So there it was, the fog of deceit had lifted, exposing that very vulnerable truth, and he replied, “Of course.”
Todd rubbed Tim's back, tried to pass from his flesh through Tim's some of the strength, some of the wisdom, and some of the pride that Todd was still discovering day after day. Yes, whatever label he chose to wear, Tim Chase, America's hunk and idol, and one of the top-grossing actors in the world, was by no means straight, his lips having just betrayed the secret that Hollywood moguls and public relations firms had worked so hard to conceal.
His words all but a whisper into Tim's ear, Todd asked, “Does your wife care?”
“Off the record?”
“Yes, you fool, of course.”
Softly, easily, and without pretense, Tim said, “Gwen's gay too. Maggie's her partner, not our nanny. They've been together for nine years, longer than we've been married.”
“No shit?”
“Yeah.”
Stripped of his image, Tim fell completely into Todd's arms, just an ordinary person full of passion, desperate for touch, hungry for love. Todd tilted his head back as the firm lips came up his neck, over his chin, to his mouth. Yes, Todd realized, he very well might leap off a cliff for this guy.
“You know,” whispered Tim in Todd's ear, “I've been looking for someone like you.”
Most definitely, Todd could tumble real hard, real fast.
So there it was, Tim and Gwen, America's leading husband and wife actors, were nothing less than a queen and dyke. They obviously loved each other very much, just as they were devoted to their little boy. Tim was also obviously quite fond of Maggie, and this whole situation seemed to work quite well for all of them. It was, quite simply, a logical solution to a horribly complicated situation.
Unable to rein in his eternal curiosity, Todd asked, “What about your son? Are you his biological father?”
“Absolutely.”
“So you've been to bed with her?’
“Gwen?” he laughed. “Oh, God no. She wouldn't have me, and I couldn't get it up for her. We love each other, but we just don't work like that. That's a turkey baster baby.”
“Are you serious?”
“Of course. We had a doctor do it and everything, but…” He then took Todd's right hand and placed it on his own swollen crotch. “Enough of that stuff. Now, come on, let's go finish our wine on the patio and then… then see what happens.”
Todd knew where this was going to lead, just as he knew there was no turning back, not now, not tonight, and so he waited while the actor fetched their glasses, then silently followed Tim through the grand hall and down the staircase. A few long and divinely tense moments later they entered the tiled pool room. Tonight Tim didn't turn on the brass sconces surrounding the pool, but instead lit three fat candles next to the whirlpool. And tonight he didn't pull shut the blinds covering the French doors that led outside, but rather threw open the doors. He next picked up his glass of wine, then turned to Todd and in the faint light smiled simply and easily. Taking three steps, he was next to Todd, kissing him on the neck and taking him by the hand.
“Come on, let's go outside.”
“But aren't you worried, aren't you…”
“Shh. It's okay,” said Tim kissing him one more time. “I mean, it's not okay, but I can only take it so much.”
“On your scale it must be awful.”
He shrugged. “It's a decision I made, and now I'm pretty much used to it, but every now and then I just got to get out and be myself. Come on.”
When Todd felt Tim's lips nibbling his ear he realized that he could easily follow him anywhere. And do anything.
It was cool outside. And dark. The dry fall leaves rustled overhead in a gentle wind, and Todd peered up at the sky and saw a sprinkling of stars emerging as the evening faded into night. Standing on the slate patio that was surrounded by a low stone wall, Todd sipped his wine and looked out over the backyard, which fell away, cascading down a hill that was covered with a jungle of bushes.
“I spend so much of my time inside and behind closed windows just so people won't see me,” said Tim in a giddy, almost nervous voice, “that sometimes it…it makes me go absolutely nuts!”
Todd turned around to see him frantically going after the buttons of his shirt and ripping them open. Seconds later he yanked off his shirt and threw it high overhead. The next instant he grabbed at his belt buckle and pulled it away, unfastened his pants and ripped down the zipper. He hopped around as he pulled off his pants and his socks, then stood there in white boxer shorts. Todd glanced across the yard, wondered if anyone was lurking out there.
“Tim, aren't you a little worried that—”
“Anyone out there?” he shouted with a whoop. “This is your chance to see Tim Chase buck naked!”
“But—”
“Don't worry,” he said out of the corner of his mouth, “anybody snaps a picture of me and I'll sue ’em!”
With that he grabbed at his underwear, yanked it down, and kicked it away. Standing straight up, he clenched his fists and stretched them to the sky, then, as if he were running in place, did a little dance and whooped yet again. Stripped and exposed, the superstar then ran over to the low stone wall, jumped up, and ran along the top of it, laughing and yelping.
“Here I am, anyone wanna see? Come and get it, fresh Chase, fresh Tim Chase!”
Todd, holding his wineglass, stood there as Tim came charging along the stone wall and all but threw himself against Todd. With little choice, Todd tossed his nearly full glass over the wall and into the grass and grabbed Tim, who atop the wall stood a good foot and a half above him. Unable to stop himself, Todd wrapped his arms around the top of Tim's thighs and buried his face into the smooth, hard chest. How was he supposed to resist? Better yet, wouldn't he be a fool if he did?
“I'm glad we met,” said Tim, bending forward and kissing Todd on the crown of his head. “You seem very real to me.”
Rubbing his face deep into Tim's chest and running a hand up his ass, Todd mumbled, “Yeah, well, you don't.” Seemingly out of nowhere, Todd asked, “Let me ask you this, what do you do for sex? I mean, how does someone so famous, so recognizable get… get…”
“Laid?”
“Well, yeah.”
“That's Victor's department. He always finds me the best.”
“Like Andrew?”
“Well, aren't you the nosy one?” He laughed, then lunged forward, smashing his crotch against Todd's clothed chest. “Enough of your questions, alright?”
“Sure.”
Todd kissed him on the stomach, then stood back up and kissed him on one nipple, next the other.
“Come on,” said Tim, pulling slightly away. “Let's go inside and finish what we started last night.”
Thinking he heard something off in the bushes, Todd glanced around, then replied, “Sure.”
Todd didn't put up the least bit of resistance as Tim, naked and taunting, took Todd by the hand and led him across the patio and through the open French doors. As they entered the candlelit pool room, Todd's heart began to beat in nervous anticipation. He reached out for Tim and pulled him right against him, and they kissed, long and hard and deep. Firmly and slowly, Todd ran his hand up and down Tim's muscular back, and Tim grabbed Todd's shirt, pulled at it, popping away three buttons, and then reaching inside and desperately waving his hand over the hair on Todd's chest.
“I want you,” whispered Tim. “And I hope you want me too.”
“Absolutely.” Trying to express his last bit of hesitation, Todd said, “It's just…”
“Shh. You're with me now, so relax, just relax, and forget about that other guy, okay?”
The next instant Tim spun away, trotting across the tile decking and to a stack of towels. In the dim light, Todd watched as he reached into the subtle folds of terry cloth and pulled out something black.
Holding out a mask, Tim said, “Here, I want you to put this on.”
“What?”
&nb
sp; “Please? Just put it on and let me do everything. Let me undress you, let me take you all the way.
It wasn't a Halloween disguise, a black mask with slits cut for the eyes. No, it was a black blindfold with an elastic band.
“Are you sure?” said Todd.
“Absolutely. It'll heighten all your other senses, particularly your sense of touch. Here, let me do it.”
“Well…”
Todd lowered his head slightly and let Tim slip it on, placing the mask over his eyes and the band around the back of his head. In an instant, the soft light disappeared and Todd tumbled into a world of darkness. Blindly reaching out, he groped for Tim's arm.
“Okay, now what?”
“Just let me do it all.”
Vulnerable and helpless, Todd stood there as Tim started kissing his neck as lightly as a manic butterfly. An instant later he sensed one of Chase's meaty hands painfully flutter across his crotch. Blindfolded though he was, Todd saw it all in the darkness of his mind's eye, and he rode that vibrant image, that wild ride of lust, seeing but not seeing, witnessing but not, as Tim Chase, naked and stoked to the max, hovered all over and around him. It was more than Todd could bear, and he naturally reached up, begging to stroke the body and the tool lingering just inches before him.
Firmly pushing his hand away, Chase, his voice deep and dark, said, “You can't do anything—I'm in charge.”
As unbearable as it was, Todd simply stood there as Tim slowly peeled the last of his shirt from his body, dropping it on the floor. And then he let himself be led along, followed deeper into this black charade.
“Where are—”
“Sh. Just do as I say—sit down.”
Blindly complying, Todd let Tim lower him to the floor, where he sat on a long cushion. Tim then pushed him back, forcing him to lie, and started fumbling with Todd's belt. Todd reached down to help, to speed up this painfully slow process.
Batting away Todd's hand, Tim shouted, “I'm in charge!”
In an instant Todd understood just how terrified Chase was of how people would see him. Hence the blindfold—I can see you, you can't see me. Hence the control—I'll say when and where and why.
Oh, God…
He thought about Rawlins, where they were headed. Or weren't. Everything between them had been so perfect until a farm boy and an actor had come into their lives and thrown everything askew. And now this, his conscience pathetically moaned as his body beaded with silky sweat. What was he doing? Why the hell had he agreed to come here?
But then of course Tim rubbed that smooth, gorgeous face on the hair around and above Todd's navel, and Todd was right back there, right back in a whirlpool of lust. And before Todd knew it, Tim was pinning Todd's arms up and behind his head and mounting Todd.
Todd heard it first, the sound of footsteps on the patio. He flinched, struggled to get up, but Tim forced him down.
“I've got you!”
“But—”
“Don't move!”
And then a voice behind both of them loudly ordered, “That's right, don't move! Don't either one of you fucking move an inch!”
But Tim did just that, he rolled off Todd, grabbed a towel, clumsily wrapping it around his waist.
“I mean it, Tim, just stay right there or I'll blow your fucking brains out!”
Todd ripped off the blindfold and sat up. A dark unseen figure stood in the doorway, the gun in his hand perfectly obvious. Todd couldn't see the face, but of course it was him, of course he'd come spying on them.
“This time you're not going to get away with it, Tim. You're not going to pin it on someone like Vic.”
“Don't be ridiculous!”
“You're not going to get away with it because when you fucked Andrew you left your sperm and your hair and your stupid fingerprints all over him and everything else in that rat hole of an apartment. I know how you work, Tim. I know very well.”
“Fuck you!”
“You can't bring boys to your own house because someone might see. So Vic finds them, blindfolds them, and then you screw ’em and walk away.”
Todd's eyes were trained on the figure as it moved into the pool room and as the dim light began to glow on the handsome face of Tim Chase's former lover, Rob Scott. Yes, it was exactly as Todd had surmised after seeing his picture in The National Times.
“I knew you'd do something like that, Tim, like screw Andrew Lyman,” said Scott, amused by his own brilliance, “so I stole your knife and then I waited… and followed you and did the terrible little deed moments after you left.”
“You bastard!”
“Actually, I thought it was kind of brilliant. Unfortunately the police are about to arrest the wrong guy, so I'm going to have to do it again—I'm going to have to kill your little fuck buddy here. Only this time I'm going to do it a little differently—I'm not only going to kill this guy you're about to screw, I'm going to kill you too. That way there'll be no questions at all, it'll be perfectly clear to the cops. And eventually they'll blame you for that kid's death too. Isn't that great? In the end of ends, the world's going to learn exactly what I learned—that their hero's not only a faggot, but a real son of a bitch. What do you think of that, hey?”
Todd didn't doubt him, not for an instant. He could hear the desperation in his voice, sense the determination in his stance. Oh, shit, why had he ever gotten involved with Tim Chase in the first place?
Taking another step into the pool room, Rob Scott trained his gun on Todd, and said, “You know, I'm going to like doing this. It's always been a fantasy of mine—granted a dark one—to walk in and find my lover screwing someone else. I always pictured myself going ballistic, which is exactly what I'm going to do. Ta-ta, Todd, you're first. It's been nice knowing you, however brief.”
Todd's body flash-flooded with panic. No, this wasn't supposed to happen, no way. This wasn't part of the plan. They'd talked it through, worked out every detail, tried to anticipate how it might come down, and things definitely weren't supposed to go this far. Yet apparently they'd misjudged, horribly so, and rolling on his side, Todd curled into a ball. And the very next second there was indeed a blast of a gun, the sound of which exploded in the room. Todd shouted out, braced himself for the agonizing pain.
Instead, there was nothing.
As his pulse roared and sweat beaded on his forehead, Todd looked over at Tim, who stood paralyzed, the towel tight now around his waist. Todd then looked at the figure of Rob Scott, who stumbled back, grabbed for one of the French doors, and finally fell to the tile floor and lay there quite still.
Seeing two men rush from the patio into the room, Todd shouted, “Shit, Rawlins, I thought you were going to let him really do it!”
While Foster, his gun still drawn, stopped at the body, Rawlins rushed straight to Todd.
“You okay?” demanded Rawlins.
Nodding as he climbed to his feet, Todd replied, “Yeah, but… but that was hard, knowing that you were out there watching the whole time.”
Grabbing Todd's forearm and giving it a good solid squeeze, he said, “Well, I have to tell you it wasn't easy watching. I'll have to say this much, you're not a bad actor.”
Most of it was, of course, an act. A good part of it wasn't. But Todd would tell Rawlins that later, just as he knew Rawlins would understand. And he would, wouldn't he?
Turning around, Todd saw the lifeless body of Tim Chase's former lover, Rob Scott, sprawled on the floor. Foster, who was kneeling and pressing his hand against the man's neck, looked up and shook his head.
“He's gone.”
“Oh, God,” moaned Tim, turning away. “I didn't want it to end like this, I really didn't.”
“Of course not,” said Todd.
Tim covered his eyes with his right hand, and Todd broke away from Rawlins and went to the actor, putting his arms around him.
“I'm sorry.”
“He… he just went crazy,” mumbled Tim through his grief. “At first, you know, we were good. Really
good. There was Rob and me, and Maggie and Gwen. I thought we had everything, that we had it all figured out. I don't know, I guess I was gone too much, spent too much time on the sets. I guess I was too involved in myself. Rob got into a fast crowd out there in L.A. He got into coke and then into some really hard stuff. I tried to help him… I did what I could, I really did.”
“I'm sure.”
“But he just spent everything on drugs. I told him he had to stop, that he had to get into a treatment program but… but… finally I had to throw him out. I just had to cut him off.”
Which was when, Tim had told Todd and Rawlins earlier today, Rob Scott had gone to The National Times and sold his story. Not only was he desperate for money, he was desperate and determined to get revenge by outing Tim Chase and ruining him completely. And in a very real way, Tim Chase was ruined, for if he was fearful before, he was ultra-paranoid now, terrified of intimacy.
There'd been no witness, no paparazzi-style photographer who'd spied Vic's comings and goings—there'd only been Rob Scott posing as such and trying his best to manipulate the sequence of events. Yes, it was clear now that Rob Scott had stolen Tim's fishing knife, used it to kill Andrew Lyman, and then returned the bloodied thing to Tim's Land Rover. Watching what Tim would do, how he would handle the situation, Rob had then followed Vic down to Lake Harriet, where he'd seen the bodyguard throw the weapon in the lake. And then…
Holding Tim in his arms, Todd thought how it might very well have worked too. It most certainly would have if the WLAK camera hadn't caught one particular person on the banks of the lake when the sheriff's team had been diving for the knife. Todd had studied the videotape of that day, of course, and had searched the faces of the onlookers, but he hadn't known who was who until he'd seen the photograph of Rob Scott in the back issue of The National Times. Realizing it was obviously more than a coincidence that Tim Chase's lover from California would be in Minneapolis, let alone down at Lake Harriet, Todd had called Rawlins. Surmising that Andrew Lyman's murder might very well be the work of a jealous man bent on destroying his former lover—which he'd already tried to do by cooperating with The National Times in the original story—Todd, Rawlins, Foster, and even Tim Chase had formulated a plan. Simply, they hoped to draw Rob Scott out by enraging him with the belief that the police were about to arrest Vic and not Tim Chase for the Lyman murder. Scott had come to Chase's mansion once to plant the knife, and they hoped he'd come back again, which he certainly had, meeting with the direst of consequences.
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