by V. L. Locey
My gaze immediately lifted from the plate of tiny finger foods to Adrian. He arched a slim gold eyebrow.
“Caiden and I aren’t a thing.” I picked up a tiny bit of dark bread that had some sort of white paste dropped on it, shoved it into my mouth, and gagged. Adrian’s eyebrow rose even higher so I chewed and swallowed, washing the fishy tasting mint disgust from my mouth with pink champagne. Something I should avoid drinking given where I ended up after tossing back a few dozen flutes at Isamu’s wedding. Or maybe not…
“Oh please, don’t even try to deny it. I saw you two leaving the wedding together, glued together if I’m being catty, which I tend to be. Plus he has not been able to look at anyone else since you two parted. Take a peek. He’s right over there by the fountain, chatting with Gunther Becker, the German screenwriter of that off-Broadway catastrophe, Tulips for Two.”
He tapped my chin with his lorgnette in the proper direction. Caiden was deep in conversation with a huge blond man, but his eyes were on me. My balls tingled, and my cheeks grew hot.
“See, I told you. Oh, le sigh. How I wish I had a man who looked at me the way Caiden Dell looks at you. Of course, I’m not sure Caiden, as adorable as he is, lives up to my rather strident expectations. I’m a bit of a size queen you know. I like my men big and beefy!” He slapped my arm with his lorgnette while giggling madly.
“I think he’s just perfect as he is.”
“Well, of course you do, buttercream. Oh, he’s coming over. Caiden, you fop, how delightful to see you.” Adrian stood up and literally towered over Caiden. The taller man bent down to buss Caiden’s cheeks, then sat down once again, patting the empty little chair between him and me. “You look divine. All ruddy and glowing.”
“I owe it all to vitamins and clean living, Adrian,” Caiden replied smoothly, leaning in to run his fingers along my cheek. Adrian glowed and fawned. I blushed from my toes to the roots of my hair. All these outward shows of affection were really hard for me to deal with. Back in Topeka, men didn’t caress each other’s cheeks at brunch or anywhere else.
“Oh posh, you owe it to having a young buck who fucks you on an hourly basis!” Adrian laughed aloud at his own remark. “Ah, I am so unabashedly clever. Thank you for the giggles, but I have to go mingle. My name is not quite big enough to afford me the luxury of sitting all day chatting with beautiful men. Kiss me goodbye.” We both pressed a smooch to his powdered face before he left, mimosa in hand, to mingle.
“You look like someone just used you for trolling bait,” Caiden teased, his hand sliding up my thigh under the table. I gasped when his fingers brushed my dick.
“Adrian takes some getting used to,” I said, slipping my hand beneath his and moving his thumb away from my cock. “Why are you being so grabby?”
“Because Gunther has been salivating over you, and I want that big asshole to know that you’re here with me.” He captured my mouth and kissed me until the room spun. When the kiss broke, his eyes were glassy with lust. “Come with me.”
He took my hand, tugged me to my feet, and led me through the crowd of well-dressed bruncheon guests to the men’s room. When he opened the door, an attendant smiled at us.
“Fuck,” Caiden snarled, spun around, and tugged me to the nearest exit. “I was hoping to get you alone in a stall and muss you up. To hell with this stupid brunch and Gunther’s roaming eyes. Come on.”
“What are you doing?” I demanded once we were back outside.
“I’m getting us to the next stage of our Sunday out. Taxi!”
Laughter on my lips, I simply fell in with him and was whisked to see a play about a dying man and a ghost of an ex-lover, the same one Adrian had been panning not that long ago. Tulips for Two was a bit of a wreck, but it had good bones. The story was amazing, but the production was not at all right for the screenplay. It was too damn dark and melancholy. The story felt burdened under the angst. Caiden sat beside me, intent on the stage, his fingers drumming along his jawline, arms crossed, throughout the whole play.
When we stepped out onto the street, a cloud of cigarette smoke hit us in the face. Sputtering, we moved away from the small group of smokers who had barreled out of the theater to light up. Late afternoon was upon us, and traffic along West 42nd Street was Sunday afternoon chaotic. He slid his fingers between mine as we walked.
“Okay, so tell me Mr. DOP, if you could fix that play we just saw, how would you do it?” Caiden asked, his stride leisurely as we passed a make-up store packed full of women shopping while their men sat outside along the window ledge.
“Well, as director of photography, I’d sit down with the producer and screenwriter and see if I could salvage the lighter side of the story. Under all that gloom and doom is a really nice gay love story, something that could be uplifting instead of the fucking tired old bury your gays trope. Also, I’d bring in a better lighting technician and a new cast. The dude who played the ghost was far too old for the role.”
He spun me around to face him, kissed me loudly on the lips, and stared right into my eyes.
“You really do have a mind for film and its imagery. The nuances of lighting and mood. I really need to toss your name in front of someone who’s got just enough clout to make their name on your resume look good but not be too big of an ego where you’d not be mentored properly. Let me think on it.”
“I’d be forever in your debt, but I have no idea how I would ever pay back that big of a favor.” The knowledge that we had eight days left before he, Polly, Luis, and Isamu headed west was front and center. When he returned it was highly doubtful he’d even recall my name.
We started walking again, pausing outside a small eatery filled with people. “Don’t be so quick to worry about paying me back. There’s a bit of a catch. You’d have to pass the muster of whoever you worked for. Say for example, if I were to pitch you to the new man coming in to work his magic on Tulips for Two. He can be an absolute asshole. Actually, it goes past can be and dives into is an absolute asshole.”
“Well, okay. I’m sure I can work around his assholery.”
He led me to the door of the small Italian place, and hand on the door, looked back at me. “It’s my ex-husband, Olander Perry.”
Chapter Four
We were seated at a tiny round table, fat bowls of salad and a basket of warm breadsticks in front of us, before he’d broached the subject of his ex. Sitting through small talk, wine selection, and placing our orders had been torture. The interior of the restaurant was pleasant, dark woods and hanging planters with ferns, cool blue tablecloths, and soft music piped in. Most of the tables were filled, the air humming with the low hum of diners making small talk.
“You look like you’re passing a kidney stone,” Caiden said as he cut his salad into small, bite-sized bits. He was a dainty eater, always careful about the size of his bites and being tidy as he ate. “I suppose you want to hear about Olander.”
“If you want to talk about him,” I politely replied, forking a small cube of cucumber swimming amid a lake of Italian dressing.
“There are a few key things I can pass along to you, and we can skip the four years’ worth of drama. Some mine, some his, most caused by him and me together.”
“Okay.” I pulled the cucumber from my fork as a couple were led past our table by the same tall, thin, striking woman who had seated us.
“Well, one of the most important things I’ve learned from failed marriage number one is to never get someone’s name tattooed on your skin.”
“Noted.”
His green eyes touched mine. “Also, make sure you don’t act impulsively. Olander and I met on a Wednesday, fell into bed, stayed there for nearly two weeks, and then got married.” My cucumber wedge lodged in my throat. That was eerily similar to what was going on between the two of us. “And no, it is not at all the same thing that we’re doing.”
I wiped at my lips with my napkin. “It’s not? It sure sounds the same.”
“I haven’t proposed yet,�
�� he pointed out while sawing a fat cherry tomato in half.
“Please don’t,” I murmured, dread and delight warring in my chest.
“Would you say yes?” I refused to look into those Kelly green eyes of his. I shook my head strongly and fished out a black olive that I placed on my napkin. Caiden speared it and popped it into his mouth. “That’s wise. See, you’re not as flighty and whimsical as I was when I was your age. Christ, I sound fucking ancient.” He sighed. “Anyway, that was Olander and me in a nutshell. Crazy in lust, not so much in love, two starry-eyed novice producers on a crash course.”
“He’s a producer too?” I asked, my gaze lifting from my salad. Caiden nodded. “Is he as assertive and demanding as you are?”
“Oh God, yes,” he said, a wry chuckle following. “Imagine, if you will, two young, idiotic men who want to control everything around them trying to work out which one will cede their power to the other. Yeah, it worked about as well as that.”
I quickly wiped the look of horror from my face. “Is he as bossy in bed as you are?”
“Of course. Loves being bottomed but has to have complete control of the entire scenario. At first, the power battles in bed added to the inferno, but after a year or so it became irksome to the nth. Out of bed the problems were even worse. We were just twenty, the two of us, and headstrong. Both studying cinema at SoA, both with the same dreams, only his ended up leading him to producing theatre and mine to film.”
“So you went to Columbia School of Arts. I hear good things about the curriculum.”
“It’s a wonderful place. Of course, they have a fine school over in Brooklyn as well,” he added as he laid down his flatware and pulled a soft breadstick from the cloth-lined basket. “So, he and I spent four years trying not to be assholes to each other and failing miserably. We split amicably and went off to be pushy power bottoms in two different continents. I stayed here in New York and got BITD up and running. He flew over to the UK and has been producing plays there for over six years now. Which brings us to Tulips for Two.”
I studied my salad for a moment, unsure about how I felt about working for this Olander Perry. Caiden reached across the table to tap my wine glass with his breadstick.
My eyes lifted. I gave him a wobbly smile. “Okay, so here’s the thing. While I think that would be a great experience, I have a couple of reservations. One is that I honestly do not think I can balance a full course load, and work at Babette’s and intern for Olander. Secondly…”
And my bravado fizzled out. “Yes, secondly what?”
I wet my lips while rolling the handle of my fork back and forth between my fingers. “I think it might be awkward.”
“Because you’re my lover?”
“Yes and that by then we’ll both be exes.”
“Look at me. Devon, look at me.” I did. He was just too good-looking, and I’d been stupid to not keep a safe emotional distance. “You don’t know that come the fall we’ll be over. Or do you? Is there some sort of mystical eight ball you possess that gives you a glimpse into the days to come? If so, give that bitch a shake and tell me if this vampire movie of ours will be a success or a bomb.”
It was nice to hear him say the movie was ours; it wasn’t. I’d been involved for a week. Caiden had been the one to bring it to life, just like all his other projects. The producer did so much behind the scenes—from finding the screenplays, securing funding, hiring the director, helping to cast the film, approving the locations, making sure the film stayed on schedule and on budget, helping finalize the cuts, working with marketers and distributors, and keeping an eye on box office performance. I had to imagine it was the same for a theatre producer minus the filming locations hassle.
“I just don’t think we should set ourselves up for failure. You’re heading west in a week and will be gone for two months. I think we should just let this be what it is, you know?”
He studied me for a long time, a sad smile playing on his lips. “Yes, of course.” He lifted his glass of red wine. “To us, may our brief but passionate fling always bring us warm and happy memories.” I picked up my glass, tapped his, and took a long sip. “I’m impressed. You’re so much more mature than I was when I was your age.”
If he only knew how close I was to throwing myself to the floor to melt into a tantrum like a toddler who didn’t get his way. But we were adults. So we would eat our meals, drink our wine, and go to his condo where we’d lose ourselves in the slap of sweaty skin and hot grunts because that was what this was after all. Two weeks of movie magic carrying over into reality, and then it was back to nights in a damp basement and days in a hot bakery.
“So, thank you for thinking of me for a recommendation to Olander, but I’m not really cool with the idea of working with your ex,” I said as tactfully as I could.
“No, me either now that I’ve given it some deeper thought. I’m always a bit impulsive. Want to get our desserts to go? We can enjoy our sweets in bed.” Caiden’s offer was too good to refuse. An hour later we were exhausted, covered in semen and cheesecake, and blissed the hell out. I made a vow to myself that I was not going to waste one damn minute between now and when he boarded that jet that would take him out of my life.
Monday evening after a full eight hours baking, I was seated on the stairs of the library, mildly freaking out. I had lost the entire stack of scripts I’d been tasked with reading over. All of them. Gone. I had placed them right beside the left lion when I’d been summoned to go find Don a raspberry-lemon tea with no sugar. When I’d returned from that mad dash, the scripts were gone. And Caiden was now on set, talking to the cinematographer, a cool guy by the name of Wally Willis. I’d been shadowing him and Caiden when I wasn’t needed to oil arms, fetch cold drinks, or try to update the production schedule.
Wally looked around Caiden at me, then motioned me over. Fuck. How was I going to explain my loss of all those scripts? Maybe the next blockbuster had been hidden among them. I shuffled over, smiling, always smiling because that was a tip Polly had whispered in my ear just an hour ago. She was off in a trailer making calls. Movies ran on phone calls I’d quickly learned.
“So,” Wally started, folding his arms over his round little belly. Wally liked baked goods, so I kept him well-stocked with brioche. “Caiden suggested I ask you to come work for me. I’m going to be in need of another cinematography production assistant. Mandy, who I hired a week ago, just found out she’s pregnant. She and her husband will be moving to Malta after the baby is born. You interested in a job working for Muffin Top Films after you graduate?”
My mouth dropped to my chest. I looked from Wally to Caiden. My lover merely quirked a brow.
“You’re starting your own production company?” I asked and got a nod from Wally.
“I am, with a collaboration with Budgie in the Dell. It’s a damn good script, LGBT rom-com that I wrote, and I’ve been wanting to expand out of being a lone wolf into something more stable. So, if you’d like to sign on, I can give you a starting job as a key grip, salary around fifty thousand to start. Of course, that’s just my pay, I’m sure you’ll be toggling between Caiden and my companies, so you could do really nicely for yourself.”
“Oh no, he’ll be strictly on your payroll after we wrap here,” Caiden interjected, patted my arm, and walked off, Polly emerging out of the crowds to meet him. They disappeared into the library, heads close, and I felt my world shift ominously. He really was cutting this off after the end of this movie. Ouch. Ouch. Ouch. My chest ached even though I’d been the one to demand we just play it all for fun.
“Ah well, okay then, you’ll be available for other shoots. Excellent. Drop by my place tomorrow and we’ll get the tax forms and union stuff taken care of.”
“Union?”
“Sure, the ICG. International Cinematographers Guild. Once you’re in you’ll have benefits, 401K, all that good shit.”
“Ah, wow, uhm, okay sure. Should we do paperwork now instead of waiting?” I still was having tro
uble breathing over how icily Caiden had fobbed me off to Wally…
“Yeah, let’s get the ball rolling. We’ll get you into the schedule as often as we can once we have your class schedule. The winter months might be slow, but we’ve got some nice scripts in development, one with a setting in Quebec that’ll be a sweet little short about a kid and his cat, so we should have something in December for you so you can get some experience in during winter break. Make sure your passport is current and you have all your shots. Once you graduate, you can come in fulltime.”
“Yes, sir, I will. Thank you for the opportunity. I’ll be the best key grip you ever had.” I offered him my hand. He had a firm grip and would be a great mentor. One I wasn’t sleeping with, which was probably a much better arrangement all around.
“Make Caiden proud. He’s quite impressed with your vision and talent. You get the right training and schooling, we’ll be able to help you find your unique voice in film, and that voice, that touch, will be reflected in all your cinematography work. But, for now, we have two more long ass nights on this hot fucking street with oily vampires.”
We both chuckled. Wally gave my neck a cuff then slipped off to get the cameras and lighting in place. I stood there like a tree, unsure of what I was supposed to do. The scripts. Yes, I needed to tell Caiden I’d lost them. I jogged around the bustling set, stepping over miles of cables, lights, people, and two dogs that were supposed to be hell hounds but looked like black German shepherds to me.
I spent ten minutes wandering the set and then slid around the block, my head spinning, looking for my…what? Soon-to-be ex-boss and lover. Ouch. There was that stabbing pain in my heart.