Lost and Found

by David Horne

  I’d only been wearing a silk robe. With one swift tug, my robe fell to the floor. Arnie watched me hungrily as I stepped into the hot tub with him.

  “I’m glad you called,” he said slowly moving to me. “It’s been too long.”

  He cupped my chin with his palm, gazing into my face. His eyes were playful as his mouth spread into a naughty smile. “Does this mean you forgive me?”

  I was stunned by his question. Before bringing my mouth to his, I said, “No. This means nothing.”

  We kissed passionately. The jets of the hot tub gently rumbled against my back. Arnie gripped my throbbing cock in his hand twirling his tongue around and around my mouth. I reciprocated by grabbing Arnie’s thick cock in my hand while lightly fingering his asshole. We moaned into each other’s mouths; the vibration hummed in my ears.

  Arnie reached behind him and clutched my hand. He bit my lip as he pushed my finger deeper into his ass. He murmured breathlessly, “Fuck me, Harrison.”

  I thrust my finger in and out of his asshole feeling the tightness of his hole. Arnie whispered, “With your cock.”

  I gasped and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Wait here.”

  Dripping wet, I ran into the house straight to the bathroom. I opened drawers and cabinets frantically searching for lube. I found it buried in the bottom cabinet behind toilet paper.

  Damn. Had it been that long?

  Rushing outside, I squeezed the lubrication up and down my shaft. I hopped back into the tub to find Arnie leaned back and stroking his cock. “Turn around,” I ordered.

  Arnie laughed but obeyed. Slowly, I pushed my dick into his ass feeling the tight squeeze of his hole envelope the entire length of me. Arnie groaned and arched his back. Gripping the edge of the hot tub, he cried, “Harder!”

  Gripping his shoulders, I plunged into him harder. Arnie continued to yelp, “Harder! Harder! Harder!”

  I wrapped my fist around his blond hair and pummeled into him with my hard cock. Arnie’s head was flung back in ecstasy. I pulled harder on his blond mane. With an earth shattering groan, I exploded my cum into Arnie’s asshole.

  Out of breath and dizzy, Arnie turned around and pushed me back to the other side of the hot tub. “My turn,” he groaned grabbing the lube from the hot tub lip and stroking himself.

  He sat down in the bubbling water. “Ride me,” he commanded.

  Turned on again by Arnie’s domineering sexual appetite, I straddled him easing his cock’s thick head inside me. Arnie looked up at me as I rose and fell on his dick. “Just like that,” he murmured.

  Suddenly, he groaned loudly. I could feel his cum spurt inside me. I stopped riding him and climbed off. Sitting down across from him, I threw my head back and closed my eyes.

  Arnie, Arnie, Arnie… He was undoubtedly a fun lay, but could he ever be more? Was he capable of fidelity?

  My phone buzzed on my patio table interrupting my thought and giving me an excuse to hop out of the hot tub. Now that it was over, I wanted some space, which was different than how I used to be with Arnie. I was always the cuddler.

  It was a text message from Tabitha.

  OMG. Sal and Greg are not married! Not sure the deets. But come to Budapest ASAP!

  Arnie in all his naked glorious beauty had glided over to me noticing the shocked look on my face as I stared at my phone.

  “You okay?” he asked. “What happened?”

  Chapter Eight

  Sal

  This film was unlike everything I’d ever done before. The media was having a field day reporting that I had been tyrannical in my demands to keep everything that was happening on set hush hush.

  Had I insisted on a closed set at all times? Yes.

  Had I refused any interviews or statements regarding the film? Yes.

  Had I hired more security on set than usual? Yes.

  Okay. I was a tad tyrannical, but since Budapest Sunset was drastically different from anything I’d ever done, the last thing I wanted was the press to get any ideas of what it might be before they actually saw it. If word got out that a director was attempting anything that strayed from what he had previously done, often times, the public leaped to judging the film before even seeing it.

  Critics and my fans would hate Budapest Sunset simply from hearing what the premise of the film was. I wanted everyone who was going to see the film to walk into the theater with a fresh uninfluenced mind.

  Principal photography was going fantastic. I refused to refer to Tabitha as TabWar. The media’s insistence on shortening starlets’ names irritated me. I’d seen her on that show of hers, The Struggle is Real, and found her charming, not to mention, she had a striking face that she used well to express emotion. Some actresses fooled themselves into thinking all they needed to do was be pretty and have hot bodies. I’d wanted her to read for the part to meet her, but I had already decided I wanted her for the lead in Budapest Sunset.

  Of course, I knew she was a voice actress on Harrison’s Cubicles. That was part of the reason I wanted her in the film too. Budapest Sunset was an amalgam of live action and animation. The film needed a versatile actress, one who could act and voice act. It was surprising how many actors were poor voice actors. Voice acting was, indeed, a special form of acting where you were limited to only your voice. An actor’s reliance on facial expressions and body language were useless in animation obviously.

  Having her on the set was like having an extension of Harrison in a lot of ways. Mostly because she constantly talked about him. Harri and I did this. And Harri and I did that. If I hadn’t met Harrison myself, I would have thought they were dating. Secretly, I loved it. I got to know Harrison through her.

  Tabitha was most definitely a free spirit and casually friendly more than any of the young starlets I’d met of late. She smiled at everyone and showed genuine kindness to the crew. I could see why Harrison had become such fast friends with her. She made it incredibly easy.

  She invited me out to dinner after we wrapped for the week. I met her at Onyx and settled into our intimate table, knowing that the restaurant offered an eight-course meal. It was a slight surprise to me that Tabitha’s fame had reached all the way to Hungary. The staff had set us up in our own private dining room.

  Tabitha looked remarkable in a long ivory flowy bohemian dress with a matching floppy hat. She lifted her glass to me. “To Budapest Sunset!”

  I brought my glass to hers noticing a beautiful golden pearl and champagne diamond cocktail ring on her index finger. The diamonds were woven into an intricate lace engraving and surrounded the large opulent pearl.

  “Your ring is beautiful,” I remarked bringing the wine to my lips.

  Tabitha gazed at her hand happily. “Harri gave me this as a birthday present. Isn’t it stunning?”

  “It is,” I said noticing a pang shooting in my chest at the mention of Harrison’s name.

  Tabitha perked up and leaned in closer whispering. “I’ll tell you a secret.” She looked around playfully even though no one else was in the room. “You know, Harrison is single.”

  “Is he?” I’d been wondering that very question.

  Tabitha looked at her ring again with a smile. “You should call him. He’s been dying to hear from you.”

  An excited pang sprung from my chest again. “He has? He said that?”

  Tabitha pursed her lips as her eyes opened wide. “Not in so many words, but he would love to hear from you.” With a dramatic tone, she said, “I know he would!”

  I grimaced thinking about our past missed connections. “I don’t know...”

  Tabitha clasped her hands together. “All I’m saying is that the two of you are both single. If anything, why aren’t you guys friends? I can totally see how you would really get along.” Tabitha sighed and cut into the daintily prepared beetroot with parsley.

  Why weren’t Harrison and I friends? He never called me, first of all. “When I tried to call him, it was the wrong number. I think he gave it to me on purpose.”
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  The server entered our private dining room with the third course. “Do you have a pen and a napkin or something?” Tabitha asked.

  The server, a man with dark hair and matching mustache, who was a little rusty with English, shook his head not comprehending. Tabitha presses her thumb and index finger together and pretended to write in the air. His eyebrows lifted in understanding before he hurried out of the room.

  Tabitha turned to me. “That’s ridiculous. He has terrible handwriting. You probably misread it.”

  I exhaled slowly. “He typed it into my phone himself. It wasn’t his handwriting.”

  Tabitha threw her hands up. “He’s all thumbs! He mistyped it. Have you ever gotten a text from him? It’s always a mess!”

  The server came back into the room with a pen and a notepad. He placed it in front of Tabitha with a slow subtle bow. Tabitha patted his hand gratefully. “Thank you, sir!”

  Beaming, Tabitha wrote out on the notepad deliberately. She handed it to me. “This is his number. Call him!”

  I nudged my slivers of cucumbers around on my plate. “I’m not going to call him now.” Seeing Tabitha’s eager face fall into disappointment, I compromised. “How about when this film is all over I’ll ring him up?” I folded the paper and slipped it into my wallet for safekeeping.

  Tabitha eased back in her chair. “Okay. Deal.” She popped forward in her chair again. Giggling, she squealed, “You better! You two would get on so well.”

  Budapest Sunset was the most anxiety inducing film I’d ever made so far. The uniqueness that I loved about the project was also what was stressing me out. Whenever I couldn’t sleep, I’d take out the small slip of paper Tabitha had written Harrison’s phone number on.

  I spent many sleepless nights in Hungary holding the paper in my hand and staring at his name and number. For some reason, it was a strange keepsake that soothed me. The habit continued once I was in LA and filming for Budapest Sunset was over.

  After we wrapped Budapest Sunset and I’d returned to LA, I still hadn’t called Harrison. What was stopping me?

  I told myself that my busy schedule kept getting in the way. I’d flown out to the animation studio in Tokyo a few times to see how the animated parts of the film were coming along. I wasn’t used to this kind of extended post production phase, but animated films took longer to make. It would have been great to use Harrison as a resource, but I couldn’t bring myself to call him.

  What would I say?

  Weeks turned into months, and I still hadn’t called. Before I knew it, time flew forward and Budapest Sunset was premiering, but my habit of taking out that piece of paper lived on. Strangely, it was comforting to read Harrison’s name.

  Against my wishes, Budapest Sunset, opened wide in 892 theaters. I’d felt that such a wide release for an avant-garde kind of film was a mistake, but I was at the mercy of the 33KL, the distribution company who bought it. Like I’d expected, Budapest Sunset bombed at the box office. We were barely going to break even on the film.

  When the reviews started rolling in, I was on edge, but quickly, it became a critical darling. I tried to focus on that aspect. It was lauded by critics but hated by moviegoers. It bothered me though, because wasn’t I making movies for people who watched movies?

  Wading in misery, I couldn’t avoid Barb’s Skype calls any longer. She refused to talk to me via telephone, stating she needed to see my eyes to determine if I was really okay.

  Barb looked at me from the screen taking a long drag on her cigarette. “You look dreadful, my boy.”

  I threw my head into my hands. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t do that! I need to see your eyes!” she barked.

  I looked up at the screen. Barb shook her head making the bangs of her forehead sway. “Cult classic, my boy. That’s what we got on our hands. Nothing wrong with that. Your die-hard fans love, absolutely adore, this film!” She took another drag of her cigarette. “All you have to do now is write something mainstream to stay afloat.”

  I closed my eyes. “I can’t write Fast and Furious. That’s not me.”

  She flung her head up. “Who said Fast and Furious? And by the way, you could write anything, even another Fast and Furious installment, if you set your mind to it.” She wagged her cigarette at me sending ash flying. “You are going to write a romantic comedy next. Something so mainstream. Something that will appeal to everyone!”

  “I haven’t been on a date in two years. How the hell am I going to write anything remotely resembling romantic?”

  Barb smiled. “You’ll find a way, my boy. I know you will.” She sighed. “I’ve a lunch date so I’m off. You get to writing.” She signed off pointing her finger at me from the screen.

  How was I going to write a romantic comedy when my own romantic life was a depressing boring drama a best?

  The idea hit me all at once. I took out my wallet retrieving the precious piece of paper inside. If there was a will, there was a way.

  Chapter Nine

  Harrison

  I was in the hot tub, eyes closed, buds in listening to a self-help book on how to reach self-actualization. Usually, when my phone rang, I screened my calls, but the narrator was going on and on about the importance of self-evaluation.

  Ugh. I didn’t want to self-reflect. I liked skating through life not looking at myself too closely. It was safer that way. Wanting to stop listening to the narrator’s ridiculous urging, I answered the phone without looking.

  “Hello. Harrison?” My eyes sprung open. I knew that voice. It was Sal.

  “Yes,” I said jumping out of the hot tub to pace up and down the lanai.

  It’s Sal.”

  “Sal? Oh, hi! How are you?” I could have been an actor.

  “Good. Good.” There was a long pause.

  Was I supposed to say something next? What should I say?

  Finally, Sal said, “I was wondering if you would like to meet for coffee.”

  My legs started extending out into high kicks from my anxiety. Coffee? Me? Sal? Coffee?

  I tried to keep my voice cool and calm, but I was jumping up and down. “Sure. I can do coffee.”

  “Can you meet in an hour?” Sal asked.

  I blurted out, “Yes!”

  “Great! Do you want to meet at Gerald’s on Melrose? Do you know where it is?”

  “Sure! I know where that is.” I had no idea where Gerald’s was, but thank God for Google Maps.

  “Okay. See you then!” Sal chirped.

  As soon as I got off the phone, I flew into the house quickly checking Google Maps. Frantically, I showered hearing the time clock ticking away in my head. Google Maps said Gerald’s was twenty minutes away by car, which gave me only forty minutes to get ready.

  Running into my walk-in closet, I grabbed the binder of outfits Rupert made for me. I hired Rupert as my stylist after much prodding from Tabitha, who found my fashion choices made me look like a homeless frat boy, which was absurd because frat boys could not be homeless. They lived in the frat.

  But Rupert turned out to be wonderful. He would bring over outfits and have me try them on. Whatever I liked and felt comfortable in, he took photos of me wearing it. Although he stressed to me I could mix and match as I pleased, I had no time for such nonsense. Surely, I’d mess it up.

  We were going to coffee so I needed something casual. Flipping through the binder, I selected an all-black outfit: black leather bomber, black shirt, black jeans, and black boots. With my Givenchy sunglasses Tabitha said I had to get, I thought I looked pretty good. Maybe even LA cool?

  Who was I kidding? I’d never be LA cool.

  When I got to Gerald’s, Sal was already sitting at an outside table reading a book. Gingerly, I sat down in front of him. “Sorry, I’m late.” He had on a brown fedora, a bright neon green Cubicles t-shirt, and skinny jeans. I suddenly felt that my outfit wasn’t casual enough. Sal had perfected casual chic, so effortlessly.

  Sal closed the book. “No worries. LA traffic c
an be unpredictable.”

  It wasn’t the traffic that delayed me. I was in the car practicing this calming chanting thing Tabitha had been doing lately. She said it was supposed to cleanse your mind. After ten minutes, my mind didn’t feel cleansed. So, I reluctantly got out of the car.

  “I like your shirt,” I said smiling.

  He responded genially, “I like your show.”

  “Thanks for watching.” It warmed me that Sal had seen my little show.

  Sal grinned. “Well, I’m not the only one watching. Congratulations on your Emmy.”

  “Thank you!” Beginning to blush, I gestured to the book. “What are you reading?”

  He held it up for me. It was a graphic novel, Unbreakable Forces by Rey Fuentes. On the cover, a man and woman stood back to back while a vine of dark purple roses encircled them. “A graphic novel? Can I take a look?”

  Sal handed me the book and then signaled for the roaming waitress to come over.

  I flipped through the pages. The illustrations had strong solid lines like a superhero comic but had a pop art feel.

  “Can I get you something, sir?” The waitress asked.

  “Cold brew, please,” I said glancing up.

  She nodded her head. “Of course.”

  As she shimmied away, I looked at Sal. “This is pretty good. I’ve never heard of this guy, Fuentes.”

  “You can have it. I’ve read all of his stuff so far.”

  I held the book back out to him insisting “I couldn’t. You’re not finished reading, are you?”

  Sal waved me off. “I’ve read it three times. Please. It’s yours.”

  “Oh. Okay.” Instinctively, I held the book close to my chest. Sal had read the book three times. He’d flipped the pages maybe before bed, during morning coffee, or on a plane. He had it in his hands.

  Sal smiled. “That’s why I wanted to meet.”

  I pointed at the book. “This book?”

  “Well, not exactly.” He crossed his arms. “I was hoping you wanted to work on a project with me.”