Question Mark

by Culpepper, S. E.

  After he finished the Men’s Health interview and day long photo shoot, he was notified that the British branch of the production staff was ready for him in England—earlier than planned. He had to fly out the following morning for final wardrobe fittings, screen tests in costume and practice for some of the stunt work he’d be doing in Sacrifice. In the evenings and early mornings after he arrived, Zane did a lot of flying in a lot of old planes, which meant he was doing a lot of praying that he wouldn’t plummet to a fiery death. Each time he strapped himself into a seat, his respect for Richtfeld and pilots in general kicked up another notch.

  The film crews were perfect. He’d worked with some of them on other jobs and their commitment to making the movie as good as the book was as strong as Zane’s. The cast, at least the guys who were also playing military characters, showed up throughout that first Friday in England and on Saturday all of them were packed off into the countryside for an accelerated two week training period to show them what it was like to be a part of the Army Air Forces during WWII. They weren’t given access to cell phones or any technology that wasn’t available in 1943.

  That’s why Zane was currently decked out in a WWII era uniform, freezing his ass off, and squeezed into a field tent that held five other members of the cast. They weren’t allowed to use their real names, it was in character or not at all, so after two weeks of indoctrination, Zane was finally getting comfortable being called Garret, Richtfeld, or Ricky.

  He was actually enjoying himself in the moments he wasn’t frozen or thinking about Mark and inevitably worrying about what was going to happen between them. It was easy to figure that with all this silence and all this distance that the relationship was already null. What made it worse was that he had to cut off communication with Mark right when the tabloids were really getting into nose on the ground mode. Mark was getting calls at home. He was being followed. His friends and family were being harassed, too. And Zane couldn’t even make himself available to help Mark deal.

  There was also the terrible phone conversation Zane had with Mikey after he and James returned from Tahiti. They’d seen Mark at dinner with some young dude in Bora Bora, apparently deep in conversation and sitting close. Zane didn’t have to hear that the guy was covered in tattoos to know it was Christian. Naturally he didn’t like the thought of Mark being out with the guy, but that wasn’t what bothered him the most. It was that Mark hadn’t mentioned it once. Not a single time had he casually tossed out a comment about breaking bread with that sneaky little bastard. The silence was a loud statement.

  The cot next to him squeaked loudly and Zane glanced over at Bill Austen, the man cast as Richtfeld’s best friend, Ian Macomber. They got along really well, fortunately. Bill was quietly funny and had researched his part as thoroughly as Zane had his. Austen even mimicked Macomber’s Boston accent perfectly. Every time Zane turned around, he was hearing that great nasally bray.

  Richtfeld was from the south so Zane was giving everything he said a hint of the Bible Belt. The two of them together were an odd combination.

  The rest of the guys, some playing pilots, some playing ground officers in the air wing, were pretty nice, but Zane chose to stick closely to Bill who seemed to stick closely right back. Macomber was a huge part of Richtfeld’s life and after the ace’s death, Macomber actually married Richtfeld’s little sister. That being said, Zane and Bill had to have more than a rapport on camera. They had to come across as authentic—as two guys who knew one another without the bullshit.

  All week long they’d been tromping through the woods playing soldier; learning basic land nav, enduring forced marches, soggy runs—some in the middle of the night—and getting basic firearm training. The only predictable part of their schedule was the ceaseless rain and chill. It soaked into the material of their uniforms and made all of them miserable. Another nod of respect to the guys who endured horrific winters in places like Bastogne where things were much worse than a cold, wet collar and a two-week growth of facial hair.

  This final night together they expected to be called back out into the rain for an exercise in land nav that doubled as an odd scavenger hunt. The area of operation was probably going to be large and by the end of the drill, they were going to look like zombies fresh from the grave what with all the mud and staggering.

  “Ricky,” Bill hissed Richtfeld’s nickname at him in the dim lantern light. “I got twenty bucks that says I get mud in places tonight that not even the sun shines.”

  Zane nodded and wrapped his wool blanket tighter around him. It was a mistake to dig into the warmth because he’d be that much colder outside. “I thought it wasn’t supposed to be this cold in September and October over here. This always wet routine makes it worse. I’m a prune from head to toe,” he drawled.

  “It’ll be nice to get back to real plumbing, and some fucking hot water in the showers,” Bill grumbled, punching his pillow. “My balls have crawled so far inside me, my kidneys are playing tennis with ‘em.”

  The whole group of guys laughed at that one and then went immediately silent when they heard the shrill whistle outside the tent. The Call of The Wild. Zane thrust his feet into his boots and grimaced at the damp surrounding his toes. It was a little bit much on the commitment side, even for him, to leave two weeks of training with trench foot. He’d like to avoid that one.

  The other guys all shrugged into their gear and together they hoofed it to a small clearing where one of the retired military specialists the production company hired was waiting with a whistle still hanging off of his lip.

  “Let’s go, ladies. Last exercise. Line ‘em up.”

  Why do they always call us ladies, he thought.

  Zane and Bill settled into place next to each other, rifles over their shoulders, packs on their backs, and rain coursing in rivulets down their faces. They were both blinking non-stop to keep the water out of their eyes. Thoughts of Mark halfway across the world muscled their way to the forefront of Zane’s mind and he would’ve given half his miserable little kingdom to be able to call him that second.

  “One more night of this shit and I get to call him,” he mumbled to himself.

  Bill leaned close and spoke in his normal voice, “He’ll be waiting, man. No worries.”

  ***

  Four thirty in the morning on Saturday and Mark didn’t have to be up at all. But he was. He was sprawled out on the couch with his feet propped on the coffee table just waiting and waiting. Zane said he’d call the first chance he could once this bogus training session was over and that was supposed to be this morning.

  There was a seven hour difference between his living room and where Zane was in England, so it was eleven thirty in the morning there. Any time now, right? Any time…

  The past three weeks had been surprisingly harsh. A low point in a lot of ways. At times, he wanted to bust up laughing at how totally absurd his situation was, but overall, he was fairly appalled at the amount of attention focused on him. He knew it wouldn’t last forever because he wasn’t a name in the business, but until the tabloids got more news on him dating Zane, they weren’t going to back down. The fact that Zane was known to be in England and that the two of them were apart was also causing a stir.

  Was Mark Newland simply another short-term fling for Hollywood’s hottest?

  Fuck them.

  Mark tried really hard to ignore the jabs the way Zane encouraged him to do. He didn’t Google himself—except that one time, and it didn’t count because he was actually Googling Zane. He ended up with all the latest gossip on the two of them. A lot of it was wrong. Really, really wrong. But every now and then, whoever gave the outlets the information, was right on, which in turn had Mark wondering who he could trust.

  The internet was a bottomless pit, a trap that he avoided completely now. If it wasn’t the gossip, it was all the old interviews of Zane that he could catch on YouTube. Mark would sit down and watch him talk about his movies, production stories, and his past. He even caught the
entire episode of Zane on Inside The Actors Studio and was unable to budge for a single minute of it. He loved seeing Zane and learning so much about him, but it was a form of technological torture. In one of his lower moments, Mark sat through all the special features on his DVD of The Mercenary just to see bits of Zane getting his hair and makeup done, or giving a tour of the set.

  Reid and Sean were calling to check on him almost every day, sometimes frothing at the mouth about lies they heard. His brothers were with him when the vultures descended for the first time in front of Reid’s house and they saw the way it had shaken him. Those photographers weren’t shy with their cameras; Mark felt like he’d end up with the words Nokia or Canon branded on his face with the way they thrust them in front of him.

  And Christian? The guy called often—probably too often—and Mark probably enjoyed it more than he should. He couldn’t figure out how to deal with this man and he was nervous about the way Christian was becoming more likable by the minute, closeted baggage aside. He was turning out to be a good listener and buried deep down was a surprisingly kind man. Sympathetic. Concerned. Available to talk.

  A clear sign of danger for Mark.

  Tack on the suspicious news that Christian was going to be in Albuquerque for work and wanted to get together and Mark could see problems coming a mile away. For now, he’d let the request to spend time with each other float. He didn’t know what else to do. Sure, there was attraction there on a base physical level, but their contact lacked substance Mark knew he wanted. Realistically, he didn’t mind being friends with Christian, but he was afraid that he would do something entirely based on his libido if they spent time alone together. He was a sucker for the bad boy mystique.

  All hell would break loose if the wrong person saw him out with Christian, too. Mark recalled his last phone conversation with Zane about how bad this publicity might get. He’d believed Zane, but he also didn’t think that he, plain old Mark, could cause that great a stir, so it was a huge shocker when three weeks passed and he went from total unknown entity to tabloid hot topic. Random people were recognizing him at the grocery store. Mark never thought he’d be out buying milk and laundry detergent and get accosted by the old lady in line behind him gaping at one of the papers.

  “Is that you? That is you!”

  It was all because he liked—totally, completely, utterly—liked a very famous man, so much so that he was afraid he was already sabotaging himself. If Mark ended their relationship before they fizzled out or before Zane left him heartbroken, wasn’t that better? That stupid question haunted him.

  Half the world liked Zane! It was hard not to. But not everyone was kissing him and trying to figure out a relationship with him, either. Mark missed Zane. A lot. It made him feel very vulnerable.

  Work was a reprieve in some ways because it was always busy and he didn’t have the time to moon around as Mr. Lonesome. Dispatch calls came in fast and he had to make sure that the shift ran smoothly. He couldn’t afford to be distracted there. Even if the second he stepped foot into the call center he was practically trampled by coworkers wanting to know the scoop. He stayed tight-lipped about it because there was no one there that he trusted enough to share the intimate details of his life with and most of the time these same people didn’t care what the hell he did. They saw stars and dollar signs when he walked past because they could sell whatever he said to whoever they wanted to.

  Mark was trying not to let it affect his work, but honestly, it was getting in the way and he was distracted.

  His boss, Marty Cassavetes, was not so happy about the publicity. The friction was getting worse and Mark was seriously considering moving on. Maybe even going back to Bakersfield. The police department was hiring out there; Reid made sure to bring it up every time they spoke.

  Mark had always kept his personal life very private before Zane came along—it never entered the work place—even though most of his coworkers knew he was gay. Now that he had no control over the information people had access to about his life, he was feeling the heat. Cassavetes was such a homophobe. Why was acceptance so fucking impossible for people to act out?

  Mark let his head fall back against the couch cushions and he pulled a blanket tight around his shoulders. He supposed that his shakiness about Zane wasn’t helped by the feeling he’d gotten watching him in Innuendos last night. Mark had gone alone to a late showing and found that he was too nervous to even eat the popcorn he’d bought. It was difficult to believe that the man behind that famous face on screen wasn’t a stranger anymore. That was Zane Whitlow from Washburn, North Dakota up there. And they’d kissed. They’d nearly done more than that. Mark’s family had met him. On his bedside table a book that Zane had read and made notes in was waiting for Mark to finish reading. He had Zane’s cell phone number. He knew how to contact Jenny, Zane’s manager and agent. This was Zane Whitlow!

  While women in the audience were sighing about Zane in the opening scenes, Mark was waiting and aching for the man to call him! It was so…unreal. He never would’ve guessed his love life would get a whollop like this a month ago.

  And holy crap—Zane’s acting! Sheeee-sus. Mark’s family was right. The guy was so convincing as a deluded psycho stalker. Mark hadn’t seen such a good portrayal of creepiness since Silence of the Lambs. There was this terrible knife-licking scene where Zane’s character removed the blood from a knife with his tongue after he did a slice job on this lady. Zane followed it up with this low laughter that had Mark sinking down in his seat and cringing. It was paralyzing.

  Zane was so talented that the word didn’t even seem to fit the performance. He was gifted. Truly gifted.

  Mark’s cell phone jumped and buzzed for attention in his lap and he juggled it furiously for a wild moment before he got a grip and answered. He hadn’t even checked the number, he just knew.

  “Zane? Are you there?”

  “Mark! Damn, this has been the longest two weeks of my life!”

  A wild surge of energy coursed through them and they laughed from the sheer pleasure of hearing each other. “You made it through. You’re alive.”

  “Barely. We were out trudging around the countryside last night, getting totally doused in mud, and I’m still having trouble getting warm.”

  Mark’s muscles twitched excitedly as he held the phone to his ear. “So the training went well, or…?” He didn’t even know what to say after this absence from conversation. Some part of him wanted to blurt out his feelings in confusing fragments; seek solace from all the hellish stuff going on. Mostly Mark wanted to talk about normal things…or at least as normal as he could get talking to a movie star.

  “No way am I hashing out work right now. I want to know how you’re doing. It’s been a couple hundred years since we spoke, right? I don’t even know if you still like men. Did you run off with another man’s wife?”

  “What Gerta and I have is something special,” Mark shot back as Zane laughed. “It’s… I don’t know. Seriously, I’m okay. Talking to you puts things in the right perspective.” Mostly.

  “How bad’s it been?” Zane sounded grim and protective.

  “Nowhere near as bad as it was when you came out. Even I remember seeing the tabloids back then.”

  “But I expected the shit storm,” he answered impatiently. “How bad is it?”

  “Photographers follow me now and then, show up at work—they’re not as bad here as in Bakersfield—mostly I get phone calls for comment. My ex got a call and he emailed me to let me know he shut them down. He’s a PI and his number’s easy to get a hold of so I’m not surprised they found him. More people from the bar in Bora Bora are selling their pics, too. Nothing really new to report. It’s rolling out the way you described it would. My brothers listen to the morning talk radio shows and we’re getting some mileage on those, too. Most of it is crap.”

  He knew Zane would be guarded after mention of Rafe, so he tried to tap dance right into the less surprising news. It really was only an email. F
riendly concern with zero commentary on Mark’s new relationship. He would even show it to Zane if that was necessary. Shit, Rafe probably had Jeremy read it over before he sent it, just in case. The email was so “correct” it had clearly been vetted.

  Surprisingly, though, Zane let the subject go—after a significant pause, of course. “What about work?” he asked.

  Mark exhaled slowly. “Marty doesn’t like the publicity. He keeps dragging me into his office every time he gets another story thrown in his face. He thinks I’m disrupting the work flow and making the dispatchers uncomfortable, not to mention the cops I work with on the radio, which is funny because we all knew when Marty was going through his divorce last year and that was awkward as hell. He says I’m unfocused and my work’s falling off. This relationship stuff gives him a good cover.”

  Zane grumbled a moment and apologized, voice subdued. “Hell, I’m so sorry, Mark. I wish I could fix this.”

  “Keep talking to me and make it all worthwhile. They’ll get bored with me soon, I hope. I’m not giving them anything to work with and neither are you.” God, Mark actually sounded confident. He should take up acting, too.

  There was a long pause and Zane let out a deep breath. “I miss you like crazy. I can’t believe it’s already been three weeks. Is your family okay? I don’t want them upset, either.”

  “Mom and dad live such a quiet life that no one’s really bothered them besides neighbors and store clerks. I think mom told her garden club that she’s dating you. Reid and Sean are calling a lot to check in on me. They hear stuff and it gets them spun up so they want to make sure I haven’t trapped myself on the roof refusing to come down or something.”

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  Mark steamrolled ahead to change the subject. “I uh…I went to see Innuendos last night…”

  “Uh oh. That tone doesn’t sound too good. Did it suck?”