by Tara Lain
Ru rushed to the door. “Flopsy, Mopsy, get the hell over here.” Both dogs looked over their shoulders like, Aw, do I have to? then stopped jumping and bounded over to Ru. He pointed at the ground. “Sit.” For seconds they contemplated the relative advantages of compliance—poodles were too smart for their own good—then both curled their haunches and sat. Ru looked at Gray, who still stood back from the canine attack squad. “Don’t like dogs?”
He shook his head and walked forward. “No, I like them fine. Sorry. I just can’t see much from under this hoodie, and when things come at me fast, I get spooked.”
“You get spooked a lot?”
“Yeah.” He grinned.
“Ruuuuuuu.” Mrs. O waved from her front lawn, dressed in a long flowered skirt and floppy beaded blouse, holding her purse. “I was going to call and see if you’d babysit the monsters. I’ve got rehearsals for the pageant.”
He glanced at Gray, who had turned away so Mrs. O couldn’t get a good look under his sweatshirt. Ru muttered, “Do you mind two dogs slobbering on you?”
Gray shook his head.
He called to Mrs. O, “Sure. I’ll keep them here for a while.”
“Thanks so much. See you later. Have fuuun.” She waved as she walked down the street away from Ru’s place. Flopsy let out one big bark but didn’t break his sit.
Ru held open the screen door. “Okay, monsters, come on in.”
The dogs bounded through the door, and Gray grinned. “All three of us?”
“I suppose we can close them inside and apply sleeping gas, but they’re not too bad.”
“They’re cute. Flopsy and Mopsy?” He pointed at the curling black fur surrounding the bouncing balls. “Would I be correct in assuming that’s Flopsy?”
“A+ in observation.” Which made Ru think of Gray’s photos. He turned and opened the hall closet door to cover his blush. “Want to hang up your hoodie?”
Gray pulled off the sweatshirt and thrust it at Ru, who hung it in the closet. When he turned back around, he took a breath. Under the sweatshirt, Gray wore another T-shirt, old and lived-in, that stretched across his shoulders and pecs so lovingly it made the onlooker want to do the same. Or at least this onlooker. Whew. Most works of art looked better from a distance. Not this one. That skin—like melted caramel. If Ru licked him, would he taste sweet? God, I feel faint.
Gray walked into the small living room. “Nice place.”
“Thanks.” It might be small and comfortable, but the house had style. The sectional couch—his one major investment—accommodated even a big man like Gray, but the sunny yellow color he’d had special-made screamed Ru. At the moment the yellow was decorated with a healthy application of black and white fur, as the dogs made themselves comfortable. Every other chair, table, and ottoman in the living and dining rooms came from secondhand stores and secret furniture haunts he’d found with Shaz, but the fabrics and unique objects gave it an eclectic and arty look. “Make yourself at home if you can fit in between the canine cushions. What can I get you to drink?”
“How about some iced tea or just water.”
“Sure.” He walked into the old-fashioned kitchen. No open concept. Still, the house was small enough that he could be heard in the living room. “Ice? The tea is cold.”
“No. Cold is fine. By the way, I have dinner being delivered.”
Hopefully not by his fiancée. “Great.” He leaned back against the cool fridge door. Okay, so you knew having Gray in your house would be challenging. Just be cool. Be a friend. Probably not many people he can trust.
Shit, he can’t trust me. I might jump his bones at any moment.
He snorted, took a deep breath, and carried the glasses into the sitting area. Gray sat on the yellow sectional, which looked amazing against his brown hair and golden skin. He’d removed two copies of the Hamlet script from his hoodie. Ru set the tea on the big coffee table made from a slab of old barn wood covered with a piece of glass and sat on the flowered easy chair opposite the couch. “So how can I help you, darling? This isn’t exactly my gig, so I don’t know where to start.”
Gray leaned back with his tea glass and gave Ru an appraising once-over. “You look wild.”
Ru glanced down at the floppy harem pants and the linen tunic he’d layered on top, all in shades of red and gold. “What? This old thing?” He laughed. True, he had worked at the look. Might as well emphasize their differences, since he couldn’t highlight what they had in common.
“One more thing before we start, because I don’t want to forget. My folks are visiting on the Wednesday of the Hamlet run. They’ll be here a week. I really want my mom to have a new outfit. Any chance you could design something for her? I mean, after she gets here. I know you’re overloaded with the costumes and your collection before then.”
Wow. Design for Gray Anson’s mom. “I’d be honored.”
“She’s almost fifty, but really great-looking. She never pays much attention to herself, so I’d love to get her some clothes that show off how pretty she is.”
“Sounds like you’re really close.” What would that be like?
“Yeah. They live in Michigan, and I can’t pry them away from their friends, so I bought them a nice house on a lake that they really love. They’re great parents. I wish I could do more for them.” He frowned and stared into space.
“I’ll bet you make them proud every day.”
That made the frown deeper. Odd. Then he looked up and smiled. “That’s what they like to tell me. How about you? Where are your folks?”
“Uh, dead. My mother died of cancer when I was a teenager, and my father died after that.” No details to be provided.
“So they never got to see you be a success.”
Ru gave a half smile. “To the extent that I am one, no, they never did.” Not that his father would have given a shit—except maybe to steal his money.
With a little shrug, Gray set down the glass and picked up his script. “So does this dude really see a ghost? I mean, are people going to take a ghost seriously?”
Ru scooched his legs under him on the chair seat. “Have you ever felt so crappy and guilty about something that you couldn’t get it out of your mind?”
Gray nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”
“Isn’t that like being haunted?” Damn, he sure knew about that.
“You think that’s what Shakespeare meant?”
“No.” Gray grimaced, and Ru laughed. “Shakespeare’s audiences did believe in ghosts, and they loved supernatural shit on the stage, so he always gave them something cool. The audience for our version of the play is coming to see you be serious, not do special effects. Hell, who could compete with your movies? What matters in this case isn’t what Shakespeare meant. It’s what you mean. If you’re agonizing over all the bad shit you did to your old man before he died—or more specifically, before your uncle killed him—then you’ve got stuff on your mind. That’s what we want to see.”
“How did you get so smart about this stuff?”
What could he say? How much? “My family was dirt poor. Dirt doesn’t buy a lot of schooling, but I always wanted to be educated. I used to, uh, go to the library and find the most challenging books I could carry. The Iliad and The Odyssey, Oedipus, French comedies, and Shakespeare. Lots of Shakespeare. I didn’t have anybody telling me what it was supposed to mean, so I interpreted it for myself based on my own life.” Yes. Based very closely on his life.
“But that’s what Shakespeare’s audiences must have done too. Based it on what they knew.”
“Exactly. We all have shared experiences, even if our lives are wildly different. Hamlet’s a really young guy. So are you. Find the stuff you have in common. Forget the words and go with the feelings. How would you feel if your mother married the guy you think killed your dad and seems to be reveling in it?”
“I’d be pissed.”
“Then be pissed. But remember, this is political. She’s a queen, you’re a prince. You know what that’s
like, Gray. Don’t think for a second you don’t. Hell, you had to sneak in here so as not to be mobbed by everyone who wants a piece of you. So be a pissed political animal.”
“Did you get to go to school?”
What? Fast change of topic. “Yes. Eventually. A, uh, mentor paid for my first year in fashion school, and after that I got scholarships.”
“What kind of mentor?”
Damn, could they change the subject? “A man from my neighborhood who saw promise in me.” He shrugged.
“How did you know you liked fashion?”
He grinned. “Aren’t we supposed to be talking about Shakespeare?”
Gray shrugged. “I’m interested.”
Ru rested his head against the cushion. “My mother took in sewing. I used to rearrange her supplies, and then I started sewing things of my own. Not a popular pastime in my neighborhood, trust me.”
“What about being gay?”
“What about it?”
“Was that popular in your neighborhood?” Ru glanced up, but Gray seemed to really want to know.
“Hell no. You’d rot in hell before you came out.” He frowned. “That didn’t mean nobody got ass fucked. I used to think some of those guys were queer, since they liked to ball other dudes so much.”
“What guys?”
Ru sucked in breath. Shit. “Just the guys in my neighborhood. That’s all.”
“Did they leave you alone?”
How the hell did they get on this topic? “Yeah. Shouldn’t we go back to the inimitable William S?”
The knock on the door turned them both around. Ru glanced at Gray, who rose. “I told him to deliver the food about now. I had him bring salmon since I know you like it. Is that okay?”
“Perfect, darling. Like you read my mind.”
Gray opened the door, took several large bags from someone outside, and closed the door after him.
“You didn’t pay him.”
“It was Chris. I asked him to pick up salmon from Rick’s.”
“But he didn’t drive you here.”
“Too ostentatious.”
Ru shook his head and went to get plates to set the table. “Is it worth it? Trading all your privacy for wealth and fame?”
“No.”
Ru stopped at the dining room table and stared. “Wow. I never expected that answer.”
Gray brought the bags into the kitchen, with two furry palace guards flanking him. “Maybe it is for some people. Not for me. It’s like I never got to choose.” He shrugged. “I know. Like Artie said, ‘Oh, poor baby.’”
“No, I understand. While I’d like to be a successful fashion designer, even reaching the top of my profession won’t keep me from walking on the street, going places I want to go, or being whatever way I choose. You don’t have any of those luxuries.”
Gray sighed, and it came from somewhere in his soul. “I was nineteen when I hit big. I’m from a small town in Michigan where I was a big fish in a tiny pond. I wanted to impress my father, buy my mother a new house, get a fast car. I hadn’t the slightest idea what that meant.” He cocked half a smile. “I sold my soul to Ferrari.”
“You could quit.”
Quiet.
Ru turned to find Gray gazing at him with wide, storm-filled eyes. “Weird, man. I’ve heard a lot of solutions, but nobody ever says quit.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to be a downer.”
“No. It points out that I have choices. I like that idea. Thanks.”
“One thing money does do is give you options.” He grinned. “Or at least that’s my assumption.”
Gray wobbled his head. “Not really. It makes you an industry. You can’t imagine how many people live off what I do. It’s terrifying. You know. You’re a successful designer. You must keep a ton of people employed.”
“No.” He planted a hand on his hip. “I’m almost a successful designer. I still have Fashion Week—and Hamlet—between me and that goal.” He poured some kibble in the two dishes he kept for the dogs. “Until then, I’m just a dog feeder.”
Ru dished the human food from its takeout containers onto his white plates—cheap but chic—then walked into the small dining area and set out place mats and flatware. He gestured to the seat and Gray sat. Holy Mother, Gray Anson in his dining room. “Do you like wine?”
“Sure.”
“Red okay?”
“Absolutely.”
Ru poured two glasses of a pinot noir he’d opened the previous night and delivered the glasses, then grabbed his own plate and sat across from Gray. Flopsy and Mopsy came from the kitchen, licking their lips, and lay down on either side of Ru’s chair.
Gray raised his glass and held it out to Ru. “To choices.”
Ru clicked glasses. “I’ll drink to that.”
“So Hamlet’s that important to your career?”
Ru forked in mashed potatoes and closed his eyes briefly in homage.
“Good?”
“Oh yeah. My kingdom for Rick’s garlic mashed.”
“Wrong play.”
“Yes. Poor Richard.”
“So about Hamlet?”
“Oh yes, I guess. I mean, every critic on earth will come to see you, so they can’t help but see me. It’ll be great publicity.”
“Way to give a guy the willies.”
“You’re going to be fabulous, trust me.” Ru chewed slowly. Divine salmon, moist and loaded with garlic butter. Should I say it? Hell. He looked down at his plate. “Of course, the costumes will up my public awareness, but real credibility comes from commissions like your fiancée’s wedding dress. Penelope has both the society connections and the Hollywood connections. To a fashion designer, that’s gold times two.” He looked up as Gray downed a huge mouthful of pinot, coughed, and caught some drops of wine on his napkin.
“Uh—Ru, would it be really bad—I mean, uh, I never exactly asked—I don’t know when we’re really getting married. Will it set you back a lot to not have that commission? I mean, like, for a while? Or—” That gorgeous caramel skin glowed bright pink.
He wanted to smile. Laugh. Lie on the floor and kick his heels. “Oh no, of course not. I never would count on that. No reason she’d choose me when she has the world of fashion at her feet.” He sipped wine. “But she did make it sound like it was coming up soon.”
Gray frowned and pushed away the last of his salmon. “I know. Don’t tell anybody this, okay? Hell, even my parents think we’re engaged. But I never asked Penelope to marry me. Never. She’s just assuming we’re going to do it, and I don’t know—I mean, I’m still pretty young, and she’s older than me. Anyway, I just haven’t set any dates, so she shouldn’t be getting people all excited about some fucking wedding that may never happen.”
There it was. Ru’s whole chest glowed. “So, not the marrying kind?”
Gray stared at his wineglass like it was a crystal ball. “They fix me up with dates to help my image, then the women get all excited and think we’re joined at the hip.”
“But you’ve been dating Penelope for a while, haven’t you?”
“Yeah. How do you know that?”
“Like I said, I’m a fan.”
“I like her better than some of the women they’ve hooked me up with.”
“She seems very nice. And God knows, she doesn’t need your money. Her family’s so rich.”
“Yeah. It’s great to know she’s not a gold digger. And some girls just want to fuck all the time and—” He actually gasped. “Sorry. That’s way too much information.”
Holy shit. Don’t react. Ru grabbed their nearly empty plates and carried them to the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”
“No. It keeps me awake.”
“Like milk?”
He made a heh-heh sound. “Yeah. I do. Guess I never grew up.”
Ru poured two glasses of milk and got some chocolate chip and some lemon cookies from the cabinet. Arranging them on a plate, he said casually, “I’ll bet movie stars are too tired for sex. I m
ean, us mere mortals think you guys must be balling all the time, but Jesus, when would you fit it in?” He carried the plate to the table, glanced at Gray, who was staring at the place mat, then went back for the milk. When he returned, Gray accepted the glass and the plate.
“Can we sit in your living room? I really like that couch. I promise not to spill the milk.”
“I like it too. Sure. Let’s take our dessert in there.”
Gray settled back on the sectional, complete with dogs flanking, and Ru sat opposite. “Where’s home for you? I mean, I know about the house in Beverly Hills, and the Paris apartment, and the Colorado ranch, but where do you really feel cozy?”
Gray sipped milk, his long lashes making fans on his high cheekbones. “On this couch, I guess.”
Well, Jesus, that made Ru want to cry.
Like someone flipped a switch, Gray looked up and smiled—the famous one. The one Ru now knew was phony as all hell. “You sure do know a lot about me.”
Ru munched lemon cookie. “Like I said—fan.”
“That’s really nice. These cookies are great.”
“Yes, they’re not free of anything.”
Gray chuckled.
“It’s not just me. A lot of gay men like you, Gray.”
A tinge of pink attacked his cheekbones. “Oh? That’s great. Happy to be loved by somebody other than rednecks.”
“You must have gay friends.”
He frowned. “Probably.”
“You don’t know if your friends are gay?”
“I don’t have a lot of friends.”
Who the hell would have believed he could feel so sad for the world’s biggest movie star? “Want to attack another soliloquy?”
For a second he just looked at his glass, then tipped it to his perfect lips, drank the milk down, and leaned forward. “No. I think I need to go through and mark all the places that just don’t make sense to me. Could we work again tomorrow?” He smiled. “I sent three seamstresses who are supposed to be the best to your place. Shazam, right? They’ll be there tomorrow morning. Put ’em to work.”
Ru laughed. “Okay, a bribe like that deserves respect. I can meet you at lunch if you want, and then we can talk about later timing.”