by Sol Crafter, Diana Sheridan, Talya Andor, Lacie J. Archer, Angel Propps
He lined his body up with Marty's and lay himself on top of him, wrapping his arms around his back to hug him tight. He laid his head on Marty's chest and twined their legs together, accidentally knocking their shoes against each other before he found a good position. "Fuck the opinions of the rest of the world and don't worry about my career being ruined. You're worth more to me than music. Do you know how important that makes you?"
"I love you too," Marty said. It could have been mistaken for flippant if Marty's voice hadn't been so breathy and full of about-to-cry.
Jim squeezed Marty with his elbows and it was all right.
He lay there on top of Marty, listening to the beat of his heart, and there was nowhere he would have rather been and no one else he would have rather been with. And he promised himself that even if it took him both of their lives, he would prove to Marty that they were perfect for each other. They were going to be the kind of happy that people wrote fairy tales and story books about.
"We're going to be so good together," he promised, just for the two of them.
Marty softly hugged him back.
There were no articles and there was no fanfare helping to break the story.
Their coming out was a very casual thing where they didn't bother with announcements or confirmations to anyone else's denials. They just showed up at the People's Choice Awards and posed for pictures together on the red carpet and neither of them answered any questions with anything more than a smile. Marty told a fashion reporter in a gaudy red dress, "I'm happier than I've ever been. Life is good." It was the truth; he'd never been as happy or content with himself.
And that was as far as they were willing to go into it with the public, though everyone else in their lives knew that they were together and it wasn't any kind of secret. It was just one of those things that everyone knew and accepted. There was no room for the public to get between them.
They posed for the pictures that would soon be world famous, then Marty found his seat while Jim went to get ready.
The Blue-Eyed Suns did a live performance. Marty clapped as loud as he could and his grin nearly split his face. There was something about seeing Jim on stage that got him every time, all that barely constrained energy as Jim cradled the microphone in his hands and sang his heart out.
The band was cleared off the stage while the presenters went back to handing out awards. Then, seemingly between one breath and the next, Marty found himself on stage with the rest of the Centrifical cast while Jason accepted the award for Favorite Sci-Fi Show on their behalf.
His grin felt goofy and lopsided and his bow tie was cutting into his neck, but he wouldn't change anything. Especially when Jim suddenly appeared next to him, still in the clothes he'd worn for his performance—tight black pants, a bare chest under a sleeveless black vest. He was sweaty and so sexy that Marty couldn't help shooting him a look filled with dirty promise.
Their hands twined together at their sides and Marty didn't even mind that Jim's hand was a bit sweaty. He was too busy smiling and enjoying the moment.
Their picture ended up on magazine covers and there was a lot of babble on TV and on the Internet. There was a bit of negative backlash, but mostly there was a lot of warm feeling and support. They were accepted without having to do anything and Marty was happier than he'd thought he'd been when Jim called to say he was moving to town.
His award statue took up residence on the shelf next to Jim's Grammys when he and Mr. Vincenzo Emilio Estevez moved into Jim's house. They fell into the routine of living together, mixing all of their possessions and even taking all of Marty's stuff out of storage and spreading it around, because there was space to put everything now.
Their clothes intermixed and there were days when they lounged on the porch swing with Marty wearing Jim's shirt and Jim wearing Marty's shorts and it was completely natural. They read comic books together and talked about all the nerdy things they'd always shared and they fell into a comfortable kind of happiness.
*~*~*
Marty played Korlaax in the Centrifical movie and it was a moderate success. He signed a three movie deal and ended up jumping around excitedly for weeks. It reached the point where Jim was threatening to run away on the giant stuffed unicorn Marty had presented him with on his thirty-third birthday. Marty mocked him mercilessly and they ended up breaking the toaster when Jim kicked it while they made love on the kitchen counter.
Jim went on a world tour with the Blue-Eyed Suns. He was feeling sad right up until Marty surprised him by showing up in Japan. He was there on stage, singing his heart out, when the spotlight shifted a little and he was able to see past the edge of the stage for the first time. Right there at the front of the crowd, past the security holding everyone else back, was Marty jumping up and down with an overexcited looking Jane at his side, both of them singing along and grinning right at him.
For the rest of the night, Jim sang to Marty alone and there was a depth to his voice that had his fans screaming and waving their balloons and crumpling their banners in their fists. Even before the concert was over, there were images on the Internet of Jim looking sexier than usual as his focus was completely turned on Marty.
Afterward, Jim dragged Marty back to his suite and they locked the door behind them before they fucked their way across the king-sized bed.
Ned had to get Jane a hotel room, but she wasn't mad about being abandoned. She just laughed and shook her head. "The joy of being the hag of a hot young stud." She ended up giving Ned the nod and he accepted and they ended up making some noise of their own. It was a good vacation.
They did some of the tourist things in Tokyo and Marty spent a surprising amount of money on real working robots and little toys and they had a great time. It made Jim tease that Marty would have to go with him everywhere from now on, though it was closer to the truth than anything else and Marty seemed to understand that. Before Marty and Jane left the tour to go home, Marty gave Jim the hardest hug he'd ever experienced and whispered "I love you" in his ear. For the rest of the tour, Jim thought he could feel the phantom squeeze of Marty's skinny arms and he didn't feel quite so sad and pathetic.
Because when the tour was over, he got to go back to Marty, and it felt like coming home.
*~*~*
And maybe one time, years later, Marty was talking to Jane and half-seriously suggested she could be a surrogate mother for him and Jim.
And maybe she'd half-seriously replied, "You tell me when and where."
And maybe they lived happily ever after. There were a few rocky spots they had to work passed but as long as they were together, they were both much happier than they had been when they were alone.
For Cassandra Pierce,
A good friend and a hot writer
A concert by one of his all-time faves, Glam Gran—maybe that would pick him up! Dale Manning had certainly been walking around in a funk of late. He'd been feeling lower than a sub-basement ever since the car crash that had killed both Mr. B. and Max in one devastating evening.
Mr. Beaumont had been Dale's employer for over three years. Three glorious years of being personal assistant and all-around factotum to a wealthy patron of the arts. Mr. B. was gay, just like Dale, so there were never any issues about Dale's sexuality, not even when, a bit over two years earlier, Dale had first met Mr. B.'s nephew, Max, and was instantly smitten.
Max, then twenty-four, had been away at college doing post-grad work but had gotten his doctorate and come back to live with his uncle. The attraction Dale felt for Max was mutual, and they soon became an Item. Frequently seen walking with their arms around each other, they attracted little attention on the streets of New Orleans, where anything goes even when it isn't Mardi Gras. But those days were over now.
It would have been easier for Dale, losing his job, his income, and his beloved, if there had been someone to blame—a drunk driver or even a distracted texting driver. But it was "one of those things"—a blown-out tire exacerbated by a rain-slicked street,
an unavoidable crash … The police investigator faulted no one, ticketed no one, and left no one on whom Dale could heap his heavy burden.
As it turned out, Mr. B. had amply provided for Dale in his will—a total surprise to Dale, who knew most everything else about his employer—but Dale was not accustomed to indolence and wanted another job nonetheless. Yet what sort of job could he look for that would provide him the sheer enjoyment he'd gotten from working for Mr. B.? Three months post-accident, he was still unemployed and still feeling like the boy who expected a horse for his birthday but instead got a sweater.
Well, maybe just for tonight he could shake it off watching his favorite rocker: The outrageous Glam Gran, fifty-eight and feisty, jumping around the stage in one of her sequined jumpsuits, her frizzy red hair flying wildly in all directions, and uttering her trademarked phrase, "Lady Gaga, eat your heart out!" All he needed was one ticket. Just one …
He lucked out. There was a ticket available! The corners of his mouth reached skyward for the first time since the accident. Yes! He would get to see Glam Gran in the flesh tonight.
*~*~*
Freshly showered and dressed, Dale peered through his aviator glasses at his mirror image and looked with satisfaction at his curly reddish-brown hair, amber eyes, freckles, and small moustache. He still had the build he'd had eleven years ago when he'd graduated college, even though he possessed no gym membership and engaged in no exercise other than his daily activities. He had what his best bud called a swimmer's body, even though the only water he ever immersed himself in was the bathtub. But tonight he had to look his best. He meant to see if he could get backstage and meet Glam Gran to her face. He had a plan …
Driving to the theatre in his old restored VW bug, Dale thought sadly of his many mock-arguments with Mr. B. over music. Mr. Beaumont, as a patron of the arts, had tastes that ran to Beethoven, Bach, and Brahms. While Dale could appreciate the classics, his personal tastes ran more to Glam Gran and Lady Gaga. He and Mr. B. had playfully sparred over their disparate tastes many, many times. Dale missed those days.
Glam (as she was usually called for short) was at her best and most over-the-top, her personality matching her hair as she bounced around the stage, gyrating and intermittently screeching. It was hard to believe this wild tornado was fifty-eight years old. She had the energy of an out-of-control three-year-old who's overdosed on sugary cereal. She also, however, had the voice of a finely crafted instrument, able to croon and belt, purr and roar, and hit a remarkable range of notes. It was as much her personality as her voice that won over her audiences far and wide, however, and Dale was second to none in his appreciation of her many talents.
Five encores after her nominal closing number, she held up her hands to quiet the audience and said, "Let's give the stagehands a break. They want to go home to their families and their beds."
"Noooooo!" moaned the audience, but Glam blew an extravagant two-handed kiss to the audience, turned her back and, still full of energy, did a jig off into the wings.
That was Dale's cue. He knew the guard at the stage door—thanks to his work for Mr. B.—and that's where he headed. He didn't even have to grease the man's palm. "You're a fan of this kind of music?" the guard asked, looking surprised, but with a broad wink he opened the door and let Dale in backstage.
Dale didn't have to ask or wonder which was the way to Glam's dressing room. All he had to do was follow the familiar voice. It was screeching "Walter! I don't believe you! How can you tell me my gin and tonic just disappeared?"
"I'm telling you, Glam, I poured it when you went into your closing number, and I set it on the dressing table. Somehow, during all your encores, someone must have filched it."
"'Someone'? Like you?"
"Smell my breath. I'm innocent."
"But you're guilty of not keeping an eye on it. Where's the bottle?"
"That's gone too."
"Then you'd better go out and find a liquor store that's open. Quickly!"
"I don't know my way around New Orleans. I've never been here before."
Her voice dropping suddenly to an exasperated sigh, she said, "Ask someone."
She hadn't noticed Dale until now, but he spoke up. "I know New Orleans. Would you like me to get you a bottle? What brand do you prefer?"
"Gilbey's—but anything will do. Are you with the theatre?"
"No. Just a fan. A big fan. It would be my pleasure to get you a bottle."
"It would be my pleasure to have a drink. Go for it. And thank you." She blew him an extravagant kiss.
There was a liquor store right around the corner. He was back in under ten minutes. When he returned, it was to the sound of Glam wailing again. "I can't believe you're walking out on me in the middle of New Orleans. Life isn't fair!"
"I won't be treated this way." It was Walter. "I'm gone."
"Now what will I do for a personal assistant? Oh good! The gin has arrived." Noticing Dale, she snatched the bottle out of his hand and poured a hearty drink for herself. Whatever miscreant had purloined the gin had left the tonic, although apparently Glam Gran's idea of a gin and tonic involved much more gin than tonic. "I'm indebted," she said to Dale. "How much do I owe you?"
"The pleasure was mine," Dale replied with a sweep of his hand.
"No, really," Glam persisted.
"No, really—it's on me," Dale insisted.
Glam looked him over from scalp to boot soles. "What's your name?"
"Dale. Dale Manning."
"You wouldn't happen to be between jobs, Dale Manning, would you? I'd guess not, to judge from your generosity."
"As a matter of fact, I am."
"Why did you leave your last job? And what was it?"
Dale gave her a thumbnail account.
"Perfect! How would you like to be my new personal assistant?"
"As long as I don't have to sleep with the boss. Your sexual appetites are legendary. It's nothing against you personally. I'm mad for you. But I'm gay."
"You're also bold and brash—but I like that. Welcome aboard, Dale. Go home and pack your bags, then come to the hotel tomorrow and pack mine. We leave tomorrow morning for Tuscaloosa."
"Just like that? I'm hired?"
"Just like that. You're hired." She planted a non-sexual but enthusiastic kiss on his lips and knocked back a huge gulp of her gin and tonic. "Go home. You're going to need a good night's sleep. I'm tough to keep up with. I'll see you first thing in the morning—around noon. Here's where we're staying." She took the hotel's card out of her commodious purse and wrote her room number on the front of it. Then she kissed him one more time and said, "Don't let me down. I'm serious."
Just like that.
Glam's manager had made all the travel arrangements for this tour, including the chartered jet that would take them from New Orleans to Tuscaloosa. That was not part of Dale's new job. But packing Glam's bags was, and Dale was amused to find that even her bras had what he assumed were rhinestones attached to them. Even Glam Gran wouldn't spend money to put real diamonds on her underwear, he thought … but then, this was Glam Gran. He couldn't be positive.
In the stretch limo, on the way to the airport, Dale met the other members of Glam's entourage. One in particular caught his attention quickly. Luis Alarcón, obviously a Latino, was also obviously sexy. His dark eyes flashed from within a dark-complexioned face, under an unruly head of curly black hair. He had a loud and quick laugh, a short and wiry build, and hands that didn't look the least bit delicate. Yet Dale quickly learned that Luis was both Glam's hairdresser and her makeup artist.
Once the group was aboard the plane, and the plane had taken off and leveled out, Dale learned that one of his duties was to serve drinks all around. Luis showed him which piece of luggage contained the liquor and mixers, and he served Glam her usual gin and tonic then filled everyone else's requests. Luis asked for a rum and Coke, and Dale fixed a vodka and Perrier for himself. Then he settled in to talk to Luis.
After the usual "Where a
re you from?" and "What did you do before this?" type of questions, which each answered for the other, Luis filled Dale in on working for Glam Gran. "You'll like her. She grows on you," he said in his accented but educated English. "She's outrageous but generous, demanding but loyal, hysterically funny, and bigger than life. What you see onstage is what she's like offstage too. There isn't an ounce of phony baloney in her."
"Demanding, huh?" Dale asked.
"It's all about her. I suppose you could call her egocentric, but then, that's probably true of ninety-five percent of showbiz types. She wants everything perfect, and God help me if there's a hair out of place when I'm finished, even though she's going to toss her head, run her hands through her hair, and have it all wild and frizzy in under five minutes. She's a real showman. It's all about the performance. She is her act. And her act is her."
"Where is home?"
"I told you—San Juan."
"No—home base for Glam and her entourage. Where do all of you live when you're not on tour?"
"Oh—New York."
"I'll need to find an apartment, I guess."
"New York apartments aren't cheap—but don't worry. Glam pays well."
"That's good to know. She hasn't said a word to me yet about salary or any other specifics. She just hired me on the spot."
"That's our Glam. She's not a bit businesslike. But she's very fair—and generous."
"That's good to know too. But enough about Glam. Tell me more about Luis."
"I have four brothers and sisters. All married and with kids. I'm the black sheep of the family."
"Because you're not married?"
"Because I'm a maricón." He made a limp-wristed gesture.
"That's also good to know. I'm gay too."
"I was hoping so. I like you," Luis said forthrightly.
"I'm attracted to you, too." Dale leaned in and kissed Luis.
One of the musicians, Tom, sitting in a seat across the aisle, good-naturedly jibed at them, "Hey, none of that mile-high club stuff here!"