by Jay Lygon
He smiled at me. “Sam. Thanks for coming. Have a seat. I hope you don’t mind. I already ordered your coffee.”
Great. Polite and professional. No obligatory peck on the cheek. I was going to get dumped. Wait a second. I already dumped him. My forehead furrowed. What was this all about? Did he have mail to hand over to me? Did he want his house key back?
We sat down. He rubbed his hands along his thighs.
While my brain worked furiously to figure out what was going on, I sipped my coffee. He’d sweetened it perfectly.
“Thanks for coming.”
He’d already said that.
“Before you go…”
Was I going? I’d just arrived.
“Before you leave, please hear me out, Sam. I have something important I need to tell you.”
He was going to sue me for back rent for all those months I lived with him for free? He was going to make me take over payments on my motorcycle? He’d plowed under my garden and built a hot tub? What?
“Sam, I know I really screwed up. After you left--” He winced, as if a sharp pain stuck in his ribs. “I realized that I’d never really worked on my jealousy. I got good at masking it. I learned not to hit you. But it was always there. I didn't think that any therapy could have ever helped. I could talk about it, but there wasn’t really any hope for a cure.”
Oh, so it was the ‘It’s not you, it’s me’ speech. Except wasn’t it a little late for that?
“Yesterday, at Ophir’s, I was livid when he was flogging you. Jealousy ate at my gut. I was punching the couch in that little room. I wanted to throttle you and beat Ophir senseless. But I’d given Ophir my word that I wouldn’t leave that room until he asked you a question about an offer, and I had to wait to hear your answer. So I bided my time. You can probably imagine how crazed I was.”
I nodded. Where was he going with all that?
“Then he asked you if you wanted to go to his bed. I saw how hard you were. I stopped pacing and listened. As soon as you answered, I figured I was free from my promise to Ophir. But as I stood there watching you, I knew before you said a word what you were going to say. Not the exact words, of course. But I was thinking, ‘Poor Ophir. He doesn’t realize it, but Sam’s going to shoot him down. I’ve seen it a thousand times before, a million times, and that’s exactly the look on Sam’s face when he’s trying to think of a polite way of saying no.’” Hector leaned over the table, his eyes alive with excitement I didn’t understand. “And then you turned him down. And I was free to go. I was halfway down the stairs when it finally came clear. I could see it, Sam. Finally. Like being hit by a lightning bolt. I’ve seen you turn down every offer from every man, because you don’t cheat. You’re completely faithful to me. Or you were. Always. You were never tempted to cheat. It wasn’t you. It was my imagination!” He sat back in his chair, triumphant. He was so proud of himself.
What? He thought he was telling me something I didn’t know? Was I supposed to applaud that? I didn’t think it was a huge news flash.
His smile faded a little. “You don’t understand what that means?”
“The way I see it, it means nothing has changed.”
That came out wrong. What I meant was that I always knew I was innocent, and that I was glad he'd finally caught on. But as I worked through those words in my head so that they wouldn’t come out wrong again, he rose, knocking over the table. I lunged for the coffee cups. Hot coffee spilled over my hand. I turned around to explain what I meant to say, but Hector was already gone.
Chapter 16
Sundance was my kind of film festival. The line between studio films and independent ones was blurring, but most of the movies I screened still had that unidentifiable something that studio films could never seem to capture.
A fresh coat of powdery snow had fallen on the old mining town of Park City the day before I arrived, and little of it had melted away. It seemed like the perfect garnish to the Victorian storefronts. Near the ski resort the buildings were newer, but downtown was, as much as I hated the word, quaint. Even picturesque. I tried like hell to avoid using either term in my blog entries.
The energy in the town was incredible, and it hit my blood like a triple espresso. It was almost impossible to get to sleep the first night, and I woke far too early the following morning, but I wasn’t tired. On edge, I thought I’d go downstairs for a jog.
The hotel gym was a large, stark room with a couple treadmills, some stair climbers, a rack of free weights, and an incredibly complicated weight machine. There were TV screens on the walls, all of them tuned to cable news. I couldn’t find a remote anywhere to change it.
About a mile into my workout, a woman came into the gym. She puttered around for a bit. Two guys wandered in. I cranked up the speed on the treadmill and set into a good jogging pace. It felt great to put all that bottled-up tension into my legs. Breathe in, breathe out. I put on my headphones and set my iPod to my running music list.
While I didn’t face the door, I was aware when more people came into the gym, because they sent off vibes. Some of it was lust, but there was a lot of curiosity, too. Who knew that so many people cruised gyms early in the morning? And what had them so keyed up? Maybe they were trying to figure out that weight machine.
The news looped again. Apparently there was nothing new in the world to report, because I’d seen every story at least five times. No one was on the treadmill next to mine, which seemed odd considering how many souls I sensed in the gym. Expectation flowed off them. It made me tense. Sweat slicked my chest and my hair stuck to my face. I went into warm-down, slowing the treadmill little by little until I walked the last mile My heart rate dropped into a good zone. I got off the treadmill and took off my headphones.
There wasn’t any noise from the other gym equipment. I seemed to be the only person huffing. A bad feeling crept up my back. I took a swig of my water and turned around, dreading what I sensed waited for me.
A fucking audience! No one was working out. They sat on the equipment and stared at me. Damn it to hell. A woman lifted her mobile phone. She had to be kidding. I probably looked like shit. I lifted my shirt to wipe sweat off my face.
“Whoo-hoo! Flaunt it, baby!” Her phone beeped as she took a picture.
Swallowing every choice word that sprung to my lips, I grabbed my towel. Several of the men stood. I could feel their expectation roiling. The bastards were hoping to watch me shower.
“Are you the guy that Harris Smith punched?” the woman with the camera phone asked.
“No.” I knew what she meant, but didn’t feel like correcting her. What I did feel like was zapping the memory card in her phone, but I didn’t.
***
By the time I showered and dressed in my hotel room, I’d calmed down. Coffee. I needed coffee. Then everything would be right with the world.
I took the tram into town. The sun struggled to rise over the mountains as it cast a cold glow in the sky. I got off the tram and ambled down the sidewalk to a coffee house. Inside, the rich scent of fresh-brewed coffee enveloped me.
“Just what the doctor ordered, isn’t it?” the woman in line in front of me said as she caught me inhaling deeply. She was one of those mom types, an earth goddess.
“Right now, it smells like heaven.” I grinned at her. “Are you here for the festival, or skiing?”
“A little of both.”
We shuffled forward in the line. “What films are you planning to see?” I asked. That was the question everyone asked everyone else during festivals. My small talk skills needed some work, and women like her were usually a pleasure to talk to.
She laughed. “Oh, honey, I don’t waste time in the theaters. I’m here for the scene. It’s not often that all these stars are running around where I can see them. Yesterday, I passed by this nice-looking young man and thought, why, he looks like Harris Smith, and then I realized it was him!”
My smile froze in place.
“He seems like a nice guy, real d
own to earth despite what the tabloids said. Is he?” She put her hand on my arm. “You dated him, right?” She leaned close. “Is he as good of a fuck as he seems?”
***
A guy walking past me on the sidewalk did a double take and spun around. “Hey, Sam!”
I turned my face into the collar of my jacket, but he grabbed me in one of those stiff armed pat-pat-pat embraces. “I didn’t know you were here!”
I grinned in relief when I recognized him. We’d met at a party in Silverlake a couple years back when he was a student filmmaker. We ran into each other occasionally at parties. “Hey! It’s been a long time!” I said.
He mock-punched my arm. “Big important film critic, huh?”
Straight boys and their bonding rituals. I tried not to roll my eyes. “Hardly.”
He glanced down the street. “I hate to be one of those guys, but…” He shoved a flyer into my hand. “We’re trying to get people to come see our film. I know you’re busy, but man, it would mean a lot to us if we had an audience.”
I glanced over the flyer. “What time?”
“Now. I mean, we’re supposed to start in twenty minutes, and the only people who showed up either worked on the film or are sleeping with someone who did.” He glanced at his watch. “Fifteen minutes now.”
I folded the flyer and slipped it into my back pocket. “Okay, I’ll see your film, but not if I have to sleep with you.”
His face went blank, and then he cracked up. “It’s a deal.” He was still laughing when I headed for the theater.
***
I walked past the theater twice before a tiny black woman yoo-hooed to me from across the street. “Are you looking for the screening?” she asked.
I ambled over. “Yes, ma’am, I am.”
“It’s cleverly disguised as this empty storefront. Come on in.”
My phone vibrated on my hip. “Give me a second to answer this.”
“You better not use that as an excuse to slip away.” She gave me a hard look.
“I’ll be right in. I swear. Cross my heart.” I even made the motion.
She waved off my flirtatious smile. “Go on.”
I took a couple steps down the sidewalk before I answered. “Hi.”
“Sam, It’s Hector. Please don’t hang up. I know you’re angry, but now that you’ve had a couple days to think over what I said at the coffee shop, I thought maybe you’d be willing to talk to me.”
My stomach did little flippy flops. Or maybe it was my heart. I couldn’t pick just one emotion that I was feeling. Most of them didn’t make any sense together. I glanced down the street. A pack of people in ski parkas crossing at the far corner pointed at me.
“I’m about to go into a screening,” I told Hector.
“When do you get back in town?”
The group headed my way, still pointing. I heard one of them say my name. They started walking faster.
“I really can’t talk right now,” I told him.
“I understand.” He hung up.
I walked in a circle. Hector didn’t understand anything, because I was always saying the wrong thing. Shit. Shit. Shit. When I looked up, the group was standing a couple feet away, watching me.
“Ask him,” a woman in the group whispered as she nudged her friend with her elbow.
“Yeah, the movie is right here,” I said. I gestured to the storefront door.
The group glanced around at each other while trying not to meet my eyes.
“Well, come on. You can’t expect them to hold the start forever,” I said. I knew they weren’t there to see the film, but damn it, if they wanted something from me, they had to give something back. Using a touch of God magic, I herded them inside before they had a chance to think. Whether they stayed through the whole screening or not was up to them, but I hoped guilt would keep them in their seats.
Finding their screening suddenly with a real audience, the cast and crew raced through a charmingly bumbled intro, flipped off the lights, and started the film. The joy and hope flowing off them made my night.
***
Day four of Sundance, people ran across the street, dodging cars, as they called out my name. Every time a flash went off, I spun around, expecting to see Alberto smirking. He was smart enough to stay out of sight, even though I could feel his unwanted presence. I think I was scowling in every picture people took.
Feeling like a total cliché, I bought a pair of dark sunglasses and a cowboy hat. Damn if it didn’t seem to work, at least for most of the day. When the sun went down, though, the sunglasses had to come off, and people went back to pointing.
After a party that night, three giggling, twenty-something girls followed me from downtown to my hotel. I tried to make the elevator doors close in their faces, but one stuck her arm in the door, and I didn’t have the heart to hurt her, so I let them in with me.
“Hi! You’re, like, that famous guy, right?” the tall one asked.
I shook my head.
“Of course you are!” the brunette said. “We’re actresses.”
“Oh.” What was I supposed to say? ‘Congratulations, you’ve been discovered! Let me introduce you to all my casting agent friends!’ I didn’t think so.
“You’re cute,” the brunette said as she stepped closer.
“I’m gay.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “That doesn’t bother me.” Her fingers brushed against my shirt and walked up my chest. I tried to melt into the wall.
“Gay? That’s what they all say,” the third girl snickered as she grabbed my cock. “Ooh, baby! You really are packing.”
Holy Hannah. When did girls get so aggressive? I was all for desire and open sexuality, but not when it inspired panic instead of lust, and definitely not when strangers helped themselves to my body.
I twisted away from her. “I’m not joking, ladies. I’m sure you’re very nice, and I wish you the best of luck in your careers, but whatever you have in mind, I’m not interested. And stop feeling me up!” I smacked a manicured hand away.
“Come on! Don’t be such a meanie. Let’s party! What floor is your room on?”
I realized that I hadn’t hit the button for my floor. We weren’t moving. I didn’t dare let them know where my room was, so I reached around the blonde and pushed the button for the lobby. The doors opened. I dodged around the girls in a desperate run for the safety of the front desk. Laughing sharply, they grabbed my cowboy hat. I escaped with my virtue intact. It felt like a fair trade.
***
I was average. Average height, average weight, average age, with medium brown hair and the most unremarkable face I could summon to cover myself. No one looked twice, or even once, at me as I ambled around Park City. It was bliss. After the assault in the elevator, I almost had a panic attack at the thought of heading into town. Desperate times called for desperate measures, so I came up with my disguise. It took a ton of God power to maintain, but some prices were worth paying.
In the back corner of a bustling café, I sat alone at a table near the kitchen. Refills on my drink were hard to come by as my terse waitress kept forgetting me, but perversely, I enjoyed it. She even brought me the wrong sandwich. When I dared to complain, she drew up in cold disdain and insisted that’s what I’d ordered. Her unspoken command was that I take what I was given and like it, or else. I wondered for a moment if Deal had a sister.
A shopping bag smacked me in the head as two couples took the table next to me. The woman didn’t apologize. If anything, she seemed annoyed at me for daring to take space she wanted for all her shopping.
“Did I tell you I got a picture of Jennifer Aniston the other day?” the bitchy woman asked her friends.
“Well, I saw Harris Smith,” the other friend said.
Why did spotting a celebrity make anyone more important? I never understood that. Okay, so I was eavesdropping, and that was bad manners, but the bitch kept slamming her purse into my leg. Besides, they were talking really loudly.
> “Did you get Harris’ picture?” the bitch demanded.
“No,” her friend admitted.
The bitch waved her hands around, almost smacking me. “So it doesn’t count. I also got a picture of that Sam Downey. Look.” She dug through her bag and brought out her camera.
“Dewey, you idiot. He’s like a porn star or something. Look at that bulge. I hear he’s got like fourteen inches or something,” her friend said.
I choked on my mouthful of sandwich. I’d never put a ruler beside my cock, but fourteen inches? No way. A hard on that big could make a guy pass out.
One of the guys grabbed the camera away from her and looked at the screen. “That faggot? He wouldn’t know what to do with four inches.”