At the same time, I was brimming with another kind of excitement. Mac was actually gone. I’d written a very giddy Dr. Crawley a check for five hundred dollars. She’d only asked for a hundred but it was a delight to overpay her. Honestly, I think she would have done the whole thing for free. She was that excited about actually having gotten rid of a ghost. I had the sneaking suspicion she’d never done that before.
Having solved the problem of Mac, I could start to really work on going home to Los Angeles. But then I wondered if I even wanted to bother. What I really wanted to do was take A Rock and a Hard Place to New York. I hadn’t brought the proposal I’d written for my agent, but that didn’t matter. If I was honest with myself it was mostly fiction anyway. I needed to put together a new one, a real one. Now that it was my money I was about to spend, getting the information right became a whole lot more important. I wondered if I should talk it over with Dewey. That led to my wondering if I was going to get him into bed soon. I wanted to. I wanted to a—
Something went bump upstairs. Were they footsteps? I listened closely but all I heard was silence. No, Mac was gone. Actually gone. I felt like my life could actually begin again.
Chapter Ten
Group Sex for Beginners
Cal’s first rehearsal was impressive. Even with the script in hand, he was far better than the rest of the cast. At first, I was worried that he’d just make them look bad, but after a few scenes the players began to improve. Now, he may have just embarrassed them into getting better, but it didn’t matter, they were better. Even Wendell was better. As they stumbled through the blocking on the temporary set, Cal politely made a few suggestions, suggestions that improved the scene and did a better job of showing it off to the entire audience. Wendell instantly claimed that he was going in exactly that direction and everyone was happy.
Watching Cal on stage got me interested in a way I hadn’t expected. Even with just work lights he was sexier on stage, almost glowing. His repartee with his cousins’ wives was flirtatious, even overtly sexual. I had to shift in my seat a couple of times. When they finished around ten, the other actors huddled around Cal, making sure he felt welcome. At least, that’s what I hoped they were doing. Part of me worried they might blurt out that we were in need of money and could he help? But then I noted that Constance and Jane seemed the most interested in Cal. And, just like their characters, they seemed to be fighting over him. Of course, I didn’t expect them to have any more success off stage than on. I walked over and stood close. Trying to stay casual.
“It’s so wonderful you’ve stepped in,” Jane said. “Any time you need to run lines just let me know. I’d be happy—”
“Yes, I’d love to run lines as well,” Constance said. “I’ll be bringing some prospective buyers by in a couple of days. Perhaps I could hang around after the showing…”
“A couple of days!” Jane said. “I’m available tomorrow. After my shift.”
“We could all get together,” Cal said.
Both women frowned.
I decided to rescue him. “You all did a great job tonight. I think it’s going to be a good show.”
Constance and Jane began to chime in, but Cal said, “Excuse me,” and pulled me to one side. “Would you like to have a drink?”
After studying him for a moment, I asked, “Would that be the negotiated date?”
“No, this is just a drink. The date I had in mind would be dinner, a movie, a nice bottle of wine, soft music, etcetera… This is just a drink. You can say no if you want.”
But I didn’t want to say no. I knew I should be angry about his blackmailing me into seeing him but I just couldn’t do it. In fact, it was piquing my interest. He was a very good-looking man, an obviously talented actor, and, of course, a millionaire. On top of all that, he was willing to practically break the law and a few commandments just to date me. He was hard to say no to.
We decided to grab a quick one at Nectar, which, of course, was right across the parking lot. The night was frigid and Cal still had no winter coat. He wrapped his arms around himself and we hurried across the parking lot to the restaurant. Halfway across I gave in and awkwardly slipped an arm around him. He looked at me with a leering smile so I said, “Just keeping you warm.”
“And doing an excellent job of it.”
The bar at Nectar was small and woody. It had once been a library, and bookshelves still covered the wall behind the bar. Where books had once been, bottles now sat. There were a few skiers crammed into a booth. They’d probably gotten bored with the Lodge at West Mountain and decided Nectar made a nice change. They were loud but seemed only interested in each other. Cal and I sat at the bar.
The bartender was a young blonde who’d once had a long discussion with me about the law. She was interested. Or more correctly she was interested in a career that paid well. I gave her what advice I could and tried not to judge her. Sometimes the mercenary made the best lawyers. She made me a Grey Goose dirty martini and Cal a Cape Cod, then slipped down to the far end of the bar and stayed there. I reminded myself to give her a decent tip.
Cal lifted his drink and said, “To Mac. May he rest in peace,” then oddly he added, “For a very long time.”
We drank to Mac.
He set down his drink and said, “So, I was actually impressed by your Barnyard Players. I’ve worked with community theaters before and they’re usually dreadful. Your group seems to have some talent. They’re not professionals of course, so I shouldn’t compare but…they’re definitely not embarrassing.”
It sounded like praise. Sort of. “I’m sure they’ll be pleased that you’re impressed,” I said.
“Oh God, I sound like a douche, don’t I? I really was trying to say I was pleased. Maybe I’ve been in L.A. too long.”
“Honesty is not always a terrible thing,” I conceded, hoping we’d move on to something else. We did and we didn’t. For the next few minutes he told me what he thought of his fellow cast members. I could tell he was trying to be kind, and occasionally failing, but what impressed me was that with each he had ideas about how they could improve.
“Kirby’s British accent is just…um, passable. I have some exercises a dialect coach gave me. Do you think if I give them to Wendell he’d pass them on?”
“That might work, but you’ll both have to be diplomatic. Kirby teaches acting at Winton Community College.”
“Oh, I see. I’ll invite Wendell out for a drink then to strategize.”
“Oh, um, maybe not,” I said quickly. “He’ll probably make a pass at you. A quick talk before rehearsal might be better.”
“Don’t worry about me. I can handle amorous directors. I’ll just tell him I have my sights set elsewhere. Which is the truth, after all.” He gave me a meaningful look that made me blush. He seemed to take pity on me and changed the subject. “I have some questions about Mac’s plays. If I wanted to take one of his plays out of…circulation, I can do that right?”
“You’d have to have his entertainment lawyer look at the distribution agreements and the publishing contracts. When they expire you could choose not to renew them. Which play are you talking about?”
“The Bust-Up.”
“Oh. That’s one of Mac’s most popular, isn’t it? Is this a strategy to make it more popular by removing it from circulation?”
“Oh God, no,” Cal said quickly. “There’s a character named Hal Perkins that people assume is me. Cal Parsons, Hal Perkins. You see the problem.”
“But it’s not you?”
“Not by a long shot. Do you know the play?”
“I’ve never read it, no.”
“Me neither,” Cal said. “It’s about a rising young playwright who falls in love with a gorgeous but untalented actor. The actor, annoyingly named Hal Perkins, then systematically attempts to bring the playwright down to his own level of mediocrity. Finally, the playwright breaks free and chooses his art over love. There’s also some political stuff about what it’s really like to be
gay in the entertainment industry at the time and some musings about art versus love. It’s an absolutely dreadful play.”
“How do you know so much about it if you’ve never read it?” I asked.
“Reviews. I’ve read all of those. One review called my character a ‘gay Eve Harrington with a case of galloping psychosis.’”
“I can see why that bothered you, but how could people know for sure it was you?”
“The play opened about a year before Lust/Anger/Joy came out. I had carefully left Mac out of my official bio. Unfortunately, the movie’s publicist managed to ferret the information out of someone—possibly me after a few too many apple martinis—and then it became an item in the gay press. Cal Parsons and Hal Perkins were one and the same. Of course, it wasn’t true. Mac left me the minute he had any success. I didn’t have an opportunity to systematically attempt to bring him down to my level of mediocrity even if I’d wanted to.”
“I see why you want to pull it.”
“Thank you. Can we?”
“Well, it will still be in libraries and personal collections, of course. In the long run you might actually be convincing people that the characterization is accurate.”
“I hadn’t thought about that.” He considered a moment. “What people? I mean, I don’t think those same reviewers—”
“I’ve already had a couple of calls from writers interested in doing a biography of Mac. I imagine his entertainment lawyer has received even more.”
He paled. “I—wow. Wasn’t expecting that.”
“You may want to choose a biographer yourself and be as open as you can be about your relationship with Mac. Try to keep things fair.”
Of course, he could make Mac look like a monster if he wanted to, but as Mac’s attorney I thought I should at least suggest fairness. At the same time, he seemed like the type of person who would opt for fairness anyway. He’d certainly been fair to the Barnyard Players.
“I’ll have to give that some thought. I actually don’t understand much about the way our relationship ended. Mac was beginning to get noticed in New York and we decided to move. At the last minute I was informed I wasn’t going. I don’t really know why and he’s still not telling me.”
“Still?” I asked.
“Oh, you’re right. He’s gone. So I can’t ask him. I probably should have when I had the chance.”
“When was the last time you saw Mac?”
“Alive?”
“Yes. I don’t think we should count the crematorium.”
“Oh, that’s right. Um, well, the last time I saw Mac alive was when he dumped me in L.A. I mean, there were some unpleasant letters exchanged. And some snide comments relayed by mutual friends, but that’s it.”
“Okay,” I said, while wondering exactly when he could have asked about the break-up if the last time they saw each other was during the break-up. “So...give the biographer some thought,” I suggested.
He nodded. Then smiled at me, saying, “You know I have the house to myself tonight. Would you like to come over?” We were quiet. I didn’t know what to say. It grew awkward. “I’m leaving soon and you’re afraid of getting hurt. Is that what’s going on?”
“Partly I suppose. It doesn’t seem like a good idea to like you very much. And, of course, you’re a client.”
“What if we said goodbye right now?”
“What? Oh. Would you like me to recommend another law—”
“No, I mean let’s say goodbye to get it out of the way. So it isn’t looming over our heads. I mean, we’re both adults. There’s nothing wrong with having a little bit of fun together. As long as we know what’s what…so, goodbye?”
He extended his hand to shake. I didn’t offer mine.
“Well,” he said uncomfortably. “Shall we go?”
He put the debit card I’d gotten him on the bar before I could offer to pay. Waiting there, I had to ask myself if I was crazy. This beautiful, interesting man had just made a pass at me and I’d turned him down. Why? Because I might get hurt? Was it so terrible to get hurt? And ethically, well, it wasn’t as though I was defending him in a criminal trial. It was a simple trust. Sleeping with him wouldn’t exactly compromise that, now would it? The barmaid ran the charge and brought back the slip. Cal signed it efficiently and walked out of the bar. Outside, I followed him over to Mac’s Land Rover. Halfway there I took a few quick steps and took his arm, bringing him to a stop. He waited for me to say something.
“Um...you know, you’ve been drinking. Maybe I should drive you home.”
“I only had one drink and you had—oh, uh, yes, you should probably drive me home.”
The grin on his face was a thousand watts.
* * * *
Halfway to Mac’s house, I asked the very awkward question, “Do we have everything we’re going to need?”
“I’m assuming we both have a pen—” He stopped mid-joke. “Oh, I see. I hadn’t actually thought of that. I’m sure Mac…was prepared.”
“Do you know where he kept…what we need? I mean, it’s not like we can ask him.”
“No, I guess we can’t,” he said, almost wistfully.
“And, as far as I know, Mac wasn’t very…active. Whatever he has might be out of date.”
“Oh, I just assumed he’d be up to something. I mean, escorts at least. Masseurs.”
“Not in Marlboro,” I explained. “Maybe over in Winton.” Although I imagined the pickings would be slim. “He did travel, of course.”
“We should stop at a drugstore. I mean, if you think…not that we have to do exactly that…there are other things.”
“True,” I said. “But we should have the option, don’t you think?”
“Options are good.”
“Of course, all the drugstores are closed.”
“Oh, so we don’t have options.”
“I know a place,” I said, turning the SUV toward the highway. There was an exit near Farm to Market Road that boasted an all night gas station with a convenience hut called the Quicky Pick. There were twelve or fifteen pumps laid out under five tin roofs; in the center was a small, shack-like building that was about twenty-five feet long and ten feet wide. I pulled up to the nearest pump; we got out and walked over to the hut.
“How convenient,” Cal said. “Just in case you’re on a road trip and have a sudden desire for Cheetos and safe sex.”
“It’s the only place that’s open all night.”
Inside, the walls were lined with the kind of things travelers fall for. Chips and nuts and tiny packages of cookies. I had the feeling that if you opened every single package and piled up the food vs. the packaging, the packaging would win by a landslide. There was a small rack of magazines for bored passengers. An amazing array of candy, gum and mints. A coffee machine badly in need of cleaning. And a checkout counter in the middle of the store. Behind the counter was a surly looking sixteen-year-old boy. I had the uncomfortable feeling I’d gone to high school with his mother, who’d dropped out in tenth grade to have him. I led Cal to what I suppose would be called the personal products section. Since these were considered high theft items, they were placed well within sight of the cashier. Which meant we were as well.
Cal and I stared at the condoms. We had five choices. Magnums, which they were almost out of—though I doubted they were quite as necessary as the purchasers hoped—Regular, and Snugger Fit, which were small but couldn’t be labeled small since no one would buy them. In addition there were two regular varieties; one featuring extra-ribbing for her pleasure and another that was super extra thin, so thin the box boasted you’d hardly know it was there. A claim I doubted.
“Which do you think we should get?” I asked Cal.
“Just something normal. That should cover any situation that…arises.” He smirked at me. I grabbed a pack of the most generic and a tube of Lady Eve Personal Lubricant. Cal noticed and said, “Lady Eve? I’d have thought things would run more smoothly in the Garden of Eden.”
&nb
sp; Ignoring him, I set our purchases on the counter. The surly kid stared at them a moment and then at us.
“Double date?” he asked. He looked over my shoulder to see if there were a couple of women sitting in my SUV.
“Something like that,” would have been my normal response or possibly an even lamer, “Uh-huh.” But I was too embarrassed to wimp out in front of Cal who, being from a big city, was probably very, well, militant. I said, “Do you ask that of all your customers?”
My tone of voice must have impressed him. “Um, I don’t know.”
“Would your boss be happy about your asking questions like that?”
“My boss isn’t happy period,” he grumbled.
That made me feel bad. Maybe he wasn’t such a bad kid.
“Stop teasing the kid,” Cal said, and with a wink added, “The ladies are back at the hotel.”
“Oh, ha,” the kid said. By that point I doubted he believed us, but Cal had given him a way to save face. The clerk quickly rang us up. I handed him a twenty and he painfully counted out my change.
Once we got out the door, I asked, “So you’re not very political?”
“No, I’m political. It’s just…sometimes you let people off the hook. Especially teenagers. He’ll learn what’s what soon enough. So, you’re definitely political?”
“Not really. I’m not big on confrontation.”
“But you’re a lawyer.”
“It’s not like it is on TV. Mostly I do paperwork. And I’m pretty happy about that.”
We got into the SUV and belted up.
“You do realize we’re being ridiculously shy about all this,” I said.
“Yes, I’m kind of enjoying it,” Cal said. “L.A. is all about fitting pieces together. Within seconds guys are asking will your part A go into my part B in exactly the way I want. Or maybe your part B should go into my part A.”
“Oh, I see.” I didn’t see, but it seemed the thing to say. I couldn’t help following up with… “So are you an A into B or a B into A kind of guy.”
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