by Damon Suede
Upstairs, Alek tugged open the freight elevator with a clang and headed back toward the studio in the half light. He spoke at Griff without turning back as he threaded through the boxes and storage crates. Alek looked down at his legs. “I like your kilt.” Griff looked down at the olive drab pleats. He’d forgotten he was wearing it. “It’s a utility kilt. I’m doing some construction later.”
“Very handsome. But you did not bring your bunker gear.”
“No.” Griff looked down at his empty hands as he folowed. “I forgot. No. That’s a lie. I didn’t mean to bring it.” Alek unlocked the door and entered the studio. The curtains were al puled back, and chily daylight was strong in the room. “My apologies for the cold. My landlord is cheap about lighting the boiler because most of my neighbors use this place for storage. Russians!” He checked the computers briefly and headed for the fake sitting room set. “Then I wil assume that you have not come to shoot the solo video we discussed.” Griff stood empty-handed near the door, ready for the argument he needed to have, trying to work up the nerve to get nasty when Alek had been nothing but cool with him. He felt like a stone-cold prick.
Alek’s eyes smiled at him. “You look as if you are about to make a scene.” He settled back on the black leather loveseat, waiting.
“Yeah.” Griff entered far enough to stand on the carpet in front of him. “Sort of.”
“What kind of a scene did you have in mind, Mr. Muir?” Even seated, Alek managed to seem like a handsome concierge talking to a ruffled patron at a hotel.
“Is there a problem?”
Griff shifted his weight foot to foot. He took a step closer to the set. “Wel, I came here to be an asshole, but you been nothing but nice to us.”
“I’m glad you think so. I like both you and Mr. Anastagio a good deal.” Alek smoothed his pants, chin out, ready for anything. “You even saved me from an assault, the night we met.”
Griff had forgotten about that. It felt like a hundred years ago. And he felt weird talking with the whole room between them, but he couldn’t make himself get any closer, and the only furniture was on that side of the studio. “Look, man, those videos are a real problem. For Dante and me. Ya know? The kinda problem that could get us fired or kiled or worse.”
“Then I can understand your anxiety. You are in a dangerous business.” Alek leaned forward in his seat, looking concerned or faking concern… whichever.
Griff shrugged, powerless and desperate. “I thought… I came here to say I got cops for friends and I could be a prick and shut you down. But I don’t want this to go public and mess up our lives. And I don’t want to mess with your business.” He took a step. Then another. He closed the distance between them until he was in the HotHead.com set with Alek.
“I appreciate that, but you stil have a problem. Yes? Because of the homoerotic content we shot of you and your friend.” The Russian drummed his long fingers on the fake coffee table, like he was thinking of a solution, or was pretending to think.
Griff stepped closer, fidgeting. “Yeah. You don’t understand…. The porno thing could get him kiled and I realize that it’s not your problem and I don’t know how to fix it and I don’t want Dante to know and I don’t want to dick you around.”
“Slow down. It’s al right, Mr. Muir.”
“Fuck, but this is awful.” Griff sat down in the big leather armchair and leaned forward, desperate to make Alek understand what he was saying. “Look, you’re a good guy, Alek. ’S’weird actualy. I used to think you were a total pervert skeezbag back before I….”
“Ejaculated on this chair.” Alek’s smile spread over his face like syrup. “But I am a pervert. You know that. We are al perverts of one flavor or another, yes?”
“Yeah. Yes.” Griff knew what he meant. Alek knew he knew. Their knowing slithered between them in the fake porno room where so many things had changed. His legs were goose-bumped under his kilt.
“However, I am not a vilain.” Arching an eyebrow, the Russian exaggerated the Slavic edge in his accent til he sounded like a cartoon Rasputin. “The evil Soviet trafficking in innocent flesh.”
Griff nodded again, trying to figure out what Alek was trying to say. It seemed important that he make sense of it. Why did he feel like he was talking with a friend?
Alek leaned back against the black leather and thought out loud. “I wish no harm to either of you. On the contrary, I would much rather find a way to share some of the good fortune you have showered on my smutty corner of the World Wide Wank.” Without the camera and the lights, this little sitting room looked like the corner of an office. Griff had the weird thought that they could both be waiting to see a dentist.
For a root canal.Or amputation.
Griff wiped his mouth. He was supposed to threaten this guy, or beg for some kind of reprieve, or try to buy him off. But something else came out entirely.
“I’m fucking terrified.” Griff felt embarrassed as soon as the words were out in the cold air.
“Has someone threatened you or Mr. Anastagio because of the site?”
“No! I mean, not yet. No one knows, and I need to keep it that way.”
Alek’s forehead creased in confusion. “Then may I ask the reason for your fears?”
“A guy got hurt. Beat up real bad.”
“I don’t folow. During a fire this happened?”
“No. Like bashed. Gay-bashed. One of the men at the firehouse. You met him at the Stone Bone. This paramedic who sneaks around to, uh, sleep with dudes. Have sex. Jesus. You know.” Griff thought of that rough aley fuck. Of Tommy’s sated face and the dark man’s hand on his back after. Tommy calmly keeping Dante alive at that fire. Tommy curled up on the sidewalk, dying.
“Thomas?!” Alek’s face was serious suddenly. His shoulders bunched and his hands closed into fists. He looked angry, almost as angry as Griff felt.
“Yeah, Tommy. Messes around with men. A lot, apparently. His wife found out, and then her brothers found out, and then I found him getting mauled, and now he’s in the fucking hospital pissing into a bag with his face held together by staples.”
“But that is terrible.” Alek looked like he wanted to kil someone, the planes of his face rigid. “He was such a lost soul.”
“And, I mean, he knows how to fight, but not al of ’em at once. Ya know? And sure he cheated, but al those fucking guys cheat on their wives ala time!” Griff rubbed his face and closed his sore eyes, trying not to lose it. “But not with guys. You see? Not with guys. So he’s a filthy fag. They almost kiled him. They pissed on him. His family. His family.”
Alek’s mouth was open in shock. He realized and covered it with his shaking hand.
“I watched him in the ambulance dying. Almost dying. Blood came out of his ears.”
Behind his fingers, Alek cursed in Russian, then cursed again.
Griff shook his head and rubbed an eye. “They’l get away with it. He won’t press charges. Sixty-something stitches. Three ribs. Concussion. Dislocated shoulder. His face was like a goddamn eggplant.”
Alek’s face was granite. “You helped, though. You were a hero. And he wil get better.”
“Wil he? I feel fucking awful. Because I knew. I saw him one night, down in the Vilage with a guy. Humping some big guy, I mean. Not even Dante knows that.” Griff wiped his nose and made a fist. “But I never said nothing. Maybe if I had, he’d’a been more careful.”
“Or maybe not.” Alek didn’t rest a hand on him for comfort, but Griff could tel he was trying to be gentle. “Perhaps Thomas made sure he got caught.
Perhaps he wanted that poor wife to find out and hadn’t the words to give her. Perhaps that was his way of punishing himself. Masochism. People torture themselves more terribly than anyone else could. Yes?”
Griff nodded.
Alek nodded. He hadn’t forgotten what he’d seen.
Suddenly they weren’t talking about Tommy. Sirens went off in Griff’s head, but he slid right down the pole into it, unable to stop him
self….
Griff’s voice was low and he spoke to the floor, unable to look at anything. “The lying is awful. The hiding.”
“It is.” Alek shrugged a shoulder and frowned at the studio around them. “But common. Look at HotHead. Many of our members are closeted men in bitter marriages. ‘Curious’, these men cal themselves. The fantasy is how they survive. This place is a dream for them.” He looked around at the three-waled sitting room set. “The world is built of lonely people.”
Griff grimaced. “How can you be ‘curious’ if you know? I don’t get how people can hack it. I mean, I know they do, but I can’t imagine doing it for your whole goddamn life. ’S’like being burned alive, lying to people you love. No wonder people become drunks and hide and hit each other. Truth. Easier to be dead inside.”
“There are so many better ways to kil yourself.” The light from outside silvered Alek’s stern face, making him look older, his eyes paler. “You drink.”
“I drink too much. I know. I know that. Like my dad.” Griff looked at his scarred knuckles. “I only do it when I’m trying not to….”
“Love your friend?” Alek’s voice was gentle, his accent a soft, understanding burr.
The room felt suddenly stil to Griff, like even the dust had stopped dancing in the motes of cold sunlight and the wind had stopped dead outside. His heart paused. The blood stopped in his veins. The world holding its breath, holding its breath….
Until he looked up, his gray eyes startled and wet and relieved as the word escaped his mouth. “Yeah.” His heart started again.
“Mr. Muir, loving your Dante is not a bad thing. He certainly loves you… although I don’t know if he can love you in the way you wish. Or I wish, for that matter. Only he knows. You understand? Life is very rarely romantic.” Alek wiped his hands on his pants. “But if you are not going to be honest with him, you at least need to be honest with yourself.”
Griff nodded then shook his head no. Which is it, idiot? “I just get hammered every once in a while so I don’t have to feel anything. I’d rather be numb than feel everything al the time. Ache for him.” He fiddled with the pleats of his kilt and strangled on his cowardice.
“A dangerous habit for someone so often in danger. What do they say on pils? Do not operate heavy machinery? Life is heavy machinery.” Alek was looking at something on his pants, unwiling to raise his eyes like he knew he was going too far with a stranger but couldn’t stop himself. “Trust this: drinking until you go away from the world only wastes moments of your life. Al that time is lost. And time and love are incredibly precious. Yes? Don’t waste either.”
“I know. IknowIknowIknowIknow….” Griff nodded. He felt the hot tears on his face before he realized he was crying.
- Plip -
A tear hit his hand. “You didn’t see Tommy al smashed there on the fucking ground. People who loved him did that. Family. The truth did that, not fucking romance. I gotta do something. Whatever it is I gotta do. And I gotta take care of those videos or someone is going to hurt Dante and I’l snuff out like a fucking candle. Extinguish. If our family did that to Dante or me, I’d… I dunno, I don’t know if….” He choked, quietly bawling in the middle of a porn studio with this strange, kind Russian watching him with awkward concern.
How had he gotten to this exact point? Griff tried and failed to retrace al the steps that had landed him here on this fake couch crying real tears with a gentle pervert who wanted to pul him out of the rubble.
Ground Zero.
Alek didn’t say anything for a while, just patted his fire-fuzzed forearm with the patient pessimism of a burn-unit nurse. His quiet breathing actualy helped calm Griff down. After a few minutes, he nodded his bald head to himself and stretched to open a briefcase on the fake coffee table. “Mr. Muir… can I make you an offer?”
He extracted a big envelope.
“Are you fucking kidding?! Have you been listening?!” Griff glared at the papers and then up at Alek. “Jesus H. Christmas. I didn’t bring my fucking turnout gear! I don’t want any more fake online porno bulshit that’s gonna get us kiled. No thanks.” He took a breath. “No offense.”
“No. That was not what I was going to suggest. A moment.” Alek shifted on the loveseat and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “You helped me once, before even you knew me. Now I would like to help you.”
“Yeah. Sure. But first I gotta find a way to keep us safe, to help Dante, to protect what he cares about, to get both of us to a place where we can be honest, even if it’s just for one goddamned minute, the two of us.”
Alek just watched him, gears turning inside his head as if he were doing calculus. “I think we should remove the remarkable footage of ‘Monte’ and ‘Duff’
from the website. Streaming it was a mistake that could have unfortunate repercussions for you and for me.” Griff nodded, stunned.
“However, that video content has been very popular with the members. You are fan favorites. It is that bright heat between you, you see. Not just the flesh, but the feeling. The rest of us are drawn to it like pitiful moths. I’ve gotten an enormous boost in registrations with your masturbation clips, and I am a businessman.” Alek steepled his fingers, tapping his big nose and looking straight into Griff’s eyes. “So I’l make a deal with you, if you are wiling.”
“Yes!” Griff was on his feet so fast that Alek flinched. “I could pay you. I’l buy ’em back. Cash! I can borrow….” He’d sel his truck. He’d rob a bank. He would swalow his pride and beg his dad.
“No. I don’t think you can afford what the footage has turned out to be worth. Especialy the extraordinary felatio scene, which has not been seen by anyone other than myself.” Alek’s empty hands opened like he was offering something. “And need not be.” Anything. Yes.
Griff nodded, then shook his head, feeling like an idiot. He plucked at one of the pleats in his kilt.
“But the earlier scenes have served their purpose, and the members’ appetite for fresh product is relentless. You represent something to them now. A fantasy.
By removing these clips I could of course suggest some kind of homoerotic scandal in the FDNY, which would only enhance the site’s reputation. That is almost a strategy.” Alek’s blue eyes scanned the ceiling, and he ran a hand over his shaved scalp. “In return, I would like something from you.” He turned his eyes to Griff’s and smiled.
Griff froze, his chest cold, his face salmon pink and roasting with embarrassment. “I don’t think I could, with you. I know you like… like me. Whatever. I mean, if you’re asking…. You’re handsome and al, but I don’t think I could have sex….” Alek laughed and shook his head. “No, no! You misunderstand me. I do like you enormously, Mr. Muir. But as beautiful as you are, I think you have blundered onto something quite rare and precious with your Italian friend that deserves protection from perverts. Even from me. No, I want you to model for some photographs.”
“But I thought —”
“Nothing explicit. Nothing that would reveal your identity. I’d like you to be the HotHead man. My coverboy, as it were. My brand. I wouldn’t show your face. You don’t even have to represent yourself as a firefighter. We can easily find you other uniforms if you prefer.”
“But you want to take naked pictures. Of me. Being naked.” Griff knew he was missing something. He scanned the nubby oatmeal carpet, trying to put the pieces together. He wiped his wet lashes.
“Wel, yes. Obviously. With some uniform elements, of course. And in exchange for those photos, I wil agree to remove al of our Monte and Duff content: videos, photos, bios. The website has become quite popular in the past few months, in no smal part thanks to you and Mr. Anastagio. But I’m rebranding it as something a little more upscale, and I want someone”—Alek scanned Griff’s body frankly—“exceptional to represent HotHead for its new incarnation.” Griff waved away that idea. “How is me naked al over your site gonna fix my problem?”
“We wil not show your face or any identifiable marki
ngs, tattoos, etcetera. But of course, you do not have tattoos on that flawless skin. Smart.” Alek grinned and nodded, flirting a little in a friendly way that made his accent a little stronger for some reason.
“Bulshit.” Griff was already shaking his head adamantly. “I’m not that hot. I’m not that ripped. And I’m not that hung. I seen some of the monsters you got on the site.” He blushed, but he stuck with being honest. By now, what did he care what Alek knew about him haunting the site incognito?
“I could argue the point.” Alek’s blue eyes creased and twinkled gently. “And the members are fascinated with that chemistry between you and your friend.
But that is not the reason.”
“What, ’cause I’m a redhead?”
“Because you are authentic, Mr. Muir. One hundred percent genuine. You don’t look like a stripper or a hustler or a criminal. You’re not pretty or groomed or juiced. You look like exactly what you are: a handsome American hero who doesn’t know his own appeal. And you are intensely appealing. That is most of the reason, anyways.”
Alek tilted his head, giving Griff’s arms and crotch a close once-over. “Plus I do love your remarkable coloring, and it is appropriate after al. I cannot imagine a hotter head.”
A wink and Alek chuckled like they weren’t haggling over their respective futures.
Over by the door, one of the computers made some kind of squawk, rebooting itself, for al the world as if it was butting into their conversation. Griff and Alek turned at the sound, but it had nothing else to say. On the row of monitors, the smoldering HotHead logo ping-ponged around the blank screens against the shadowed wal. The light was fading outside.
When had it gotten so late?
Alek tipped his bald head and glanced back to Griff for his answer.
Griff frowned and scowled so hard that he knew he looked like his father playing bad cop. “So… what? You take skin pics of me and the porn clips go away?”
“Mm. Not me, though. I have a photographer who would work with you over a three-day period. Beth. She’s very polite and very talented and very professional.” He put his hands behind his head and relaxed against the cushions, daydreaming his bigger, better HotHead.