by Cody Ryder
Two
Jackson Baker was glad to get a break from his novel. The cell phone had actually landed right on top of his head, but it really hadn't hurt much. His mom and dad had always told him he was hard headed. He’d said it’d hit him in the shoulder because he didn't want to make the guy feel needlessly bad about something that really wasn't a big deal.
He wondered why Christopher was staying out here. He didn't seem to want to be here, and from what he was saying it sounded like was staying at the Constellation Lodge against his will. He did mention "Lady" a few times, so Jackson assumed he was there with his girlfriend.
Jackson’s imagination turned. Christopher could easily be a model, with his shimmering mahogany hair, flawless skin, perfect physique, and those eyes that seemed to be apathetic to everything. He was glamorous. Pretty much everything that Jackson was not. He was young. Maybe he was here with a lover—some older minx who’d found him on Instagram or Tinder. A sugar mama. He had to laugh internally at the thought of it, someone referring to their lover as "Lady." Not “my woman” or “my lady” or whatever, but just “Lady”. It seemed awfully quirky. But Jackson could tell Christopher was an unusual person.
Instagram thot. Wasn't that what they called them? He’d read an article about them once, these girls who were basically paid escorts advertising their services to rich men through Instagram. Pay for my travels somewhere, and I'll sleep with you. Did young, good-looking dudes like Christopher do the same for women? Jackson had no idea, but he enjoyed the thought. It'd make an interesting plot for a murder mystery novel, he thought wistfully. His book was going nowhere.
Stop it, Jackson. He felt slightly ashamed of himself for imagining Christopher as a male prostitute. Not that he thought there was anything wrong with being a prostitute. Hell, if he had the looks for it, he’d do it. It sure as hell would be a lot better than struggling to finish writing this stupid novel. Plus, he thought it would be pretty damn amazing to have someone want you so badly they were willing to pay money to fuck you. What kind of prostitute would he be? An expensive one, sought after by dozens of men and women desperate for a night with him? Or a cheap one, depraved and fine with anything? He shivered. Definitely not the cheap one.
Damn. And there'd he’d gone, floating off into his own head again. He snapped himself out of his wandering thoughts and nodded politely to Christopher, even though he hadn't comprehended a word he’d said.
"So, are you here with your wife?" Jackson asked.
"Wife?” Christopher laughed. “No wife. No girlfriend. Just Lady."
"Lady… I’m sorry, is that code for something? It’s hard to keep up with all the online dating terminology. Is she like, your sponsor?”
Christopher looked surprised, and then started to laugh. He had a hearty, clear laugh, the kind that projected unrestrained by any apprehension or self-consciousness.
"Lady is my dog."
Jackson felt his cheeks bloom with embarrassment. "Oh fuck," he laughed. "I'm sorry. Oh, I thought… Oh man. I'm a terrible person."
"You thought I was some cougar’s boy toy?"
"I did," Jackson said, ashamed but unable to keep himself from grinning about it. "Pretty weird assumption, huh? I'm sorry."
Christopher smirked. "Who knows? Maybe I can be yours for a price, too."
Jackson's heart skipped a beat. From the way Christopher's expression had suddenly changed, going all dark and serious, he honestly had no idea if he was pulling his leg or not. He blinked at him, unsure how to respond.
Christopher laughed again and clapped his hands. "I'm so sorry. You should've seen the look on your face. Anyway, I should get back to my room. Lady is waiting for me." He winked.
"Same," said Jackson, closing the laptop. "I don't want to be sitting out here when those rainclouds roll over."
They walked back inside together, passing by the inviting fireplace, which was crackling with flame. Jackson slid his hand along the back of the leather couch sitting in front of the fireplace. "I think I'm going to sit down here for a little bit to enjoy this fire before I have to get back to work. You, um, you want to join me?"
Jackson liked Christopher. He’d only just met him, and he seemed to be the opposite type of person Jackson normally would've associated with, but he was friendly and seemed easy to talk to, not to mention pleasant to look at. He smelled good, too. Spicy and earthy and expensive, exactly how you’d expect a gorgeous guy like him to smell like. How was it that someone like Christopher could walk around in worn out sweats and an old college sweatshirt and still look so damn good?
"Are you kidding? I'm dying up there in my room. I'd love to join you. But I need to go take Lady out to the bathroom before it starts to rain. Don't go anywhere."
"Sure thing," Jackson said. He sat on the couch and put his laptop onto the coffee table in front of him, which was fashioned from a large cut of polished redwood. He watched Christopher walk off to the elevators, his steps purposeful and confident. He passed one of the lodge employees, who smiled awkwardly at him and moved to let him pass. Girl, I know exactly how you're feeling, he thought sympathetically. Christopher was just that kind of man. Charismatic, confident, sexy as hell. Completely out of his league. And, obviously, straight.
Three
Christopher took a deep breath, smiling to himself as the elevator hummed up to his floor. It was an older elevator, with loud cables and an actual bell that dinged from somewhere within the ceiling when it reached its destination. With how jerky it was, each ride was its own little cheap thrill.
But now he actually had some proper excitement, a real person to talk to! He was irritated with himself for missing Jackson this entire time, but then again, he hardly spent time away from his room except to walk Lady.
Jackson had no idea who he was, and that was exciting. It wasn't often he met people he could talk to without wondering what they were trying to get out of the interaction. He didn't have to worry about Jackson only wanting to get to know him because he was Christopher Lawton.
When he opened the door, Lady raised her head to peek over the edge of her bed to see who it was, and then lazily went back to sleep.
"Lady!" he called. "C'mon. Stop being such a bum. Let's go! Pee time."
The German Shepherd looked up at him with puppy-dog eyes that seemed to say, "But Dad, I'm so comfortable…" and Christopher snapped his fingers and pointed at the ground. "Lady!" he barked, and she bolted up out of bed and trotted over to his side. "Thank you,” he said, and clipped the leash to her collar.
He'd rescued Lady four years ago while working on a film in South America. She'd been wandering the streets, a little puppy with matted fur and a bad flea infestation, and despite Pamela's advice that it wouldn't be a good idea to take on such a high maintenance pet at that key point in his career, he'd gone and done it anyway. It'd been a lot of hard work, but Lady hardly left his side. He brought her to all the movie sets he worked on, despite the protests of some directors and producers. But in the end, she was always well received, especially by cast members, who during long hours of downtime between shot set-ups would always play with her.
He’d put a lot of effort into training her, and she was a really well-behaved dog, though she could be extremely defensive of Christopher. She'd growled and snapped at accosting paparazzi (Christopher had once considered letting her off leash to chase after them), and had she been with him the night of the Wardlow incident, the guy might've gone home with more than just a broken nose.
He really shouldn't have punched him. It wasn’t the right response, no matter how angry he’d made him. It hadn't helped his cause at all, no matter how badly the man deserved it. And as good as it'd felt, Christopher wasn't proud of what he'd done. He was trying to be a role model, and that wasn’t what good, in-control people did.
The whole thing stemmed from a film Christopher had been trying to get made for over a year. The vague idea for the story was a coming of age drama about a young teenager struggling with his sex
uality while growing up in a right-wing conservative family in a small southern town. It would be an arthouse film, completely different from anything he’d ever acted in before, and was something he hoped would help others who weren't as fortunate as he'd been growing up. Christopher's parents were as liberal as they came, and he'd spent his teenage years in the San Fernando Valley of Southern California, but he could identify with the struggle of coming out. Despite all the circumstances of his youth, it had still been one of the most difficult things of his life.
He'd pitched the project to various studios and had even secured Terry Polstein, a renowned screenwriter, to pen the movie. But over the year, Christopher faced nothing but rejection. Nobody would produce it, and he had no idea why until he got wind of some news about Gregory Wardlow and The Wardlow Company that had set his blood on fire. He'd been the one responsible for stopping progress of the production. The word was that he was even thinking about buying the story treatment and then cutting out the lead character's struggle with his sexuality. "It can be about an idealistic liberal young man's struggle in rural America," Wardlow’d said. "That's timely. That's what people will want to see. The world doesn't need another picture about a couple of fags. We've got enough shitty queer movies as it is."
Not only was he blocking his film, he wanted to steal and bastardize the plot, too. So, he’d punched him.
Jackson was staring vacantly into the fire when Christopher entered the lobby. He blinked slowly and turned to them as they passed, as if coming out of a trance. "Hey," he called, waving at Lady. "Hi, there, pretty girl."
Christopher walked Lady over to the couch, and she sniffed and licked Jackson's hand. He scratched her behind the ears. Lady looked back at Christopher as if to say, "He's nice, Dad. I made a new friend."
"We'll be right back," Christopher said, and he took Lady outside to the grassy dog run along the side of the lodge. A light drizzle drifted down from grey clouds above, and thunder rumbled in the distance. Lady sniffed around and did her business. Christopher usually made a point to walk her for at least thirty minutes regardless of the weather, but right now he was eager for some human contact.
"Okay, time to go back," he said, giving Lady's leash a gentle tug, and she gave him a disappointed look. "I know, you want to walk. Not now. C'mon."
They went back inside, and Christopher sat down next to Jackson on the couch. Again, he was looking spaced out, his hands folded neatly on his lap. He’d taken off the puffy jacket and set it onto the cushion. Lady curled up on the floor in front of them, her back to the warm fire.
"I could use a beer, what about you?" Christopher said. Jackson looked at him and nodded.
"If they'll do that for us."
"Of course, they will. See that girl? She’ll help us out.” He nodded towards the awkward employee who was sitting behind the front desk, and then waved at her. "Excuse me!"
The teenager shot up from her seat, and the chair screeched loudly against the wood floor. "Yes!"
"Could you come here a moment?" he said. She hurried over, smiling broadly. Lady eyed her curiously.
"Yes, sir?" she said eagerly, her cheeks flushed.
"Could you bring me and my friend here a few bottles of beer? The IPA from the room service menu. You can add it to my bill."
"Of course. Right away, sir." She stumbled away.
"Jeez," Jackson said. "I've never gotten that kind of attention here. They got upset when I brought some food down here."
Christopher just smiled, not wanting to give himself away. It would probably happen eventually, but he wanted to go as long as he could without having to explain he was someone famous. There was something about Jackson that gave Christopher the sense he wasn't the kind of person who generally cared about celebrities or would find themselves starstruck by them, but even so, that knowledge always inevitably changed something about how people interacted with him. Conversations became dull. People were less open—or far too open. Things just became weird.
"Seems like she’s got a crush," Jackson pointed out. "She was practically tripping over herself to get to you."
"I know," Christopher said. "Oh, that sounds bad, doesn't it? 'I know.' I wasn't purposely taking advantage of her, so don't think that."
"Oh, I don't. I'm sure it's something you deal with all the time. You're really good-looking, so…"
Christopher felt his stomach flutter, an unusual response to a usual comment. But it was different coming from Jackson. Christopher realized that everything Jackson said would feel more genuine. He reflexively pushed his hand through his hair and smile smiled. "You are, too, Jackson," he said.
Jackson laughed. "It's okay, you don't need to say that. I've got many fine qualities but my looks are not one of them, and that's okay. That's what my dad would tell me."
"Your dad would say that? What a dick!"
He smiled and shrugged. "It's not serious. That's just the kind of relationship we have. He tells it like it is, you know?"
Christopher thought that was bullshit. It sounded pretty fucked up to him, but Jackson was laughing about it, and who was he to judge a stranger's relationship with their parent? People were weird.
“I wasn't just saying that. You are. You'd be surprised what a change in hair style and a little grooming can do."
Jackson laughed and leaned over to pet Lady. Obviously, the subject had made him feel awkward. "No, really," Jackson said. "That's just how my dad and I are. We trade insults."
"Okay," Christopher said. "Fair enough."
The girl came over with a tray of two glasses and a bucket of ice and beer, and Christopher was afraid she would drop the entire lot on the floor. Her hand was trembling nervously as she placed the glasses on the coffee table, and as she opened one of the bottles and was about to attempt to pour, Christopher put his hand on her arm. "It's okay, we'll pour it ourselves. Thank you."
Her face went red, and she nodded and put the bottle down. She stared at her arm where he'd touched her. "Yes, sir. Thank you. I mean, enjoy. Have a nice evening. Night. I'll be over there if you need me." She scuttled away. Christopher exchanged a look with Jackson, and they both started to quietly laugh.
The beer was good, and Christopher was happy to be sharing a drink with someone. "So, Jackson. What are you doing out in the middle of nowhere, all alone?"
"Oh," Jackson said into his glass as he took a sip. "For work. Well, trying to work. It's not going very well."
"What are you working on?" Christopher asked. He made a few guesses in his mind. The lodge, though off season, wasn't necessarily an affordable place to spend an entire month at, so Jackson must be doing well for himself. He was working from the laptop, so maybe he was a computer programmer, or a web designer.
"A novel," Jackson said. He took another swig of beer, and then massaged his fingers through his wavy hair. Christopher caught the scent of his shampoo. He looked good, and smelled good, too.
"A novel? You're a writer?"
He nodded. "Yup."
"Fiction?"
"Uh-huh. This is my second book."
"Really? How was the first one received?"
"Very well," he said. "It was a New York Times bestseller."
"No way. Are you serious? Jackson, that's amazing! Maybe I know it, what's the name of the book?"
"The Lying Kind," he said. "But, ah, it was published under a pen-name."
Outside of scripts, Christopher wasn't much of a reader. The last novel he'd read was Harry Potter, and that was back in high school. Sometimes, he came across the names of popular new books that were being optioned as adapted screenplays, but he'd never heard of the The Lying Kind. Apparently, they were both equally unfamiliar with each other's work.
Christopher pulled his cell phone out of his pocket. "A pen-name, huh? That's exciting. What made you do that?" He was about to Google the book but was greeted with a shattered screen. He frowned and put it back.
"New author. I wasn't so sure about my work, so I figured I'd do it under
a pseudonym."
"What kind of story is it?"
"It's a murder mystery. It takes place in a small coastal town and is about this community full of WASPs, who on the surface seem to be perfect and moral in every way, but they hide a secret. The main character is a detective that comes into the town to investigate the case of a murdered girl."
"That sounds fantastic," Christopher said. "It sounds like it'd make a good movie."
"Mm," Jackson said. "So, I'm writing another book. No pen-name, this time. But it's been hard. I've been here a month working on it, and the words aren't coming."
"I can imagine the pressure. Having to follow up a New York Times bestseller. And I'm sure using your own name makes it even more stressful. But you've done it before, you can do it again."