Desire in the Isles

by Roland Graeme

  Naturally, he was curious about what had happened to the show’s previous cameraman. Had he become ill, or had he been injured during one of his globe-trotting adventures?

  The truth, Carter learned, was more prosaic. The guy had become engaged—to a woman who wasn’t crazy about the idea of her husband spending so much time traveling in remote areas, far away from her. The couple also wanted to start a family, as soon as possible. So the fiancé was the one who’d requested a different, more stationary assignment.

  When he was offered the job, Carter in fact had never seen an episode of Off the Beaten Track. He had a buddy who swore by the show, though, and who told Carter how lucky he was to be chosen to work with Stanislaus Pulaski. His friend lent Carter his DVDs of the first two seasons, and Carter spent a few evenings prior to his interview sampling a few of them.

  The show, he quickly concluded, was certainly good entertainment. Each episode followed Pulaski as he investigated a different region. He took in the local sights and interacted with the local population, assisted by a guide or an interpreter when necessary. He sampled the local food—his willingness to taste just about anything, not matter how unlikely its ingredients, or how repulsive it looked or smelled, was one of the series’ running jokes.

  Carter saw at once that, as cameraman, part of his job would be to make sure that no opportunity to capture spectacular scenery was lost. That was fine with him. It was the kind of technical challenge he liked. He knew that shooting outdoors most of the time, in all sorts of weather and in unpredictable—and uncontrollable—lighting conditions could be tricky, if you hoped to obtain satisfactory results.

  He also concluded that the show owed its success to Pulaski. He was Polish-American and looked it, with a ruddy complexion, high prominent cheekbones which gave his facial features a distinctive Slavic cast, a shock of cornsilk blond hair, and bright blue eyes. He had a quirky onscreen personality, and it some ways it could almost be described as a split personality.

  On the one hand, Pulaski projected the image of a typical American traveling abroad—young, energetic, brash, and eager to experience new things. That he was good-looking, with an infectious boyish charm, didn’t hurt. Nor, Carter suspected, did the fact that he wasn’t shy about losing his shirt, and on occasion his pants as well. He had a nicely toned, athletic body, which he wasn’t reluctant to show off. His tendency to strip naked and immerse himself in any suitable body of water he came across, for a swim or just a soak, was another of the show’s standard gags. This was cable TV, after all, so while some stations which picked up the franchise might avail themselves of pixel blurring to spare their viewers the sight of Pulaski’s gleefully bared genitals and butt, most did not. And on the DVDs, of course, the nudity was uncensored and unabashed. No wonder the series had a loyal gay following! In gay circles, it was irreverently referred to as On the Beat-Off Track.

  But Pulaski wasn’t just an engaging personality with a pretty face and a hot body. There was a serious, intellectual side to him. Rather refreshingly, he never “dumbed down” his presentation in an attempt to make it more palatable to a casual viewer. In each episode Carter saw, it was obvious that Pulaski had done his homework prior to the trip. Carter knew enough about his industry to suspect that a lot of this preliminary research was no doubt done for Pulaski by a bunch of hard-working assistants laboring away behind the scenes. But Pulaski seemed to absorb it and avail himself of it in a way that looked genuine, not faked. He could deliver seemingly spontaneous little on-camera lectures on an astonishing range of topics, from history and geography, through art, architecture, religion and mythology, to botany and politics, and he had the ability to make all of this material interesting and entertaining. Admittedly, a lot of his longer and more erudite spiels were reserved for the DVDs, with their longer running times. The dude, Carter concluded, was smart as well as slick.

  Carter couldn’t help being a bit nervous when he reported for his interview. He was sure that he wasn’t the only cameraman being considered for the job. If he didn’t get it, he’d be no worse off than he was before. But he was beginning to want the job, which promised to be an extremely interesting experience. He was currently unattached, with no ties. Free travel to exotic parts of the world—what was there not to like?

  And he might have been intimidated by the fact that Pulaski was of course present at the interview, along with the show’s executive producer and a half-dozen other big shots—each of whom seemed to have shown up with at least one ass-kissing, note-taking flunky in tow.

  But Pulaski, when Carter was introduced to him, instantly put Carter at his ease.

  “Call me Stash,” he urged.

  Carter subsequently learned that this was a bit of an honor. Nobody connected to the network ever referred to the host of Off the Beaten Track by his given name, Stanislaus. To those who were still on the lower rungs of the corporate ladder, he was “Mr. Pulaski.” Those who had any degree of familiarity with him usually called him “Stan,” for short. Only within his circle of real intimates, which included his film crew and assistants, was he known by his childhood nickname, “Stash.”

  Unlike some television personalities, who adopted a carefully cultivated image while the camera was rolling, Stash was the same in the flesh as he was onscreen. He seemed to be completely lacking in either egotism or self-consciousness. He talked to Carter easily, as though the two of them were old friends. Thanks to him, Carter began to feel much more relaxed as the interview progressed.

  The executive producer’s primary concern was whether Carter was able and willing to do all of the traveling which the job would require. He warned Carter that the show’s crew preferred to travel light, taking along a minimum of equipment, and that they often found themselves “roughing it” in less than comfortable conditions.

  Carter insisted this would be no problem. He liked the outdoors and enjoyed camping out.

  “The real challenge,” Stash warned, “is that we’re such a small group, traveling and living together on the road. Even when we’re out there in the wide open spaces, we might as well be cooped up in a prison cell together. From time to time, we do get on one another’s nerves. What usually happens is, we find some excuse to yell at each other, just to blow off some steam, and afterward we sulk for a little while, and then that’s the end of it. Once the camera starts rolling again, it’s all sweetness and light.” To illustrate his point, he folded his hands on the conference table in front of him, tilted his chin upward, and gazed at the ceiling, with an exaggeratedly angelic expression on his boyishly handsome face. Carter had to fight the urge to snicker in response to this cherubic display.

  “I understand,” Carter said. “I think I’m easy to get along with—and I think I can handle pressure.”

  “I have to warn you, though,” Stash said. “You don’t know the meaning of pressure until you’re forced to take a dump somewhere out in the open, in front of the other guys.”

  His frankness, Carter noticed with amusement, made some of the executives and their assistants squirm.

  “Looking forward to the experience,” Carter replied, managing to keep a deadpan expression on his face. “I’m sure it’ll be an enriching one.”

  Stash guffawed with laughter, which some of the others forced themselves to join in.

  The talk turned to technical matters. Here Carter was at home. Everything was shot with a single hand-held camera, equipped with its own microphone boom. “Hand-held” was somewhat of a misnomer, because the large and heavy camera was in fact supported on the shoulder. The digital footage was stored on a laptop computer, with a backup, so it could be reviewed and even edited, if so desired, right there on location, and shard in real time with the producers and editors back home.

  “I’ve seen some of your work, Carter,” Stash said. And he wasn’t simply being polite. He went on to mention several specific projects which Carter had worked on. Stash wanted to know how Carter had achieved certain effects.

  Cart
er flattered himself that the interview had gone well. Still, he knew that the decision could go either way, so there was no point in packing his bags yet.

  But he wasn’t left in suspense for long. Only two days elapsed before he got a phone call.

  “Hey, Carter,” a now-familiar voice said. “It’s me, Stash.”

  “Oh, hi.”

  “I just wanted to be the one to tell you—if you’re still interested in the job, it’s yours.”

  Carter didn’t hesitate. “I definitely want it.”

  “Great! I was hoping you would. So, welcome aboard. I’m looking forward to us working together. I can’t wait for this trip to Scotland. It ought to be a lot of fun. Hey, listen—now that it’s a done deal, I’ll let you go. I’ll talk to you when you come in to sign the contract, okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “We’ll sit down and go through all the details, you know, the plans for the trip. We’ll do lunch or something.”

  And that was that. Carter and Stash did have lunch together. They talked at length, beginning to get to know each other. Carter found Stash’s enthusiasm infectious. He began to look forward to the trip to Scotland.

  Carter related all this to Liam, although in somewhat abbreviated form.

  “You’re traveling light,” Liam remarked. “Where’s your camera?”

  “Cameras, plural. All of our equipment, including most of our clothes, has been shipped ahead. It’s interesting you should ask that, because the truth is I’m not used to being without my cameras. I’m experiencing separation anxiety.”

  “It’s the same with us. Our equipment will be waiting for us, too, at the site. Not that I feel the least bit of separation anxiety. I have no desire to travel lugging around a pick and a shovel, or a sifting screen, with me,” Liam joked. “But tell me more about Stanislaus Pulaski,” he urged. “What’s he really like?”

  “I’ll be in a better position to answer that question after I’ve actually worked with him. But, like I said, what you see is what you get. He’s no stuck-up prima donna at least, that’s for sure.”

  “Is he gay?”

  Carter had to laugh. “Why is it the public thinks every good-looking guy who works in the entertainment business must be gay?”

  “You’re a good-looking guy and you work in the business,” Liam pointed out, slyly. “Are you telling me you’re an exception to the rule?”

  “Um, to be perfectly honest, Liam—I suppose I’m one of those exceptions that proves the rule. I admit it. I do like men.”

  “Oh, good. You see, I hoped you might be gay when I first saw you. I thought I got that certain vibe from you, but I wasn’t sure. I told myself, bloody hell, check out the sexy long-haired guy with the beard! I’m bent, too, just in case you were wondering.”

  “I was wondering,” Carter admittedly. “You might say I was quite actively speculating—and fantasizing.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  “Do you have a lover, back home in London?”

  “No. Fuck buddies, yes, but no one special at the moment. Do you have someone, waiting for you back in New York?”

  “No.”

  “So we’re both unattached at the moment.”

  “Looks like it. For the moment—and for the foreseeable future, at least in my case.”

  “What makes you say that, Carter?”

  “I’ll be traveling around the islands with a group of other men. Which means sleeping with them, too, in close quarters most of the time, from what I’ve been told to expect. Not exactly conducive to romance.”

  “On the contrary. If one or more of these blokes turns out to be gay—or bisexual, or just horny and open-minded, and willing to experiment—you might find out that the close quarters can be an advantage. And you’ll presumably have at least some free time, to make the acquaintance of the locals. There are parts of these islands on which the men outnumber the women. Hell, there are parts of these islands on which the sheep outnumber the men. When the local boys get tired of fucking the sheep, they turn to one another.”

  Carter laughed. “Are you speaking from personal experience?”

  “Yes. Let’s just say that when I first signed up for the dig last year, I resigned myself to a summer of wanking myself off. But I managed to find alternatives. A surprising number of them. Like I said—when you’re out there in the field, there’s not much to do at night. And no matter how hard you work during the day, nobody ever seems to get too tired for sex. A good orgasm always relaxes you and helps you fall asleep. Better than hot cocoa or a sleeping pill.”

  Carter smiled at Liam. “How do you think I’d stack up as a soporific—as an alternative to a cup of hot cocoa or a sleeping pill?”

  “I should think you’d be extremely stimulating and exciting. I don’t think a bloke who shared a bed with you would get much sleep. Not at first, certainly. Later on, perhaps, after the two of you have worn each other out.”

  Increasingly emboldened by Liam’s candor, Carter asked, “How’d you like to find out for yourself?”

  “I’d love to, if it could be arranged.”

  “We both seem to be intelligent and resourceful types, if I may be so immodest. I’d be willing to bet we could work something out. What’s your immediate schedule like?”

  “When the boat gets to Armadale, I’ll be spending the night there. I have a reservation at a hotel there. Then I’ll be taking the bus tomorrow, north to Portree. It’s a short trip in terms of distance, but I understand the bus makes a lot of stops along the way. In Portree, I’m supposed to hook up with the others on my team. We’ll be traveling by more ferries, or by chartered boats. First we’ll visit some of the sites that other teams are working on, right here on Skye. Then we’ll head for what are called the Small Isles—Canna, Eigg, and Muck. We’ll be changing ferries more than once, rather like changing trains. Our main dig this year, where we’ll be spending most of the summer, is on the island of Rum. Which,” Liam added, with a grin. “I was disappointed to learn is not where the beverage of the same name originated.”

  “Wow,” Carter exclaimed. “Eigg, Muck, and Rum. It sounds like the name of a goddamn law firm! But that’s my itinerary, too, at least as far as Portree. That’s where we take our boat, to start our sail around the isles. And after we’ve made the rounds of them, we’re supposed to stop at Rum eventually. Hey, that means you and me—we may run into each other again.”

  “Very likely. This is a small part of the world,” Liam pointed out.

  “Meanwhile, maybe we can take the bus together tomorrow.”

  “That’d be great.”

  “And this hotel you’re staying in tonight?”

  “It’s called the Osprey House.”

  “Now there’s another coincidence. I’m booked there, too. Fate seems to have thrown us together. I have a feeling one of those beds is going to go to waste tonight.”

  Liam grinned. “I’m already counting on that. Am I going to be disappointed?”

  “Not if I can help it!”

  Chapter Two: Sleeping Arrangements

  It was ironic. When he’d first boarded the ferry, Carter had thought that the voyage couldn’t be over soon enough to suit him. Now, he wished they’d never get to Armadale, because he was enjoying Liam’s company so much. As Carter and his new acquaintance talked and got increasingly friendly, Liam was able to answer a lot of the questions Carter had about life in the Western Hebrides and what he might expect to encounter there. While they waited for the ferry’s destination to appear on the horizon, the two men were laughing and joking together like old friends.

  The weather had worsened, and the ferry’s deck rocked slightly as it plowed slowly through the waves. Often, the sea spray flew up high enough to splash over the boat’s railing and wet the deck, and the passengers tended to avoid sitting or standing near the railings as a result.

  Carter and Liam, however, toughed it out. They’d abandoned their seats and taken up a standing position in the ferry’s bow, enj
oying the view and each other’s company.

  “Not afraid of a little water, are you?” Liam asked.

  “Not at all. And I’m going to have to get used to this sort of thing,” Carter said. “I’ll soon be cruising around these islands on board a small sailboat.”

  “Oh, I envy you. I’ll be stuck mostly in one place, all summer long. A picturesque place, by all accounts, but still no doubt monotonous, in the long run.”

  “As for the short run—Christ, I can’t wait to find a john on shore and take a leak,” Carter blurted out, as the elusive harbor stubbornly refused to come into sight.

  “There’s a bog—that’s what you Yanks call a rest room—right here on the ship,” Liam reminded him. “Although God knows what shape it’s in right now. I’ve seen a steady stream of seasick drunks—mostly German-speaking—stumbling in and out of it.”

  “I’ll go check it out.”

  “I’ll watch your bags for you. If it’s too disgusting, there’s probably a public toilet in Armadale, right by the pier. In my experience, there usually is, in these out of the way seaports. When a sailor finally comes ashore after being at sea, there are two things he wants to do, right away. First, take a piss or a dump in genuine indoor plumbing, on land. Secondly, dip his wick, in the sex object of his choice. Either for a fee, or for free.”

  “I can’t blame him. Right now, I know just how he feels.”

  Laughing, Carter went to investigate the men’s room. Gingerly, he pushed open the door and glanced inside. It was a narrow cubicle, equipped with a sink, a urinal, and a toilet stall. One look, however, and one whiff, was enough to discourage him from entering. The drunks had not only missed the urinal—more than one of them had puked in and around the toilet bowl. The tiled floor was, to put it mildly, awash, and there was a perceptible stench in the air.

  Carter retreated, and rejoined Liam.

  “That was fast,” Liam said.