Question Mark

by Culpepper, S. E.

  Just like Christian said. Wahhh waaaah.

  “How’s your burger?” Christian asked, seeing the way Mark was staring blankly at it. “No good? You should eat up, you’ll need energy once I’m through with you.”

  “God. Shut up. Asshole.”

  “That’s the spirit,” Christian winked. “Talk dirty to me.”

  ***

  Christian followed Mark out to his car, shuffling a few steps behind him and fighting the urge to laugh again. Their dinner banter had finally settled into normal conversation and Mark had eaten enough to counteract his few drinks. It was a stroke of luck that he was even allowing Christian to escort him outside—though Mark was practically speed walking to his car to get away. No big deal; Christian didn’t take it personally.

  He knew Mark was attracted to him, but he also knew the buck stopped there. Mark found him more irritating than sexy, which was unfortunate because Christian was only partially teasing when he offered himself up for a little bump and grind with a side of boot knockin’. They could have a good time together, Christian was certain, but he was also certain that he’d probably be too nervous to wow his friend. It’d been far too long and he wasn’t that experienced. A depressing topic.

  Mark strode to the driver’s side door and had it open by the time Christian caught up. Unable to resist a parting jab or two, he leaned in close, totally invading Mark’s space. “Sure you want to leave so soon? My suite’s nice and roomy.” He nuzzled beneath Mark’s ear and chuckled as the hand against his chest pushed him back.

  “Don’t be offended, but I’m glad your schedule is keeping you busy all week,” Mark said as he looked up through his lashes, making something inside Christian purr.

  “Well. I’m wearing you down, regardless,” Christian insisted. Mark shook his head and Christian closed the distance again, leaning into Mark with one hand on the opened door, and the other on the car. “If I asked you for a favor, would you help me out?”

  Mark froze, practically bent backwards to put space between them. “As long as it’s not a sexual favor, I guess.”

  Christian’s eyes sought out Mark’s lips again and he felt his own lift in a wicked grin. “Let me help you prove something to yourself.”

  Mark was distinctly uneasy and gave him a wary look. “I don’t need you to help me prove anything.”

  “Trust me.” He sank closer to Mark’s lips.

  “Absolutely not.”

  Christian kissed him. He dropped his hands until he was holding Mark’s jaw and working the man’s lips over with heated pressure. As Christian’s upper body had done, so his lower body followed until Mark was pinned against the driver’s seat and Christian was grinding into him.

  The kiss was meant to do two things: One, it was clearly a stolen pleasure for Christian and two, it was meant to push Mark over the edge so he realized he had to go after who he really wanted, which was Zane.

  Christian hadn’t known Mark long, but his specialty was pushing buttons and Mark would only react if Christian pissed him off. Sure, he wished the kiss meant more to Mark than something to be outraged about—but honestly, and Christian would deny this if it ever got out, he wanted Mark to be happy even if that meant it was in a clichéd romance with a movie star.

  It was time to flush the fox out of hiding. Never let it be said that Christian wasn’t willing to use his lips for the cause.

  As Christian increased the pressure, Mark’s hands gripped his wrists and it was clear the brush off was coming. His tongue slid across Mark’s bottom lip and at exactly the moment when Christian felt the shove, flashes started blinking and shutters started snapping.

  Christian cursed loudly and tried to hide Mark’s body with his own. The horrified look on Mark’s face filled him with pain. A hoarse sound, an almost sob, escaped Mark’s throat and Christian didn’t waste any more time on goodbyes.

  Pushing Mark into the car, he slammed the door behind him and thumped on the window for Mark to start the engine. When the Ford rumbled, Christian turned into the never ending flashes and clicking, using his size as an advantage to push everyone out of the way so Mark could leave. What seemed like dozens of questions were shouted at once, but it didn’t matter to Christian ‘cause he wasn’t answering them.

  He watched as Mark roared out of the parking lot and away from the hotel before pushing his way through the group and back toward the lobby. The photographers followed him every step of the way and he ignored them, his glare doing nothing to cow them. It wasn’t until he was in his room and closing the door that he realized what he’d just done.

  It wasn’t only Mark in those pictures. They’d be plastered everywhere before the night was through.

  Shiiiiiiiit.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  If he was doing the math right, it was coming around to ninety-some hours—almost four days—since Zane had heard a word from Mark. Or since Mark lied to him. However Zane thought of it, it meant that the past four days and three nights had been awful on all fronts except the movie filming.

  Bombardment was the best word that Zane could think of to describe the week. Thank God he had Leslie and Jenny running interference on the worst of it, but that still meant he had to field the calls from friends and his mom asking what the hell had happened and if he was going to be alright. Mikey called and left a message, but hadn’t tried calling a second time. Probably because it would take a Herculean effort to keep from saying, “I told you so.”

  The internet was the worst. Sometimes he wished it didn’t fucking exist. The news was everywhere. The goddamn pictures of Mark kissing that dickwad were unavoidable. On Zane’s official web page, he was getting angry comments from fans about how he should just move on and forget about Mark, like they were privy to the exact details of his personal relationship. He was going to have to tell Leslie to shut down site comments for a while until this storm blew over.

  When Zane didn’t hear from Mark after his dinner with Christian, he was sick about it. He didn’t want to come across like a controlling boyfriend, so he waited as long as he could to call Mark’s cell. No answer. Zane left a message. No returned call. He left a message on Mark’s home machine. Zero response. That was sleepless night number one… His heart had pounded with the adrenaline of wondering what was going on as his eyes stayed clamped shut in a stubborn bid for rest that never came.

  Then Zane’s mom called Monday morning.

  It took him a couple minutes to figure out she was calling to console him over pictures he knew nothing about. He went online to the site where she saw the pics while he had her on the phone (she foolishly kept tabs on what the tabloids wrote about him, if only to be pissed for his sake) and that’s when his heart cracked wide open. Bill had come to his room to meet up so they could go workout together and instead of finding Zane ready to go, he found him staring dully at his laptop screen, unable to make a coherent thought into words.

  Mark and Christian. Kissing. Right there in front of God and everybody. He didn’t even want to think of how similar it was to his own goodbye kiss with Mark, but the thought came unbidden. There was the open car door. There was the passionate embrace. Zane was mortified and so hurt. It was the kind of hurt that made his eyes immediately manufacture tears and his chest ache with pain.

  More than anything Zane wanted to be able to refute what he was seeing—excuse it, make it go away. He was never one to believe everything he heard about fellow celbrities, especially if the source was a gossip site—but this? This was undeniable. Mark and Christian were going for it, practically grinding against the driver’s seat of what must have been Mark’s car.

  The pain of seeing this image once was bad enough, but the way the media clamped on like a wild dog, unwilling to let it go and excited about his pain, had him reliving that first moment over and over again. The paparazzi, which hadn’t been too thick around the hotel before the incident, had repopulated just outside the valet drop-off. They came at him with cameras, hollering questions, asking if h
e knew where Mark was now and if he had a comment on Mark’s new relationship. The walk from the lobby to the car each morning was brutal and the production company wanted him with two bodyguards now.

  People didn’t realize that there was a level of embarrassment and vulnerability untouched by the average soul when enduring an experience like this. Generally when a person is going through a breakup, he or she has a few friends and family members who are aware of what’s going on. The personal sphere for them is limited.

  Everyone knew about Zane’s circumstances. His bodyguards knew they were around to protect him, they also knew why they needed to be around. The production company knew. The crew knew. His makeup and hair stylists. The cast. His agent and publicist. Friends and enemies. His mom’s fucking book club knew. And everyone was waiting for his reaction—watching for the tiniest slip, an inkling of emotion—so he had to go through his days as though he had no feelings one way or the other; an exhausting undertaking.

  Through all of that, not a single word came from Mark. No emails, texts, messages, calls. Nothing. No “I’m sorry, I fucked up.” No “It’s not what you think.” All Zane got was silence, and silence was all he gave back. Zane told Mark twice that if he didn’t want a relationship, there would be none. Kissing Christian seemed like a loud and clear message that Mark was moving on. Zane wasn’t going to chase him, but that didn’t mean this wasn’t killing him.

  In his really bad moments, he thought of Mark’s family—especially Patty—and wondered what they thought of what their son had done. Did they know Mark was interested in two guys? Did they know why he did this? That was when the really weepy, sad part of him wanted to call them and beg them to help in some kind of last ditch effort. It was Zane’s habit to take action and he had to make certain that raw and exposed part of him didn’t win. Mark’s decision was made. Besides, even if he did call Mark’s family, something told him that they wouldn’t be able to explain this either.

  Bill stuck to Zane’s side like glue—fueling the media even further, stirring up speculation that they had a secret relationship.

  Didn’t Bill Austen have a fiancée and young baby?

  A straight guy couldn’t hang out with a gay guy for ten minutes without the rumor mill pumping out a case of unrequited love. They went most everywhere together anyway, and when Bill’s fiancée and daughter arrived in England, Bill had Zane come spend time with them at their place.

  Kerin didn’t pretend that nothing was going on. She was understanding and supportive and got his mind off of it all by bringing her smiling baby girl out to him. It was only when he was back in his hotel room after running the gauntlet into the lobby that the heavy blanket of unhappiness fell on him again.

  Zane swore that if he ever saw Christian again, he’d be hard pressed not to tackle him and kick his ass. If he ever saw Mark again, he’d… Well, he didn’t know what he’d do, but it would probably start with a nervous break down and end with a whole lot of Lorazepam.

  Zane still didn’t have a handle on his feelings. He honestly couldn’t believe this happened, especially after that final conversation with Mark about protecting their growing relationship. It was a really good act. Zane had definitely fallen for it and now he was regretting that trip to Bora Bora. He was wishing he’d never met Mark and decided he was different than other guys. Zane groaned when he thought of all the personal things he’d shared. From the beginning, he’d made himself vulnerable and his payback was a perfectly executed front kick to the balls.

  No mature acceptance was forthcoming here in England. Zane was unwilling to think about how this bullshit made him a better man. He didn’t feel like a better man. He felt old and used up.

  The phone in his suite rang—his car was ready and waiting for him at his convenience. Zane grabbed the warmest jacket he had and tried to pretend he wasn’t going to hear all the same questions and taunts he had every time he’d left the hotel this week. He made a quick call to the bodyguards to meet him in the hall, and they were on their way.

  Slapping a brittle smile on his face, Zane made it through the lobby, past the hollering throng of reporters, and to the car where he let out an exhausted breath. A few especially brave folks banged against the glass to draw his eye, and he pulled out his phone to study it. Fuck. OFF. He thought.

  They made it out to the soundstage back lot without any problem and Zane kept that plastic smile going as he trudged to the makeup trailer. The first day of filming—yesterday—had been amazing. It felt natural while he and Bill were running the scenes, and when they stuck around to watch the dailies, Zane knew they had something awesome. If the shots were this good now, after editing it was going to be incredible. He and Bill really worked well with each other. Plus, it didn’t hurt that some of the first scenes they shot were like a party and faking that he was thrilled with life actually made him feel better about the shit going on off camera.

  The cast trailers were all in a line that led straight to makeup, hair, and wardrobe. A drop-dead gorgeous Indian woman named Sweccha who went by “Sway” was lead makeup artist and she worked insane magic on his stressed out face. Zane could break out with the best of them and she made him look baby-skin fresh. The moment he stepped through the door, she swung her empty chair around with a no-nonsense look and pointed at it with a powder brush.

  “Nearly late. Seven o’ clock. Let’s go.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” He didn’t even have a good excuse and she wouldn’t accept a melodramatic story of heartbreak—maybe on day one, but not now. Bill was already in another chair reading a magazine as Carly and Dale, two of Sway’s assistants, puttered around him. His hair was already styled in that slick 1940’s look. Bill smirked his hello and went back to his article, wisely remaining silent. Bastard.

  “You look like you’re not sleeping,” Sway said, brow tight in a frown. “You need to sleep.”

  “It’s not for lack of trying,” he admitted a little hotly.

  Bill and Dale exchanged a meaningful look in the mirror while Carly got busy digging through a drawer of styling accessories. “Sway… He’s vulnerable right now,” she murmured under her breath. Dale gave her a light whack on the arm with a makeup brush and shook his head as if to say, “He can hear you!”

  Zane sat up a little straighter and faked a grin. “It’s okay, Dale. Honestly. I’m just breaking out like a high school kid.” Bill laughed, never looking up from his magazine.

  Sway tucked tissue in Zane’s collar after he removed his coat and went at him with foundations and concealers—going heavy on the dark circles under his eyes—then nailed him with a blast of powder. He even got some kind of lip gunk and blush. By the time she was finished he looked like a million plastic bucks. At least on camera he’d look natural.

  Sway stepped aside and made room for Tyrese, his hair guy, and Zane took the opportunity to tug a copy of the day’s pages—emailed to him late last night with changes—from his coat pocket. He made notes and tried to immerse himself into character, downshifting into his southern accent and even sitting differently. Bill teased him about it. Said it was like watching a man become possessed.

  Tyrese and Sway were holding up pictures of him from the previous day’s filming to make sure his look matched. They made tiny adjustments: more color here, hair grease there. The scenes for the day were a continuation of yesterday’s and the audience noticed shit like different hair styling—so did their director, Loren Gianopolous, whose eye for detail was meticulous.

  The phone in the makeup trailer jangled and Sway answered and carried out a conversation in monosyllables. When she hung up, she gave him another long look before deciding he would do. “They want you in wardrobe. You too, Bill.”

  Zane pulled his jacket back on, tugging the tissue from his collar and tossing it in the bin by the door. Bill followed and they walked silently to the wardrobe outbuildings, assistants materializing to tuck them carefully beneath umbrellas. Crew members were running back and forth, their gear draped in plastic
to keep it from rain damage, and some waving hello.

  He stole a sideways glance at Bill and couldn’t help a grin. The two of them looked like they’d stepped out of a time capsule. It would be uncanny when they were suited up in their uniforms.

  The man in charge of wardrobe had blown up life-sized portraits of Richtfeld and Macomber taken in 1943. When Loren saw Zane and Bill standing beside the pictures and compared them, his expression was practically gleeful. They hadn’t seen him that happy since screen tests.

  “Hear from Mark yet?” Bill asked, Boston accent at large.

  Zane’s heart bogged down again and he had to clear his throat to answer. “No. Nothing.”

  “Hell. I’m sorry.”

  “Me too.”

  “Do you even want to hear from him after he’s let it go like this?”

  Zane grunted and thought about the question. It seemed to him that the explanation was already provided in the tabloid photos. Mark was interested in another man. End of story. Whether Zane wanted to or not, moving on was his best option.

  “It’s hard to figure out what I want now. I think it’s probably best if I don’t hear from him again, but ask me in five minutes and my answer will be different.”

  ***

  Sex scene.

  Zane was standing in the hallway of a set made to look like an old London flat circa 1943. There wasn’t a lot of space, so Renée Olivetti, his partner in the day’s festivities, was pressed up against him as the director chatted with them about angles for the establishing shot. This would be the fourth take on the initial part of the love scene where Richtfeld carries his gal into the room with her legs wrapped around his waist. They’d stumble around drunkenly, knock shit over, kiss and rub all over each other before he’d toss her on the bed and they’d really get down to business. This next take their entrance was being filmed from inside the bedroom and then the one following would be shot from behind them in the hallway.