by Kilby Blades
“I’ve been staring at this thing too long,” he muttered to himself after replacing his glasses and letting out a long breath. He finally brought his gaze up to greet his new arrivals. Perry’s dark brown eyes warmed—and lingered—the second they caught sight of Levi.
“You’re looking spry for someone who’s gotta pull a rabbit out of a hat. Twelve shoots in three weeks is a death wish.”
Perry always looked spry. He kept his hair in a short, textured afro, and his fade was always crisp. So were white collared shirts rolled up to his elbows and the graphite hue on the underside of his drawing arm. They were as much of a constant as the Wayfarers that he wore, though his sharp gaze peeked out from a different set of frames every day. It was hard to tell for sure, but Perry could have been forty-five or fifty. He carried a wisdom that gave Levi the impression he’d seen a little of everything.
Perry walked to Levi to exchange their standard greeting—a cheek kiss and a tight hug—then threw Levi a matter-of-fact look. He hadn’t minced words over how big of an ask it would be to pull all of it together.
“This better be the kind of friend you see on Christmas or the kind who’s paying you a lot of money to do this,” Perry warned, glancing around Levi to get a glimpse of the person responsible for fire-drilling them.
Levi turned too and took a step back, ready to introduce Adam. He’d been standing at the window looking out at Union Square. He wore dark-wash jeans, a Yale-blue V-neck sweater, and a plaid shirt underneath with wide lines in far lighter hues. At this hour the morning light already held warm tones that did something amazing to Adam’s face. By the time Levi thought to photograph what would have been a great shot, Adam moved out of Levi’s frame and strode to extend his hand to Perry.
“I’m both,” Adam said with a charming smile.
“Perry Anthony, my oldest San Francisco friend, meet Adam Kerr, my oldest New York friend.” Levi looked between the two. It was evident from the fact that the look had come over Perry’s face as he shook Adam’s hand that Perry hadn’t gotten a good glimpse of Adam before.
The look was a mix of shock and awe that was held a bit too long, usually topped off with a healthy dollop of desire. Even in places like San Francisco and New York—places crawling with hot guys—there weren’t many guys as hot as Adam. The look was usually followed by the sweep—a full-body perusal in which Adam got a slow once-over from the shoulders down, often with a pause around his middle. Since fitted pants had come into fashion, said pause had become longer and accompanied more often by a slightly slacked jaw.
If the person meeting him was truly transfixed—either that or truly shameless—the perusal didn’t happen just once. Perry wasn’t the first person to drink Adam in all the way to his toes and to take his time sweeping his gaze back up. Adam had always taken such things in stride and held a calm grace about him, even when he gave others pause. Levi supposed that was what happened when you’d been placed on a pedestal all your life.
“I really appreciate you doing this,” Adam remarked. “Especially on such short notice.”
They were simple words, but Adam spoke with such sincerity—with such an extraordinary ability to convince and connect—as Levi had never seen in anyone else.
“This one’s saved my bacon more times than I can count.” Perry swung his gaze to Levi. “Figured it was about time I saved his.”
It wasn’t until then that Perry noticed the bag in Levi’s hand.
“You didn’t.”
Levi took out a clear plastic serving carafe that revealed the a-bit-too-purple-to-be-bloodred liquid. Sliced oranges and apples were visible from inside.
“It’s five o’clock somewhere,” Levi came back with a cheeky smile.
“Do you see why I love this man? This man understands me,” Perry said as an aside, cuffing the top of Adam’s forearm with his hand. No sooner had Perry’s hand landed upon it than did a smile spread on his face and he gave it a satisfied squeeze.
“Oh my,” Perry murmured. He seemed reluctant to pull his hand away, and when he did, his fingers came up to a well-worn black-and-white measuring tape around his neck. On both sides, his thumb and index finger worried the cloth ribbon, as if he couldn’t wait to measure Adam. “You are going to be a delight to dress.”
“Glasses?” Levi asked, meaning to pull Perry out of his reverie.
“Behind the curtain.” Perry gestured vaguely without taking his eyes off Adam.
By the time Levi had filled three glasses, stored the carafe in Perry’s fridge, and found a tray to bring it all out on, Adam’s sweater and shirt were off and Perry had walked him to a tailor’s stand and triptych mirrors.
“Ninety-nine percent of fashion is fit,” Perry was busy saying. Levi set the tray down on a small table and plucked up the first glass. “It’s an easy trick,” Perry continued, “to measure people right on their skin. When you get the measurements exactly right, you’d be amazed by the difference it makes.”
Between taking measurements, Perry bent to write on a small notepad he kept on a nearby chair, the completion of each measurement seeming to bring him new satisfaction. It was as if Adam’s dimensions gave the stylist some sense of joy. Though, Levi supposed, every profession had its own geeky porn. Levi’s porn was eye candy. He feasted on beautiful things. And nothing was so beautiful to him as his best friend.
“Who do you usually wear?” Perry wanted to know from Adam, who stood, duly relaxed and perfectly poised, upon the tailor’s stand. Perry took his time—was meticulous.
Adam dove into a story about all the tailors he liked best in all the cities in the world where he shopped for custom suits. He and Perry appeared to know several of the same and were soon engrossed in comparing notes. Try as Levi did, it took fewer than five minutes of sipping sangria and taking the scene in before he could no longer resist the siren call of his camera.
“So, tell me about these shoots….” Perry moved away from talk of tailors, still measuring away as he asked about the job. “What’s prompted the media blitz?”
By then Levi was convinced that Perry was just getting greedy. Perry had measured Adam’s collar, three places on his arms, his waist, and his inseam. Though, Perry’s prolonged measurements set the stage for Levi to get in a few nice shots. Fine grooming rituals signaled that Adam was a certain kind of man. If the goal of certain press pieces was to make said audience want to be the subject, Levi had the easiest job in the world.
“I’m coming out for the second time. This time very publicly,” Adam said simply.
Perry didn’t bat an eye. “So, style-wise… tell me how you’re trying to look….”
Adam smirked. By then Levi had his camera out—saw every change in Adam’s face through the viewfinder.
“I don’t know….” Adam trailed off, then chuckled. Levi got a good one of him, midlaugh. “I guess a little more gay?”
“Oh Lord….” Perry joined in laughing with Adam.
“I told Lev all my ideas earlier,” Adam continued. Humor still lit his face. Levi got a shot of him looking down at Levi and, therefore, the camera. “He didn’t like a single one,” Adam continued to fake complain.
“Do I want to hear any of these ideas?” Perry asked wisely.
“You know… the standard stuff—short shorts… scarf ties… gold lamé pants….”
“Have the two of you been drinking already?” Perry wanted to know, finally rising again to his feet and patting Adam on the hip to let him know he could step down.
“Friends don’t let friends dress like bad stereotypes,” Levi finally said.
Perry put away his measuring tape, pulled up two more chairs, and plucked his and Adam’s drinks off the tray. The pair sipped sangria as they continued to talk, digging in on Adam’s sense of style.
Levi, meanwhile, had already sent Perry his shopping list for a few specific shots: Adam in a couture suit with a rainbow, diamond-shaped Hermès scarf for one shot; a mixed-color suit that bisected on the vertical line f
or another…. Levi could see the latter in his head: Adam emerging from a closet door, the suit a symbol for in versus out. Levi also had a vague sense for gender-bending shots he could get of Adam and Elle: her in a black suit jacket with bare skin underneath and a white silk tie at her neck, and Adam in a white shirt, no jacket, a black silk tie and a kilt. They would lounge in front of the desk in the cavernous, masculine office in the apartment suite, both smoking cigars. Levi would print that shot in black and white.
Levi was still taking candids of the two men talking when his ears perked up at Perry’s words: “You’re lucky to have a photographer as talented as Lee as your best friend. I’ll bet he’s taken some great ones over the years.”
“You’d think that, after twenty-four years of friendship and multiple pleas….” Adam threw Levi a look, then winked.
“No!” Perry gasped. He looked between the two of them.
“Yesterday was the first time he’s ever pointed a camera in my direction,” Adam confirmed. As he half-jokingly went on about the injustice of being friends with a photographer who refused to take his picture, Levi took his eye off his viewfinder long enough to scan the room.
Shit.
Levi had photographed Perry the month before. He’d even delivered the poster-sized prints to this very space.
“Levi has a rule,” Adam was saying. “Yes to shooting clients. Hell no to shooting friends.”
Halting his panicked searching, Levi swung his gaze back to Perry, who had caught on. Perry’s gaze darted toward a specific area of wall—following it, Levi found the portrait he’d taken of his stylist friend.
“Levi!” Perry exclaimed, sending Levi a look that said, All right. I’ll play along. “How could you pass up the opportunity to photograph this gorgeous man?”
“People get super weird,” Levi defended. “Back in the royal courts, if a king didn’t like the way a portrait turned out, it was off with your head.”
Perry saved things then with a smooth change of subject—about how this was the perfect location for a stylist and how the neighborhood was crawling with designer stores: Louis Vuitton was on the south side of Geary, and Gucci was around the block. If they wanted one-of-a-kind or custom vintage looks, Cable Car Clothiers and Sui Generis were close enough. If they wanted smaller designers without their own boutiques, Neiman Marcus was across the street, and Saks was across the square.
“All right, boys.” Perry stood up after he and Adam had finished their sangria. “I need to shop this afternoon if y’all want your looks by day-after-tomorrow.”
“In other words,” Levi clarified, “he’s kicking us out.”
“Fair enough.” Adam rose and found his sweater, which he still hadn’t replaced. Levi zipped his cameras into his bag.
“And can I assume you won’t be shooting my fashion show here on the twenty-eighth?”
Levi closed his eyes—yet another commitment that would have been easy to keep if things hadn’t been shuffled around. Hazel had assumed that anything marked for a night or a weekend with one of his friends’ names, Levi would handle. She’d had no clue how all-consuming a visit from Adam would be or how complicated it could become to manage everything.
“Can I find you a replacement?” Levi winced as he asked.
“I’d be grateful,” Perry admitted with his standard frankness.
“Fashion show?” Adam asked, walking back toward them and fixing his sweater in the mirror. He jutted his chin toward Perry’s catwalk. “Is that what the runway’s for?”
“I work with young models and designers—most of them trans,” Perry explained. “I let them use the space for shows to exhibit their work. Levi shoots them pro bono and helps them build their portfolios. He’s raised about $50,000 so far to help the kids pay for school.”
Adam smiled over at Levi but also looked a little hurt. “You never told me that.” He stuck his hands in his pockets. “That’s a really great thing to do.”
Perry gave Levi a look that said, That’s not the only thing you never told him. Levi thought about how he’d started to tell Adam on their hike, but Adam had cut him off and started talking about their shoots.
With that, Adam and Levi made to go. They said their goodbyes, gave their hugs, and spoke their thanks. Perry informed Levi he’d be keeping the carafe.
“By the way,” Adam said, seconds before they walked out the door of the suite, jutting his chin toward the portrait of Perry on the wall, “That’s a really great picture of you.”
Chapter Ten: The Exhibit
“OH, he is it,” Hazel breathed dreamily as she stared after Adam’s retreating form. It cut through a ballroom that had been empty save for them. She’d dropped by the hotel to see where they would build sets for the photo shoots and the interviews. Levi had been giving her a tour when Adam walked in.
She’d gone through all the standard phases, just as Perry had the day before, though she spent twice as long on the sweep. Perry had at least been subtle about it, but Hazel was in her early twenties and living in a big city for the first time in her life. Levi was fairly certain that Eau Claire, Wisconsin, was short on tall, dark, and handsome billionaires.
“Down, girl… you’ve got a job to do,” Levi warned.
Hazel still stared after Adam, not answering for as long as she was transfixed. When Adam disappeared from view, she turned back to Levi with pleading eyes. “Please, please, let me come on the shoots.”
Hazel was a photographer too—the kind who usually spent her time on location with Levi. She was like a paid apprentice, managing logistics and equipment and learning all she could by watching the master at work.
“As soon as you finish your chores, Cinderella,” Levi murmured, not really joking. Hazel would be lucky to make half of the shoots. Given the speed at which they were working, there would be logistics every day.
“You’re a shameless perfectionist,” she accused, her high cheekbones accentuating her pink-lipped pout.
Levi didn’t deny it—he did want this to be perfect. “When this is all over, I’ll treat you to a weekend here,” he consoled her. “Okay?”
“Only if he’s waiting for me on the bed,” she said in her not-even-joking kind of tone. Hazel looked back toward the door as if Adam were still there. “Do you think he dates trans girls?”
Adam had dated trans girls and Levi didn’t want to lie, but he didn’t want to encourage her either. He settled for a neutral excuse. “He’s an equal-opportunity heartbreaker.” It wasn’t his business to tell her that Adam’s love life was a mess.
“C’mon, don’t hold out on me. He’s got to have a type…,” she prodded.
But Adam had been in the longest relationship of his life for the past two years with the undeniably stunning Leila. “Dark hair. Olive skin. Pouty lips. Gorgeous face. Light eyes.”
Hazel grinned and crossed her arms. “I knew it. I knew he had a thing for you.”
Levi blinked. “You literally could not be more wrong about that. I just described his ex.”
“Uh-uh, boss, you just described you.” Hazel looked like the cat who ate the canary.
“Do I really have pouty lips?” Levi cocked his head and kept his tone cool to mask how not-cool he was feeling about this conversation.
“You should’ve heard the way he talked about your talent when he begged me to clear your schedule… even just now, he looked at you like you hung the sun. Are you really telling me you two never—”
Oh, hell no. Levi couldn’t let his mind wander back to the one time they had.
“Hazel,” he cut her off sharply. “You need to focus.”
But it was Levi who couldn’t focus after that—not even as he described to Hazel in detail how, a week from then, the empty ballrooms and meeting spaces they stood in would be transformed. Not as he walked her through the Presidential Suite and the bottom floor of the family apartments. Not as he described how the interviews would be back-to-back—long days like the press junkets they did for films. Not as
he fumbled through telling Hazel exactly how he wanted her to manage the wardrobe changes, the makeup artists, and the alteration of lighting and accent pieces to give the same space slightly different looks.
Levi needed her focused on those things in order to settle into his creative flow. And he absolutely could not photograph Adam if memories of that one time pushed out of the compartment he kept them in under lock and key and came to the fore.
“HOW long do we have?” Levi asked Adam the second he burst onto the sidewalk, shrugging on a jacket. Finishing up with Hazel had run him ten minutes late, and he’d just circled back to Adam. He’d found Adam in the employee lounge playing cards and laughing it up with the housekeepers who’d just come off their shift. Levi had even managed to get a few good shots.
“A couple hours.” Adam said, already walking south toward Mission. “I figured we’d take our time.”
Levi was surprised. It wasn’t like Adam to play hooky from work for hours at a time, even though being the boss meant he could.
“Amber India’s always good,” Levi suggested. “But we’d have to go the other way….” Levi trailed off just as Adam turned the corner. It was just past lunchtime, but the streets bustled and their walking was brisk.
Adam looked over and flashed a sly smile, one still wide enough to show his dimple. “I said we were going out—not that we were getting lunch.”
They walked another half a block before it dawned on Levi where they were going—SFMOMA was just a few blocks from the Kerr. Levi hadn’t been there in weeks, though his exhibit had been extended. Adam had mentioned wanting to go a few times.
Adam was his biggest cheerleader—Levi would give him that. He’d attended scores of events that had bored him to tears, just to be at Levi’s side. Levi believed that Adam liked his work, but he did not believe that Adam liked museums. Maybe that was why Levi had spent the better part of the week insisting that Adam didn’t need to go see it.