He dipped his face between my legs, holding my ass in his hands, and he feasted on me. He was a maniac with that tongue, and I flailed on the bed until he stopped, placing his mouth over the tender skin around my balls and cock, then sucked in my length again. I panted and he grinned at me.
“Are you ready?”
I nodded eagerly, and he reached for his pants. From his back pocket, he produced a couple of rubbers, tearing off the corner of one with his teeth. As he rolled it over his rigid dick, he went back to sucking my ass again. When he pulled away and started to enter me, I couldn’t breathe. He grabbed my balls between our mashing bodies as he thrust into me. He released me again and, bracing himself with one arm, stroked my cock in time with his actions.
I’d never wanted anyone so much in my life. I grabbed his ass cheeks, tugging him closer to me. He released me and hovered above me. Suddenly he stopped, deep inside me, and gazed into my eyes. Before I could beg him to keep fucking me, he took off again and I came, hard, my thoughts and feelings a blinding fusion of colors in my mind. He let out a shout and I knew he was coming, too. I raised my head and our mouths met in an ecstatic kiss.
He reached between us to touch my juices that were smeared all over us. “This is better than rolling up coins,” he said. “Much, much better.”
* * * *
I returned to LA with a mixture of heaviness and excitement in my heart. We’d had a wonderful weekend, but I felt our invisible bond breaking before Santos, Angus and I even reached the airport. They were staying in Los Angeles for the week because Santos was working. I hated flying home, but I was working, too. It cheered me up when they suggested I stay at their place while they were away on the weekend. I loved their house and loved the idea of taking care of all four dogs. I wouldn’t feel so lonely there.
“We’ll let your boyfriend know where you are,” Angus said with a sly smile. They kissed and hugged me goodbye and I went back to what I called reality.
I texted Isidoro to let him know I was home safe. No response. He had warned me, but I hated when he pulled away. I wondered if he was working undercover that night and gave him the benefit of the doubt. I raced through my bungalow, pulling together stuff I would need over the next few days and went over to Santos and Angus’ house.
The dogs were all ecstatic to see me. I let them out for one last pee in the garden. I could hear invisible coyotes howling just beyond the confines of the property gates and rushed them all back inside again. All night, I thought about what Isidoro had told me. I tried not to think about him being abducted and tortured again. The thought kept me awake. I had to stop. Millions of men and women got involved with cops and probably went through this. I tried to assure myself he would be safe. I turned on the TV and there was Talen James doing an exercise infomercial. His big, toothy smile must have had an effect on others, because I could see sales figures rocketing on the corner of the screen.
I called him.
“Hey,” he said, picking up my call on the third ring. “You’re back?”
“Yes, I’m back.”
“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night.”
I told him I was watching his infomercial, and he groaned.
“Can you believe it? I got talked into that damned thing and I’m making more money from that stupid little TV appearance than I’ve made in my entire working life.”
I was happy to meet him for dinner the following evening. I thought it would be good PR to keep friendly with him. I also needed the distraction.
* * * *
The next morning, I was back on set at five and found a stunning and attractive dark-haired man waiting for me in the makeup trailer. He introduced himself as Tucker Freeman.
“I’m Ron Random’s personal assistant,” he told me.
Recalling that Ron didn’t work Mondays in order to recover from his weekend booze binges, I wondered why he was here.
“I hate to ask, but is there any chance Ron and I could look at any images you use of him before they go to the media?” he asked. He tried in a diplomatic way to explain that Ron was worried about his appearance.
“That’s no problem at all,” I assured him. “We’ve got some great images and my photographic team is the best.”
“He’s looking a little…rough lately. I’ll be honest, he had a bad blackout Friday and he, um… Well, he’s in bad shape. I’m sure by tomorrow he’ll be fine, but he’s drying out today and he’s having a tough time.”
I bet he was. I could see that Tucker was, as well. I was pretty sure a tanked Ron Random was no fairy picnic and I felt sorry for the guy. He told me within minutes that he was twenty-five—several years younger than me—and fresh out of a triple degree at Harvard. He’d wanted a Hollywood business career and had landed the job with his favorite movie star.
“It’s not all it’s cracked up to be,” he said. Over morning coffee, he recited some of his nightmare experiences. “He changes his mind like the wind. He forgets what we’ve discussed and gets accusatory and nasty. I’ve taken to recording our conversations to protect myself. I’ve also sent emails to him as another way to cover my back, but the only thing he does online is watch porn.”
Tucker seemed especially worried that Ron Random would die on his watch. “He did a Bill Holden on me,” he said, referring to the intoxicated movie legend who fell, hit his head on a bedside table and bled to death. Holden had been dead for days before his body had been discovered.
“He took a fall?” I asked.
“Oh, a bad one. I came in and found him. When I’m not with him I call him every hour and I go check on him, per his management team’s instructions. I’d already been told that in the event of an emergency, I wasn’t allowed to call nine-one-one because it would get into the media. I found him on the living-room floor. He was bleeding, but alive. I couldn’t get hold of any of his crew.” Tucker seemed petrified at the memory.
“What did you do?”
He spread his hands. “I have a friend who’s a doctor and he came over and stitched him up right there on the floor. He billed the management company, of course, but they seemed happy and Ron doesn’t remember any of it. But I’ve been freaked out ever since.” He glanced at his watch. “I have to check in with him in seven minutes.” He bit his lip. “Please don’t tell anyone I told you this stuff, but Catalina said I could talk to you. That you don’t gossip about anybody.”
I’d had some of my own problems with older stars myself in the past, and I realized to a certain extent, Tucker couldn’t talk to anybody else about his situation with Ron. He couldn’t discuss him with his friends because they wouldn’t understand, and would probably think he should feel lucky he was inside Hollywood. And he couldn’t discuss him with people they both worked with because it was inappropriate, but I was safe. I came and went and I would repeat it to nobody. I assured him our conversation was private.
I tried to help him understand that his job wasn’t a death sentence and that he shouldn’t get sucked into Ron Random’s drinking problems. I asked for his résumé, and decided I’d help get him off the sinking booze bottle and into a much better job.
He thanked me. “Everyone said you were a nice guy.”
Later that afternoon, Tucker called me after I’d emailed him a gallery of photos. I was happy to let him and Ron pick an assortment of images for us to work with. No need to tell him the images I’d sent were already approved by the studio.
“These are phenomenal,” he told me. “Ron is very pleased.”
He emailed me the image numbers and added a note, Could we have dinner one night this week?
I didn’t see why not. I had empty nights ahead of me, except for the dogs. I loved working, but my social life had become limited—thanks to my schedule—so dinner sounded fun. Besides, I’d still had no word from Isidoro.
That night, I had dinner with Talen and he was as aggressive about diet and exercise as he’d been on our first date. He picked on all my food choices.
“Chees
e? Are you serious? Do you know what it does to your intestines?” He badgered me about eating crumbled bacon on my spinach salad and acted horrified when I ordered salmon, saying, “You have no idea if it’s been farm-raised or wild-caught.”
“It says wild-caught right here on the menu.”
His eyes took on a crazy expression. “They lie. All restaurants lie.”
I had no response for that. I couldn’t sit in my house and eat mung beans all day. I also didn’t think I could stand another evening with Talen.
Surely this couldn’t be the guy for me? No, the psychic, Lisa Bird, was a cuckoo, I reminded myself. Still…the thought niggled.
Would it be crazy to call and ask her if he could possibly be it?
I begged off more intimate contact with Talen after he became unhinged when I ordered crème brûlée for dessert.
“Do you want to die young?” he demanded. His voice rose a few notches when he shrieked, “Have you had a stress test lately?”
No, but I feel like taking one now… He was a food Nazi and I was a food whore. I hoped Tucker Freeman was going to be a hell of a lot more fun the next night, and went home to walk the dogs. I couldn’t help thinking of Isidoro and wondering if he was okay. I hated thinking of him alone in the dark on a mountaintop. I wanted to be with him. I wanted him to be safe. Happy. I wanted to be the second chance he’d hinted at. I wanted that more than anything else in the world.
Chapter Six
The following evening, Tucker and I met for pre-dinner drinks at Tiki-Ti, a funky bar I’d never heard of on Sunset Boulevard. At Tucker’s suggestion, we ordered a pair of Ooga Boogas. I watched the bartender mix the lethal cocktails with a sense of impending doom and felt grateful that I wasn’t sitting with Talen. I could just imagine him shouting at everybody about calories and sugar and other hidden food bombs.
I was feeling no pain by the time we stumbled down the street for dinner at a hot Peruvian restaurant I’d also never heard of, but sobered up over a tasty, traditional dish of creamy chicken served with papas a la huancaina—potatoes in spicy cheese sauce. I couldn’t bring myself to eat the house specialty, cuy—guinea pig—and it bothered me tremendously to see it arrive with its head intact, mouth open in apparent agony, its little paws stretched out, hanging in the air.
“It’s delicious,” Tucker said. “You should try it.”
I shook my head and turned away. I wasn’t a big fan of staring into the unseeing gaze of things I ate.
“You’re lucky I didn’t order the alpaca,” he said, cutting into the tiny creature on his plate.
After dinner, we walked up to Franklin Avenue and strolled along the tightly packed hodgepodge of music, clothing and vintage boutiques. I was feeling very despondent that Isidoro hadn’t sent a single response to me. I knew he was working and I hated to admit it, but Los Angeles did things to people. It was making me neurotic and untrusting. I hated that feeling. The thing about this city was that the second people moved here they turned flaky and dismissive. I tried to remind myself that he was in Mexico. Not LA. Inside the music store, I flipped through some vinyl as Tucker called Ron Random.
“Hey, Ron, it’s me, Tucker. How you doin’?” A pause. “Tucker. Your assistant.” Another pause. “Tucker Freeman. No. I am not trying to sell you anything. I work for you!”
My cell phone rang, and I was ecstatic to see a text from Isidoro.
Missing you. Thinking of you. Wearing blue underpants because I am sad without you. I. xxoo
Oh, man. And here was I thinking such mean things.
I texted back— I adore blue underpants. Thinking of you, too. A lot. Send me a picture of you. Please. xoxo
I wasn’t too surprised when he didn’t respond.
“Somebody’s making you smile,” Tucker said, coming over to me with an aggrieved air.
I smiled back. It just occurred to me his name started with a T.
“What sign are you?” I asked.
“Leo. A fire sign. You’re into that stuff?”
“No, just curious.” Damn. Another T fire sign guy. They couldn’t both be ‘the one’…and how come the one I wanted didn’t have a T in his name? I’d seen a piece of mail at his house, Isidoro Rolando.
We stopped for coffee at La Poubelle, French for ‘the garbage can’, and I was happy to discover the coffee didn’t taste like it. Tucker’s gaze swiveled everywhere and he went off three different times to talk to other people he claimed to know. He was so Hollywood, and so not my type. I’d never been one to go to all the hot places. In fact, I’d been to more in one night with Tucker than I had in months.
Alone for one very long spell as Tucker stood at the bar annoying two young women who kept exchanging glances, I wondered if I should just leave when my cell phone rang. I checked the readout. It was Isidoro, my hot, hung sex god in his tight blue underpants.
Holy shit!
I saved the picture and returned to waiting for Tucker. When he came back to me, anxiety flickered across his features.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was talking to those two girls at the bar. They run an agency for celebrity assistants. They said they’d keep me in mind for future employment, and as we were chatting, Ron called me. He screamed and said I hadn’t called him all night.”
“But you did. I heard you.”
“And you’d be willing to testify to that if I get into trouble with his management company?”
“Of course.” I could tell he was terrified of his boss. Ron had virtually told him that if Tucker displeased him, he would wreck his career. I was more resolved than ever to get him away from the man.
“Ky,” he said, “I really need to go check on him in person. He sounded damned drunk to me. I can’t stand it. I keep waiting for him to fall over again. He asked me where his Tibetan rug is from the living room. He acts like I stole it, when I had to scour the city to find a cleaner that would deal with the bloodstains from his fall on Friday. It looked like it came from a crime scene. We’re just lucky Ron hit the back of his head and not the front.” He drained his coffee and got to his feet. “I like you. Can we have dinner again soon?”
“Sure.”
We walked back to our vehicles and I returned home, studying my picture of Isidoro again. I wished he was here. I didn’t care what the psychic had said. I liked him. I really, really liked him.
I got into bed and studied the beautiful Isidoro in his underpants at my leisure.
He was spectacular. I enlarged the photo as much as possible and got a very good look at his treasure trail which peeked over the edge of his tiny underpants. He seemed to be standing in a grassy area and I hated to think of him sleeping rough out in a forest somewhere.
I took a photo of myself lying in bed stark naked. I’d never been one for selfies, especially the naked kind, but just thinking about him got me hard so the photo came out all right. I sent it off, not expecting his immediate response. The one I got, however, made my day. He was in close up, his mouth a wide O, and his eyes bugging out. It made me laugh and I drifted to sleep dreaming of lying in a hammock with him in a big expanse of waist-length grass somewhere with a cock crowing and waves rolling in the background.
* * * *
Santos and Angus came home on Friday night from their trip full of excitement. I picked them up at the airport, taking all the dogs with me, because I knew they’d missed them.
“This is from Isidoro,” Angus said, hugging me and kissing me on the lips.
“Did you see much of him?”
“A little.” His glance was evasive.
Dang. And I’d been lucky to get text messages.
“We’ve got some exciting news,” Santos said. “Should we tell him or show him?”
“Show him!” Angus said, his smile threatening to split his face. They were all fired up about something. We headed home and they told me to detour to one of the canyon roads off Woodrow Wilson. On Lulu Glen Drive, we stopped outside a s
tunning, two-story white house perched on the hill with wonderful views of the area called Mount Olympus. On a clear day, you’d be able to see all the way down to the ocean.
“What do you think?” Santos asked, jumping out of the car.
Before I could respond, he started fumbling with a lock box to the left of the entrance. It turned out to be one property, divided in two. We let the dogs out of the back and they came inside with us as we inspected all the rooms. The place was huge.
“We’ve been thinking. This is a duplex. We each take half. That way you have one half, we have the other. The puppies can be together all the time. It’s even got a garden and a pool and best of all, there’s tons of room and we can be together all the time, too!” Angus said.
I had to admit, the idea was alluring. I had to work it out moneywise, but the distressed seller was having a terrible time financially and was doing a short sale. According to the debt consolidation expert advising him, we could work it so that he could get up to thirty-five thousand dollars cash instead of a foreclosure, and we’d have a fantastic new home.
Phantom panted at me. I could tell he liked the place. Geez, I damn well liked it, too.
* * * *
The next two weeks flew by and I juggled dates with Talen and Tucker, never venturing into more than goodnight hugs and the occasional quick kiss. I liked them both, but I didn’t crave either of them. I thought about Isidoro and tried hard not to feel hurt that he stayed in touch only sporadically. Santos and Angus went back to Tijuana and wanted me to go, too, but I couldn’t bear the idea of being there and not seeing Isidoro. And besides, it wasn’t like he’d been hunting me down. No. It was much better to stay home and face the inevitable. I liked Santos’ stirring words. I liked Isidoro’s stirring action in the sheets even more. Maybe I should go.
“You’re making a mistake if you don’t,” Santos said. “He will be very hurt if you don’t come. I’m sure he thinks you will be there.”
About You Page 8