by Cody Ryder
"And what're you laughing at?" Christopher asked.
"I don't know," Jackson said. "I just have to. I guess because of what we just did? If you'd told me this afternoon that we would be giving each other head tonight, I would've called you insane."
Christopher laughed. "Me too.”
"I wanted it from the beginning, though," Jackson said.
"Seriously?"
He nodded, feeling a bit shy again.
Christopher grinned. "I did, too. Cell phone, or Cupid’s arrow?"
They heard a concerned whine from outside the room and looked over to see Lady poking her head around the door. She looked at the both of them questioningly, like she wanted to know what the hell had just been going on.
"Lady!" Christopher called. "Go to your bed! It's okay, go to your bed!"
She snorted and disappeared. The two of them looked at each other, and cracked up laughing.
***
Jackson woke the next morning to dim sunlight, the sound of rain, and the smell of breakfast. He heard the door close and looked around, unsure where he was for a moment. He saw his clothes sitting on the ground by the bed and remembered what had happened the night before.
Christopher stuck his head through the open doorway. "Jackson?"
"I'm awake," Jackson said, sleepily. "Oh shit. I fell asleep with my contact lenses in."
"It's nearly eight-thirty. Run down to the lobby and get your key changed so you can check out. I ordered room service."
"Thanks." He slipped out of bed and got dressed. In the living room, Christopher was standing by a big cart full of food. Eggs, bacon, pancakes, fruit, yogurt. It looked like he'd ordered the entire breakfast menu. He was wearing a fluffy white bathrobe, and turned to Jackson and smiled.
"Good morning," Christopher said, smiling at him as he peeked under the silver lids at the smorgasbord of food.
"Good morning," he replied, and gave Christopher a hug. The gesture seemed to surprise him, but he returned it with enthusiasm. Jackson wondered if maybe it was too intimate to go for a hug, that whatever they'd had was just a flash in the pan, one-night type of thing. He wanted to kiss him again but decided against it.
Lady stared longingly out the window as the rain drummed on the outdoor patio, and Jackson went over to take a look. It was still coming down unusually hard, the sky covered in a mass of dark storm clouds. He wasn't looking forward to the drive back to LA. The traffic was going to be horrible.
"I'll be back soon," he told Christopher. "Don't wait for me, eat your breakfast."
"Hurry up. If we're quick, maybe we'll have some time to fool around before you have to leave."
Maybe it was a one-night-and-one-morning type of thing. He was perfectly okay with that idea.
He went down to the lobby and was surprised to find it occupied with guests. An elderly woman sat on the sofa, and a young couple stood by the window staring out into the rain. An older man, who Jackson assumed to be the woman's husband, was at the front desk, speaking in irritated, argumentative tones.
"What do you mean we can't leave?" the old man demanded. "I have to get back to work tomorrow, don't you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Amy said, looking flustered. "But there's nothing any of us can do until the road is cleared. We've been assured they're working as quickly as they can. We will accommodate you free of charge until it's safe to leave."
"Well, I'd damn well hope so. Christ, I don't believe it. I don't believe it!" The old man went over to his wife. "I knew we shouldn't have come here," he grumbled.
Jackson put his keycard on the counter. "What's going on?"
"There was a landslide last night from the storm," she explained. "We only just found out about it a couple hours ago, and now the fire department is saying we can't let anyone go down the mountain."
"What? You can't be serious."
She nodded. "I'm really sorry. We'll all be okay here. We still have access to the store in the town down the road, and the water and power are on. We're all safe here, and I've been told the road shouldn't take more than a few days to clear. Your stay during that time will be complimentary, of course. And we'll provide a meal service as well."
"Jesus," he said. Thankfully he didn't have anywhere urgent he needed to be, but the thought of being trapped on the mountain without a way out was frightening. And a landslide? What if another one happened? Were they really safe here?
A worker came out from the office behind the front desk carrying a three-legged sign stand and set it up in front of the lodge's front door. "ATTENTION," it read in big red letters, and below it was a box of a text. After reading it, the old man grumbled and grabbed his rolling suitcase, disappearing towards the elevators with his wife in tow.
At least there was one positive that would come out of this situation, Jackson realized. He could spend some more time with Christopher, which was even sweeter, now that they'd…
He felt his face growing hot.
"I'm sorry," Amy said. "What was your reservation under again? I’ll get that key changed out for you."
"Oh, um, Jackson Baker," he said.
"Hm. Room number?"
"105." Then he realized what he'd said. He sometimes absentmindedly forgot that he made business-related reservations under his legal surname, which was on his government ID, and not the surname he usually went by, which was his mother's maiden name. "Oh, actually. Sorry, it's under Jackson—"
"Got it,” she said. “Wardlow, right?"
"Yeah. Jackson Wardlow."
Seven
"I guess we're going to be getting wet together," Christopher said.
Lady looked up at him and cocked her head, and he sighed. The rain was pounding down outside as if all the water stored up over the last several years of California drought had suddenly been released. He plucked a grape from the breakfast cart's fruit bowl and popped it into his mouth. A moment later, Jackson knocked on the door. He'd changed clothes and put on his glasses.
"Well," Jackson said, coming inside. "I just found out something crazy."
"What? C'mon, let's eat." He was starving. He passed Jackson a plate and pulled the lids off the spread of dishes.
"I won't be leaving today. In fact, none of us will be leaving until further notice."
Christopher felt an unexpected swell of happiness. "What happened?" he asked, playing it cool.
"There was a landslide on the road off the mountain, and apparently no one is able to get in or out until it’s been cleared."
That swell of happiness was quickly replaced by a cold sweat. "Wait, what? We're trapped here?"
"Yeah. There's like four other people stuck here, too. But we still have access to the town and supplies and stuff, so we'll be okay. That's what Amy told me, at least. Hey, are you okay?"
"Y-yeah.” He set his plate onto the cart and sat on the couch. Lady got up from her bed and trotted over to him and placed her head on his leg. He felt cold and dizzy. "I'm fine, I'm just a bit claustrophobic. I really don't like feeling trapped."
"Hey, it'll be okay," Jackson said. He sat down and placed his hand on Christopher's thigh. "We're safe here. And I'll be here."
Christopher smiled, and the happiness flickered up again. Thank God Jackson was here. If he'd been all alone and found that out, he might've had a panic attack. There'd been a time when he'd starred in a science-fiction horror film early in his career, and an earthquake had caused some scaffolding to fall onto the set piece he’d been sitting in, trapping him inside the cramped, hot space for almost four hours while the crew worked to cut him free. He'd always had mild claustrophobia, but that experience had made things a lot worse.
They ate breakfast, and Amy stopped by to deliver complimentary mimosas. "I guess they're trying to liquor us up so we don't start a riot," he told Jackson.
Afterwards, he went outside to take Lady to the bathroom. The lodge staff (or maybe just Amy) had set up a row of pop-up canopies along the side of the building to keep him dry, and Lady sniffed aro
und in the planter and did her business. A torrent of muddy water flowed down the street outside the lodge like a small creek, carrying pine branches and other debris. He needed to give Pamela a call to let her know what had happened. He felt somewhat uneasy about the situation and would seriously have her send a fucking helicopter to get him and Jackson out, if it came down to it.
"Christopher!" Pamela said. "How you doing? Enjoying the rain?"
"Pamela, did the lodge contact you? No, obviously they didn't, otherwise you wouldn't ask me a question like that. I'm stuck up here, dammit!"
"Yes," she said flatly. "I know, I sent you out there."
"No, literally! It rained so damn hard, a landslide covered the road. How did you not hear about this yet? Aren't you supposed to be looking out for my safety?"
"A landslide? Seriously? Jesus, are you alright?"
"I'm fine. The lodge is safe, or at least that's what they say."
"You… holding yourself together?"
He sighed. "Yeah. I'm good, I think."
"Look, I'm sure the Constellation Lodge has everything under control. Don't self-medicate, Christopher. Should I tell them to restrict your access to booze?"
"I'm fine, Pamela. It's not a problem." He drew in a deep breath. "I know why I'm here. You don't have to worry about that. Oh, and I've met someone here. It's been… interesting."
"What do you mean?"
"Someone who didn’t know who I was and legitimately doesn't care. We've been hanging out. It's been nice." He said 'hanging out' as casually and inconspicuously as he could.
"Mmhm," Pamela said. "Remember, you're supposed to be keeping things on the down low."
Oh, but he was keeping things down low. He laughed to himself. "No worries. I really hit it off with this guy."
"Behave yourself, Christopher," Pamela said. She wasn't dumb, she knew what was up. "What's his name?"
"Jackson Baker. He’s a writer. New York Times bestseller."
"Oh? What's the book called?"
"The Lying Kind. But it was written under a pen-name."
"I see. Good, well… I'm happy to hear you aren't driving yourself completely insane up there." She cleared her throat. "So, speaking of writing, I have some news for you. It's not exactly good news. Are you ready for it?"
"Pamela," he said impatiently. If there was good or bad news he wanted to just be told, not teased.
"Terry Polstein no longer wants to write your movie. From what I can gather he's been getting a lot of flak from different parties for being attached to your project, and we all know the reason why."
"Fucking Wardlow," Christopher seethed. "You've gotta be fucking kidding me. Isn't he under contract, or something? What can we do?"
"Nothing. We can't do shit. We need to search for someone else."
Having Polstein attached to the film had been a huge deal. Christopher was planning on producing, directing, and starring in the film, and if he had any semblance of writing talent he might've considered taking on that job, too. Finding a suitable replacement for Polstein would be difficult. He was an Oscar winner and had a recognizable name, which was rare for a screenwriter, and that was important for this project.
"I'm sorry," Pamela said. "I'll start searching."
"No, don't apologize. You've been wonderful, Pamela. I just wish I wasn't stuck out here. I could go around and call in some favors, or something."
"I've got my finger on the pulse. The moment the tabloids stop thirsting for your blood, I'll let you know."
"The sharks are always hungry.” He felt a strange combination of fiery determination born out of painful discouragement. Yes, losing Polstein was an infuriating setback, but Christopher was someone who thrived when the world was against him. He'd always gone up against impossible odds and come out on top, ever since the very beginning when he set out down the path of stardom. This was just another bump that he would smash to oblivion and overcome. "Hey! Lady! I gotta go, Pamela. Lady is diving into puddles."
"I'll be in touch," she said.
He slipped the phone into his pocket and ran to the edge of the canopy, calling to Lady, who was bounding around beneath the rain and splashing her paws in the deep puddles that had formed in the sunken gravel parking lot.
"Lady!" he shouted. "Come here, now!" He jabbed his finger at the ground beside him. She froze and looked at him with sheepish eyes before trotting back to his side. "Oh my God. You're soaked. C'mon, we're going back in."
In the lobby lounge area, an elderly couple had come out and were sitting by the fire with glasses of wine, arguing in hushed voices about the decision to come out to Santos Mountain. Christopher let go of Lady's leash to let her go stand in front of the fireplace while he got a towel from the reception desk to dry her with. Amy, attentive as she was, was already waiting there with a stack of them.
"Thank you so much.”
"You're welcome," she said, with her goofy smile. One of the interesting, positive things Christopher liked about being a celebrity was how his presence could boost someone's day. The attention was nice, but he really did enjoy going places just to meet people. It was such a small, simple thing that took up little of his time and energy but could potentially change someone's day, or even their life.
"God dammit!"
Christopher turned around and saw Lady shaking herself off, showering the elderly couple with a cold spray of doggy rainwater. They both looked furious.
"Oh, great," he muttered to himself.
"I can take care of it," Amy said.
"No, it's fine. She's my dog." He walked over and snapped his fingers at Lady. "Lady, lay down!" She laid, and Christopher threw one of the towels over her and rubbed her wet fur. "I'm sorry about that," he said, turning to the couple.
"You need to watch your dog, young man," the wife said.
Christopher handed them both a towel, smiling apologetically. "She's a handful. I really am sorry about that." Though from the way the two had been arguing, Christopher thought they both needed a nice cold spray to the face.
The woman grabbed the towel from and sighed dramatically. Then, her face suddenly changed expressions from anger to surprise, like she'd spotted an old friend.
"W-wait," she said. "Oh my God. You're Christopher Lawton, aren't you?"
The husband's mouth dropped.
Christopher flashed his best smile. "Hello, it's nice to meet you." It really wasn't. These were the types he really didn't like dealing with. Pleasant only when they needed to be, only because he was famous. Now they'd probably go and brag to their friends about how Christopher Lawton's dog shook water all over them.
"We just saw you in a movie over the weekend," the husband said. "What was it? Star Wars?"
"No," the wife said. "Oh my goodness, Roger. I'm sorry, my husband has a horrible memory. I'm a big fan of yours, Christopher. Would you mind taking a photo with us?"
"No problem at all," Christopher said.
The husband shouted at Amy. "Hey! Excuse me! Come take a photo of us together, would you?"
Amy came over and took the man's phone, and the couple squeezed up unnecessarily close on either side of him, the husband wrapping his arm around Christopher’s shoulder and the wife hooking hers through his elbow. It felt almost like they were taking one last photo with their son before sending him to college, or something. Lady stared questioningly at them and then plopped down in front of the fireplace, yawning widely.
"You're the one who socked that fellow in the face!" the husband said, clapping his hands together. "I remember now! At the Oscars. What happened with that? Why'd you do that?"
"I'm sorry," Christopher said, backing away. "I have to go. Nice meeting you both."
"Oh," the husband said, disappointed. "Yeah, nice meeting you."
"Roger," hissed his wife.
Christopher patted the side of his thigh and Lady hopped up to follow, and he quickly hurried up to the room, again avoiding the elevator. It was probably a good thing that the road was blocked, becaus
e it meant that if any news of him being here got out, no prying eyes would be able to get in. He was safe here, he told herself. It was time to stop seeing this place as a prison, and to start seeing it as a haven. After all, now he had Jackson.
Eight
"Are you safe? Your novel isn't a concern to me, Jackson, I just want to know if you're safe."
"Yes, Dad," he said into the phone. He’d gone back to his room to shower when Christopher went to take Lady for a walk. "I'm fine."