsworth?”
“I don’t know,” I laughed. “You can ask him yourself, whenever you get to meet him.”
Secret, hidden romance was exciting. It gave me a little thrill whenever I thought about it, and like I had said, I wasn’t ready to go public with own secrets. But still, April’s comments had planted just the tiniest seed of doubt. I really liked Will. I liked him a lot, so much that I thought that maybe I even felt the big four letter word about him, the other one that started with an “L”. I had never felt this way about anyone before.
Seven
I had my camera bag with me, just in case. I didn’t want to raise any suspicion. Pulling into the lot of the recording studio, I sat in my car for a moment, gathering myself. The past two times I had gone out with Will, I had seen him as himself. Today, I realized I would likely see him as a different person: William Masterson, the pop star. I picked up my bag and stepped outside into the heat, and immediately began to sweat. It had been warm throughout the week, but today it was pushing a hundred degrees, a scorcher of a weekend. Good, I thought to myself. At least I could sweat from nervousness and have an excuse. I walked into the building and was greeted by an icy burst of air-conditioning, and as I made my way up to the receptionist I wondered if this would be a repeat of my first day meeting Will.
“Hello,” I said to the girl sitting at the front desk.
“How can I help you?” she asked pleasantly.
“I’m a photographer, here with William Masterson’s group.”
“Okay, sir. Can I have your name please?”
I gave her my name, praying that Will had told them I was coming. I could call his cell phone, but that would be suspicious. A regular old photographer wouldn’t have William Masterson’s personal cell phone number. To my relief, I was on her list, and after she checked my ID she sent me through. “Down this hallway. Studio number four.”
“Thanks,” I said, and headed down the hall. The walls were lined with photographs of singers and bands, some of which I recognized, most I didn’t. A man with a lanyard badge around his neck walked down the hall carrying a stack of CDs and a hard drive, and gave me a nod. I nodded back. As I walked by the studios on the way to number four, I peeked in through the small windows of each door and saw people clustered around soundboards filled with switches, sliders and nobs, suited men and women reclining on leather couches as they watched people singing and performing through a glass partition. I smiled. This was the kind of environment I wanted to be in – filled with professionals, the best in their field, all doing their best work. I straightened up. I would be there, someday.
I reached studio number four, peeked in through the door, and saw that it was the largest of all the ones I had passed. Instead of a single couch behind the sound booth, there were two tiers of leather couches and a number of easy chairs. A man in a suit sa
t on the lower couch, his legs crossed and his arm stretched over the back. A woman stood a few feet away, her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she bobbed her head to music I could not hear, lips pursed tightly together. She looked extremely tense. At the sound booth was a bearded guy in a flannel shirt in jeans with a pair of headphones around his neck, and next to him there were two other young guys also bobbing their heads along to the music. Angling my view, I could see Will through the glass partition, singing into a microphone. A red “RECORDING” sign above the door glowed, and I waited until it went out to let myself into the room.
“He was flat during the second chorus,” the woman said to the bearded man at the sound mixer. None of them seemed to pay any attention to my entrance until finally the woman looked over, frowned, and said, “Who’s he?”
One of the younger guys came over to me. “Did you need something?” he asked.
“I’m Luke Golden, I’m here to shoot some photos of the recording session,” I said.
“I don’t remember being told about any photographer,” the woman said. She was pretty, though I could see that she was probably reaching her limit on face lifts and Botox injections and was getting to a point where doing anything else to her face would probably harm her looks more than help them.
The suited man stood up from the couch. “Oh, right. Will mentioned something to me about it. Said he had met a photographer at a party and was bringing him in.”
“He has a photographer,” the woman said. “Will, I wish he wouldn't go off on doing things like that without consulting one of us.”
“Luke is an extremely talented photographer, mom.” I turned and saw Will coming out from the recording booth. He smiled and extended a hand to me. “Good to see you again,” he said. When I shook his hand he gave mine a secret little squeeze before letting go.
So she was Will’s mother. Looking now I could see the resemblance; she had the same ocean blue eyes that he did, though I guessed that he must’ve inherited his cool charm from his dad.
“Linda’s right, Will,” the suited man said. “Believe it or not, there are certain procedures that need to be followed. Contracts and—”
“Mom. Michael. Relax,” Will said. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder. “You don’t need to worry, I’ve hired Luke myself. Independent of the label and everything. The photos he takes will be purely for my own enjoyment.”
“Will,” Linda said in a stern, motherly voice, “Honey. You can’t just go around bringing in anyone you want. There are background checks that need to be cleared. Who knows who this guy is?” She waved her hand in my direction. I wanted to speak up and defend myself, but it didn’t seem like a good idea given the situation. I was just a photographer, after all.
“There’s nothing in my contract preventing me from hiring a photographer for my own personal projects,” Will said. “This isn’t Disney, for god’s sake, mom.”
Michael, the suited man, was looking impatient. He glanced over to three guys at the booth, and one of them tapped his wrist. “We’ve got an album to finish, people. Discuss it later. Come on, let’s hustle.”
Will gave me a quick smile.
“Honey,” Linda said, grabbing his arm as he went back to the recording booth. “You were flat in the second chorus.”
“Okay,” he nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Oh, and honey?” She leaned in close to him and lowered her voice, though she was still loud enough for everyone to hear, “I’d prefer it if you consulted me before bringing in anyone. Okay?” He didn’t answer, and only stared back at her before turning and going into the booth. His mother smiled and crossed her arms over her chest.
“Okay,” the sound guy said, “we’re doing ‘Love Aesthetics’ again. Will, whenever you’re ready we’ll queue the track.” Inside the booth, Will put on his headphones, clearly irritated.
Everyone else went back to their business, Michael, who I later learned was Will’s manager, went back to his spot on the couch. Linda pretended I wasn't even there. I began to wonder why I had even come, and why Will had asked me to. It was obviously a terrible idea. I moved to the rear couches and set down my camera bag, unpacking my Canon and attaching a lens to it. I wanted to just leave, but I knew that would be a terrible idea and would blow my cover as unsuspecting photographer.
“Alright,” Will said, his voice coming clear over the monitor speakers.
The song was slow and heartfelt, about lost love, and it seemed like everything about Will’s composition changed. Singing these cookie cutter pop songs might not have been his passion, but he was clearly gifted and took the work very seriously. He sang with raw emotion, moving his body with the beat, his face tensed up in a look of heartfelt emotion as he belted through an intense part of the song. I was blown away, inspired, and moved at both the power in his voice and at his skill, and for a moment I forgot I was supposed to be taking photos.
Will’s mom nodded along and raised and lowered a flattened out hand in line with the pitch, and when the song ended she let out a satisfied, “yesss. That was the one.” Will came out from the booth, and she hugged him. “Very good, honey, very good.”
“Thanks, mom,” he said.
“Moving on?” Michael asked.
“Yessir, Mr. Bryant,” the recording guy replied. “Can’t Believe Us is the next track.”
“Let’s take just a quick break,” Will said. “I need to speak with my photographer about my project.”
“Honey, you’re all warmed up, you really shouldn’t—”
“Ten minutes?”
She narrowed her eyes disapprovingly, but didn’t say anything. “Fine,” Michael said. “Ten minute break. I’ve got a call I need to make anyway.”
Will lead me outside and down the hallway, chatting to me the whole time about our non-existent photography project until we stepped outside the building and into the back. “I can see what you meant about your mom,” I said.
“She’s very passionate about what I do,” he said. “Probably more than I am at this point.”
“You’re amazing, Will. You say you’re not passionate, but watching you it’s really hard to believe that.”
“Practice,” he said simply.
“Practice? I don’t know. People could practice their entire lives and not be nearly as good as you. It’s not just your voice…it’s everything.”
We turned a corner into a hidden spot near some water pipes jutting out from the side of the building. The low drone of an air conditioning vent sounded above, and we were completely alone. I startled as Will suddenly spun and grabbed me by the arm, pulling me up close to him. He kissed me with an intensity that topped the night before, and my legs actually felt a little weak, something I had never experienced before in my whole life. I kissed him back, meeting him with as much as I could give.
“I was thinking about doing that to you the whole track,” he whispered. “Maybe that’s why I seemed so good.”
“Maybe,” I whispered back.
“I lied. I’ve been thinking about doing that to you since the moment you walked my door last night. I can’t stop thinking about you, Luke. About us.” He sounded giddy, and he gave me three small kisses, planting two on my lips and one on my nose. I drew in a breath, and felt my head go literally dizzy with his scent. I pressed my face into his neck, feeling the warmth there and basking in his smell, and kissed him lightly, just above his collarbone. We were all alone back here and I found my mind wandering to naughty places. I wanted to get down on my knees, unbuckle his jeans and finally do the thing that I had felt so guilty fantasizing about doing for so many years of my life. I was aching to know what he would feel like in my hand, in my mouth, to see his expression and hear what his gorgeous, smooth voice sounded like when I made him come. As badly as I wanted to do it, I resisted. I wasn't going to jeopardize his career like that, and I wasn’t going to jeopardize us. And it was a good thing I did, because the crisp clopping of approaching heels made us jump apart lik
e opposite magnets.
“Do you think that a photo book is doable?” Will said quickly. I raised an eyebrow, and then quickly understood.
“Definitely. It’s something I could put together for you with no problem at all. In fact—”
“Oh, there you are. Why are you all the way out back here? Come, it’s been ten minutes, the team will be waiting for you.” It was Linda, and again she all but ignored my presence, giving me a quick side glance. She held on to his arm like he was a lost child, amusing given the fact that he towered over her. He gave a quick glance over his shoulder at me and gave me an apologetic smile. I grinned back and shook my head. I didn’t like the woman, she was one of those I’m-better-than-you Hollywood rich types who treated service workers like they were subhuman, and it was apparent that she had taken it upon herself to try and micromanage as much of her son’s life as possible.