Connie Bailey - Insert Here

by Connie Bailey

“Like a Swiss watch.”

  “What?”

  “What what?”

  “It sounded like you asked me if I’d like a

  Swiss watch.”

  Spanish laughed. “I was trying to say that I

  like your plan.”

  “Righteous. I’ll be in meetings all day tomorrow, but as soon as the last one’s over, I’m all yours, okay? This is going to be fun.”

  Fun , Spanish thought as the limo pulled away from the loading/unloading zone. Nothing wrong with a little fun. He should just ride this wave until he wiped out and not overthink it.

  As he said good night to the driver, it struck him that Jason had never asked him to keep this affair a secret—but then again, it went without saying, a universal unwritten rule of star-fucking. It couldn’t be that Jason liked him so much that he was willing to take risks to see him.

  Simmer down , he told himself as he tossed his overnight bag into the closet. What he needed to do was get some sleep so he’d be fresh for work tomorrow. He didn’t need to unpack tonight or lay awake playing guessing games about the nature of Jason Forrester’s feelings for him. The bag remained in the closet until morning, but his thoughts were less inclined to cooperate. He finally drifted off while wondering if he was the sort of person who was never satisfied with what he had.

  “LOOKat you!” Speltz greeted Spanish as they got

  out of their cars at the filming location. “You’re practically glowing.”

  “Fuck off, Win.” “I’m serious. You look like my oldest did when she was knocked up. You taking vitamin shots or something?”

  “No more than usual.” “Well, you look great. Don’t let that schmuck put too much makeup on you.”

  “Scrink doesn’t tell me how to do my job,” Spanish said as they walked into the rented McMansion. “And I don’t tell him how to do his.”

  “Ha! He wouldn’t know which end of a woman was up.”

  “He’s good at what he does, and he has lots of experience. I think we’re lucky to have him. And it was really nice of him to come back for the reshoot.”

  “When did you turn into Pollyanna?” “Pollyanna?”

  “Yeah, you’re all sweetness and light today.

  What gives?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m always a nice boy.” “I don’t know about that, but you’re always a good boy.” Speltz stopped in the atrium where the halls branched off. “Man, I can’t believe we have to shoot this again. If I find out who deleted this scene, I’m gonna—”

  “I’m sure it was an accident.” “Well, the jackass should own up, is all I’m saying.”

  “They’re probably too scared of you.”

  “They damned well better be.”

  “Let’s just put that behind us and get this done, okay?”

  “Yeah, you’re right. It’s spilled milk now. Hey, you got plans this evening?”

  “Nope, no plans ’til Friday night. What’d you

  have in mind?”

  “If I can talk the crew into overtime, we

  could wrap this thing up tonight.”

  “Are you serious? We could be done filming tonight?”

  “If we bust our butts.” “Consider mine busted. I am so ready to be done with this one.”

  “I knew I could count on you.” Speltz patted Spanish’s shoulder. “Say, bubie, would you talk to Amanda and anybody else you can think of? Let ’em know you’re staying and see what they think about it.”

  “If you want me to help you talk people into staying, just say so.”

  “I want you to help me talk people into staying.”

  “No problem. I’d better go see Scrink now. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  “See you on set.” Speltz smiled. “Hey, say hi to Forrester for me the next time you see him.”

  “As if,” Spanish said as he walked away. After removing his clothes in a downstairs bedroom, he put on a bathrobe and went to find Scrink.

  “Hello, gorgeous,” Scrink said as Spanish entered the bedroom where the makeup artist had set up. “Park that luscious ass right here and let’s get started.” He patted the seat of a chair near a folding table covered with the tools of Scrink’s trade.

  Spanish eyed the blond wig on its stand with loathing. “Win says we might wrap tonight.” “Oh honey, from your lips to the ears of Saint Bette.”

  “I never want to see that wig again,” Spanish

  said as he sat down. “Isn’t there anything that can

  keep my scalp from itching?”

  “Botox might work.”

  “No thanks.”

  “So dish,” Scrink said as he applied a light

  base coat all over Spanish’s face. “You look fantastic, so I’m assuming you’re in L U V.” “Nope.”

  “Odd, I’m hardly ever wrong about this.” Scrink picked up an eyeliner pencil. “Have you seen Jason again?”

  “We’ve gone out a couple of times.”

  “A couple of times!”

  “It’s not that big a deal.”

  “The hell it isn’t, and you know I’m right. Don’t sit there like you don’t know it’s a very big deal.”

  “Come on, Scrink. It’s just a couple of booty calls for him.”

  “Just getting called back is major in this town.”

  “I’m trying not to get overly optimistic, if you know what I mean.” “I swear to Barbra, Spanish! If you let Jason Forrester get away because you’re scared of pissing off the gods, I’ll staple that wig to your head.”

  “I’m just playing it cool. If I act too needy—” Scrink slapped Spanish in the face with the wig. “Stop acting. Just be yourself with him and follow your heart.”

  “Okay, Miss Yoda. Shit!” Spanish made a sputtering noise. “Yuck. I’ve got synthetic hair in my teeth. I feel like I just gave head to a Muppet.”

  “Mess with the bull and get the horns.” Scrink pulled the wig back into shape. “Hold still now while I get this muskrat glued to your head.”

  Spanish watched in the mirror as Scrink stood behind him adjusting the wig. “Jason’s hair doesn’t look like this anymore,” he said when Scrink went to work with hairspray and a comb. “He looks more like a swimmer than a surfer now, if you know what I mean.”

  “I like his new hair. Up ’til now, he’s had versions of high school boy hairstyles. You know what I’m talking about, girl. The surfer boy. The hipster boy. The nerd boy. Ooh! He’s so hot in glasses! Wish he didn’t wear contacts all the time now.”

  “He had LASIK.” “Too bad. But maybe someday he’ll do a movie where his character wears glasses, and I can indulge my naughty professor fantasies.”

  Spanish smiled at Scrink in the mirror. “What are you doing after this one wraps?” he asked, changing the subject.

  “One of my homegirls is a finalist to compete o n RuPaul’s Drag Race . I’m going to help Miss Thing get her act together so she can blow the judges away. If Donmina makes it onto the show, I’m going with her.”

  “Sounds like fun.” “Sounds like a barrel of bitches to me, but you take glamour where you can find it. By the way, I saw David Connelly, aka Rod O’Steel, at Maui Mike’s last night, and he asked about you.”

  “If you see him again, tell him I said hi.” Spanish slipped David’s name into a mental file. When Jason dropped him, David would definitely be on his “to call” list. For some reason, the thought of having firecracker David in reserve was no comfort at all.

  “Amanda’s here,” the assistant director said as he passed the makeup room door.

  “Almost done here,” Scrink called back. “Send her in.”

  “Thanks for making me look good,” Spanish said as he stood up.

  “Introduce me to Jason someday and we’ll call it even.” “I’ll see what I can do.” Spanish turned and almost bumped into Amanda. “Hey, hotness,” he said. “Ready to wrap this thing up?”

  “Did Win ask you to talk to me?” Amanda asked.
r />   “Yes, he did.”

  “He’s such a noodge.” Amanda smiled.

  “Gawd. He’s got me talking like him.”

  “He does grow on you.”

  “So does mold,” Scrink interjected.

  Amanda laughed. “You’re a hoot and a half. Now let’s see what you can do with these sausages under my eyes.”

  “Oy!” Scrink said. “Break out the Preparation H.”

  “Looks like someone’s been a bad girl,” Spanish said, hanging in the doorway.

  “Claro Streets opened a new club last night. Where were you?”

  “Um, I took a mini-vacay to San Diego.” “San Diego? What the hell for?”

  “Um, did I say San Diego? I mean Palm

  Springs.”

  “Whatever. You missed a rockin’ good time. Claro deejayed and, in between, The Skid Marx played.” Scrink laughed. “Didn’t you love it when Sarinda Marriott jumped up on stage and attempted to dance? I thought I was going to laugh myself sober when she fell on her bony ass.”

  “Heiresses can’t dance and that’s God’s honest truth,” Amanda said. “Someone needs to get that girl a biscuit like yesterday. Her damn legs look like swizzle sticks.” She glanced away from the mirror to meet Spanish’s eye. “How does a man look at something like that and think he wants to get a piece of it?”

  “You’re asking the wrong guy.” “But if you did fuck her, wouldn’t you be afraid something was going to break off of her?”

  “And on that note, I’ll say so long for now.” Spanish shook his head. “Thanks for the mental image, babe.”

  “Tell me I’m wrong,” Amanda said.

  “I’m telling you to shut up and sit still,” Scrink said. “Unless you want to look like Tammy Faye Bakker.”

  “That’s a sucky porn name. What’s she been in?” Amanda asked.

  Scrink sighed. “Never mind.” He waved to Spanish. “See you later, satyr.”

  “She’s right,” Spanish said over his shoulder. “You’re a hoot and half.”

  On the way to the set, Spanish congratulated himself. Once again he’d managed to keep his ongoing affair with Jason low profile. It was cool that a couple of people knew they were still seeing each other, but uncharacteristically, he didn’t feel like bragging about it. He felt as though he knew a Jason Forrester that no one else had access to, and he liked having this secret. Exposing it to the scrutiny of others would change it.

  “Hey, bubie, how are your legs?” Speltz called out as Spanish walked into the master bedroom. “I’m in the mood for a standing fuck.”

  “I can handle it. Have you told Amanda about the change?”

  “Oh, so you’re palsy-walsy with her too now?”

  “Chill, Win. Everything’s fine. There’s no conspiracy of niceness descending on you.”

  “So what did she say about working late?”

  Spanish shrugged. “I’ll do my best to make her want to stay, okay?”

  “I’d appreciate it. You know what I love about having a gay leading man?”

  “What?” “I never have to worry about you snaking my squeeze.”

  “You’re a shrewd one. So where do you want me to fuck her?”

  Speltz started to point and then turned back to stare at Spanish. “That was irony, right?” “I’m pretty sure it was.”

  “Anyway.” Speltz swung around to face the room again. “That dresser,” he said. “Start with her facing the dresser and then turn her around.

  Move to the wall so the drawer pulls don’t poke her in the back and pick her up, rikhtik?” “Got it.” Spanish walked over to tap the dresser with his knuckles. Putting his shoulder against it, he pushed. “Seems solid enough,” he said.

  “Great.” Speltz looked around to see who was within earshot. “The grosses on Forrester’s French wine movie are setting records. It’s the rom-com of the summer. I don’t mind telling you, we’re going to make a fucking mint. And believe you me, I won’t forget the people who made it happen.”

  “I wouldn’t mind putting a chunk in my savings account.”

  “It’s in the bag, bubie.” Speltz turned at the sound of Amanda’s voice and signaled to his assistant. “Let’s put this baby to bed,” he said as the assistant called everyone to the set.

  Spanish took off his robe and waited for Amanda. “You look hot,” he said as she got rid of her fluffy pink robe.

  “I feel hot! And totally energized. I say we nail this scene in one.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Around eleven thirty, Speltz called it a wrap and the crew started packing up the more expensive equipment. Spanish got dressed while reading the note Scrink had pinned to his shirt. After calling and leaving a message that he wouldn’t be able to join Scrink and Donmina Thing for cocktails, he joined Speltz and Amanda at the liquor table.

  “Snort?” Speltz said, holding up a vodka bottle.

  “No thanks. I’ve got shopping to do.” “Ooh, shopping,” Amanda said. “What are you going shopping for?”

  “Groceries mainly, maybe some new sheets.”

  “Sounds like you’re having a special guest for the weekend.”

  “Hey, when should we have the wrap party?” Speltz broke in.

  “Not this weekend,” Spanish said. “As Amanda cleverly deduced, I have plans.” “Yeah? Punch it once for me.” Speltz winked.

  “I’ll talk to Fawn and call you about the party.” “Cool. See you kids around.”

  Spanish drove to the Trader Joe’s nearest his

  place and stocked up for the weekend, sparing no expense. He intended to pamper Jason the way Jason had been pampering him, and money simply wasn’t an object. However, after filling two carts, he admitted he might be going a little overboard. There was only so much food they could eat in three nights and two days. And he planned on spending quite a bit of that time in bed.

  “THEPacific is so much nicer than the Atlantic,”

  Spanish said as he gazed out at the waves. It was a perfect Sunday afternoon. He was replete with good food, wine, and sex, and the world had caught his languid, euphoric mood. The breeze was soft and balmy. The sand had cooled to a pleasant temperature under his bare feet. Even the constant, squeaky-wheel crying of the gulls was sweetened by the fact that Jason walked at his side.

  “What’s wrong with the Atlantic? I always heard Florida beaches were beautiful.”

  “On the Gulf side the water is gorgeous, but on the east coast… not so much.”

  “Come on. Everyone wants to go to Florida.” “Well, it isn’t mandatory until you’re over sixty, and I like California better.”

  “I like it here too. A lot better than Virginia,” Jason said, glancing at the boardwalk. “Venice is nice. Nobody gives a crap that we’re holding hands.”

  “And there are a lot of hot guys walking around in next to nothing.”

  “Are there? I hadn’t noticed.”

  Spanish leaned to kiss Jason’s cheek and when he faced forward again, his eyes widened. Walking toward them was a group of three, and he recognized the one in the middle. Openly gay, squeaky-clean TV sitcom star Barry Hogan lived —famously—a few blocks away in the cottage he’d grown up in. Spanish had attended a couple of Barry’s small garden parties, but it wasn’t his scene—all these boyish gay men standing around the barbecue grill in khakis drinking light beers and talking about whether or not to adopt from Romania or who to vote for in the city council election to insure property taxes didn’t go up. There was nothing wrong with that, but they were all a little too earnest for Spanish. They weren’t happy unless they were making a difference or shattering stereotypes. He was all for equality, but he really didn’t see what he could do that would affect a problem as large and pervasive as America’s negative perception of gay people in general.

  “Hey,” he said brightly, nudging Jason’s shoulder with his. “Let’s duck into the soda shop.” “Let’s duck into the soda shop?” Jason mimicked. “Why, Betty? Do you think Archie and Jughead
are inside?”

  “No, I just want a milkshake.” Spanish started up the steps to the boardwalk. “And for your information, if we were Betty and Veronica, I’d clearly be Veronica. I know you haven’t passed a mirror recently, so I’ll kindly remind you that you’re the blond.”

  “Assface. And since when do you drink milkshakes? You watch your figure like a woman three days away from her wedding.”

  “Well, I want one now.”

  “Then let’s go a little farther down to the Oceanwalk Café so I can get an espresso.” “They have coffee here. Come on.” “What the fuck?” Jason pulled his hand free of Spanish’s hold. “You’re acting weird.”

  “Just because I want a milkshake?”

  “No, because I get the feeling you’re trying to get me out of sight.” Jason peered up and down the beach. “Who is it?”

  “Who is what?”

  “You’re obviously ashamed for someone to

  see you with me. Who is it?”

  “I’m not ashamed of you!” Spanish blurted

  out. “It’s the exact opposite. I thought you wouldn’t

  want someone who knows you seeing you with

  me.”

  “If this person is gay, I don’t see how it can

  matter. We’d both have something to lose by

  blowing the whistle.”

  “Barry is out already.”

  Jason looked down the beach again. “Barry

  Hogan? Yeah, I remember when he got married to

  that regular guy contractor dude.”

  “Barry’s pretty much a regular guy. If he

  didn’t have such a great sense of style, you’d never

  suspect he was gay.”

  “You wouldn’t have to. He’d tell you.” Jason

  cupped a hand around his mouth. “Hey, Hogan!

  Over here!”

  “What are you doing?” Spanish asked.

  “Seeing if the boys in the yard want milkshakes too.” Spanish shook his head, smiling fondly at Jason as Barry Hogan and his friends walked over to join them. Not once did Jason act as if Spanish was anything less than a cherished friend, and gradually Spanish relaxed enough to join the conversation. They spent the next couple of hours drinking coffee and eating ice cream while gossiping about people they knew in common. The sun was setting when Spanish and Jason finally started their walk back to Spanish’s house.