Gilded Lies

by Lin Lustig

  John felt himself lying on the cold cement sidewalk, could feel the ache in his hip and shoulder where he'd fallen, but as present as he was, he wasn't really there. This was a memory, he knew it was, but it felt like something more. His mind sank in, letting the new reality take over like an ultra-vivid dream.

  “What did you do?” John asked, the adrenaline making his voice shake.

  “He was going to kill us.” The sharp angles of her cheekbones and nose aged her, or maybe it was the shadow of the body at her feet that made her look twice her nineteen years.

  “I get that, but what did you do? How?” Panic and fear raced like acid through his veins, but this was still Licia. Still the young woman who berated him at the hospital for exploiting sick children to better his image, still the one who had connections in the city's government and police, the one who seemed to smile only at him. She'd agreed to help him, so he had nothing to be afraid of, right?

  Licia brushed her hands on her thighs, but the shaking didn't subside. She was too thin and made up of angles. Her eyes were sunken, made worse as her wide stare gleamed out from the sockets. “I let him feel his despair in full. He did whatever he wanted after that.”

  John tried not to look at the fragments of skull on the pavement beside him. The self-inflicted gunshot still echoed. Or it had permanently embedded in his brain. He'd never seen someone die before. He hadn't known Licia was like him. Abnormal. Shit, he was staring at the man's leaking gray matter. Bile made him cough.

  “Would you rather it was you?” Careful to step only where the blood hadn't marred the sidewalk, she crouched down.

  He shook his head, afraid opening his mouth would bring up whatever was in his stomach. He caught her emotionless eyes and couldn't look away. She might look too thin and too flat, but there was an alarming amount of control, power, and something slithering like a coiled snake inside her. He wanted to reach out to her.

  She hadn't looked away. Hadn't noticed the blood seeping towards her heels. She stayed in a low crouch and seemed as captivated by him as he was her. They were alike in their strange natures. She'd saved his life. She'd kept him safe even when she had no reason to. His attention fell to her lips.

  Sirens approached.

  “Come on.” She offered her hand. “We can't be here when the police arrive.” He stood on his own, though he still took her hand.

  “He shot himself. We should give statements.” Deep shadows of evening made the blood seem black as the light diminished. The alley they'd taken refuge in wouldn't be safe much longer.

  “And let that lovely ball-and-chain know where you are? Hell no. Besides, I lost my gang over killing the wrong cop. There are no allies here for me.” Licia said.

  “Shit.” He released her hand, appraising her body and pausing on her mouth again. “You're not who I thought you were.” It was twisted, sick even given the situation, but he wanted to kiss her.

  She watched him over her shoulder, a wicked grin spreading over her. “While I was playing a cheery visitor at the hospital? You really do have a one-track mind. You came to me for help, not sex.” She took the lead.

  “Let me help you, too,” he blurted.

  Licia halted, the sudden movement making her sway. “What?”

  “You just told me you're running from the cops and your gang. You need allies. Beggars can't be choosers and whatnot.”

  “I'm not begging.”

  “But I'm still offering.” She may have killed someone, but he couldn't help feeling for her and went to her side. He cupped her shoulder.

  She looked up at him, then to the sky. They couldn't see much through the L.A. smog and light pollution. No stars or moon, just an inky blue bleeding across the dying light.

  “Fine,” she agreed.

  “We're fucked either way, aren't we?” John scanned the alley, then urged them to keep moving.

  “We'll be fine. Or don't you believe I can take care of us?” She jogged to keep up.

  There was that ripple of power again. This woman was either going to kill him, or show him how to really live, and his money was on the former.

  “...fault.” Licia’s voice knocked him out of the memory and back to the moment, but he missed what she said. How long had he been standing there? Licia kicked off the blanket and stretched. In his mind's eye, she was still sharp angles and cropped hair, but she'd changed, softened everywhere—except for her pale eyes. He knew her icy blue gaze would burn into him, strip him bare and leave him defenseless, so he watched her in his periphery as she passed to the kitchen.

  The memory felt like the last one, but they didn't seem to last long. First, one of Aubrey, then one of Licia. What was going on with him? He wasn't sure if he should be worried or not.

  “You let UHP get out of hand.” Licia's voice was muffled as she rooted around in his fridge. It was strange to see her in his kitchen, like two overlapping realities blending into one. It hurt his head. “I'm here to stop them, nothing more. But what I'd rather know is how you managed to piss off your boyfriend.”

  “I didn't piss him off.” I gutted him. “We hit a snag.” It shouldn't have hurt this much to turn someone down.

  “You forget I'm tuned in to you. Could probably feel you a block away, so don't pretend I don't know how much you're hurting.” She extracted a jar of peanut butter and another of jam, then a loaf of bread.

  “What are you, six? Eat something real.”

  “You're the monster who keeps his peanut butter in the fridge. How the hell am I supposed to spread a brick?”

  “It's all natural, the oils will—oh whatever. I'm fine. We're just going through a tough spot.”

  She searched all his custom drawers until she found a knife, then used her hand as a plate. “Last time you were going through a tough spot with a lover, I had to kill a guy.”

  John winced. “This is nothing like that, and don't bring up Aubrey, I haven't told Emerson.”

  Licia stopped mid-lick, her tongue smeared with blackberry jam. She set the knife down. “You haven't told him about your wife? What else aren't you telling him?”

  “As if it's so easy to just explain my entire life. We agreed to keep everything quiet to protect the others like us, remember?”

  “Yeah, I was there. I'm not saying to tell him about the company or what we did, but Aubrey? Little different there.”

  John waved his hand. “I haven't even seen her in twelve years. The person I was back then is dead and she's in prison. I'm John Beechum now, no one else.” He'd drafted the divorce papers and had them sent to Aubrey a few times, but she'd always refused to sign so he'd stopped trying, afraid the media would catch on to his visits to a prison. He'd never loved her, not like he loved Emerson, but he owed her. John's past loomed over him like a boulder teetering on the edge of a cliff, and, of course, Licia was right there to give it a nudge.

  She made a sound he couldn't decipher as she sat at the breakfast bar, her sandwich oozing jam down her fingers.

  John leaned on the counter in defeat. “Emerson deserves to get everything he wants. I can't give it to him. I can barely give him me.”

  “John.” Licia rested her elbows in the counter. Despite the jam on her fingers, her face was clean. “You're selfish and impulsive. You're a professional liar, a slut, and you waste money. You think I don’t know how much a place like this costs? It’s two of you. With four bedrooms.” Her voice was dripping with judgement.

  John noticed a blip of defensiveness rise along his spine, so he kept his mouth shut, but honestly a few extra bedrooms was nothing, though now that he was looking at an uncertain future for his career, it raised some new monetary concerns.

  Licia's tone changed from accusatory to something soft and intimate. “But you do right by people, and you fix your mistakes.” She met his gaze. Her cloudy eyes were no longer on the edge of a storm. They hinted instead at soft billowing clouds in a pale winter sky.

  He perched his head on his hands and enjoyed her freckled face and lon
g strawberry hair. She'd become so beautiful, even if her eyes were a little too far apart and her smile was crooked—not that she smiled much. But she did now, a real one, and it lit her up.

  She caught a drop of jam from reaching her wrist and scrunched up the sleeves on her black shirt. Scars crisscrossed in white lines up her forearm, but none had the pink hue of recent marking. Good. He ran his fingers over them, but then she pulled away.

  “Emerson is a good man,” she said. “Don't punish him for it.” Distance crept back into her voice.

  “I won't.” I promise.

  Licia finished her jelly-soaked excuse for a sandwich and excused herself to the guest bathroom to wash the sticky residue from her hands.

  Emerson came into the living room dressed for work and smelling of honey and eucalyptus aftershave. He sat on the couch and slid on a pair of black socks to match his black slacks.

  “Did you sleep okay?” They slept in the same bed out of habit, but there were no early morning cuddles or intimate touches.

  “Fine. Are you ready to go?”

  John was surprised Emerson still wanted to discuss options with John's brand managers. “Would you want to be together publicly with marriage off the table?”

  Emerson sighed with exasperation. “Your fans aren't going to care if you're married or gay.”

  “I'm not gay, and that's not why I don't want to get married.” John rolled his eyes. Being into men and women didn't make sense to Emerson, but he accepted that John could never give up women completely. Unfortunately, he didn't have a good explanation for why he didn't want to be married, not without going into all the details—which he would do. Really he would, just not right this minute. Not with Licia so close by.

  “Maybe if they agree with me, you’ll change your mind. Then you can explain your marriage distaste. So yes, I still want to try. Let’s go.”

  “Hold on, I didn't tell Licia we were leaving.”

  Emerson stepped past him towards the foyer, his broad back stiff and his steps heavy.

  Damn. John called towards Licia's bedroom that they'd be back in an hour. A muffled acknowledgment came in reply. It felt wrong leaving her when she was so close, like something was whispering at him to go to her. She belonged near him, but he felt that way every time he was close to her and it had only ever led to disappointment. He donned his coat and followed Emerson into the waiting elevator. She'd be fine.

  CHAPTER 10

  John

  The meeting went exactly as John had predicted. Chloe, his assistant, was the only one who supported his and Emerson's relationship—if there still was one—going public, but only because it fell into her gay agenda. She literally had a plan in her agenda for the continued normalization of all sexualities in pop culture. John's agent gave the showy, round-about way of saying no that coaxed Emerson into somehow thinking it might be for the best. As far as agents went, Gabriel would have made a persuasive used car salesman, but like, used Teslas.

  Emerson was too quiet as they left, probably realizing he’d been talked into the exact thing he didn’t want by a manipulative pro. The air inside the BMW felt thick with disappointment, but there was nothing John could say to fix it. When he'd given up his birth name—and with it his past—he'd accepted that he wasn't wholly his own person anymore. He'd sold himself to Aubrey, and in turn been sold as an entertainment commodity to his audience. He could do whatever he wanted in private, but his image had been bought and branded, and he couldn't break those contracts.

  “I'm sorry.” John offered his hand, but Emerson ignored it. “I know you want this, but there's no little white house and picket fence at the end of this very gay rainbow. Not for me.” John bunched his knee up close and rested his foot on the seat, putting up a physical barrier between them. “The thing is, if I worked in a different industry, there might have been.” He sighed and looked away.

  “How so?” Emerson paused at a stoplight.

  “Because I love you. I’ve never loved someone like this, but I—I’ve done things no amount of love can fix. I don’t plan to drag you through my muddy life.”

  “I’ve been along for the ride so far. I like protecting you, and I’ve loved being with you.”

  John’s stomach clenched. Those words were alcohol on an open wound, and it made it harder to know that Emerson’s view of right and wrong would put John in the negative. Emerson would see... and then he would leave. “I’m sorry, I just don’t see a way to make it possible.”

  Emerson eased the car forward as the light switched and said, “What's so bad about getting married?”

  John rolled the argument around in his head. Because I've already done it and it sucks. Because I'm too selfish to give you the support a good husband should. The list went on, but he said, “I don't like what it does to people. When I was eighteen, I was—I saw marriage lead to resentment and feeling trapped. It meant owning and being owned. I don’t want that.” Even now his stomach twisted as he thought of admitting his marriage.

  John couldn’t shackle Emerson to a dishonest coward. John compromised his morals and himself to get where he was, and those choices wouldn’t pass Emerson’s judgement. The simple inability to come clean with him proved John wasn’t worthy. He needed to tell him everything, but it wasn’t like the characters he played who’d have their troubles all work out in the end. This was real—and harder than he’d expected.

  Emerson slowed the car while the gate to their parking garage opened. The whine of the bay door creaking open sounded like a heart rending in two, but John hoped he was only projecting.

  “It changes things for me.”

  John snapped his attention to Emerson, but his expression betrayed nothing. They pulled into the garage and parked next to a familiar cherry-red Porsche. John held his breath while Emerson shut off the engine. They'd have an audience if they didn't get out soon. Come on Emerson, say it. Be the one to make it real because it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.

  Emerson puffed out his cheeks, then practically ejected from the driver's seat. He leaned over and tapped on the Porsche’s tinted window. By the time John untangled from his seatbelt and got out of the car, Prisha was circling her Porsche in her too-graceful way with a grin that made him ache. She was stunning in her jewel-toned dress and her absurdly long deep chestnut hair braided down in a single plait over her shoulder, but as alluring as she always was, he couldn't help but watch Emerson.

  “John, you ready?” Prisha asked.

  “Ready?” He parroted blankly. Then it hit him. “Right! Actually, Emerson and I—”

  “He's all yours, Prisha.” Emerson said, his eyes catching John's with a painful hit of reality. All hers. No longer his.

  “Great. I need coffee. Drive or walk?” Prisha, showing no clue that there was nuance to the conversation, waited, then put her hands on her hips and looked down at them both.

  “Walk.” John broke off from the tension with Emerson and settled next to Prisha. “I'll be back in a couple of hours. Let Licia know, too?”

  Emerson waved them off and headed for the elevators.

  “Did I miss something?”

  “So much. But some air will be good, so thanks.”

  She shrugged, the motion like roiling clouds. “I needed the excuse to stretch my legs.”

  “Is Henry on duty?” John asked. Henry worked as a bodyguard for them both as back up when Em was otherwise booked or sick, but mostly he covered Prisha.

  “As if I need him. I know more about combat than he does.”

  “Stage combat doesn't count.” John boxed up his situation with Emerson and buried it, then smiled at her as she rolled her eyes.

  “Because training in self-defense for twenty years means nothing, apparently.” Her voice was full of snark.

  “Come on. I need caffeine like you wouldn't believe,” he said, changing the subject. Yes, she was formidable, no she was not invincible.

  Prisha matched his stride as he offered his arm. “When's your audition?”
She asked. John groaned. “Tomorrow, I take it.”

  “Let's just say I've been a little distracted. You can help me run lines since I’ll need this role when our show ends.” They paused at a red light, and then crossed the street with another half dozen people. One young woman stared at him like a gaping fish but said nothing. John steered them toward Joe's.

  Prisha glided ahead of him like she was on wheels instead of heels. She loved to tower over him in her four-inch heels and natural height.

  “Distraction's a good thing, wouldn't you say?” She poked just below his navel.

  His effervescent vibe agitated, but he tightened his hold. For once, he wasn't in the mood, though he could probably get in the mood with a few more jabs. John took her hand and kissed the back of it. Her brow creased as she considered him, then she shook her fingers from his grip.

  “Alright, ass-chaser, what's going on?” Prisha squared her hips at him and stopped walking. He tried to step around her, but she stared him down. Her legs were longer than his, so there was no outrunning her. Not that he wanted to. He dropped his forehead to her shoulder in defeat.

  “What. The. Fuck.” Prisha froze. It felt like her shoulder turned to stone.

  “I’m not feeling up for our usual exercise. Caffeine first. Drama second,” he mumbled.

  “Is it juicy?”

  John snapped his head back up. “Don't sound so excited. I'll tell you inside.” He moved ahead, rounding the corner to Joe's. Prisha's following steps were nearly silent.

  “If I don’t get a workout then I better get some good gossip.” She nudged his shoulder and slid to his side.

  Joe's Caffeine House had chicory-coffee blends and other root-based substitutes, but sold the real stuff, too. Thanks to GANF’s cultural damnation of caffeine it was stupidly overpriced—when hadn't coffee been?—but Joe’s was well known as a spot to get the real bean and drew a lot of fellow anti-GANF types.

  Prisha wrinkled her nose at the bitter smell of dandelion root as they walked in.

  “Oh good, we caught them on roasting day.” She bobbed her head towards the back corner. “Our booth is open. You grab that and I'll grab drinks.” She didn't wait for a reply and weaved through the crowd effortlessly. That woman simply didn't obey the laws of physics. In bed she moved like the tide. It wasn't why he was sleeping with her, but it certainly didn't hurt, either.