by Alexa Land
“So, clearly we should have ended this at the designated time. All the weirdos come out after nine,” I whispered to Brian. “Did you see that old guy feel me up?”
He burst out laughing. “No, but that’s hilarious. And God am I glad I’m not famous. Being a celebrity sucks.” He poured a cascade of little slips of paper out of the empty plastic cup in front of him and said, “But hey, on the bright side, twenty-eight men have slipped you their phone number. So if you get tired of me, look at all these options!”
I chuckled at that. “Why are you keeping those? I told you to throw them away.”
“I want to see if you hit thirty. I mean, surely the most beautiful man on the planet could get thirty numbers in one night.” He flashed me a big smile. He’d taken to poking me lightly in the ribs every time someone called me beautiful, and seemed to find this whole evening endlessly amusing. “I also want to see if you can make a dozen grown men cry, just from meeting you. You’re at eleven. Good luck.” He winked at me, and I grinned as I rolled my eyes and gave him a playful shove.
The next group finally approached the table. There were four of them, and had held up the line with a debate about which of them got to go first. They’d finally settled their dispute with a best-of-three rock-paper-scissors-lizard-Spock duel.
“Hi,” I said. “So, I thought Spock beats lizard.”
“No way! Lizard poisons Spock,” the guy in the Doctor Who t-shirt explained. “Which, granted, is kind of misleading, since most species of lizard are totally harmless. In fact, only a few, like the bearded lizard of Mexico and the Gila monster are actually poisonous.”
“That’s totally ignorant. About a hundred species of lizard are venomous,” one of his friends chimed in.
“Yeah, out of over five thousand known species of lizard!” Doctor Who told him.
“A hundred isn’t a few.”
“It is when you’re talking about thousands of species in toto!”
“Then what beats lizard?” I interrupted, before they started beating each other up over reptile trivia.
“Scissors decapitates lizard,” the guy in the Bazinga t-shirt explained.
“And rock crushes lizard,” the African American kid with a fedora added.
“What on earth are you talking about?” Brian asked me, and my fans and I did a quick demonstration. He tried and failed to make the Spock symbol, and we all had a good laugh.
“I just knew you’d be awesome,” Doctor Who told me with a big smile. “I mean, not only are you the most beautiful guy ever—” (Brian subtly elbowed me in the ribs) “—but you’re also totally cool.”
It took a while to get photos with all of them, as a group and individually, on their various phones, iPads and miscellaneous electronic devices. They left with huge smiles on their faces. When they’d almost reached the door, kid-in-a-fedora doubled back and slipped me his number with a wink, then hurried after his friends.
“So close! Twenty-nine,” Brian exclaimed, adding the slip of paper to the cup. “There are, let’s see…five more people in line. I think you can get to thirty, fairest of them all. Oh and look,” he whispered, “this next one’s crying.” I poked him in the arm as the fan slowly approached the table.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you in person,” the man gushed, tears streaming down his face. He was about sixty-five and reminded me of someone’s grandpa, so this was a little awkward. “You’re so gorgeous, Hunter. Oh my God!” After tearfully collecting an autograph and photo, he handed me a slip of paper. “If you call me, I will die a happy man,” he said, before heading for the door.
“Yes!” Brian exclaimed, plucking the paper out of my hand and adding it to his collection. “That was a three-fer. Tears, phone number, and raving about your unparalleled beauty.”
I grinned at him. “I’m glad you find it entertaining. A lesser man might have been threatened by all of this.”
He smiled at me. “I already know you’re gorgeous, baby, and my phone number’s at the top of your call list. Just don’t expect me to burst into tears at the sight of you.”
“It’s just the celebrity thing. It’s not that I’m special, or even that I’m particularly attractive. The perception of fame just does weird things to people.”
When the doors were finally closed and locked after the last person in line, I climbed up onto the table and stretched out flat on my back. “That was exhausting,” I muttered. “My face hurts from smiling. Are my cheeks permanently upturned, like the Joker in Batman?”
“Yes. But don’t worry, you’re still handsome enough to make grown men cry.”
I chuckled at that and turned my head to face Brian. “Thank you for being a good sport through all of that.”
“It was fascinating, and highly educational.”
“It was?”
“Sure. I never knew Gila monsters were poisonous.”
I chuckled again, then slapped my palms to my cheeks. “Ow, stop being funny! If I smile any more, I’m going to break my face.”
“Come on, Home Alone, let’s get out of here before the bus pulls up with the rest of the Gay Nerds for Hunter Storm Convention.”
“You’re just jealous of the nerds,” I said, rubbing my cheeks as I sat up and swung off the table, “because you’re not cool enough to make the Spock symbol.”
“Oh, believe me, cool is not the word you’re looking for there,” Brian said cheerfully.
After I thanked the shop keeper and the police officers that had stood around over two hours for nothing, I phoned for a cab. I then went and helped the clerks pull the racks of merchandise back into the center of the room. “You don’t have to do that,” said the young freckled guy that had been the cashier at my table.
“This all got messed up because of me, I should help put it back,” I said. He seemed really surprised. That was the other thing about fame: people totally expected you to act like a douchebag.
“Hey, Hunter, do you have a minute?” a young African American woman in her early twenties asked, sweeping long dreadlocks behind her shoulder. I’d noticed her come in about half an hour ago.
“Sure.”
“I’m Sadie Jones, from Lunch with Love,” she said, shaking my hand. “This fundraiser of yours brought in several hundred dollars, and that’s going to go a long way in our little organization. I just wanted to thank you in person for doing this.”
“You’re welcome,” I said with a smile, then added, “You know, I expected you to be a lot older.” I’d heard her name before, and knew she founded that nonprofit.
“I get that a lot.”
“I really believe in the work you’re doing,” I told her. “If I can ever do anything else to help out, just let me know.”
She handed me a business card. “If you’re serious about that, we need all the help we can get. Call me any time, we’ll figure out how to utilize your talents.” I chuckled at that as I slipped the card in my shirt pocket, and she asked, “What’s funny?”
“Well, you know what I do for a living. I can’t imagine those talents would benefit your organization a whole lot.”
Now it was her turn to laugh. “I’m guessing you have other skills, too.”
“Cab’s here, Hunter,” Brian called from the front door, and I nodded at him.
To Sadie I said, “Thanks for coming down in person, it was nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too, Hunter.”
As always, Friday night in the Castro was booming. And also as always, my appearance generated a buzz when we left the shop. This was ground zero for my fan base, the place where my fame reached its absolute zenith. A couple in their thirties approached me and asked for a photo (more smiling, my face would never recover), as did group of club kids.
After that, I’d just about made it to the curb when someone called out, “Hunter!” Brian was on high alert during all of this, staying right at my side, watching the crowd closely. He put himself between me and whoever had called ou
t. But then, Trevor emerged from the crowd, his cheeks flushed, breathing rapidly. He was wearing the same threadbare cardigan that he’d had on when I met him at Jamie’s brunch, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slumped self-consciously.
“I was sure I’d miss you,” he said. “I just got off work, and ran from the bus stop. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
“Now’s not a good time,” Brian chimed in. I glanced at him, and noticed a little frown line between his eyebrows.
I turned back to Trevor. “It’s actually been kind of a crazy night. I’d love to talk, but can I meet up with you sometime tomorrow?”
“Yeah, if you want.”
“I can come by your work, as long as Cole won’t be there,” I said.
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble.”
“Well, okay, if you’re sure. I work the lunch shift until two. Cole’s off tomorrow.”
“Alright. See you around two then,” I said, and he nodded, smiling shyly.
When we were in the cab and headed out of the Castro, Brian mumbled, “I wonder what that was about.”
I turned to look at him. “So, you’re okay with a couple hundred guys fawning over me, but then that skinny kid shows up, and now you’re jealous?”
“He’s a good-looking guy.”
“So were a lot of the men that came to my public appearance. But all you did was gleefully collect their phone numbers and make fun of me for being idolized.”
“Well, yeah. But you don’t like any of your fans.”
“Sure I like them.”
“I mean, like like.”
“And you think I like Trevor?”
“I know you do,” Brian said.
“Based on what?”
“You told me.”
“I did? No I didn’t.”
“When I broke up that fight between you and Cole at Jamie’s brunch, you admitted that you’d been thinking about hitting on Trevor. You’re obviously attracted to him.”
“Oh, that? Brian, before you and I got together, I thought about hitting on everybody.”
He grinned a little and said, “That’s not true.”
“Pretty close, though.” I slipped my arms around him and cuddled up against his chest.
“I’ve never understood what you’re doing with me,” he said, resting a hand on the arm that crossed his chest. “You’re right that most of tonight didn’t intimidate me, because the whole fame monster thing was bizarre, fascinating, and frankly, kind of funny. But someone like Trevor…I mean, he seems sweet, and shy, and he’s so damn cute, and you guys are probably about the same age, and…I don’t know. He seems like someone that’d be good for you.”
“You’re not exactly a hundred and fifty, Brian, you’re only four years older than me. And guess what? You’re all the things you just mentioned, excluding shy, but with extra emphasis on good for me.”
“I might as well be a hundred and fifty. I feel like I am, sometimes. And no way in hell am I good for you.”
“Let’s not go back down that path. All I’m going to do is argue with you.”
He was quiet for a while, then finally said, his voice low, “When you finally break up with me, I’m not going to do what Cole did. I’m not going to blame you, or hate you. It’ll make perfect sense to me.”
I sighed and shook my head. “So, when that never happens, I’m going to totally say I told you so.”
He chuckled at that, some of the tension leaving his body. “That doesn’t make any sense. When exactly will you be delivering this I-told-you-so?”
“Every morning, from now on. When you wake up and reach for me, and find me right there beside you, that’s when I’ll say it. I’ll start each day with, good morning, sweetheart. I told you so.”
He laughed again, and hugged me to him. “Because that won’t get annoying.”
“Hey, don’t blame me. You brought it on yourself with this unfounded insecurity.”
When we pulled up in front of Christopher’s building, the downstairs art gallery was buzzing with activity. Tomorrow was the grand opening celebration. I found my friend among the people bustling around doing last minute preparations, gave him a hug, and said, “This place is looking great.”
“Thanks. How was your event?”
“Bizarre. And the stalker was a no-show.”
“His fans literally lined up down the block,” Brian chimed in.
“I knew that about the stalker. Brian kept texting Kieran with updates because he knew we were worried,” Christopher said.
Kieran appeared beside us, dressed in full police uniform and carrying a cardboard box. I gave him a snappy salute, and said, “Evening, Officer Nolan. Aren’t you a little overdressed for the occasion?”
“Hi Hunter. And yes. I still haven’t made it upstairs to change.”
“Speaking of changing,” I said, “I’m wearing your best outfit, Christopher Robin, and I’ll bet you’re going to want it for tomorrow night’s grand opening. I’m going to run upstairs and put these clothes in the washing machine, and then I’ll be right back down to help.”
“Thanks,” he said. “You don’t have to help, though, you must be tired after tonight. We’ll be done here in another half-hour or so.”
“Well, if I haul ass back here, let’s see if we can shave that down to twenty minutes,” I said. I gave Christopher a kiss on the cheek, then planted a second one on the top of Brian’s head before turning and jogging toward the back of the gallery.
“Hey, where’s my kiss?” Kieran joked.
“Rain check,” I called, flashing him a big smile over my shoulder.
When I got upstairs, I went straight to the tiny laundry alcove off the kitchen and stripped down to my briefs. There were a few other clothes waiting to be washed, and I loaded them in the machine, then went through the pockets of Christopher’s dress shirt, pulling out Sadie Jones’ business card and putting it on top of the dryer. I removed my wallet and Christopher’s spare set of keys from the pants pockets, then found the business card of that guy that manufactured, what was it? Oh yeah, ‘high-end sex toys for the gay.’ What did that even mean? Were they like high-end sex toys for the straight, only rainbow-colored?
I pulled the belt from its loops and put it beside the other items on the dryer, then did a final sweep of the pockets. When I reached into the left rear pocket, I felt something smooth and square. I pulled out a little piece of paper, neatly folded, then stuck the pants in the washer and turned on the machine. I held the paper between my middle and pointer finger while I measured out some detergent and swirled it over the clothes, then closed the lid. Only then did I unfold the note, blinking at the small, tight handwriting.
It said: I’m coming for you soon, my treasure.
Chapter Ten
Kieran found me sometime later. I’d apparently sat down right where I was, on the worn wood floor beside the washing machine. I was still holding the note. “Hey Hunter,” he said when he stuck his head in the laundry room. “There you are, we wondered what happened to you. Are you alright?”
I looked up at him and wordlessly held out the slip of paper. “What’s this?” he asked, taking the paper from me and turning it to face him. His expression went from cheerful to dead serious in an instant. “Where did this come from?”
“It was in the back pocket of the pants I just took off. It’s from my stalker. I recognize the handwriting from some of his letters.”
“Come on,” Kieran said, holding a hand out to me. “Let’s get you up and dressed, you have goosebumps.”
I didn’t move. “I’m just going to sit here for a bit.” My voice sounded oddly hollow to me.
Kieran retracted his hand and watched me for a beat, then pulled out his phone and dialed a number. When someone picked up, he said, “Brian, could you come upstairs, please?”
Brian was so loud that I could hear him through the phone and downstairs as he exclaimed, “Is it Hunter? Is he okay?”
“Screw that,” came the reply, right before the line went dead. A moment later, I could hear a clattering sound on the stairs, and just a couple moments after that, Brian appeared beside me, Kieran stepping out of his way. He pulled me onto his lap, his big arms enveloping me. “Are you alright, baby?” he asked. “What happened?”
“I’m fine,” I mumbled.
And Kieran exclaimed, “Wow, that was quick.”
“Crawling on my hands and knees isn’t pretty, but it gets the job done,” Brian said as he tilted me back a little, his eyes searching my face as he brushed back my hair. Whatever he saw made him knit his brows and ask his brother, instead of me, “What the hell happened, Kier?”
“He found a note from his stalker, in the back pocket of the pants he’d been wearing.”
“Holy shit,” Brian whispered, all the color draining from his face. “But how? I never left his side, and I watched every single person that went in or out of that shop.” He thought about it for a moment, then asked, “What are the chances that man has an accomplice?”
Kieran said, “That’d be pretty unusual. Most stalkers work alone.”
Brian hugged me and kissed my forehead, then said gently, “Let’s go to the living room, Hunter. You’ll be more comfortable.”
I got up and wandered to the living room, where I sank onto the sofa. The brothers were right behind me, and Brian crawled onto the couch and took me in his arms again.
Kieran grabbed a nearby blanket and covered both of us with it, then pulled out his phone again. “I’m going to call Detective Sanchez and let him know what happened. I’ll go tell Christopher, too.” He headed for the stairs as I put my head on Brian’s chest.
“How could he have gotten that close to me?” I said quietly. “He was close enough to touch me, but no one saw him. How is that possible?”
“I don’t know.”
“My treasure. That’s an odd expression,” I mused. “Why do I feel like I heard it recently?”