by Jay Bell
“You sleep naked with the dog?”
“Don’t worry, he’s naked too. No collar, see? He’ll let you wear it if it makes you feel more comfortable.”
“That’s all right.” Kelly found something wet just above his collarbone and looked at Nathaniel incredulously. When Nathaniel grinned shamelessly in response, he wiped it on the sheets defiantly. He considered the dog between them once more and sounded resigned as he got beneath the covers. “When in Rome…”
Nathaniel settled down, expecting a sense of warm satisfaction to lure him into sleep. That didn’t happen. He found himself still wanting. His body had been satisfied, but his heart… Nathaniel reached over, stroking Zero’s fur a few times before he let his hand settle there. Love. Just not the kind he was longing for. He listened to Kelly shift, surprised when fingers bumped into his. He didn’t know if it was pure chance, if Kelly was petting Zero without knowing his hand was there or if Kelly had reached for him specifically. Either way, the need in Nathaniel rose up. Only when he allowed their fingers to weave together did it settle down again.
Chapter Seventeen
Marcello didn’t play chess, not because he wasn’t skilled enough to master the game. Nathaniel’s theory was that the game was too simple for him. Or perhaps too convoluted, because while Marcello manipulated events with casual ease, he rarely utilized deception and deceit. Instead he simply gave other people whatever they desired. But first he made sure to convince them of what exactly that desire was. By no coincidence, this always coincided with his own needs.
Kelly was the perfect example. He had accepted the modeling contract on a purely temporary basis, since he was already enrolled in college and about to begin his first year. However, his summer job had attracted international attention, so delaying his education could be very profitable. Nathaniel knew Kelly wasn’t enthusiastic about studying, mainly because he didn’t know what career he wanted to pursue. Despite being professional and hardworking, Kelly wasn’t passionate about modeling. Getting him to commit to either path could have been tricky.
Not for Marcello. He idly dialed numbers on his phone, creating an assignment for Kelly at one of the most beautiful places on the planet. Clients normally came to him, but Marcello was comfortable making propositions when needed, such as the one he made to Kelly.
College could wait. The world was calling! Fame and fortune were too, but they wouldn’t stay on the line for long.
Check and mate. Kelly resisted the offer at first, but something had changed his mind. When they arrived at their hotel in Cancún, Nathaniel discovered what that ‘something’ was. One room. Nathaniel knew he had booked two, because he had made the reservation himself. He still had the email confirmation. When he tried to correct the situation, the desk clerk pointed out that the exclusive emperor’s suite had already been prepared, an expense that would need to be paid for even if they didn’t stay in the room.
They took the suite. Kelly seemed delighted. Nathaniel glowered at everyone in sight. He soon relaxed when discovering the suite had two separate bedrooms. Marcello probably envisioned them driven by temptation to visit each other in the night. His prediction would no doubt come true, which was frustrating because Nathaniel had stayed tight-lipped about the increasingly frequent sleepovers. They had an understanding: no talk of relationships, no sappy terms of endearment. He and Kelly conducted themselves professionally when at work, not even flirting behind closed doors. And yet Marcello seemed to know the truth anyway. This assignment—a business-class flight to Mexico, a stay in a luxurious suite, and a few days off after the shoot—was no coincidence. A honeymoon without the wedding.
Work came first. While on the way to their appointment, Nathaniel did his best to disregard Cancún’s azure waters and ivory beaches. The tanned bodies in swimsuits were a little harder to ignore, as were the scents drifting from the restaurants they cruised by. Nathaniel usually felt an aversion to such places, preferring to travel further down the road to wherever the locals called home. For a tourist trap though, Cancún sure did sparkle.
Their destination was equally as ostentatious, leaving him puzzled. Nathaniel had expected a studio with minimal windows to control the light. Instead they parked in front of a resort. He leaned forward to argue with the taxi driver, explaining that they weren’t tourists, but to no avail. The address was correct.
“Location shoot?” Kelly asked once they were out of the car.
“Maybe,” Nathaniel said. “The emails I got were hard to understand. Very broken English in all capital letters.” Bellboys rushed out to assist with their luggage, but all Nathaniel had with him was a laptop in its case. They still tried to take that from him until a glare sent them slinking away.
“Where do we go from here?” Kelly asked.
“Front desk, I guess.” Nathaniel strolled inside, the interior full of fountains, sculptures, polished brass, and squeaky-clean floors. This made him long for a couch covered in dog hair. Which reminded him… “You sure your brother knows what he’s doing?”
“I’m not answering that again,” Kelly said patiently.
“Taking care of a dog isn’t easy. What if he doesn’t cook for him? I don’t want Zero eating fast food. That’s not healthy.”
“We’ll send him to fat camp as soon as we’re back,” Kelly said, nodding and smiling at the front desk receptionist as she rattled off a greeting. She asked for their names, as if they were checking in.
“We’re here for the photo shoot,” Nathaniel said. When she looked at him blankly, he exhaled, because he felt stupid just saying the name. “We’re here to see the Lieutenant.”
“Ah! Yes, of course. Just a moment please.”
She picked up her phone, and when it clicked, loud party noises could be heard on the other end. She spoke in rapid-fire Spanish, listened for a response, and hung up.
“Just a moment please,” she repeated, smiling at them nonstop until another person arrived in the lobby.
The man looked starved and exhausted, which meant he probably shared Nathaniel’s occupation. No greeting was offered. He simply gestured for them to follow. Down a few hallways they reached the hotel ballroom. The space had been transformed by an explosion of clothing, which littered the floor, hung from racks, and stuck out of boxes and trunks. Scattered amongst these were little tables cluttered with makeup and mirrors. People were squeezed into any remaining room.
“Kelly Phillips?” their guide asked, leading them toward one corner.
“Yeah,” Nathaniel answered for him, struggling to keep up. “I’m sketchy on the details. Do you have studio space set up somewhere, or is this an outdoor shoot?”
“Outdoor,” the man said, pointing to open doors on the far side of the room. The light of a swimming pool shimmered beyond.
“Swimwear?” he asked. “The photos we were sent didn’t look like—”
“Here is your technician,” the man said, gesturing to a thin-faced woman with dark hair and eyes. “She can answer questions.”
Nathaniel attempted to block the man as he left, but he slipped away into the crowd.
“This looks like a fashion show,” Kelly said, as the technician pulled at his clothes with no regard for his privacy. All around the room, people were in various states of undress.
Nathaniel watched as the technician matched Kelly’s skin tone before she started powdering his bare chest. “Hey,” he said, trying to get her attention. “I need a schedule. When does the first shoot take place and what does it involve?”
She shook her head like he wasn’t making sense, then continued her work.
“It looks like a fashion show,” Kelly repeated.
“That’s not what you’re here for.” Nathaniel spun around, searching for someone—anyone—in charge. Eventually he spotted a short Mexican man with a gravity-defying coif of white hair. He wore huge shades that concealed his eyes and a lavender version of a military uniform. That had to be him. The Lieutenant. A fashion designer and a would-be
dictator judging from the way he was making the rounds and barking orders. He was coming toward them anyway, so Nathaniel waited until he approached.
“I think there’s been some sort of mistake,” he said.
“Ah, the Americans.” The Lieutenant offered a smile that lasted a fraction of a second. Then he pushed past Nathaniel to face Kelly. “Have you seen them? I’ve made such wonderful things for you!”
“The outfits are beautiful,” Kelly said, remaining motionless so the technician could apply makeup, but his eyes were on the rack of clothing to his right.
“This looks like a fashion show,” Nathaniel said, borrowing Kelly’s words as he elbowed his way between them.
“That’s because it is a fashion show,” the Lieutenant said, looking up at him.
“I thought we were here for a photo shoot.”
The Lieutenant slowly took off his sunglasses and stared at Nathaniel. “There will be cameras. Lots of cameras. Taking pictures.”
“While he’s on the catwalk?”
“Yes! What, you thought he would be in a photo booth? Does he need passport photos made or something?”
Nathaniel was ready to growl a response, but Kelly intervened. “I’ve never been on a catwalk,” he explained. “It might be a little tricky with my crutches.”
The Lieutenant perked up. “Oh, no problem there! I have these for you!” He hustled over to the rack and pulled from the folds of clothing a pair of forearm crutches similar to Kelly’s, but these glittered and sparkled, the highly polished metal covered in clear multifaceted stones. The Lieutenant pushed away the makeup technician so he could hand them to Kelly. “Here you go. Give them a try.”
Kelly accepted them, but a shadow had come over his features and he was clenching his jaw.
Now it was Nathaniel’s turn to intervene. “He’s supposed to be here for a professional photo shoot, not a circus performance using those ridiculous things.”
The Lieutenant’s face grew red. “I designed these myself!”
“Obviously,” Kelly muttered.
“Listen,” Nathaniel said. “There’s been a misunderstanding, but if you’d like Kelly to model your clothing designs, we can grab a photographer and some lighting technicians and get set up somewhere. I’m sure a resort of this size has—”
“He’s a model.” the Lieutenant said. “Models go on the catwalk.”
“He doesn’t have any runway experience, and frankly, I feel like you’re being exploitative. If you want him for his appearance, that’s fine. If you want to pull some publicity stunt by—”
“Of course I’m being exploitative!” the Lieutenant shouted. “This entire industry is built on exploitation! You want diamonds because they sparkle? First you’ve got to wipe off the blood.”
“He’s not an object!”
“You don’t think we have beautiful black boys in Mexico? Why do you think he’s here?”
“To be respected as a model,” Nathaniel shouted back, “not some marketing gimmick!”
“He can go home if you don’t like—”
“That’s exactly what we’ll—”
“It’s fine!” Kelly snapped. Both men turned to him. “I can handle this. Really.”
“I’m glad one of you is professional!” the Lieutenant sulked before stalking off.
Nathaniel glared after him, then turned back to Kelly. “Are you sure about this?”
“Yes.” Kelly gave a single nod, then the makeup technician descended on him again. “I’d feel worse if I ran away. I want to own this, make it mine.”
“Okay.” Nathaniel exhaled. “Whatever you want. I’m behind you all the way.”
“Thanks. Do you think I’ll have time to practice first?”
“Probably not. All you’ve got to do is have a shitload of attitude. Think you can manage?”
Kelly smirked. “That’s a rhetorical question, right?”
“Definitely.”
“Just don’t fall in the pool,” the makeup technician interjected.
“What?” Nathaniel asked.
“The pool. That’s where the catwalk goes.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but he soon found out. Nathaniel walked to the end of the room and peered out the doors. The catwalk was narrow and transparent, which was bad enough, but it extended directly over a large swimming pool. One misstep would lead to disaster, a challenge for any model. Kelly had his work cut out for him.
* * * * *
The lights around the pool were low, the only luminance provided by narrow-beamed spotlights above and submersed lamps directly beneath the clear runway. This all changed when the first model stepped out from the doorway, camera flashes blazing. Blinding. Nathaniel barely paid attention to the model, noticing the water that had slopped onto the runway despite it being toweled off before the show. He sat front and center after bribing a member of the press to give up her seat. Nathaniel would be close, ready to dive in if Kelly fell into the water.
He watched impatiently as model after model crossed one leg over the other up the runway, hands on hips when they reached the end and turned around. Did they realize how lucky they were to move with perfect ease? To not need to compensate for a missing body part?
Kelly appeared. He did a damn fine job of slinking seductively down the runway, wearing an expression normally reserved for the bedroom. The gaudy crutches flashed and flared, reflecting the lights of the press back at them. The effect was surprisingly cool. The outfit was striking too, tailored for Kelly’s amputated limb, thin chains hanging down where the rest of his leg should be. Nathaniel braced himself, ready to beat any laughter into silence. Instead he heard gasps of awe. As Kelly reached the end, his crutches forming an X as he paused, the cameras couldn’t snap photos quickly enough. Nathaniel was even jostled as people tried to get a better angle.
He relaxed slightly, but each model had to make multiple rounds, which meant more chances for an accident. He watched as a stiletto heel slid off the edge of the transparent runway, the shoe grazing the water before the model caught her balance. The runway had been hard enough to see during the day, but now it must be nearly impossible, especially with so many lights flashing.
Kelly appeared again, this time wearing strange pants. One leg was white, the other black, and as the cloth neared his knees, the two shades spiraled down to his foot, creating the illusion that humans were one-legged creatures. Kelly was nearing the end of the runway when one of the crutches slipped on the wet surface, causing Kelly to stumble but not to fall. No one missed this, the audience tensing, but Kelly’s “I’m sexy as fuck” expression didn’t waver in the slightest. He swiftly recovered and kept moving.
Nathaniel should have felt proud, and to some extent he did, but seeing his fear partially realized only made the subsequent rounds more grueling. Kelly seemed to be in his element regardless, his performance as exceptional as it was varied. He acted goofy and friendly during one appearance, which suited the outfit covered in flowers—an upside-down rose where his leg should be. Or fiercely angry when he appeared in an outfit made entirely of tight black netting.
The press was eating it up. Perhaps that’s why Kelly closed the show, the final model on the runway. This outfit matched the crutches—silver and glittering—but the material only covered certain areas of his body, smooth dark skin providing a natural contrast. As Kelly reached the end of the stage and stopped, his expression became defiant. He didn’t turn around. Instead he spread his arms wide until they were perfectly horizontal, muscles trembling with effort as he balanced on one leg. He held that position until the audience grew quiet in anticipation. Then Kelly released the crutches, letting them drop into the pool.
Nathaniel was on his feet in an instant, ready to leap across the water to catch him. Everyone rose with him, cameras clicking. Kelly turned with one graceful hop. Then he kept on hopping. Nathaniel froze, sending out silent prayers to any gods willing to listen. Kelly reached the far end of the runway and disappeared through t
he doorway.
Nathaniel pushed through the crowd, in spite of the large round of applause that came when the Lieutenant appeared on stage. The models reappeared next, but not Kelly. Had he fallen? In his anger, had he refused any offer of help and been forced to crawl back to his usual crutches? Or was he being lectured for disrespecting the Lieutenant’s work? Nathaniel almost decked a security guard when he was stopped outside the ballroom and suffered an agonizing wait while the man confirmed via radio that he was allowed inside. Finally in the room, Nathaniel dodged around people to find Kelly.
He spotted a crowd circling one person. The Lieutenant, no longer on the runway basking in the audience’s approval, was in the center. He had his arm around Kelly, squeezing him affectionately, grabbing a champagne glass and shoving it into his hand. Applause, smiles of admiration, cell phones held up to take photos. Nathaniel stopped and watched from a distance. Kelly was so happy that tears filled his eyes. Oddly enough, they matched Nathaniel’s own.
* * * * *
Kelly was drunk in the most wonderful way possible. He kept laughing and speaking in funny voices, asking the same questions over and over after forgetting the answers. He stumbled out onto the wooden patio of their hotel suite that overlooked the ocean but offered a hot tub in case they were feeling lazy. Kelly obviously did, because he started ripping off his clothes, at one point spinning around dangerously while battling with his shirt.
“Easy now,” Nathaniel said, grabbing him by the shoulders. He’d decided to remain sober, mostly because of situations such as these. “You’ve had enough brushes with water tonight, don’t you think?”
“Nope. Hot tub. Right now.”
When Kelly struggled with his shirt again, Nathaniel helped him take it off. Then Kelly started messing with his shorts.
“All of it?” Nathaniel asked.