And suddenly there he was.
It wasn't her. It wasn't Melissa or any other young woman. It was him. At first Todd thought his eyes were failing. He just looked so… so small. He came racing around a corner, sliding on the oak floor in white athletic socks as if this weren't some huge mansion and he weren't one of the most well known stars in the whole universe. Wearing faded blue jeans, a white T-shirt, and an untucked and unbuttoned denim shirt, Tim Chase just looked like he was in any old home and he was just any old regular guy. No, wait. Hell, thought Todd. Look at that smile. Those teeth. That electrifying grin that could and had charmed gazillions, both male and female.
“Thanks for letting him in, Vic,” he said to Mr. Muscle. And then approaching Todd, he held out his hand. “Hi, I'm Tim Chase.”
Much later, Todd would kick himself for not saying something like, No shit. Or, Gee, I thought you were John Travolta. Or, And I'm Bill Clinton.
Instead he was barely able to mumble, “Nice to meet you. I'm Todd Mills.”
When their hands met in a formal handshake, Todd was surprised by more than a couple of things. First, he was surprised at how short and fast his own breathing had become. Second, he was impressed by the firmness of Tim Chase's grasp, how he squeezed Todd's hand so hard, so very guylike. Third and most important, the eyes. Oh, my God, thought Todd. What gorgeous brown eyes. And they were looking right at him. No, he realized, they were peering deep into him, fishing for some kind of truth, and Todd was staring right back. It lasted for just a second or two, but it was a moment much too long. Simultaneously and inexplicably, Todd's stomach tightened and his heart seemed to skip a beat. And it scared the hell out of Todd, that rush, that jolt. He knew what that was—his “gaydar” flashing “alert, alert.” It was, however, more profound than a simple feeling or a mere sense. It was in fact a physical reaction. Holy shit.
The star asked, “Are you hungry?”
Todd just stared at him.
“God, why do I have this effect on people?” He lifted his right hand in front of Todd's face and snapped his fingers. “Sushi? Do you like sushi?”
Effect? No, thought Todd. He doesn't understand just what he's exuding.
Todd cleared his throat, forced himself to say, “Sushi's great.”
“Vic,” he said, turning to the large man, who still stood on the edge of the living room. “Would you mind playing meals on wheels again?”
“Of course.”
“Get the same combination plate you did last night, okay? Oh, and their eel's great, so get some extra.”
“Extra pickled ginger too?”
“That's my man.”
As Vic left the room, Chase turned back to Todd, and said, “And here you've still got your coat on. Vic's almost perfect, but he's never been to butler camp.”
Slipping off his leather jacket, Todd couldn't help but grin.
“Oh, this is nice. Very soft,” said Chase as he took Todd's coat and carefully laid it on the back of one of the sofas. “Who would have thought you could get good sushi in the Midwest, huh? I mean, when I grew up in Milwaukee the exotic foods were chili and Reuben sandwiches.”
“Just like it was in Chicago.”
“You from there? Great place. Lots of fun.”
Todd shrugged and didn't know why he said it, why he would divulge anything so quickly. “Yeah, but too many memories, and not enough of ’em good.”
“Hey, that's exactly how I feel about Milwaukee.” He took a deep breath and then sighed. “Some hard shit, I'll tell you that much.”
He was talking family dirt. Divorce. Poverty. His mother's treatment and his taking all the jobs. Todd had read all about the hard times of Tim Chase, the stuff that made him tough and resilient, the stuff that made for good publicity copy And there it now was, lying both on the surface of his soul and the surface of their conversation. Todd didn't know why, but it suddenly struck him that he liked this guy. He just seemed very real.
“So Melissa made me promise I'd get the formal stuff right on the table,” continued Chase with one of those smiles that could disarm a nuclear warhead. “Namely, all this tonight is completely off the record. Nothing recorded, nothing quoted. No stories repeated. This is just a chance, you know, to talk. A chance for us to get to know each other.”
“Sure,” replied Todd, at the same time wondering why in the world Tim Chase would want to get to know him.
“And then… then we'll see.”
“She won't be here tonight?”
“Melissa? No.”
“What about an assistant or…”
“I can take care of myself, if that's what you mean, and they sure as hell know it. I mean, after all, I do pay them.”
“Sorry, I just didn't know what to expect. She didn't really tell me.”
“That's my Melissa, Miss Control herself.” Tim rubbed his hands together, and said, “How about something to drink? A beer? Some wine?”
“Wine would be great.”
“Come on.”
Tim turned, spinning quickly on his stocking feet, and starting off. As Todd followed him from the living room and back through the entry, Todd thought, yes, this guy is gorgeous. Actually, more cute than gorgeous, with that perfect brown hair that flopped about, that smile that glowed. He was a real star; Todd felt that, already sensed that he was in the presence of one. He was normal size, not larger than life. Actually about the same height as Todd. And he was a bit stockier than Todd had imagined. But he looked to be in perfect shape, the shoulders broad and muscular, the legs in those tight jeans strong and athletic.
“How about this joint, huh?” said Tim as he led the way into the dining room. “We're renting it from some cosmetics queen and she's got it all dolled up.”
“It's huge.”
“No shit. I had to use my cell phone to find Gwen a couple of hours ago,” he said with an easy laugh. “She was in the den.”
“I heard there was a swimming pool in the basement. Is that true?”
“Yep. All tiled and everything. And there's a billiard room up here. You like pool?”
“Sure.”
“Good, we'll shoot some.”
The dining room was a tad more intimate, a smaller room with a long wooden table for a crowd, a carved plaster ceiling, another stolen marble fireplace, and a Venetian chandelier that had blue and pink baubles protruding every which way. From there they passed into a breakfast room with a tiled floor and lots of leaded glass windows; Todd easily imagined the robber baron who'd built this place taking his morning coffee out here. And then they turned left into an enormous modern kitchen that stretched all the way along the side of the house.
Immediately a small voice shouted, “Daddy!”
“Jack!”
Clutching the remnants of a chocolate chip cookie, a young boy, perhaps no older than three, came charging across the white floor. Tim scooped him up and kissed him on the neck.
“How's my best boy?”
“Good!”
“Well, there you are,” said a woman who stood at the sink, her goldish-brown hair put up in a lazy bun. “He wants to say good night.”
This was his boy, Todd understood. And that was his wife. That beautiful young woman in the jeans and oversized sweatshirt was the Gwen Owens. When he'd seen her accepting her Oscar her hair had been professionally done, her makeup perfectly applied, and she'd worn a designer gown that had made her look like a goddess, but there was no mistaking her pale complexion, her small mouth, and the gentle eyes. Standing at the sink like any ordinary slob, that was she, one of the hottest female stars in moviedom. And here they both were, Tim and Gwen, the legendary couple.
Looking past her, Todd saw a trim, handsome woman with the short brown hair sitting on the countertop. So who was she?
“Well, it's that time, is it, little man?” said Chase, hugging his son. “Give me a big kiss and a big hug. I'll see you in the morning. I love you.”
“Love you too,” replied the boy.
“Gwen, this is Todd Mills. Todd, this is my wife, Gwen Owens. She came out for a while so I wouldn't get lonely—and to keep me out of trouble.”
“And this,” said Gwen, gesturing to the attractive young woman, “is the lovely Maggie, my—”
Tim cut in, saying, “Todd's a reporter for a local TV station.”
“Oh, is that right?” she said with a broad smile and without missing a beat. “Well, as I was saying, this is Maggie, our lovely nanny.”
Todd said, “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise,” replied Maggie, grinning from where she sat.
Our lovely nanny? Had something just happened here? A warning telegraphed?
“Come on, pumpkin,” beckoned Gwen, walking over and lifting her young son from Tim's arms. “Time to hit the hay.” She leaned forward and pecked Tim on the cheek. “I love you, sweetheart.”
“Ditto,” he said, returning the kiss.
“Nice to meet you, Todd.” With a wink, she added, “Now, don't keep him up too late. He's got to be on the set at six tomorrow morning. And God knows it's hard for anyone, male or female, to look beautiful at that hour.”
With her son in her arms, Gwen headed toward the back of the kitchen and presumably another staircase. Just as Gwen passed Maggie, her young son began twisting and squirming.
“I want my other mommy too!”
“Oh, don't worry, she's coming,” assured Gwen.
Todd stood perfectly still, sucking it all in, trying to comprehend what was really going on in this household. He glanced at Gwen, who didn't seem the least bit fazed by the child's words, and then Todd watched as Maggie hopped off the counter and followed after them. When he looked over at Tim, however, he saw the other man looking straight at him.
“Kids,” said Chase. “Maggie's been with us since the day he was born. She travels everywhere with us too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, and she's been a real lifesaver.”
So Maggie probably was like a second mom to the boy. Or was she really? Could little Jack have two mommies? After all, children were not only remarkably perceptive, they were also naturally honest, brutally so.
Tim said, “What do you want, white or red?”
“Red if you've got it.”
“By the case.” Chase reached into a cabinet and pulled out two large wineglasses. “Actually, I'll open a bottle of Jack's wine.”
“Your son has his own label?”
“No. Jack as in Jack Nicholson. We named our boy after him— he's his godfather too. And Jack Nicholson has a vineyard he thinks is the greatest on earth, which isn't surprising since he thinks he's the greatest piece of shit on earth. And maybe he is. Anyway, he sends us a couple of cases of his wine every year for Christmas, and it's actually pretty good.”
“Oh.”
Like what was Todd supposed to say, how was he supposed to keep up with that kind of casual talk? Tell him that two years ago he got a Butterball turkey from the station manager?
Todd watched his every move, judged his every word, from the way he pulled a bottle from the cabinet and opened it with ease, to the toast he made to their good health. It was weird, there was no doubt about it. It was as if he'd walked through a door and was having a totally normal conversation with Michael Jackson and that he found him just a regular old guy. But that's in fact how Tim Chase appeared. Normal. It was that sense of ease that so many journalists had written about, that nice guy quality that sort of couldn't help but come through the dazzling smile. Or was that all a facade? This guy was an actor. He was a professional at creating illusion. And that was what acting was all about, the craft and art of making people believe that what they were seeing was the absolute truth.
“Come on, let's go shoot some pool,” said Chase, touching Todd on the elbow. “Say, I bet you're wondering why we selected you of all the local journalists for a possible interview”
“Well, that thought had crossed my mind.”
“I'll be perfectly frank, it's because you're gay.”
21
Standing in the back hall, his muscular body pressed against a line of coats hanging from hooks, the bald man listened to their conversation. No, thought Vic, he didn't like this, not one bit. Gwen wasn't too bad, but Tim always said too much. Always. Which made Vic's own job that much more difficult.
Now that Gwen and Maggie and the boy had gone the other way down the hall and up the back staircase, he could move closer. He had, from years of Tai Chi, fine control of every muscle, and he silently inched around some boots, past an umbrella, around a nylon parka, and right up to the edge of the kitchen door. No, he thought, there was no way they knew he was back here. No way at all.
He heard the pop of a wine bottle, the clinking of glasses. And he heard Tim turning on the charm, per usual. A real master at that, no doubt about it. But it made Vic nervous as hell. He didn't think there was any way this Todd Mills could know anything. Maybe he suspected, perhaps he just wondered. But this wasn't good, not by any means, having someone from the media lurking here inside the house.
Listening to every word of their chatter, he then discerned them heading off to play pool. Well, he thought, there was nothing to do now. Whatever happened was out of his control.
And hoping no damage would be done before he returned with the sushi, he turned down the narrow hall and started for the garage.
22
Carrying the bottle of wine as well as his glass, Tim led Todd through the living room and into the billiard room, which was of course a chamber of grand proportions with the same soaring ceiling. Two huge leaded glass windows filled one of the walls, while on the others hung random antelope and deer heads, a six-foot-long rattlesnake skin, and a pair of long-horns, all trophies of when men were men. Squarely planted in the middle, with a brass light fixture hanging low over it, was a Victorian billiard table, a huge thing crafted of carved mahogany. Its surface was covered with a field of rich green felt, and from the six pockets hung woven leather pouches. This was a gentleman's room, a manly man's place to discuss money and hunting and port. And tonight, the mysteries of sexuality.
Todd sipped his wine as he leaned against the edge of the billiard table, then couldn't stop himself from saying, “Gee, and here I was hoping your people had contacted me because of my talents and abilities as a journalist, not because of my sexual orientation.”
“Please, don't be offended.”
“For being gay?”
“No,” replied Chase looking at him with an oddly seductive grin, “for my wanting to use you.”
What the hell did he mean by that? It gave Todd a start, not only the way Tim Chase said it, but also the way his eyes kept scanning Todd. Was double entendre the second language of this household?
Determined not to lose his own ground, Todd said, “I'm afraid you're going to have to be a little more specific.”
“What I mean is that I wanted to meet with and talk to a successful gay person from the Midwest. Everybody and their brother at a studio fiddles with a script, but it's me that has his neck on the line. They're a bunch of West Coast people—and granted, a whole lot of them are homosexual—but it's me who's going to have to convince an audience not only that I'm gay, but that I'm from here.”
“Oh, so I'm research.”
“In so many words, sure.”
“But why? You're from the Midwest.” Did he, Todd wondered, dare? “But I can see your concern. After all, there've been all those nasty little rumors, haven't there? I mean, isn't everyone curious if you are in fact gay?”
“Ohhh, aren't you the direct one? And, yes, that's been the sixty-four thousand dollar question: Where does Tim Chase put his cock?” he said with a laugh. “Good God, I'll never live it down, just like Richard Gere will never live down that apocryphal pesky rodent story.”
“Yeah, he probably won't.”
“Do you know why they put Princess Di on the cover of so many issues of People magazine? Because those issues always sold millions.
And do you know why all the tabloids put Tim Chase and his love life on the cover? Because those issues always sell out. Which leads me to the second reason I wanted to meet with you. For this movie I'd like ultimately to be interviewed by someone who's gay. I want to meet the doubters head on so that they can see there's no conspiracy of silence.”
So how the hell was Todd supposed to understand all this… this babble, this elongated non-answer? In a roundabout way was he saying no, he wasn't gay, or was he just successfully evading the question?
Tim led Todd to a wooden wall rack and they chose their weapons, the finest of long straight cues. At his host's insistence, Todd racked up the balls into a tight triangle, and then broke them, sinking a striped ball. Tim followed, making a difficult shot into a side pocket, then missing a second one. They played on, alternating turns and sipping Jack Nicholson wine.
And it was Todd, who by personality as well as by profession returned to risqu? waters, asking, “So what do you want to know about a gay man in the Midwest?”
Tim completed a shot, sinking a solid in a corner pocket, and replied in a near-businesslike way, “I want to know about your work, how long you've been at the present station and what kind of stories you usually cover. I want to know what it's like being openly gay at work… and how long you've been out. And I want to know if you're out to your parents, and of course all about your love life.”
“Well…”
Todd went through it all, answering each of his questions in detail. He started with his college years, telling Chase all about his dear love and dear friend Janice, who also turned out to be queer. He talked about being in the closet, about marrying Karen, then being terrified that viewers would find out and his career would be flushed down the toilet. And he talked about doing tricks on the side, wherever, however he could get them. And then Michael and Rawlins.
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