Chasing Stars

by Cody Ryder

  "Thank you.” Christopher felt like he could trust him. If he hadn't, he never would've done this to begin with. "I just wish I didn't have to keep it a secret."

  "So, don't keep it a secret. Let the world know. Just be yourself."

  Christopher smiled. Oh, if only it were that easy. If only he had that luxury. That was the trade-off he'd had to make when stepping into the world of stardom. He'd cut out a piece of himself and placed it up on the sacrificial altar of fame. In exchange for the love of the people, he was at the mercy of their opinion.

  "I don't know if I have that kind of strength," he said to Jackson. "I should. I want to say that I'm the kind of brave person who doesn't care about what people think, but… it honestly terrifies me to imagine dropping out of the spotlight because of it. I'm a terrible hypocrite, Jackson."

  "It's not like you aren't trying. You're trying to get this film made. The way I see it, it's a noble sacrifice. You're in the closet, but for a cause."

  "Yeah, and what great luck I'm having getting the project made. I've got the idea, I've got the money… But it feels like it's slipping away from me. Who knows how much my name is going to be worth after all this."

  "I guess we're both in a creative hard spot," Jackson said. "It's hard to make something that's true to you. The moment you try to do something authentic, it's like everyone else tries to strip that from you. Everyone wants to tell you it can't be done, that you should just give up and do something else. That it isn't worth it."

  Jackson gazed up at the ceiling, his eyes shimmering and thoughtful. Christopher thought he looked gorgeous, and in that moment, he felt a deep ache of longing. This morning he could've stood at the front of the lodge and watched Jackson drive away, and any sadness would've been fleeting, because he'd already accepted and understood the terms of their time together. But now… Something had changed. When the inevitable time for them to part came, he didn't know if it would be so easy to forget about him. If he were wiser, a little less impulsive, maybe he would've put some distance between them, but all he could think about was being close to Jackson. Of kissing him. Talking with him. Touching him. Tasting him. And more.

  "You have more time to work on your book now," Christopher pointed out.

  "Yeah…"

  "You don't sound very happy about it."

  "I'm happy about it. But every time I try to think of something to write, my mind just goes blank. It's like, I wanted so badly to prove that I could do it that I'm causing myself to fail."

  "I think you need to sit your ass down in the chair and get to work," said Christopher. He pushed himself out of bed and retrieved his underwear from the bathroom floor. "I'll tell you what's going to happen. I'm going to go back to my room and give you some space to write your book. And then, once you've written, say, one chapter, we can meet up again."

  "Is that my reward for writing?" Jackson asked, amusedly. "Seeing you?"

  "Motivating, huh?"

  Jackson groaned and rolled off the bed. "You're right, I should be working. That's the whole reason why I'm here. Even though I know I'd be completely satisfied just lounging around with you all day."

  That was all Christopher wanted to do, too. In fact, there really wasn't anything else he would've wanted to do more than hang out with Jackson. Maybe he was trying to be responsible by setting some boundaries. Keeping a bit of distance would help when the inevitable came, right?

  He stepped into his pants and tied them up at the front, and then pulled his shirt on. Jackson went to the window and opened the blinds. The room filled with a dreary light.

  "Still raining," Jackson said. "Perfect mood for a murder mystery." He sounded unenthused, like someone trying to convince themselves that they were having a good time.

  "I'll see you soon," Christopher said. "Kick some ass. Write some words. Try not to think about me too much."

  Jackson laughed. "Get out of here before I lock the door and make you stay."

  Christopher badly wanted to go over and give him a kiss goodbye, but he knew it would be a bad idea. Things were already getting way more intense than he could've imagined, and he had to protect them both. It was funny how big a difference there could be between sex and a kiss goodbye. Something as intimate as sex should've been the pinnacle of affection and closeness, but often times it could be the very least. Sex could be meaningless. The scratch to an itch. Killing time, occupying boredom. Kisses in the moment could be written off too, but a casual kiss goodbye? Or holding hands? They could mean so much more.

  But even though this was a casual fling, Christopher didn't feel that it was meaningless. Meeting Jackson definitely meant something. He just wasn't exactly sure what.

  Ten

  Jackson opened the laptop, pulled up the document for his untitled novel and stared at what he’d written. It was nothing more than the first chapter, along with some vague notes about where he thought the plot was going to go. It all felt so uninspired.

  He stared out the window, watching the beads of water streak down the glass in random chaotic directions. Where was he taking this damn book? He was going to hit the end of the road and have nothing to show for it. There was no passion here, as much as he wanted to convince himself there would be. Shouldn't a writer have passion? Shouldn't he be inspired, be raring to get to the page to continue to the story? He didn't feel that at all.

  What was he excited about? What made him passionate?

  A thought of Christopher flashed through his mind; the two of them together in bed, the warmth of Christopher's body, the feeling of his lips on his skin. He shivered as excitement pulsed down below, and he crossed his legs in an effort to hold back an erection. He looked longingly at the door, wishing Christopher hadn't left. Yeah, that made him passionate, but there wasn't a book there. That was something different.

  It'd been a bit of a surprise to hear Christopher talk about his difficulties trying to get his film made. Jackson had assumed Christopher was the kind of person who could get anything done with ease, that nothing could ever get in his way. He had that kind of demeanor. Like, of course he was a movie star. It just made sense. But movie stars had their obstacles, too, and Jackson should've known that. He did know that, but it'd been so easy to be captivated by Christopher.

  The cursor blinked on the screen, a winking line that seemed to be taunting him, waiting for him to do something. C'mon, it said. Don't you have it in you? Don't you have anything in you? Anything at all?

  He put his fingers on the keys, but nothing came.

  It wasn't that he didn't have any ideas to write about. He was swimming in them. The problem was that none of them felt right.

  He opened the center drawer of the desk, and inside he found a flier that said "Constellation Lodge Welcomes You to Santos Mountain!" He flipped it open to photos of happy families hiking forest trails, fishing, and barbecuing. None of that was happening right now, not with this weather. On the second page was a photo of an observatory, with its large, white domed roof and a telescope protruding from the top. Apparently, it was just a short walk into the forest from the lodge. One month spent here in clear, sunny weather, and he'd had no idea.

  Maybe being a novelist just wasn't in the stars for him. Maybe his father was right, and he just wasn't cut out to be a writer.

  He sat there, stewing in his thoughts, his imagination wandering all over the place as it often did. He fantasized about staying with Christopher, just the two of them in their own little secret getaway. The road could stay closed forever, and they could lounge around without any worries in the world. Christopher wouldn't need to be a movie star anymore, and he wouldn't need to care about all of the baggage that came with it. And Jackson wouldn't have to worry about his dad, or proving herself, or any of that. Amy could be their servant, and she would bring them breakfast, lunch, and dinner every day directly to whatever room they were staying in. They'd use all the rooms in the lodge, just because they could. And then they'd go hiking and bird watching and fishing together,
even though Jackson had no idea how to catch a fish. They could watch the stars in their own private observatory. Lady could be both their fur baby and guard dog and would chase away anyone intruding on their private mountain paradise.

  He chuckled to himself and leaned back in the chair. If only. There was no escaping reality, it always managed to catch up eventually.

  The only thing that Jackson really wanted at that moment was to be with Christopher. He knew it was foolish and impossible, but how could he not be taken by the moment? He'd been out here all alone for an entire month, and on top of that, he'd been single for ages. It'd been a long, long time since he'd felt the warmth of another person, and for someone as incredible as Christopher to suddenly drop into his life? It was overwhelming. A shock to the senses.

  It was difficult for Jackson to deny that he’d really fallen hard. And it was barely their second day together. Still, he knew that regardless of what he felt, it would come to an end once the two of them left this place, and that should've been enough of a reason to keep his feelings in check.

  A part of him really wanted to look Christopher up on the internet to see that other side of him. But what would be the point? Things felt good the way they were. To expose himself to Christopher's celebrity somehow felt like it would taint things. That was another thing he couldn't stand about the Hollywood life—the gossip, the falseness, and the disparity between reality and image. It made everything dirty.

  But he was really curious. What he wanted to know most about was Christopher's project. He couldn't let go of the idea that maybe his dad, as much as he hated the thought of asking him for an industry-related favor, might be able to actually do something for Christopher. Would he even support an LGBT film? He wanted to believe he would, if only to maintain some kind of philanthropic image for himself. Maybe if he could spin it that way to him…

  The Wardlow Company could at least help Christopher get past some of the roadblocks he'd been up against. Whoever was trashing the project would know who his dad was. They'd back off, if he flexed his power.

  Jackson closed the word processor and opened his internet browser. You'd be helping a friend, he thought. It was a no brainer, really. There was no reason for him not to try and help when he was in the perfect position to do so. He typed in "Christopher," and paused, realizing he didn't know his last name!

  Not a problem. He was skilled in the art of Google-fu, and since Christopher was a celebrity it wouldn't be very difficult. All he needed was a few specific keywords. He remembered one key detail that Christopher had mentioned: he'd recently been arrested for possession.

  He hesitated. Did he really want to go digging around his history?

  But he felt like he had a pretty good sense of the person Christopher was. Everyone had their own troubles, and when you were a celebrity sometimes they became a little more extreme than the average person. But Christopher was a good person.

  He typed in a search that included "Christopher, movie star, arrested for possession," and hit enter. The results populated, the first being a thumbnail image of a mugshot attached to a tabloid website. "Christopher Lawton Arrested for DUI and Possession of Controlled Substance." It was him, and he looked absolutely pissed off in the photo.

  Jackson typed "Christopher Lawton" into the search bar and hit enter. On the top of the page were the most relevant articles. He scrolled down and read through them. His stomach lurched.

  "What?" he muttered. He kept reading. "Oh, no. No. No. No."

  This couldn't be real. It just couldn't. He read and re-read it slowly, making sure he wasn't mistaken.

  He wasn't. It was there in the headlines, clear as anything could be.

  Dad was the reason Christopher was here.

  Eleven

  Christopher tossed the slobbery tennis ball across the room, sending Lady scurrying after it. She dove and snapped it up into her mouth, and then trotted proudly back over to him like it wasn't the thirtieth time she'd fetched it. Christopher pulled it from her jaws and tossed it again.

  Amy telephoned his room to let him know a fleet of tractors were working on clearing the blocked road, and that it should be safe for travel within the next three days. It didn't really apply to him since he was probably going to be stuck here for much longer than that anyway, but that meant Jackson would be gone soon.

  It was better sooner than later. He didn't need to be getting attached, not any more than was necessary.

  He’d had flings before. When he was out on location shooting a movie or doing a promotional tour, they just kind of happened. He’d meet someone on set, or in the hotel, or at an exclusive nightclub, and sometimes he'd spend the evening or the night with them. This shouldn't have been any different, but it was. He couldn't deny he felt unexpectedly close to Jackson. Maybe that was what happened when two lost people found each other in a foreign and uncomfortable place. It jump-started bonding in a way that other situations didn't.

  He remembered a time he'd been on a shoot in Peru and had met this stunningly handsome fashion model named Ji-ho at the Ritz hotel in Lima. They'd both had a free night, and neither of them spoke a word of Spanish, so they'd decided to go out together and see the spots. Pamela had arranged a limo and a guide for them, and they went all around the city, partying in luxury. Ji was sexy and fun and experienced with the celebrity lifestyle. They'd had such a good time together that Christopher had spent as many free hours after the shoot with him as he could, partying and having sex at his hotel. But not for one moment did he ever think of the experience as anything more than a fun fling.

  Jackson was different. He made Christopher feel normal, and that was incredibly powerful. He'd never met anyone in the years since he'd become a star who’d made him feel like a normal person. Even dating other celebrities, people more famous than him, had always given him this feeling of distance, like he had to alter himself or act a certain way. Fame, celebrity, and everything that came with it was always lurking the background.

  Lady's slobbery tongue slid up his cheek, and he jumped in surprise. She’d dropped her ball in front of him. "How many times are you gonna catch this thing?" he said as he tossed the ball, knowing full well she could go on for hours. She bounded away and skidded across the floor.

  He looked at the clock ticking on top of a bookshelf lined with photo books and hiking guides for Santos Mountain. It'd been five hours since he'd left Jackson's room. He didn't want to be impatient. After all, Jackson was working on his novel, and that was the whole point of him being here. But he wanted to see him. Was he being clingy? Jesus, he was never clingy. Especially not with someone he'd only known for a day.

  But here he was, listlessly tossing Lady's ball across the room, wishing that Jackson would come back over. It was the damn rain. It made him feel all dreary, and he couldn't even go out and take Lady for a walk.

  He hated how out of control here this place made him feel. He was just waiting. Waiting, waiting, waiting. He was waiting on Pamela, waiting on Jackson, waiting on the rain and for that landslide to be cleared. He was waiting on the response of the world to pass its judgment on him. What was going to happen to his career? Was this the final straw that broke the leading man’s back?

  Fuck Gregory Wardlow. Fuck his own inability to keep himself in check. Fuck it all.

  Christopher knew that it was unlikely he'd find a major studio to fund the film. He'd have to do it himself and hope he could get distribution with someone who was out of reach of Wardlow's claws. Finding a writer and assembling a cast and crew willing to work on a blacklisted project would be the hardest part.

  But hold on…

  He was looking for a writer. Didn't he know a New York Times bestselling author?

  Jackson had kept trying to sell himself short, but he was a bestselling, published author. Maybe he could convince him to come onboard the project? He knew Jackson wasn't keen on taking part in the Hollywood scene, but this was important. This was a movie with meaning, not something just for fame and mo
ney. And he could take charge of it. Write his own story.

  Lady brought the ball to Christopher, her tail wagging furiously. "Okay, that's enough," he said, stroking her head. She looked questioningly at him, the ball still clutched in her mouth.

  He would ask Jackson, he decided. He'd do what he could to convince him. He had to tell Pamela. He fumbled to dial her number on the busted cell phone.

  "Christopher! Don't tell me. Another landslide?"

  "No."

  "Okay, good. You staying out of trouble? It's been half a day since we talked, what's going on? I've got nothing new for you here."

  "Calm down, Pamela, jeez. The guy that I told you about? I'm gonna ask him to consider writing the film."

  "Have you read his work?"

  "No, but he's a New York Times bestselling author. He's published."

  "I understand that, Christopher, but that doesn't really mean much. Not everyone who can write a book can write a screenplay. Maybe his novel was some weird experimental House of Leaves type of bullshit."