3
The Road to Temptation
After bidding the politest possible good-byes to Mason and Kristen, I decided to get out of there. I was halfway to the door when I bumped into a strikingly pretty young man.
“Sorry,” I said.
He wasn’t my type at all, but I couldn’t help but be impressed. Blond hair in an almost eighties shag, parted down the middle. Bright blue eyes framed by girlishly long eyelashes. Creamy-looking skin that made you want to lick it.
He was of medium build, bigger than me, but still boyish. Slim and well muscled like an Australian lifeguard.
Despite his slight advantage in height, he reminded me of a younger version of myself. He could have been my kid brother.
“No problem,” he said quietly. “I’m Brent.”
“Kevin,” I said, extending my hand. “Nice to meet you.” He looked so ill at ease that I smiled to relax him.
He glanced at my hand as if it surprised him there, then took it and pumped with the earnestness of a high school student interviewing for an internship. His eyes searched my face for a sign of something . . . recognition?
“Brent Havens,” he clarified.
“Okay,” I answered. “Kevin Connor.” Maybe we were playing some new game that involved emphasizing your last name.
Brent seemed confused by my obvious mirroring of his inflection, then something else. Relieved?
“I just . . . you don’t know who I am?”
“Sorry.” I grimaced. “I don’t mean to be rude. Should I?”
“No.” Brent smiled more comfortably now, revealing perfect teeth and an adorable dimple. “I mean, it’s just at these industry things Mason makes me come to, everyone usually knows me. Well, they think they know me. They’ve seen my pictures. Videos.” A look of distaste crossed his face. “You really have no idea who I am?”
With his postpubescent good looks and slightly androgynous sexiness, he looked like he could be the star of a Nickelodeon or Disney TV show. But I was long past my days of Degrassi and iCarly. I grimaced. “Sorry, buddy. I think this is the first time I’ve ever seen you.”
“Then you’d make a really bad detective. Look around you, bro.”
He waved around the room, where people had propped or pinned various SwordFight Productions posters. In one, about ten guys stood shirtless with their arms around each other. The two in the middle stood closest to the camera and dominated the group. One was Brock Peters, the model we’d just had on the show.
The other was Brent.
I noticed a few other posters then, as well as some brochures left out by the pizzas. Sure enough, Brent’s pretty face appeared on more than half of them. One of the signs was a smiling closeup of him with the headline “The New Face of SwordFight—Our Freshest Catch Yet.”
Clearly, Brent was a rising star. Or a risen one.
“I’m kind of glad you didn’t know me,” Brent said. “I’m tired of those guys who think they do.” He crossed his arms defensively across his chest and stuck out his chin at the “Fresh Catch” poster. “They know him.”
I felt like he was defending himself from a charge I hadn’t lobbed.
“I’m glad I met you first, then,” I said, realizing as I did that it came out a little flirtatious. Which wasn’t what I was going for.
At least, not consciously.
“I don’t understand how you could be working with SwordFight and not have seen me, though.” Brent’s voice carried a hint of suspicion. I was sure a boy as pretty as he had men lie to him on many an occasion to get close.
“I’m not with Mason,” I explained. “I’m with the show.”
Brent looked a little confused. Once again I had the weird sense I knew what he was thinking. Isn’t that what Mason does? Make shows?
“This show,” I clarified. “The one Brock was on. Sophie’s Voice.”
Brent’s smile returned, as did his relief. Relaxed, he looked even cuter. Younger, too. “Oh my god,” he enthused, now exuding a total tween vibe. “I love her. You get to work with her? That must be so much fun.” He bounced on his heels with enthusiasm.
Wanting to keep him at ease, I tried to think of something that would convince him to further relax his guard. “I’ll tell you a secret, if you promise to keep it to yourself.”
Brent’s eyebrow rose with the wariness of a boy accustomed to guys trying to make deals with him. I knew the feeling. He hesitated, and then nodded.
I regretted making him anxious again, but knew the payoff would be worth it.
“I do more than just work with her—she’s my mom.”
“No!”
“Yes!”
Brent gushed some more about my mother and how great it must be to have a “totally cool” mother like her. I let him enjoy the fantasy.
“You’re so lucky,” he said. “A great mom and a rocking job. You must love your work.”
“Don’t you?” The life of a porn star was the fantasy of many.
Brent shrugged. “Parts of it.” Then, a dirty smile. “Okay, big parts of it. It can be a lot of fun. And it’s kind of cool to be able to get in to any club or meet any guy. And the money’s sweet.
“But . . . look, I’m not stupid. I sought this out. I went after this. I sent my homemade video to Mason because I wanted to be in the movies. I knew what I was getting into. But I didn’t expect to always be so . . . on display. Like a piece of meat.
“And they’re always wanting you to do more. To give the audience something they haven’t seen you do before. I mean, I’m only twenty-one, but I’m running out of tricks.”
“You’re twenty-one?” That was the part that surprised me the most.
Brent laughed. “I know, I look a lot younger. I get that all the time. I bet you do, too.”
I nodded.
“You know, I couldn’t help but notice . . . ,” Brent began.
“We could pass as brothers,” I finished.
Brent cracked up. Now that he was past his initial discomfort, he was as winning as a boy gets. He got me laughing, too. We were giggling like two schoolboys when our eyes locked and the mood abruptly changed.
“Listen,” Brent said. “You seem like a really nice guy. I don’t do this a lot, but would you like to get together sometime? Somewhere else? Like, a date?” A blush like a wildfire raced across his cheeks.
Lord, he was a cutie.
“I would love to,” I answered. “But I have a boyfriend.”
Brent took a step closer. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”
I cocked my head.
“I know,” Brent said. “You’re a Good Guy, right? One who doesn’t cheat on his man?”
“Guilty as charged. Although, if I did, you’d be number one on the list. You’re smart, you’re adorable, you’re funny—so, why are you single?”
Brent pointed at his poster again. “They all want him. They don’t even know who I am.”
“Who are you?”
“Promise not to tell?”
“Hey, I told you my secret,” I reminded him.
Brent’s expression turned serious. “The truth is . . .” He leaned in closer, his lips to my ear. His breath was hot against my face. “I really am your brother. Your parents’ secret love child whom they abandoned to be raised by wolves and porno producers.” He gave a sensual little nip to my earlobe and stepped back.
“So,” he concluded, “it’s probably better we don’t date. Considering the blood relation and all.” He grinned cockily.
I hoped he didn’t glance downward. His little flirtation had gotten a rise out of me.
Literally.
I’m only human.
I shoved my hands into my front pockets, trying to make it look casual. “So,” I asked, “how do you tell the difference?”
The cocky grin faded. “What do you mean?”
“Between the wolves and the producers?”
Brent laughed again, his musical giggle lighting up the room. “If you’re going to rejec
t me, could you stop being so funny and interesting?” he asked politely.
“Believe me, it’s not that easy saying no to you. Of course, it’d be easier if you’d tell me who I was saying no to. . . .”
“Right,” Brent said. He pitched his voice low. “You actually want to know the real me. It’s a nice change.”
This time, he extended a hand. “I’m Richard. Everyone calls me Richie, though. From Queens, New York.”
I took his hand in mine, this time with none of the earlier formality. I felt like we’d become fast friends. There was an immediate connection between us. I knew there’d be even more of one if I ever told him how I’d been making a living just a few months ago.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Richie. And, if you’re into it, I’d still like to get together for a coffee or something. Maybe we can figure out how you can meet a guy who isn’t only interested in ‘him.’ ” I made air quotes with my fingers while nodding toward his poster.
“Actually, I already have. This guy named Charlie. I kind of like him. But the problem is, he’s got major issues with my work. He doesn’t want me to ever be ‘Brent’ again. He can’t stand the thought of me being with other guys. Especially on film. He really hates it. I keep telling him to separate what I do from who I am, but I think it’s a losing battle.”
I thought of my own situation with Tony. He never pressured me to give up my work, but there was a time when I had to change the specifics of what I did to appease him. “Is this Charlie guy worth finding a new line of work?”
“Maybe. But not yet. And since he’s getting kind of pushy about it, I’m thinking I’m going to have to break it off with him.”
His face seemed to lengthen with sadness. “Which is really too bad, ya know?”
I nodded sympathetically.
“ ’Cause I’m kind of sweet on him. But these guys, they go from one extreme to the other. They either want the fantasy, like the old men who offer me fifty thousand a month to live with them and role-play characters from my movies, or they want to kill the fantasy, destroy ‘Brent Havens’ and everything that goes along with him.
“Besides”—Brent’s expression darkened—“it’s a lot easier to get into this business than to leave it.”
“What do you mean?”
Brent—or should I say Richie now?—dropped his voice again. “Look around you. SwordFight has spent a lot of money promoting me. Making me a ‘star.’ They could make it hard for me to walk away.”
My mind immediately went to organized crime. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a dirty business. But I have insurance. I know stuff about them, too. I could blow the lid off SwordFight.
“The stories I could tell could shut them down. Probably put some of them in jail. How they helped me . . .” He didn’t finish his sentence as his eyes widened with a new idea.
“Hey, maybe I could do it here. On your mom’s show. Get my story out before they have a chance to spin things their way.”
I didn’t have the heart to tell him Sophie’s Voice wasn’t exactly 60 Minutes. Plus, something about what he said didn’t ring true. I’d have to think about it later, when I wasn’t distracted by how damn adorable he was.
“Maybe,” I said. “Let’s add it to the list of things we can talk about over coffee.” I handed him my business card.
He tucked it into the back of his jeans.
“You should have my number, too,” he said. He grabbed a pen off a desk pushed against the wall. “Gimme your hand.”
Brent wrote his digits on my wrist, dragging it out to keep the physical contact going as long as possible. “Coffee’s so boring, though. Sure it wouldn’t be more fun to talk after a couple of drinks? Maybe at my place?” He arched his eyebrows suggestively. He finished writing his number and traced over it with his index finger.
I had to admit the boy was good. Too good. I wouldn’t trust myself at his place. Even without the alcohol.
His finger running along my wrist felt ridiculously sensual. Why was I so attracted to this kid? He was an undeniably well-put-together specimen, but not my type. Since falling for Tony I really hadn’t been particularly interested in anyone. Yeah, Andrew was tempting, and there’d always be a place in my heart—and pants—for my BFF Freddy, but Brent had me as hot as Sarah Palin at a gun show.
What was it about him?
Or was it me? Was the fact that he resembled me in so many ways part of the turn-on? Had I just discovered my kink? Not domination or plushies but clones?
For now, none of that mattered. Brent was an incorrigible flirt. He was going to keep wagging his tail and humping my leg until he wore me down. It was time to throw some cold water on this puppy.
“Did I mention my boyfriend’s a cop?” I asked him. I’ve found that tends to act like the anti-Viagra on even the most determined suitors. Knowing the guy you’re trying to cuckold has a gun is more deflating than a cold shower.
“Coffee it is, then,” he said, dropping my hand. “When should we—”
We were interrupted by the trumpeting voice of Mason Jarre. “Would you look at them?” he boomed.
He was walking over with Kristen LaNue at his side. “Magnificent,” Kristen whispered. “Like two angels.”
“Almost twins,” Mason marveled. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“That we need to get these two together on film?” Kristen asked him.
“I can picture the DVD cover in my head already. Brotherly Love Two,” Mason suggested. “Or, Adventures in Twincest.” His eyes darted from one of us to the other, back and forth. I was pretty sure he was imagining the climactic scene at that very moment. His voice was thick with excitement. “We can work out the details later.”
Mason pissed me off. I’d already made it clear to him I wasn’t interested. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s a guy who won’t take no for an answer.
I would have told him off right then and there, but I couldn’t think of a way to express my aversion to appearing in porn without sounding like I disapproved of Brent for doing it.
It was Kristen who saved the scene from getting ugly. But then again, he was a director. “Now, don’t pressure the boy,” he advised Mason. Then, he turned to me. “You have our cards. Think about it, okay? We could at least talk. I promise—we could make it worth your time.”
Brent gave me an evil grin. “You really should, Kevin. You know, if we do it on film, it isn’t cheating. It’s work.”
Having made similar distinctions in my own life, I couldn’t blame Brent for trying.
“Sure,” I said, figuring it was a good time to make my exit. “I’ll think about everything. And maybe we will get together.”
But I said that last part to Kristen, not Brent. For some reason, I had a feeling it’d be better if Kristen and Mason didn’t know that Brent and I planned to meet. I’d keep that to myself.
Just like I wouldn’t tell Tony about the flirting between me and Brent.
Walking away, it struck me that in the past half hour, more lies had been told, secrets revealed, and new ones made than I’d have thought possible in such a short time.
It didn’t seem like a good basis on which to start a new friendship. Maybe I’d be better off if Brent didn’t call.
Speaking of which, I’d better not go home with a guy’s number scrawled on my arm. Even a guy without Tony’s professional investigative training would be suspicious of that. I went to the bathroom to wash it off.
I was about to start scrubbing when I thought, What the hell? I took a picture of the number with my iPhone. Who knows? Maybe I’d have a reason to call Brent someday.
A perfectly innocent reason. Yeah, Brent might be delicious, but I had no doubt I’d be able to resist taking a bite.
Does it count as another lie if you only say it to yourself?
4
Best Friends
A month later, I was in my apartment watching the “Kinks for Cash” episode with my best friend, Freddy. It
wouldn’t air until later that week, but he’d been bugging me about seeing it since he found out Brock Peters was a guest. I got a DVD of the final cut from one of our editors so Freddy would forgive me for what he’d considered an almost unforgivable slight on my part.
It was the night after the taping of the show. Freddy and I went out to dinner, and I told him about meeting Brent Havens and the other weird experiences of the day.
“Wait,” Freddy interrupted me. “Let me make sure I understand you. You threw a party for a roomful of gay porn stars and didn’t invite me?”
“I didn’t exactly throw a—”
“How long has it been that you’ve hated me?” Freddy asked.
“I don’t—”
“Because the only thing I love more than a party is porn, and the only thing I love more than porn is actual sex, and it sounds like you somehow managed to keep me from all three at the same time!”
It was true that Freddy loved sex. I knew that firsthand. We’d started as lovers back in college, but the idea of a committed relationship was about as appealing to Freddy as sunbathing is to a vampire. His idea of monogamy was sleeping with only one guy in the same day. Once he knew your last name, it was a sign the two of you were getting too serious.
So, we became friends. Besties, as the Brits say. There was still a sexual tension between us, but over the years it’s faded somewhat. Whether that was due to time or to Tony is hard to say.
It took me a few minutes to convince Freddy there was no “party” and that I had no idea so many of Brock’s friends and co-workers would show up. Even so, I admitted, I should have told him that Brock would be on the show.
“If I knew you were a fan, I would have invited you,” I explained. “But I had no idea you’d even heard of him.”
“Heard of him?” Freddy asked incredulously. “I’ve done a lot more than heard of him. I’ve seen him. I’ve studied him. I’ve sullied myself to him, in all his throbbing muscly goodness.”
“So, you like his movies?”
“I’m talking about at the gym. In the steam room. We’ve gotten it on four or five times there.”
“Oh my god,” I marveled. “Is there any man in New York you haven’t slept with?”
Third You Die (Kevin Connor Mystery) Page 3