Personal Demons

by Jay Lygon

  My brain couldn’t seem to get around what I’d just heard. Hector never apologized. And he’d called me Baby.

  His big brown eyes seemed tired and weighted by worry. “Please forgive me.” He shook.

  Gods, I could be so slow sometimes. There I was, off in my little fantasy world again, thinking only about what I wanted, when right in front of me, Hector was falling apart. Was I always so blind to the obvious? Maybe I was that selfish. I pulled on the ropes binding me. They wouldn’t move. I had to get out.

  I tried to lift my arms. Damn ropes. I tugged until it dawned on me that I was being stupid again. Using my powers, I made them drop to the floor so that I could invite him into my arms.

  Hector collapsed against my chest, shuddering. He wrapped his arms tightly around me. “I promise I will never treat you that way again. Just give me one more chance. Please, Sam. Please.”

  My hands rubbed soothing circles over his back as I pressed my lips to the top of his head. “Okay. One more chance.”

  “You’d come back to me?”

  “I already have. The only thing keeping us apart was the jealousy, Hector. I believe you when you say you’ve conquered it. That’s all I wanted. It was all I needed. Now let me give you what you want. I forgive you.”

  He searched my face as if he didn’t dare believe what I’d said. Doubt ebbed and flowed over him, but gradually, hope and belief pushed it aside. He saw that I meant it. He started to cry again.

  “But you better watch your ass.”

  “I swear I’ll be good.” He tried to smile, but didn’t have enough control over his mouth to make it stay. He wiped his eyes.

  Even though I was happy, and I was sure he was, too, it felt as if our hearts were breaking. The mood was too intense for me to bear any longer. “That’s a good boy. Now go pour me a whiskey and bring me a cigar.”

  Hector laughed as he smacked my butt. “Smartass.” He hugged me again, inhaling deeply as he pressed his face to my neck. “I’ve missed you so much, Baby.”

  Serious, I told him, “I’m sorry I left you.”

  He shook his head. “Never say that, Sam. It was the smartest thing you ever did, for you, for me, for us.”

  Chapter 18

  While the make-up lady fussed with my hair in the production trailer at the Golden Globes, my producer assured me that they’d feed me information on the actors and actresses through my headset, so I didn’t have to worry about forgetting a name.

  About ten minutes before we were supposed to start, I was escorted to my position on the red carpet. Even though I had the producer talking in my ear, it felt like just me and the cameraman. Sensing that I was terrified, my burly cameraman cracked corny jokes. He was sweet enough not to say anything mean about my kilt, though.

  A few flashes went off, but for the most part the paparazzi ignored us. Deal must have had Alberto under control. The photographers’ focus, and ours, was the end of the red carpet. We were under a glass covering that they had to put up in case it rained. Through it, I could see a bunch of fans in rain ponchos standing in bleachers behind police barricades.

  I leaned over, trying to see why nothing was happening.

  “They hold the limos until the broadcast starts,” my producer said.

  I nodded. I bounced on the tips of my toes. I tried not to think of the reward Hector had promised if I managed to get through the night without stuttering, because the only thing I wore under my kilt was a metal cock ring, and if I dwelt too much on that very enticing reward, the front of my kilt was going to give my thoughts away. I tested my microphone again. I’m sure my producer came very close to telling me to take a Ritalin.

  Then, suddenly, there were people walking up the carpet. I wasn’t stationed at a prime spot like the network people were, but at least I wasn’t stuck with the local media. My cameraman signaled that the camera was on. In my ear, the producer calmly counted down, “We’re live, in four, three, two, one.”

  My mouth went dry and my mind went blank at the same time. A jolt of heat seared across my ass cheek. Papi was reminding me to be a good boy, or else. That made me smile. And then, suddenly, I was on. That professional side of me roared into control.

  I did a smooth three-line intro of myself and the show, turned to look down the red carpet, and saw an actress I sort of knew walking my way. She stopped to chat with me. Small talk, really, but with that edge of knowing that hundreds of thousands of people were listening in. I think I kissed her cheek. I might have even said something nice about her dress. A million pictures were taken. Then she moved on, and another actor was slowly walking up, timing his arrival for the actress’ departure. Thank the Gods they knew what they were doing. It helped a lot.

  For an adrenaline junkie like me, hosting a red carpet show before the Golden Globes was a dream come true. Stupid me, I'd never thought about the upside. It was like the rush of being at a press junket, only a thousand times more intense. By the time everyone was inside the hotel ballroom and we’d cut to commercial, I was almost sad it was over.

  My cameraman lowered the camera off his shoulder and gave me a thumb’s up. The night wasn’t over for us. We had to go backstage to film all the winners, but my time on camera was pretty much over.

  The producer shook my hand. “You almost had me worried for a moment there, but George was right about you. You know your stuff. Good job.”

  George called. He said all kinds of things, his words rushing over each other in a race to get out. “And you said you weren’t good on camera! Naughty boy. We’re getting all kinds of calls about you already. Hold on. Lyle wants to talk to you.”

  “Excellent job, Sam. We here at Park Avenue Magazine are proud of you,” Lyle said. I swore the man was a talking piece of wood.

  George must have taken back the phone, because he came on again. “See? Better get ready for the Academy Awards, Sam. Oh! And we have to talk about the possibility of a syndicated film review show. The buzz around you is sensational!”

  Maybe Deal didn’t have as much control over Alberto as I thought. Or, worse, maybe she'd told him to do it. I gulped. She always wanted to control another God’s power. Maybe handing her dominion over the God of Fame wasn’t such a great idea after all.

  I thanked them all for their kind words and support, but honestly, it was the goose under my kilt from an invisible hand that made me smile in relief. Hollywood people were notorious for making nice face to face, but I knew I could trust Hector to tell me the truth.

  Epilogue

  “Boy!” Hector bellowed from our bedroom.

  I peeked around the entryway into the kitchen to see him wearing a towel around his waist. “Sir?”

  “Don’t you dare try the big blue eyes routine on me. You’re supposed to be getting dressed for the party, but the clothes I laid out for you are still on the--”

  Pushing the sleeves of my tight t-shirt above my forearms, I stepped into the living room.

  Hector shifted from stern poppa into prowler mode as he sauntered closer. “Somebody went shopping.”

  “I call it my highland muscle-boy look. Is it okay?” I glanced down at my casual, black utility kilt and black leather work boots. “You know how hopeless I am about fashion. But they were selling them at a booth at the Pride Festival and they looked comfortable, and…” Suddenly, I was really self-conscious. What had I been thinking? “I’ll change.”

  Hector grasped my arm as I tried to pass him. He yanked me close. “Don’t you dare.”

  Shivers went down my spine. I rubbed my hand over the beard I’d decided to grow a couple days back. “Maybe I should shave.”

  He dragged me down the hallway. Maybe he wanted to shave me. He did that sometimes. But we went past the bathroom and were almost to our bedroom when he trapped me against the wall between his arms. His groin ground against mine as he gently nipped at my neck above the collar. “Scruffy looks good on you, Baby.”

  Maybe the kilt was a good idea after all. I lifted my chin as his teeth
worked up my neck.

  By the time he got to my mouth, he was getting rough.

  Panting, I broke away from his kiss. “I told everyone to be here at eleven o’clock, sharp. You should get dressed.”

  “Not yet, Boy.”

  “I don’t mind you walking around in a towel all afternoon. It’s up to you, but--”

  The doorbell rang.

  Thank the Gods for prompt guests. I gave Hector a quick kiss and escaped to go answer the door.

  ***

  Angelena’s girlfriend Shelia, Joey, Ophir’s three boys, and Harris played basketball on the driveway while Angelena and I watched from the sidelines. I wanted to play, but not in a kilt.

  Across the lawn, Hector lorded over the grill. It was his birthday, so I didn’t dare suggest he let me do it. Ophir and Deal sat at a table near my herb garden and talked. Alberto sat in the shade under the table, panting.

  It was Deal’s fault for indulging the little beast. Alberto wanted to be her puppy, so there he was in a black rubber doggy suit, including a face mask, paws, and a tail that wouldn’t stop wagging even as he whimpered to reach his water dish. Apparently, Deal liked everyone to know that her puppy was a boy dog, because the butt plug tail he was wagging so enthusiastically had an extension that pulled his balls up where no one could miss them.

  Hector bent down and patted Alberto’s head. “Who’s a good doggie?” he asked in a silly voice. Alberto jumped at Hector and wagged his tail even harder. Hector filled Alberto’s water dish with a beer and moved it close so Alberto could lap noisily from it.

  “Deal should have that mutt neutered,” I said.

  Joey paused as he dribbled past me. “How long are you going to hold that grudge against him, Sam?”

  “As long as I still enjoy it.”

  Angelena caught the ball when it bounced out of bounds and tossed it to Sheila. “You have to admit, since Deal took control over him, he’s been much better. I think he was lonely and didn’t know how to be--” She shot a glance at the humans around us. “He didn’t know how to fit in here. So he went about it the wrong way, but Sam, it’s been a couple years now. Let it go. The rest of us have.”

  I couldn’t believe she’d take Alberto’s side. “Except that the brat doesn’t get the hint! Every time he tries to kiss up to me, I get even more famous. First I got that TV show, then that little independent film Deal and I produced won Sundance,” I whispered to her.

  “And you had nothing to do with your own success?”

  “Maybe I did,” I grumbled.

  Truthfully, Deal had Alberto so under her thumb that I doubted he’d dare use his powers without her permission, but she’d been a co-producer on our film, and since she was my agent, she’d get a cut from my TV show, so she had every reason to make sure my fame grew. The problem was that I could never be sure how much was my success and how much was from her manipulation.

  Angelena tousled my hair. “Most people would think you’re ungrateful, Sam. Admit it. A little fame isn’t so terrible.”

  My forehead furrowed as I glared at Alberto. “Yeah, he’s not so terrible, as long as he’s kept under strict control. And bound. And gagged. And whipped regularly,” I said.

  Joey made a wild shot that flew into Alberto’s back yard. After he ran to retrieve the ball, Harris squeezed his arm and walked off the driveway. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to rest for a while. Sam, do you have a moment?”

  Joey made frantic gestures with his head, indicating that he wanted me to talk to Harris, so I said, “Sure,” and followed Harris into the house.

  Harris got a beer out of the fridge and twisted the top off. He took a long sip. “Nice and cold.”

  I got a beer for myself. “So, what’s up?”

  He looked down at his shoes. “I heard a rumor that Joseph Dudeka turned you down when you asked him to direct the film you’re producing.”

  “Good news travels fast in this town.”

  “You’ve been a good friend the past couple years, Sam. You saw me through that whole bad breakup with Chuck. And, I don’t know, you have the weirdest friends, but every time I come over here, I feel like I belong.” He choked the neck of his beer bottle. “I don’t want to mess up our friendship. Real friends are so hard to find in this town.”

  I leaned against the counter by the sink. “You want to direct my next film.”

  He looked startled.

  “Joey mentioned it to me.”

  Harris was suddenly, but charmingly, shy. “I’m a member of the Director’s Guild already. I’ve worked closely with the directors of my past two films. Sam, I know I’m not a great actor. I’m good, but not great, and I look the part of an action hero. If I’m lucky, I’ll still get leading roles ten years from now, but I can’t count on that. It’s even iffier with me being openly gay. You know how fickle fame is.”

  I hid my chuckle behind a faked coughing fit. Even though Deal controlled him, Alberto still flirted shamelessly with everyone. It was his nature.

  Harris’ forehead wrinkled as he frowned. “No one in this town takes me seriously. I’m just another actor who wants to direct. You know I’m not just a pretty face, though, don’t you? I mean, look at you, you’re hot, and people treat you like you’re some kind of airhead, but you’re not. I’m not either. You’ve known me long enough to see that, right? All I ask is that you consider me for the job. Either way, we’ll still be friends.”

  “Deal and I already talked it over. Joseph Dudeka passed because of the budget.”

  “This isn’t about money, Sam.”

  I raised my hands. “Okay. I just wanted to be upfront with you about that. We were lucky to get distribution for our first film because of how well it did at Sundance, but that doesn’t mean this one will get picked up.”

  Grinning, he nodded.

  “The pay is lousy, there’s no guarantee, even if you do a good job, that anyone will ever see your work, and did you see the five-inch, metal, spiked heels on the leather boots Deal is wearing today? If you cross her, she will crush your balls with them. Just so we’re clear on that.”

  He nodded harder. “Got it.”

  I put my beer on the counter and extended my hand. “Then you got yourself a job.”

  “No! Really?” He launched himself into my arms. “Thank you, man.”

  Hector opened the kitchen door and scowled at us. “Boy, I’ve been calling for you. The meat is done. I need the platter. And bring me a cold soda while you’re at it.” He looked Harris over. “Sam offer you the job?”

  Harris still had his arm around my shoulders. “Yes!”

  “You boys are going to be working together a lot, then. I guess it’s time we added an office onto the house for Sam. I don’t need you two underfoot all day long.” Hector shot me a stern look. “Boy, if I have to tell you again to bring out the platter for the meat, I don’t care how many guests we have in the house, I’m going to paddle that ass. Now get moving.”

  “It’s the kilt. He’s been dying to get under it all afternoon,” I told Harris.

  “Boy!” Hector bellowed. He tried to look menacing, but I saw laughter in his eyes.

  I winked at Harris. “Coming, Sir.”

  ***

  The whipped cream frosting on Hector’s birthday cake was melting by the time I put it into the fridge. Ophir’s boys had made a cleaning sweep through the house, so there wasn’t a whole lot for me to do once our guests left. I took a deep breath and headed into the living room.

  It used to be that when I felt like sex, which was all the time, I wanted it right away. My libido hadn’t cooled much, but over the past couple years I had learned that stretching out the seduction was its own sweet slice of agony. The longer I made it last, the more intense the release. And oh, man, did Hector ever enjoy that little game.

  Wearing the kilt around Hector was like putting a pot on simmer. Pretending I wasn’t interested in getting my ass pounded was like cranking it up to high. He couldn’t resist that ch
allenge. The problem was that I needed him on simmer for just a while longer, but he kept after me, so I had to turn him down, which only turned him on more… It was a vicious cycle that could only end in sweaty, frantic sex. Or at least I hoped it would. But not yet.

  Hector sat in his poppa chair. “Everyone ran off early. Usually they’re here until the wee hours of the morning. It’s only two o’clock.”

  I clasped my hands behind my back and lowered my gaze. “I asked them to be gone by now, Sir.”

  Hector’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Just as well.” He grabbed my wrist and grinned as he pulled me close. His hands slid up the back of my thighs. When he felt underwear, he frowned.