Husband Hunters

by Rick R. Reed

  Pete was a biology teacher who bore an amazing resemblance to Colin Farrell. He had just married his sweetheart of eleven years, Johan. The couple was seldom apart. It was sickening. Except it wasn’t. It was sweet and gave Cody a glimmer of hope that somehow, somewhere, someday there was a man out there for him. Cody’s heart gave a little lurch. He knew it was true. He wanted what Pete and Johan had.

  Matt went on, “So why not just try this? The truth is neither of us will probably make the cut. But it’ll be fun to go to the tryouts, see who else turns up. And who knows? The man of your dreams may be twitchin’ down at the Westin, looking for the same thing you are.”

  Cody had to begrudgingly admit Matt had a point. “Okay,” he said, defeated. “But after? We go to Terra Plata for appetizers and lots of Bloody Marys. And you’re buying.”

  “Deal. If it’ll get you there.”

  “Is that it, then?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll pick you up at one. The casting call starts at two.”

  “Okay, good-bye. My water’s boiling.”

  “Your water broke?”

  “Oh, shut up!” Cody was about to hang up when Matt shouted into the phone.

  “One more thing!”

  “What?” Cody slid his eggs into the boiling water, covered the pan with a lid, then took it off the heat and set the timer on the microwave for four minutes.

  “You need to fill out the application online before the audition. That’s a prerequisite.”

  Cody sighed. “Okay.”

  Matt told him the URL for the website and hung up.

  Cody jumped as his toast popped up. “Lord, what have I done?”

  * * * *

  After Cody cleaned up his breakfast dishes, he debated whether to go outside or address the online form for Husband Hunters. A quick look out the window tipped the scales in the application’s favor because the lovely, fluffy snow from early that morning was already morphing into something ugly: icy sleet. Like needles, it tapped against his windows. He knew if he went out now, he would not be in a magical world of silent white but quickly drenched and bitterly cold.

  So, ridiculous as it seemed, he opted for sitting down at his computer and bringing up the Husband Hunters online talent application.

  When he located the website devoted to Husband Hunters, he very logically thought he should check out what the show was about before getting himself in any deeper than he already was. After all, he could always call Matt and tell him to count him out if he saw any red flags.

  But there was nothing. If anything, as Cody browsed through photos of handsome contestants and slide shows of groom-on-groom action (at weddings!), Cody couldn’t repress the smile that crept up on him. Nor could he ignore the warm feeling the photos caused to rise up, tingling, within him. He identified the sensation as hope.

  The show itself didn’t really seem like such a bad idea, anyway, Cody thought as he read the “About HH” sections, the testimonials, and the prior episode descriptions. At least if you believed the cleverly worded hype, you’d see that the show’s aim was to unite people in love. The fact that they were not in love when they filled out the very application Cody was about to complete was beside the point. Somehow the show provided a backdrop, an opportunity, for a couple to meet and fall for each other.

  The cynic in Cody mocked him. “The aim of the show is to sell advertising, doofus. TV shows, by their very nature, are nothing more than filler space between commercials. And these guys on the show? Conceited jerks who want to get their mugs on the tube, nothing more. Ten to one they are not husband material.”

  Cody shook his head and brought up the editable form entitled “Husband Hunters Contestant Application.” He argued back to the cynic within him that his point of view lacked even the tiniest speck of romance. And that perhaps Cody had listened to that bitter voice for far too long. Perhaps that was why he was still alone, with not even one serious relationship to look back on with nostalgia.

  His fingers began to fly over the keyboard.

  Chapter 2

  Matt picked him up promptly at one. That was one of the things Cody really liked about Matt—he was dependable and always prompt. He did what he said he would, which was a rarer commodity in the world than one might first think.

  Matt called him from his cell to tell him “I’m outside.”

  Cody said, “I’ll be down in a second.” But then he caught sight of himself in the mirror opposite his front door.

  Cody had thought he looked good, but now the mirror was pulling him back, telling him the olive green sweater he had chosen simply made him look washed out, too pale. Sickly. Undesirable. To step out the door in that sweater would be the biggest mistake he’d ever made.

  “Shit,” he whispered to himself, picking up his phone, bringing up the recent calls, and hitting Matt’s name in the listings.

  “Yeah?” Matt answered impatiently.

  “I’m gonna be a couple minutes.”

  “What’s the matter? You got the diarrhea? Dude, it’s just nerves. We’ll pick up some Imodium on the way downtown. That shit’ll stop you up good.” Matt laughed.

  Cody shook his head, questioning for the hundredth time why he was doing this. “No. Not diarrhea.” Although now that Matt had mentioned it, Cody was experiencing an urgent tingling in his bowels. The power of suggestion. “I just need to change.”

  “Yeah, you need to change all right. You could start with that disposition of yours. Add a little sunshine to it, would ya?”

  “Yes, Mom. I’ll be down in less than five.” Cody hung up before his friend could make more quips.

  He knew what he would wear. He rushed to his closet and pulled out the pale blue Oxford cloth button-down. Yes, it was simple, but it contrasted wonderfully with his sandy hair and dark eyes. He had worn it so many times it hadn’t occurred to him as an option, but now, as he buttoned it in front of the mirror, he saw that all those wearings and washings had made the shirt delightfully faded and soft. The shirt simply looked right. It fit him perfectly, making his chest look broad and his waist narrow.

  He finger combed his hair, slid into his winter coat, and rushed out to meet Matt.

  The first thing Matt said to him when Cody got in the car was, “So how many times did you change, Miss Mary?”

  Cody rolled his eyes. “Only once. Just this shirt instead of a sweater. Kept the jeans and Chuck Taylors.”

  Matt put the car in drive and, once he was on the road, looked Cody up and down. With an uncharacteristic bit of kindness, he said, “You look great. Very sexy.” He peered down at Cody’s crotch, causing Cody to feel heat rise up to envelop his face. “And those jeans were the right choice. Nice basket. What did you do? Sandpaper the crotch? You stuffed a sock down there, didn’t you?”

  “Watch it!” Cody cried as Matt coasted toward the rear end of a Subaru Forester.

  Matt slammed on the brakes, laughing. “That was close!”

  “Just keep your eyes on the road, mister. It’s not going to do us any good if we can’t get there in one piece.”

  “Right,” Matt agreed. Cody noticed Matt’s hands trembled a bit. He also caught that Matt had gone to some trouble with his appearance and that he actually looked good, in a sexy nerd sort of way. Through the opening in Matt’s coat, he could see Matt had gone to the bother of donning a sport coat, black with a small white check, beneath which he wore a Rat City Rollergirls T-shirt in a nod to Seattle’s roller derby queens. His black jeans and combat boots worked to make him look quirky, yet appealing, Cody thought.

  “You don’t look too bad yourself,” Cody said. “You’ll be the one who gets picked. I just know it.”

  Matt let out a little hiss. “Yeah, yeah. You’re just being nice. We both know it’ll be you, you big stud.” Matt grinned, shifting his gaze toward Cody for only a second.

  Cody shook his head. “Most likely, it’ll be neither of us. The snow has changed to rain, and Seattle’s most gorgeous gay men will be out in full force.
We’ll be lucky if we even get to talk to anyone connected with the show.”

  “Don’t be so pessimistic. We are Seattle’s most gorgeous gay men, after all.”

  Cody rolled his eyes. “That’s depressing.”

  “Stow the false modesty. The producers will not find it appealing,” Matt warned. “And neither would a potential hubby.”

  * * * *

  There was a sign in the lobby of the Westin, directing aspiring Husband Hunters TV hopefuls upstairs to the Elliott Bay ballroom, where auditions were being held.

  Cody clutched his friend’s arm. “This is real.” Cody’s heart beat a little faster. “Let’s just go get a Bloody Mary up on the Hill instead. Come on, we’ll make fools of ourselves if we stay here.” Cody tugged Matt toward the revolving doors through which they had just arrived.

  Matt jerked his arm away. “Mattie is with you. Don’t be scared.” And he walked away from Cody, toward the escalator. This left Cody a choice—to dash out the door and leave his friend behind or to follow. He chose the latter, in spite of the powerful beat of a whole army of butterflies that had spontaneously taken flight in his gut.

  The ballroom was a hive of activity. Cody was surprised to see there were men of all different sizes, shapes, and colors milling about the room, each of them holding a piece of paper similar to what runners wear at a race. Each piece of paper bore a large red number.

  Cody was stunned that there were older men (some looking septuagenarian), heavyset guys, even men in wheelchairs. He mentally chastised himself, wondering why, if he had imagined this scene at all, he had visualized a room full of gorgeous, young, muscular hunks—like a casting call for underwear models. Wishful thinking, maybe? Still, he felt a burn of shame for being surprised at the variety of men present. No matter what we look like or what life saddles us with, we all want to be loved, right? That guy in the wheelchair over there who bore an uneasy resemblance to scientific genius Stephen Hawking? He probably had the same hopes and dreams Cody did when it came to finding someone special. And, as he knew from his own experience, there were people out there for everyone here, regardless of how he perceived their attractiveness.

  That wasn’t to say, though, that there were not a lot of very attractive guys here, by anyone’s standards. There were. And these came in every conceivable hair color, height, age, and ethnicity.

  The prospect of all these gorgeous men was daunting. Cody clutched Matt’s arm. “Do you see how many of these guys here are model-worthy? We don’t stand a chance!” Cody whispered desperately.

  Matt snatched his arm back. “Number one, don’t get a big head, but you are just as hunky as any guy here—and I’m not just saying that because you’re my pal. Number two, you haven’t watched the show. It’s not a runway. It’s not about the best-looking guy hooking up with some mirror image. Sure, there are lots of good-looking guys on the show, probably more than occur percentagewise in real life, but that’s just TV. But there are also lots of regular guys, like me. We need love too. And husbands! And the show reflects that. And three, and most important, I will tell you once again, false modesty is never cute. If I had half your good looks, I’d be contented.”

  Matt stared at him, and Cody felt uncomfortable because the frank admiration in his friend’s eyes let Cody know he was being truthful. And that did not make him feel good; it made him kind of sad.

  Matt had a lot to offer. In his own way, he was very sexy and had the advantage of probably getting more so as he aged, rather than the opposite, which was the case with most people.

  “Let’s just get in line,” Matt said out of the corner of his mouth as a tall African American guy stepped in front of them to check in at the table set up at the ballroom’s entrance. He looked a bit like Jesse Williams of Grey’s Anatomy. He had the same warm skin tones and amazing eyes.

  Reluctantly, Cody stepped in line with Matt. Mr.-Williams-Lookalike would be a tough act to follow. Perhaps the young woman at the check-in desk would simply giggle behind a manicured hand when she saw Cody and Matt, and they would turn around, red-faced, and run for the exit.

  Cody thought it would be a relief.

  But she didn’t bat an eye when the two of them reached their turn in line.

  Matt did the talking. “My friend Cody and I here wanna be on the show!” Matt said, sounding a bit too girlish and excited for Cody’s taste, but hey, at least Matt was doing the talking.

  The receptionist, or whatever her title was (talent scout? production assistant?), smiled at them. She looked barely out of college. Her hair was cut short in an asymmetrical bob and streaked fetchingly through with platinum. Her blue eyes sized the two of them up. “You two a couple? Because we don’t do that. The objective of the show is to—”

  Matt cut her off. “God, no! We’re just buddies. I gave Cody here a lift.”

  “More like he kidnapped me,” Cody joked.

  Matt rolled his eyes. “Don’t listen to him. He really wanted to come. He really, really wants a husband.”

  Marla, as the name tag on her jade green silk blouse told them, laughed. “Well, let’s see what we can do about that. See if we can get you one too.” She looked pointedly at Matt.

  “I take something in a size eight—” Matt paused for a beat. “—inches.” He snorted at his own vulgarity.

  If the comment registered on Marla, she didn’t show it. “Did you guys submit your application form?”

  “Yes and yes,” Matt answered for the both of them.

  Marla asked for each of their full names and then turned to a laptop at her right and stroked the keyboard, her brows furrowed in concentration. “Ah! Here you are! And—” She typed a bit more. “—here’s Cody Mook.” Her gaze moved across her screen as she rapidly manipulated the mouse. “Yeah…it looks like you filled out everything correctly.” She picked up two of the numbers Cody had seen the men carrying around and handed one to Cody and one to Matt. “You’re all checked in. These are your numbers. They’ll call you by those for your producer interviews, which is the first step. You can feel free to relax now. There’s coffee, tea, water, and sodas on the table over there.” Marla leaned to her left to peer pointedly at whoever was behind them, which was as effective as saying, “Next!” or “Dismissed.”

  Cody glanced down at his number, which was a big red 113. “Dude, look at this. Bad luck. Thirteen.”

  Matt rolled his eyes. “I know you want to get out of here, so if thirteen is bad luck, it probably means you’re as good as on the show.” Matt drifted over toward the refreshment table.

  Cody asked, “What number did you get?”

  Matt glanced down. “Twenty-four. There’s no rhyme or reason to this.”

  * * * *

  They each grabbed a cup of Seattle’s civic beverage, coffee, thoughtfully provided by Starbucks, and found a seat on one of the folding chairs set up around the perimeter of the room. There was a low hum in the space, the music of masculine voices all intermingled, punctuated every so often by a young Asian man, dressed in chinos and a turtleneck, both beige, who would step up to a microphone at the front of the room and call out a number. He would then lead one of the aspiring Husband Hunters stars out of the ballroom.

  Cody observed the latest man to be called. “Probably leading him off, never to be seen or heard from again. This is an elaborate scheme to exterminate the homos. They’ve probably got a gas chamber set up.”

  Matt rolled his eyes and then snickered. “You’re nuts, you know that?”

  Cody put up his hands in a gesture of defenselessness. “I never claimed otherwise. It’s why you hang out with me, isn’t it?”

  Matt grinned, looking sheepish. “You got me.”

  They stretched their legs out before them. Cody said, “It’ll probably be a while before we’re called.”

  “Yeah. I wonder what they do when they take you away. Really—I mean, besides kill you.” Matt laughed, and then his eyes glazed over as his thoughts went somewhere far away. Cody braced himself f
or something bizarre. When Matt got that faraway look in his eye, something weird usually followed. “Yeah. I imagine they take you to some office where this hot producer guy is waiting. He’s about six two, 185 muscular pounds, with one of those California tans. He’s got a full head of hair, dark, but it’s buzzed, military or cop style. Turquoise eyes. Maybe a couple of tattoos. Tribal.”

  “Turquoise eyes? Dude, no one has turquoise eyes.”

  “Shut up. I’m fantasizing. It’ll help pass the time.” Matt swallowed and then went on. “He’s got, like, a blue shadow along his jawline—heavy stubble. A nine o’clock shadow. He’s wearing a light blue shirt, and it’s open halfway down to reveal his lightly hairy chest. The pecs are firm and tight. He’s sitting in one of those desk chairs that recline, and he’s leaning back with his muscular thighs spread, grinning. Inviting.”

  “This sounds like a porno.” Cody sipped his coffee. “I can just hear the cheesy soundtrack music.”

  “I know, right?” Matt went on, “And as part of the audition, we have to suck his cock. To completion. It’s important, you know, because if a gay man isn’t a good cocksucker, what kind of husband would he be?”

  “To completion? What is he? Superman? There are easily a couple hundred guys here, maybe more. How many times can this guy come?” Cody snickered. He drained his coffee cup. “I’m gonna go get more. You want anything?”

  Matt stared at him, dazed, and Cody laughed because it looked as though Matt had just awakened from a dream. Cody supposed he had.

  “Wait. I didn’t tell you the best part!”

  Cody held up a finger. “One sec. This I have to hear.”

  He hurried to get a second cup of coffee, making eyes at the Jesse Williams lookalike, who was pondering which pastry to take. It looked like he was trying to choose between a Top Pot maple bar or an apple fritter. Cody couldn’t help himself. “Good Lord. You look like that and you can still eat sugar? I hate you!”

  The guy chuckled and picked up a maple bar, bit into it, and looked at Cody over the pastry with those amazing pale eyes. “Mmmmm…”