I had heard about the studio where Bill and our landlady worked, but I had not seen it yet, so that morning when I drove Bill to work I got my first glimpse of one of the fabled studios. Since the entire place was huge—beyond huge, gigantic—and was entirely surrounded by high fences, from the street you could only see a tiny bit of the actual place, but a little glimpse was better than nothing. As I dropped Bill off at the employee entrance gate, he said something that I wish I had thought of earlier.
“Too bad we didn’t think to have you come in and take the tour today so you could see some of this place.”
I agreed with his idea, and unfortunately with the bad timing of the idea, since I had a full day scheduled. Today was, after all, the day I was set to make my debut as a baker, making my mom’s famous cinnamon rolls for all the residents of our little neighborhood.
We kissed as we parted. Bill disappeared into the gates and out of my sight, which left me feeling predictably sad and alone. I tried to tamp those feelings down and turned my attention back to my day. My first stop was a grocery store to get everything I needed. Since my mom had always done the shopping, I was stunned at the price of good quality cinnamon. Holy crap! This stuff was freaking expensive. But I had no alternative, since I wanted these to come out good.
I guess I really shouldn’t have worried too much about the cost. When Bill first suggested that I make the rolls, I realized that I would have to buy quite a few things, like pans to bake them in, a rolling pin, a really super sharp knife, spray oil for the pans, and on and on. Our landlady said that she had all of those things up in her house, and she certainly didn’t use them since she never cooked. So she suggested that I use her kitchen and her pans and supplies. She offered to foot the bill for the ingredients, provided that I pick up a few things for her (which I had) and that I clean up after myself and not leave a mess (I did and I didn’t).
So, tasks number one and two completed, I made my way home and started a load of laundry. We’d been there over a week now so it was time to wash the sheets and towels, not to mention some clothes. I also needed to vacuum and just pick up in general, but that would have to wait. By prearrangement I took my fresh bought supplies up to the big house, walked into the kitchen (she’d left it open for me), and got to work.
Following my mom’s recipe and my memory from having helped her do this countless times over the years, I assembled the dough and kneaded it for the requisite ten minutes. I liked kneading dough. I found it therapeutic in some way. I guess it gave me an outlet for taking out my aggression on something that wouldn’t complain and actually needed to be kneaded. (See how I worked that in there? Pretty slick, huh?)
While the dough started its first rise, I cleaned up the dishes I had used and put them back where I found them. I also scrubbed the counter to remove all errant bits of flour that got tossed around while I worked the dough. With the dough in a warm, buttered bowl with a damp cloth over the top, the dishes done and put away, I went back to my house to move the laundry around and do some other housework. I hauled out trash, I picked up the clutter that just seemed to develop over the last week, and I ran the vacuum cleaner that our landlady had generously given us. She said that she had six and didn’t use any of them. Why in the world any one person would have six vacuum cleaners was an absolute mystery to me. All anyone needed was one. Six? Sometime I would have to ask her about that one.
So, using the one that she had loaned us from her collection, not that she would miss it, I cleaned our place from top to bottom. If there was a speck of dust or dirt anywhere when I finished, it was a miracle. I had vacuumed over, under, and around everything. I had even vacuumed off the sofa cushions. This housework thing wasn’t entirely new to me. Since I was an only child, I had previously helped my mother with housework when she was busy with something else. That’s also how I had learned to cook and to bake, two more skills that I was putting to good use in our new life here in California.
At the appropriate time I got back into the car and fought the heavy traffic to pick Bill up from work. It never ceased to amaze me how many people were always in a hurry to get somewhere else in southern California. This was so different than what I had known in New York. And I hated driving in traffic, so Bill should really be appreciative of what I was doing, plus giving up my free day to do all the stuff so that he wouldn’t have to do any of it. I quickly got my traffic-induced bad attitude in check and waited for him to appear, which he did pretty much right on time. He smiled when he saw me, at the same time slipping off the jacket he was required to wear when conducting tours in the studio.
He knew I hated driving in traffic so he offered to take over. I didn’t argue for the right, especially because it didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. But before he put the car in drive and pointed it toward home, he leaned over and gave me a kiss. I put my hand on his cheek and held him to my lips for an extra moment.
“I missed you,” he said, holding his forehead against mine after the kiss ended.
“Me too.”
Chapter 9
Our First Big Hollywood Movie Star
DURING the drive home, which took about twice as long as it had in the morning due to all the traffic, we talked about his day and mine. He seemed duly impressed with how much I had accomplished and was anxious to taste the rolls, my first batch in California. At home, even before he changed clothes, he sat at the table and tasted one. His moan told me that I had succeeded. And now that he had seen the finished product in its pure, unsullied form, I too could have one. And I agreed that they tasted pretty good.
Since Bill had worked all day and it was another warm day in southern California, he went to shower and put on some shorts. While he did that I finished assembling hamburgers and fixings for our dinner. I had recently discovered a beautiful gas grill near the pool, and found that it worked perfectly. It looked like it had never been used, so I was going to rectify that situation tonight. When Bill appeared wearing just his soft gym shorts (no shirt), I verbally licked his nipples since my hands were full with other things at the moment. Cooperating fully, he of course reached up and squeezed one of the nipples in question and gave me a sultry, sensual look, licking his lips at the same time. Prick!
“I’m slaving away, cooking your dinner, and you’re over there teasing me and taunting me? Some boyfriend you are!”
“I’ll show you boyfriend, baby,” he said as he moved behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. Like him, I was not wearing a shirt, only a pair of shorts, so we had some of our much loved skin-to-skin contact.
“Hold that thought until I’m not dealing with very hot gas flames.”
“Hey, a grill!” he observed.
“Yeah, found it earlier this week. Forgot to mention it.”
“Cool.”
“No. Hot. Hot, don’t touch.”
“Okay.” He sat at the nearby table, and we talked some more about his day while I cooked the burgers. They smelled marvelous while cooking, and tasted equally marvelous when we ate them, about twenty minutes later.
We were sitting back, enjoying the evening, letting our food digest a little before leaping up to clear away the dishes, when our landlady appeared, in a bit of a tizzy. She was more animated and abrupt than usual, but it turned out she had good reason.
“Got to kick you out, boys. Trouble. I’ve got some real heavy hitters coming over so that I can try to get them to pull their heads out the sand and finish a deal. If that doesn’t work I may need your help to bury the bodies when I kill the SOBs.”
We quickly leapt to our feet and cleared everything of ours away. I closed the grill, intending to clean it later.
A moment later she reappeared and said, “Mark, I need iced tea for everybody. Make some. Glasses and ice in the kitchen. Arsenic supply in the shed. Keep it handy if I need it.”
I immediately dashed off to make the tea and get everything ready. While that brewed I dashed back to help Bill finish getting everything perfect. Before we h
ad a chance to clear out, people started arriving. Most of them looked like Hollywood fat cats (they were literally fat and seemed awfully sure of themselves, so the term seemed to fit). We didn’t have shirts on, which left us feeling uncomfortable.
We started to leave to put shirts on when she reappeared and told us not to, but to get the tea first. She had a lot more guests than I had figured on, so I had to quickly go make more tea and get more glasses and ice together. A few minutes later, Bill helped me. With each of us carrying a tray filled with glasses of dark, brisk tea, we walked across the lawn to the large gathering of people. We offered a glass to each person before leaving the extras, as well as lemon and sweeteners, on the table.
We excused ourselves, but not before realizing that one of the participants in this little gathering was none other than one of the biggest male stars in motion pictures—and a total hunk! Bill got to serve him his tea, which was fine because that allowed me to watch how the guy undressed Bill (what little work that took) with his eyes. So supposed Hollywood hunk straight man was really gay! Fascinating. We returned the trays to the big house, returned with a bucket of ice and tongs, which we placed on the table, and then quietly slipped back to our house, but not before we heard Mr. Hunk ask, “So, Moira, who are your little helpers?”
“Hands off! They’re a couple, they’re my tenants, and they’re good kids. They’re UCLA students who I drafted to help out tonight when you all decided to descend on my house with two minutes advance notice. Now back to business. What is wrong with you guys? You all got what you wanted and you still can’t make the deal! Just do it already!”
“How do you really feel about the issue, Moira?” Mr. Hunk asked.
“Well, darlin’, I’m taking assertiveness training classes because people tell me they can’t tell what I really think, but until then you’ll just have to work with what you’ve got. Now pull your heads out of your asses before you suffocate yourselves, and make the damned deal! You all win. Quit pissing and moaning and just do it.”
We had slowed down to listen to that last exchange, but then went into our house to allow them to conduct their business. We had talked about going for a run after dinner, but decided that we should stick around to help clean up whenever this gathering broke up. It turned out that their business was apparently completed within an hour, and everyone started to leave as quickly as they had arrived.
With strap T-shirts in place this time rather than appearing bare-chested, Bill and I walked out to clear away the dishes and straighten everything up. We thought everyone had left, but our landlady and Mr. Hunk were still at the table talking. She saw us and motioned us over, knowing what we were intending to do.
When he spotted Bill, Mr. Hunk said, “Oh, you put a shirt on. You didn’t have to do that on my account.”
Before Bill could respond, I did. “No, he did that for me. You were licking his nipples so hard with your eyes I was afraid you were going to hurt him.” The instant I got the words out I was terrified that I had way overstepped my bounds and offended a huge Hollywood star. That fear vanished when my landlady laughed and said, “Good advice, Mark. Don’t either of you ever turn your back on this one or you’ll likely find him on it.”
Taking all of this in stride, Mr. Hunk said, “Actually, no. I think I’d like to have this one on my back,” he observed, indicating Bill.
Bill was at a complete loss as to how to respond. I, on the other hand, was feeling especially ballsy.
“And just what’s wrong with me?” I demanded. “I’m every bit as sexy and gorgeous as him!” I said, waving my hand at Bill.
“Ooooohh! This one has spunk! Okay, you can come too.”
“Sorry. We’re fresh out of chlorine to disinfect you before we’d let you touch either one of us.”
Our landlady was loving the interaction.
“Give it up, Elmer,” she said to Mr. Hunk.
Bill and I together said, “Elmer?”
“Yes, that’s his real name. Just not many people know that.”
“And I would like to keep it that way,” he said somewhat testily. “Understand?”
“We’ll think about it. If we honor such a request, what should we call you?” I asked.
“Derrick, like everyone else.”
“We’re not like everyone else.”
Moira was loving this whole conversation. I’d never seen her look so happy.
“Very well,” he said, “Derrick.”
“Der?”
“No. Derrick. And consider yourself one of the few who could get away with that.”
“Okay.”
We cleaned up and asked if they needed anything else. Predictably, Mr. Hunk asked for Bill.
“Elmer! Don’t you have someone else to go bug, other than my two favorite guys?”
“No, actually. I’m enjoying the view right here.”
“Didn’t I read somewhere recently that you just got married?” I asked. “To a woman?”
“It was in all the newspapers we could get it into.”
“So isn’t the little woman expecting you at home to help make new little pains-in-the-asses?”
“Please! You don’t think I’m actually sleeping with her, do you? My God! I wouldn’t even want a woman to see me naked, let alone be in the same room with me naked. More talk like that and I’m never gonna sleep again because you’re gonna give me nightmares for weeks.”
Bill and I finished cleaning up. “As much fun as I’m having talking with Elmer, I’ve got to get to bed.”
“Night, darling. I’ll keep your husband occupied so you can go learn my name is not Elmer.”
“No, thank you. I’ve got that covered,” I yelled at him as Bill and I walked up to the big house to take the dirty dishes. We filled the dishwasher and got it started, cleaned up whatever we had dirtied in the kitchen, and then walked back to our place, hand in hand. Mr. Hunk and our landlady were still talking, but he of course had to stop and try to undress Bill with his eyes, leaning way over to watch.
She smacked his head and warned him, “I’m very serious when I tell you to stay away from them. They’re good kids. They’ve had a hell of a rough time up until now, and they certainly don’t need anyone else screwing things up for them. Do you understand me?”
“What sort of rough time?” he asked, nodding his understanding.
“If they ever feel inclined to tell you, that’s their story to tell. But remember, they’re under my protection, and you don’t want to cross me, boy. I know where to bury the body so nobody will ever find it again.”
“You wouldn’t kill me. I’m your cash cow.”
“I’ve got more money than God, and I’ve got no time to spend what I’ve got. And I’ve got dozens of others just like you, all bringing in money faster than any one woman my age could spend it. So remember my words.”
Turning serious, he said, “You know I’d never cross you.”
“You’d better never try. You’d only get one try at it before I cut off your dick and shove it down your throat.”
The mere words of her statement made him cringe. “Now I really am going to have nightmares tonight! Thank you very much!”
He took his leave, and she went back into the big house.
Chapter 10
There Be Pirates in These Waters
ABOUT a week later, Bill and I both had to work our usual schedules. As Bill told me the evening that this occurred, late that afternoon he was leading a small group of tourists through the standard studio tour, his final group of the day, when Derrick the actor saw him and immediately recognized him. He was done up in pirate costume for the latest movie he was shooting. Personally, he couldn’t understand why the first two had been such huge hits, but given that they were, he was making a third to rake in even more money.
Bill immediately recognized the man he had met a week earlier, despite the pirate makeup. He knew that he had been spotted, by the smile Bill sent his way. Deciding that it was time to have a little fun an
d entertain the tourists at the same time, he grabbed a couple of fake studio prop swords. (They certainly didn’t look fake.) Raising them to show Bill, he set one on top of a pile of boxes that the group would pass in the next minute as they continued their tour.
When Bill got to the box, he got into character. Dropping down a little, as if on guard against imminent danger, in a very serious voice, Bill said, “Avast ye mateys. There be pirates in these waters.” He grabbed his sword when Derrick jumped out from a hiding place. “And there’s one now! Back! Back you pirate scum!” Bill shouted as he waved his sword threateningly.
“Don’t bother yourself, sailor boy. I want your women.”
In his best menacing voice, Bill said, “Well, you can’t have them. These are mine!” He tried herding all of the tourists behind him. Derrick lunged his way with his sword. Bill saw the move and defended. For a full sixty seconds it looked and sounded like the two men were having a real sword fight.
People from everywhere were suddenly watching. Studio employees, tourists, everybody who was nearby immediately saw that something unusual was happening. No other studio tour got to see a sword fight with one of America’s top actors.
Finally, Derrick said, “All right! You keep those women! I’ll go find others. But I’ll be back.” And he disappeared behind a wall before stepping back with a huge smile on his face.
When he pulled off his eye patch, those who hadn’t already recognized him did so immediately. Bill started to make a formal introduction. “Ladies and gentlemen, this old guy—”
“Who you calling old, boy?” Derrick asked.
“You, old man!” Bill teased.
“I’m only twenty-eight years old!” Derrick protested.
“That’s ten years older than me, which makes you something like 50 percent older than me. In my mind that qualifies you as old.”
“Hey!” Derrick joked. “Show some respect for your elders!”
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