by TJ Klune
And Liam had to do it wearing nothing but a towel.
Which meant Josy had to do it wearing nothing but a towel.
As an actor, Josiah Erickson was comfortable with nudity. He’d done it before for Japanese energy drinks.
But as a person, it was a little different.
Josy wasn’t shy, per se; no, he’d had to get over that rather quickly. Otherwise Los Angeles would have eaten him alive in the first year. He wasn’t an extrovert by nature, but he’d forced himself to become one in order to survive. After all, if he didn’t speak up, his voice would never be heard. He would get trampled on, and no one walked all over Josiah Erickson.
Regardless, he was still a human being, and with that came doubts.
He’d spent the morning doing crunches in the bedroom he shared with Quincy while Mason was in makeup. He’d gotten on the floor and started grunting as he worked his core. Quincy had stared at him wide-eyed for a minute or two before sputtering about having to go make sure his grandad was getting Mason just right.
And while Mason Grazer looked absolutely ridiculous, Josy was wearing a robe. Underneath that robe was a tiny pair of flesh-colored underpants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Josy had stared at his reflection in the mirror for a long time, wondering if there was any way to hide the outline of his bulge. Turns out there wasn’t, unless he decided to tuck. Which looked decidedly awkward when he tried to walk and ended up more painful than he imagined.
Dee knocked on the door, walked in without a greeting, stared at his junk, and said it would work just fine before throwing his robe at his head.
Except.
The scene called for Liam to be in the shower.
Which meant he couldn’t wear the underpants, because it would be too obvious.
Josy would have to remove them.
Yes, he had just showered naked that very morning, but this was different. He hadn’t had an audience then, nor a camera or two trained on him.
He’d only put them on now because the robe was scratchy on his beans and weenie.
(He missed Beans and Weenie in the Morning. Abby, Oregon, didn’t have a radio station that held contests. There was a semilocal NPR station, but when he’d called in after one of the morning hosts asked What is ISIS? he’d found out it was a rhetorical question. Which, to be fair, was good, because he thought ISIS was a flower.)
Do or do not. There is no try.
He could do this. He would do this.
(Also, he was contractually obligated to do it. And Roger had told him about it before he’d gotten the part, after all. But that had been a lifetime ago. Many things had happened since then, and he’d forgotten.)
In the end, it wouldn’t be that big of a deal. He would be given a modesty pouch for his junk, but nothing for his butt. Plenty of actors had done more. And it wasn’t like it was a love scene or anything. Regardless, after the crunches, he’d done some squats, so he was good to go. He’d asked Dee if she needed to test the bounce of his bum, but she’d politely declined.
It would be fine.
At least he wasn’t a sunflower.
“You good, man?” Casey asked him after Mason had stalked (ha!) away.
Josy sighed. “Yeah. Naked is naked, right? I’m naked all the time under my clothes. I was born naked.”
“I’ve seen more of you than I care to think about, if it makes you feel any better.”
“That’s not my fault. You know how I get when I’m really, really high.”
“You don’t like clothes.”
“I don’t like clothes,” he agreed. “Except for socks. Usually the ones with cows on them. I don’t know why.”
“Which is an image burned forever into my brain.”
He bumped Casey’s shoulder. “Thanks, dude.”
“For what?”
“Letting me be filmed naked in your bed-and-breakfast.”
“You know what? I honestly thought I’d hear that sentence from you sooner or later. No big deal, man.”
“For real?”
Casey shrugged. “Call it a feeling, I guess. Intuition.”
“Like mystical shit?”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just figured you’d be naked at one point in my bed-and-breakfast.”
“Dude,” Josy breathed. “It’s like you’re psychic.”
“Lottie sees auras,” Casey said thoughtfully. “Maybe knowing you’d be naked is my gift.”
“Respect.”
They fist-bumped. It was awesome having a best friend with superpowers.
The bathroom they were going to use was on the bottom floor. It was the biggest one in the house, given that they’d need room for the gaffer, the Steadicam operator, and, of course, the director.
Which… okay. He didn’t know why, exactly, he was so fixated on the notion of Quincy seeing him in the buff. They were friends now. It was well known that if you were friends with Josy, at some point you would see him naked. Casey could attest to that. And maybe Quincy didn’t know that about Josy yet, but it was bound to happen at some point, right?
He wasn’t panicking.
He wasn’t.
He grabbed Casey by the hand and tugged him out of the hallway and into an empty bedroom, then shut the door behind him. Once he was sure they were alone, he immediately untied the robe and dropped it to the floor. “Okay,” he said seriously, “do I have blemishes? Dee spent a lot of time with me in makeup making sure I didn’t have blemishes. Butt blemishes.”
Casey choked. “Dude!”
Okay, maybe he was panicking a little. He looked down. The flesh underpants were… not covering very much. He had trimmed the night before, because the only bushes he wanted in the film were the ones that lined the sides of the house. But his stomach was flat, and he had sparse hair on his torso, and while he wasn’t ripped, he was… skinny. Like, really skinny. “Oh my god,” he mumbled. “Why didn’t I work out more?”
“That underwear covers nothing!”
“I know, right? Well, it covers my dick, but that’s about it. Why? Is it bad? Are there blemishes?”
Casey squeezed his eyes shut. “Just because I’ve seen you naked before doesn’t mean I wanted to again!”
“But I need your help! You have to look up online how I can gain ten pounds of muscle in the next five minutes. Why did you never tell me I have chicken legs? Am I a twink? I can’t be a twink. It’s not even ironic!”
“You’re not a twink,” Casey said, opening one eye. “Twinks don’t have beards or body hair.”
Josy moaned. “It’s so hard being queer. If you’re not one thing, then you have to try and be another. Why do we have to fit in with stupid labels? It’s ridiculous.”
“You don’t have blemishes.”
“You’re not even looking! Here. Wait. Hold on. You need to look at my butt.” He dropped the underpants around his ankles and shuffled around awkwardly. He looked back at Casey over his shoulder. “Does it look all right?”
“It looks fine.”
“Your eyes are closed again!”
Casey opened his eyes. He looked at Josy’s butt for a split second before looking away. “It’s fine. Your butt is blemish-free. And why the hell do you need butt makeup in the shower?”
“I don’t know, man. Acting is weird. Dee wouldn’t tell me if my butt was perky enough.” He jumped up and down. “Did it bounce?” He jumped again.
“I can’t believe this is my power,” Casey moaned. “I predicted this. Lottie can see auras, and some people can light fires with their minds. I get to know when you’ll be naked.”
“Josy, we’re ready for y—meep!”
It was about this time that Josy realized that the hinges on the doors of Baked-Inn & Eggs absolutely did not need to be lubricated, because they opened with nary a squeak. In fact, the only squeak came from Quincy Moore as he walked in to see Josy standing with his underpants around his ankles, jumping up and down so the owner of the B and B could make sure there was proper lift and fall with
his buttocks.
“Um,” Josy said. “It’s not what it looks like? We’re checking for blemishes and perkiness.”
Quincy’s face was bright red, and his mouth was hanging open.
Belatedly, Josy realized his junk was swinging free while he faced Quincy. He covered himself with his hands, which, unfortunately, were cold.
He was having a very strange morning.
Quincy averted his gaze toward the ceiling, swallowing thickly. “That’s… um. You’re… wow. Just… I don’t.”
And then, just because it needed to be worse, Dee came up behind Quincy, asking what the holdup was, only to see a room filled with three men, one of whom was covering his penis with cold hands. “Huh,” she said, brow furrowing. “You have big hands. I’ve never realized that until now.”
“Thank you,” Josy said, because when a dyke complimented you, it was polite to acknowledge it. He had learned that his second day in Los Angeles.
“What are we looking at?” another voice said before the whir of an electronic wheelchair grew louder.
“Josy’s naked,” Dee said.
“What? Already? Let me in. I am the producer and must make sure he is—oh my.” Roger grinned as he tilted his head around his grandson. “Making this film was one of my better ideas.”
“Hi, Roger,” Josy said, waving at him until he realized that made things worse.
Roger winked at him before turning his wheelchair around. “Carry on!” he called out as he rode away. “I respect your autonomy!”
“Just—get your asses out there,” Dee said. “And Josy, put yours away until we actually need it.” She followed Roger, muttering under her breath about actors and their processes.
“Oh, look at the time,” Casey said, though he wasn’t wearing a watch and there wasn’t a single clock in the room. “I have someone new starting the front desk when this is over, and I need to train them on the reservation program. Josy, you look fine, man. No blemishes whatsoever.” He patted Quincy on the shoulder as he left the room.
“Thanks!” Josy shouted after him, relieved.
Only Quincy and Josy remained.
Quincy was still staring at the ceiling. Josy looked up, but it appeared to be just a normal ceiling, so he wasn’t quite sure what Quincy was staring at. “I was nervous,” he said. “But I feel better now.”
“That’s… good?”
“Yep!”
Josy dropped his hands and bent over to pick up his underpants. Once they were snug in their proper place, he realized he had nothing to be worried about. He was an actor. This was acting.
“I’m good,” he announced grandly. “Let’s do this thing!”
Quincy all but ran from the room.
He must have been excited too.
WHEN PEOPLE shower in real life, it’s to wash away the grime of sleep or of a long day. Sometimes they just stand in the warm water, letting it work out the knots in their muscles.
When people shower in the movies, it lasts only seconds, water sluicing down their bodies, steam curling up as the camera focuses on their backs and shoulders.
But when people shower while making a movie, it sucks.
Because it goes on forever.
“Shit,” the gaffer muttered in the second hour. “We need to fix the lighting again.”
“Cut!”
Josy was wet. Still. And while the water was still warm, he was positive he never wanted to take a shower again for the rest of his life.
Someone reached in and turned off the water.
The makeup artist came back in and started touching him up.
The modesty pouch was uncomfortable. It made him look like a wannabe exotic dancer.
His nipples were hard.
His beard felt droopy.
“Acting,” he muttered to himself. “I am acting.”
“Let’s do it again,” Roger said gleefully.
Quincy was watching the playback on a camera. “Uh, Josy?”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe… um. Maybe this time, you could. Uh. Like. Put your arm up on the shower wall. Facing away from us. And just… stand there.”
Josy nodded because he could take direction. “I can do that. Should I flex any part of myself?”
“No! No. Absolutely not necessary. It’s… nope. Don’t need any flexing.”
“All right,” the gaffer said. “That should hold for now. You want to go again?”
Quincy nodded.
The makeup artist disappeared.
The water was turned back on.
“Remember,” Quincy said as Josy turned around, putting his arm up against the tile. “Dante went back home. Your father, who you don’t know anymore, is dying. You think he’s lying about all the things he’s told you. It’s heavy. It’s weighing on you. You’re angry and sad.”
“The sad mads in the shower,” Josy said. “Got it.”
It only took another hour.
LIAM EAGLETON was hurting. Everything was in shambles. John—because he couldn’t bring himself to call him Dad—was frail. Dante was gone, and they’d left things so uncertain. Liam loved him, but he didn’t know how to give him what he needed. He didn’t even know what he was doing with his own life. What he was doing here.
He sighed, shaking the water from his hair and beard.
He was about to reach for the shampoo when he heard a noise.
He paused.
Silence.
It was probably nothing.
Then the noise came again.
It sounded like a giggle.
And in the far reaches of Liam’s mind, there was a pulse of familiarity, like he knew that sound.
He turned off the water and reached for the towel. He rubbed it over his face and chest before wrapping it around his waist. He stepped out of the shower, dripping onto the bath mat under his feet. “Hello?” he said, voice rough with the pain and regret of a life in shambles. “Who’s there?” He didn’t know who it could be. His father was asleep upstairs, drugged to the gills. His nurse was reading quietly at his bedside last he checked. There was no one else in the house.
He took a step toward the door when the laughter came again.
He hesitated, nipples pebbled, the muscles in his chest flexing attractively.
The bathroom door was cracked slightly, enough to let out the steam from the shower. He peered through the crack and—
A yellow face stared back at him.
He yelled as he stumbled back, almost slipping on the floor.
Laughter trailed through the hallway as footsteps ran away from the bathroom.
Liam tightened the towel around his waist before throwing open the door. “Who’s there?” he growled.
There was a flash of green and yellow near the sunlit window.
Someone was in the house.
He ran after them.
His feet smacked against the wooden floors as he followed the figure moving in his father’s home, the same home he’d grown up in and left behind when he thought he was destined for bigger and better things. He was chasing after something, an unknown entity, but he was also chasing after a past he could never take back and a life he never wanted.
He heard quick footsteps in the kitchen, and the back door was flung open, rattling in its frame. He ran to the kitchen, where he and his father had made johnnycakes and good dreams, to see the door swinging on its hinges. Whoever had been in the house had gone to the backyard. To where the property led to the forest. The forest that held a secret world his father believed was real.
But it wasn’t.
It couldn’t be.
He burst out into the cold sunlight, towel slipping suggestively around his hips. He was about to jump down from the porch into the grass when he saw something that shouldn’t have been possible.
There, standing at the edge of the forest, was a gigantic sunflower.
And he recognized it.
It couldn’t be, right?
It just couldn’t.
; “Boris Biggles,” he breathed.
The sunflower waved forlornly at him, and—
“Drop the towel!” Margo Montana shouted. “Show me what you’re working with!”
“Cut! What in the actual fuck—”
Josy blinked as he looked over to the side of the house.
A crowd had once again gathered at Baked-Inn & Eggs.
He waved at them.
Margo Montana, Mrs. Von Patterson, and Mrs. Havisham waved back.
They fled with the rest of the crowd as Dee started to walk toward them.
“Take it back,” Quincy said with a sigh. “Let’s try this again from the kitchen.”
JOSY SPENT the rest of the day naked. He was tagged in twelve different photographs on Instagram, most of them blurry and taken from far away. But he was happy to see he appeared blemish-free, and that in one of them, he looked like he was posing for a luxury towel campaign.
He re-grammed a few of them. His followers seemed to like them well enough.
Chapter 12
“—AND THAT’S how I got over my fear of being naked in front of large crowd,” Josy said. He took a hit off the spliff Casey had handed him as soon as he walked in the door. He held in the smoke for as long as he could before blowing out semirespectable rings.
“I didn’t ask you about any of that,” Gustavo muttered. “I only asked why you were wearing sandals with socks and thinking that was okay when you stepped into my home.”
“Oh,” Josy said, looking down. “I like it when I can see my toes wiggle. See?” He wiggled his toes. “That’s the good stuff.”
Casey snorted as he stood in front of the stove, stirring a pot of noodles. “That was a neat story, Josy.”
“Thank you. But don’t worry. I’ll leave the book stuff to you and Quincy.”
“That’s nice of you.”
His phone beeped. He frowned as he pulled it out of his pocket and swiped away the notifications.
“Someone’s popular. That’s been going off since you got here.”
“Yeah,” Josy said, muting his phone and putting it back in his pocket. “I posted a selfie of me and Quincy from the set. One of his followers found it and shared it, and now they’re going nuts. I don’t know why.”