by Holly Hart
"Liss, what if there was another way?"
"To do what?" she asked, cocking her head.
"To avoid paying for sperm."
"I'd grab at it with both hands," she replied with a rueful grin, "but there isn't – trust me, I've looked. And I can't let you come inside me; the first time was a mistake."
"No," I said, fixing her with the most serious look I could manage, "trust me, it wasn't. That's exactly what I'm proposing – you let me come in you." I grinned. "Believe me, this hose isn't running out of juice any time soon. Look at me; where you going to get better genetic material than this? And I don't charge…"
"Clay, you can't offer that," Alicia replied. "You're not ready to be a father. You know what it means, having another life relying on you?"
Her honest reply crushed me, but in my heart of hearts, I knew what she was saying was true. I wasn't ready to be a father – or at least, I hadn't been. I'd been a playboy, an alcoholic, a philanderer – in short, I was unreliable. But Alicia had to know that I was changing, and it was all for her.
But she was right. After all, how could she trust me? How could I make her understand that I'd changed?
"Trust me, Liss – I want this. I want to do this for you. I'll give you anything, everything," I said.
God, what is this? I can't believe how much I’ve changed in such a short time. Am I actually begging to get a girl pregnant?
Her reply was simple, honest, and brutal.
"I love you, Clay – but I couldn't have you in my child's life."
18
Alicia
"Liss, you ready to go?" Clay's voice echoed around the giant mansion as I made the finishing touches to my makeup. Over the past week or so, I'd slowly started spending more and more time in his bedroom, and not mine, and now the giant space connected to Clay's room by the Jack and Jill bathroom acted more as an enormous walk-in closet than a bedroom.
Since the uncomfortable revelation about my infertility – a topic I'd never shared with anyone other than my gynecologist – the atmosphere in the mansion had changed. Clay and I still had sex, but it was the desperate fucking of two emotionally charged animals who both wanted to be intimate, but couldn't open up their feelings to one another; rather than the tender lovemaking we'd once shared.
I knew that Clay wanted to give me a child, and I knew he was doing everything to prove to me that he could be responsible, not just a wealthy pop star with a bad boy image. On top of that, I really believed he was trying. Still, I wasn't sure he could just change the lifestyle he'd enjoyed for an entire decade at the drop of a hat.
"Coming!" I called back, dusting the makeup brush over my cheeks one last time. I inspected myself in the mirror and had to admit – I'd done a damn good job.
Mike was trotting us out in front of the cameras in anticipation of launching the short, four-song EP in just over six weeks’ time. He was building buzz he said, and fixing Clay's image in the media, too. Still, the increased urgency with which he'd been pushing these wholesome appearances made me suspicious that things weren't quite going to plan with the label. Maybe I was just projecting concerns from home, but it seemed like he was using us, and really that meant me, as a shield.
Still, I knew how good the EP we had been working so hard on was – and I knew I'd do anything to get it out there.
Today, I was accompanying Clay to an autograph signing at a hospice that took care of terminally ill children. I walked downstairs, satisfied that I'd done everything I could to make myself look suitable for the event. I met Clay in the basement garage and watched him deliberate over which car to take.
"Which one are you driving?" I asked.
He indicated a gunmetal grey, four-door BMW sedan that I hadn't noticed before. "Where was that hiding?"
"I had it delivered a couple of days ago," Clay replied. "This is the first time I've taken it for a spin."
"Looks comfortable," I commented, "but not really your sort of thing…"
"It's the new me, Liss," he quipped back quickly. I felt a little shiver of delight run through me as he said the four letter word ‘Liss’. "Safety first, that's what I've always said."
"Since when have you ever said that?" I replied flatly, fully aware of what he was trying to do.
"Since I realized that my sole purpose in life is to knock you up." He smiled back. The worst bit was that he wasn't even joking – he was deadly serious.
"Clay," I sighed, "I thought we agreed that you weren't ready? Can we drop this?"
"You agreed," he replied, crestfallen, but he didn't bring up the topic again. My wound twisted within me as I watched him climb into the driver's seat of the sedan – all I wanted was to give in, agree to his request. But I knew I couldn't; I knew that even if Clay looked like he had changed, there was no guarantee that he'd stick to his word. In fact, it was almost guaranteed that a man like him would slip back into his old ways. For the sake of myself and the mythical child I was almost certain not never be able to have, I knew I couldn't give in to him, much as I wanted to.
I jumped into the sedan and fired it up. It was the first time he'd driven me with him since the steamy journey back from the Japanese restaurant, and I saw reminders everywhere – even if it was an entirely different car. I crossed my legs and couldn't help but feel a slight prickle of heat between them as I remembered what we'd done to each other.
I expected Clay to roar out of the garage at top speed like he done last time, but he merely put the car into second gear – what was it with him and stick shifts? – and slowly nosed his way out of the concrete basement.
"How come Mike chose a hospice?" I asked, still puzzling over why we were travelling so slowly.
"He didn't," Clay said with the attitude of a man who was being asked a question he'd rather not answer. I wisely dropped it and added the look he gave me to the steadily growing list of things I needed to puzzle out.
We lapsed into a comfortable silence and pulled up at the hospice an hour or so later. I couldn't help but think that the old Clay would have got us there in half the time, even if he’d had to crush a few traffic laws to dust to do it.
"Ready?" he asked, killing the engine and turning to look at me. "You look beautiful, by the way," he said genuinely. I lit up with happiness. I hadn't spent over an hour on my makeup just for the paparazzi. I'd done it for him. Clay never missed an opportunity to compliment me, but every time, he did it with such raw honesty that I knew he wasn't just ticking a list – it was an expression of his love.
"Ready," I agreed. "And you don't look so bad yourself." I wasn't certain, but I could have sworn I saw Clay flush red out of the corner of my eye. By the time I'd turned my head, the illusion – if that's what it was – was gone.
Mike met us at the front door, smartly attired in an open collar midnight blue suit. "Clay, you're early," he said, looking surprised. "You feeling okay? You hate these press events."
"True enough," Clay said easily, "but this isn't a press event, is it? It's for the kids."
"You do know I've invited the media, don't you?" Mike asked dubiously.
A thundercloud passed through Clay's facial expression, but it disappeared almost as soon as it had arrived. I was becoming increasingly impressed at Clay's improving, almost masterful control of his previously fickle emotions. "I do," he affirmed, "but I've decided that we can keep them in the foyer."
Mike sighed and hung his head at Clay's new demand. I sort of empathized with him – after all, it couldn't be easy to manage material talent like Clay Hunt, but then again, what Clay was asking for was, if anything, noble.
"I don't want to have the kids feel pressured into doing anything they don't want to by the photographers. I chose this life, they didn't – and they've got enough problems as it is without me adding to them."
"Clay," Mike groaned, "why do you always have to make my life so difficult? You giving sick kids presents is gold in PR terms. Are you really telling me that you're going to waste a golden opportunity
like this to get your face in the paper for something that isn't crashing a fast car into an office block, or one of your bimbos running to the press?"
"Yup," Clay replied with a big grin, "that's exactly what I'm telling you. Since when do I ever publicize these kind of things more than I absolutely have to, Mike?"
"Since the label started threatening to cut you from the books," Mike muttered blackly to nobody in particular. Clay knew as well as any of us that Mike would eventually acquiesce to his demand, so he simply waited until Mike's little tantrum had passed. And pass it did. "Fine," Mike agreed, kicking out angrily at an errant stone which skipped off down the tarmac road, "but I want something in return."
Clay looked at his manager with interest, and I wondered what he'd say. After all, he was the talent, and he didn't really have to give his manager anything. But either it was the new Clay coming to the fore, or just his long-standing respect for his longtime manager; either way, he nodded and invited the request.
"Shoot."
"A meeting after this with the big dogs at Atlantic. And I want you to be charming, respectful, and not walk out if they ask you something you don't want to answer. If it's really bad, I'll jump in."
"You got it, Mike," Clay agreed disinterestedly. "Now enough of this bureaucratic shit – let's go make some kids’ days. Shall we?" he asked me, sticking out an arm gallantly. I accepted and linked my right arm, tiny by comparison, through his left, and we strode through the front door.
I’d never thought I'd say this, but Clay was great with kids. No, scratch that – he was amazing with kids.
"Where'd the money for all these presents come from? The label?" I asked Mike as we stood at the back of the room, bearing huge smiles like a pair of delighted parents. After all, we weren't the draw – Clay was, and the kids loved him. I was still nobody, and I had no intention of getting in the way just to stroke my ego.
"Atlantic?" Mike laughed, coughing and spluttering into the back of his hand in amusement. "Hell no, that lot are a bunch of vultures. The day they give a red cent to charity is the day pigs fly…"
I watched in amazement as Clay approached a small, wizened twelve-year-old with a small white box held behind his back. "Hey kid," he started gently, so as not to shock the young boy, "it must get pretty boring in here, right?"
The kid nodded, his eyes wide, wet and overwhelmed as he sat only a couple of feet from his idol. His parents looked on with tears of happiness in their eyes. "Gee, I wish there was something I could do to help…" Clay continued in a folksy manner with a broad smile on his face
"Don't worry," the ill little boy replied in a quavering tone of voice, "I'm just glad you came to spend time with me."
"And I'm having a great time, too." Clay smiled. "What's your name, kiddo?"
"Tommy," the boy replied earnestly. "And you're Clay. I love your music!"
"You get to listen to it much?" Clay asked. I'd been to quite a few press events with Clay by now, but this was the first time I'd seen him as engaged.
"Not while I'm here," Tommy replied with an exaggerated frown on his face.
"Hey, maybe there's something I can do about that." Clay smiled. He looked up at Tommy's parents. "Did you ever think about giving Tommy an iPad? I love mine; there's always something to do on it…"
Tommy's eyes lit up, and I almost chuckled at Clay's exaggerated, circus ground acting, but I bit my lip and held it in.
"No," his parents replied, playing along, "we didn't have the money."
"Now that's a damn shame," Clay replied. "You know," he continued, looking down at Tommy, "I think there's something I can do about that."
Tommy clapped his hands together as he finally realized where this was heading. "No way…"
"Yes way, little buddy." Clay smiled, pulling the white Apple box from behind his back.
"It's for me?" Tommy asked excitedly.
"All yours, kid," Clay confirmed.
I turned back to Mike and continued our conversation where it had left off, though I couldn't help but keep one eye trained on Clay as he leaned in and gave the boy a gentle, caring hug.
"So, Apple then?" I asked, looking around at the vast sea of little and large white boxes that Clay had handed out like candy to the kids. "Is it a sponsor thing, like with those car companies?"
"No," Mike said, looking at me seriously, "it's all Clay. He's always done this, ever since his sister…" He trailed off with the guilty look on his face of a man who'd been caught saying something he knew he shouldn't have brought up.
"His sister?" I prompted. The moment Mike raised the topic, I was curious, and from his reaction, I was doubly so.
"Forget I ever said anything," Mike said firmly, leaving me under no illusions that he would ever discuss what he'd just raised. "And Alicia – for your sake, never bring it up with Clay."
I was a little taken aback, but I agreed. Whatever the big secret was, it was not my place to pry.
A tired looking nurse in her fifties entered the room with a sad smile on her face. "Hey, Clay, it's good to see you again. I'm afraid visiting hours are over. We've pushed it as long as we can, but the kids need to get their rest…"
She was quickly drowned out by the sound of disappointed groans coming from kids across the room – and even, I noticed, some of the parents.
"Hey, Claire, good to see you, too." Clay smiled. "It's good to be back." He raised his voice and smiled at the room. "Hey, guys, I'm afraid I have to go – no, don't blame Claire," he said, winking at the nurse. I felt an irrational pang of jealousy flash through me before I shook it off. God, what was I becoming if I couldn't handle competition at a charity event!
"I'll be back in a couple of months, okay?" Clay smiled, turned on his heels, and walked out without another look. Maybe it was just because I spent so much time studying his expressions and generally just watching that gorgeous face of his, but this time, I knew I wasn't mistaken – his eyes were wet with tears. And in my heart I knew why: some of these kids wouldn't be here in a couple of months’ time.
I stood rooted to the spot for a few seconds before Claire ushered me out behind my lover. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that I'd seen a different side to Clay today – and more importantly, I knew that this wasn't just an act for me. It was something he'd been doing for a long time.
The one thing I didn't know was what this meant for us.
19
Clay
Alicia was uncharacteristically quiet on the short drive over to the enormous metal-and-glass-housed downtown offices of Atlantic Records.
"Everything okay?" I inquired softly, not wanting to disturb her. She merely looked at me, smiled, and rested her hand on my leg. We'd fucked like rabbits a hundred times, but this was undoubtedly different. For once, my cock didn't so much as shiver at her touch, as though it knew that this was different – not sexual, but emotional.
I didn't comment, as much as anything because my head was in a state of utter emotional torment. The visit to the hospice had been taxing and had brought painful memories back up to the fore, and now I had this to deal with.
Not, of course, that I felt that I had to deal with Alicia, because nothing could be further from the truth. But I definitely had to deal with a whole raft of feelings that I'd never experienced before – like love, and the fear of loss. Most of all, though, this new, cleaner version of myself had to deal with the question I'd never had to face before – did she like me?
For years, I'd been happy to be seen as nothing more than a philandering playboy, and in that lifestyle it was very easy to gauge what kind of affect I was having on a woman – because it usually ended with her lingerie lying in a heap by my bed. Alicia was different. Of course, we still went at it like animals, but now she had me feeling like a girl, fretting over the meaning of conversations, and looking for signs that might indicate how she really felt about me.
Signs like her resting her hand on my leg…
Surely I couldn't be misinterpreting that? As far as
I was concerned, that was a nailed-on, dead sign that her feelings for me were beginning to extend from just sexual, carnal desire to something more. The question was – did she feel as strongly about me as I undoubtedly did about her? From the moment Alicia revealed to me how broken she felt about her likely infertility, I'd wanted nothing more than to be the one to give her child. But the clock was ticking down to the day her medicine would stop working, and I had no idea whether she'd make her mind up in time.
I knew I had to speed things up, but how?
"Want me to come in?" Alicia murmured quietly, gently stroking my leg as I slowly put the car into a tight space in Atlantic Records' underground parking garage.
"Of course," I agreed without hesitation – baffled that she'd even feel the need to ask. "You’re my partner now. This is as much about you as it is about me."
"Business partner," Alicia corrected me with a glint in her eye. I didn't want to read too much into it, but it seemed hungry, wanting.
"Call it whatever you want," I grinned, "but Mike's my business partner, too, and he didn't wake up in my bed this morning…"
She picked her hand up from my leg, made a fist, and punched me lightly. "Shut up," she said, fixing me with a sharp stare from narrowed eyes. This time, the tender, loving tone in her voice was unmistakable. As she frowned, her lips slightly pouted, her nose scrunched and her cheeks dimpled delightfully. I couldn't resist planting a kiss directly on her mouth. She leaned in and kissed me back softly.
"Come on," I said, unclipping my seatbelt regretfully, "we'd better not keep Fred waiting."
We rode the elevator in silence, and the look of worry on Alicia's face didn't escape me. I knew where she was getting it from, but I felt it too. Mike was waiting at the top as the elevator came gently to a halt and the doors pinged open. His face was wreathed in concern as well, and the overall sense of malaise was quickly taking a toll on my mood.
"What's going on, Mike?"