"253 Creekside Canyon" 10
Ron looks for Brian.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
Ron looked around for Brian at the bar.
Ron had been away longer than he had intended, having run
into Ed Cartwright, a soap opera actor who'd been bugging
him about casting him in one of Ron's films. Ed was a nice
guy and they had tricked a few times years ago, but Ron
didn't like making promises to actors. There were so
many variables that went into casting a picture that it
was impossible to know who would be right for a part
before a film had even been greenlighted.
Unfortunately, Ed wouldn't take no for an answer. He kept
badgering Ron, until Ron finally told him point blank that
he didn't have any roles for him, now or in the future. Ed
had stormed off, bitching about old friends who thought they
were too good to help out a pal. Ron was relieved to see the
back of Ed.
That was the trouble with being successful. It was a
double-edged sword. You got to see the best scripts and
were offered the best projects, as well as being courted
by A List actors who wouldn't return your calls a few years
before. But people also thought you owed them something.
Guys like Ed Cartwright somehow believed that Ron should
hire every old trick or even every guy he knew from the
old days, just because they were gay. But the Business
didn't work that way.
"Excuse me," Ron beckoned the bartender. "My friend was
standing here, waiting for me. Have you seen him? Tall guy,
very good-looking, wearing a blue Armani suit?"
"Sure, Mr. Rosenblum," the dark-eyed bartender grinned.
Paco was also an actor and he recognized the director
immediately. "He was here. He had a Bourbon, neat. He also
made a few new friends. He looks like a guy who makes friends
wherever he goes."
Ron tried not to let his feelings show on his face, but it
was difficult. He and Brian weren't a couple. They weren't
anything -- at least not yet.
"Did you see where he went?" Ron asked.
Paco leaned over the bar. "Behind the tennis courts," he
said in a low voice. "Or you could wait until he gets back.
If he comes back."
"Thanks," said Ron. "I appreciate it."
"No problem," said the bartender. "Maybe you'll take a
look at my resume sometime? I also do stand-in work."
"Sure," said Ron, vaguely. "Send it to my office with a note."
Ron left the bar behind and made his way through Charles
and Donnie's crowded great room and outside. He walked
around the pool, past the poolhouse, and down the walkway
to the tennis courts. He heard laughter in the shadows and
smelled marijuana smoke. It was getting late and guys
were either pairing off, getting ready to hit the clubs, or
they were working on a buzz to last them through the rest
of the evening.
It was dark behind the tennis courts, but Ron could make
out two figures. One was leaning back against the chainlink
fence, while the other was kneeling in front of him. He didn't
need to wonder who the standing man was. Even in the dim
light Ron recognized Brian's height and the angle of his head
as the other man worked over his dick.
Ron watched for a moment, uncertain. But then he knew what
he had to do.
"Hey you!" he said, stepping up to the pair. He nudged the
kneeling man with his boot. "Get lost!"
Brian opened his eyes sleepily and regarded Ron, then he
shrugged and glanced down at the other man. The guy stopped
sucking and looked up. Ron was startled to see that it was
Connor James.
"Ron?" said Connor. What was the director doing here? How
had he found them? Shit, thought Connor, he's fucking pissed!
"I said to get lost!" Ron repeated with more emphasis just in
case Connor James didn't believe him. "Don't make me say it
a third time!"
Connor stood up slowly, brushing some blades of wet grass
from his knees. "I... I didn't know this was your boyfriend,
Ron! I swear I didn't. I mean... I'm fucking sorry! But he...
well, he wanted to!"
"This is the third time I'm saying it, James," Ron reiterated.
"Get the fuck out of here!"
"Yeah," Brian added, stifling a snicker. "Fuck off. If you
knew what you were doing, I'd have gotten off ten minutes
ago."
Connor James gaped at Brian and then at Ron. Ron didn't
seem the least bit angry at his wayward boyfriend. And
Brian was laughing at him! Shit! He turned and almost
ran back towards the house.
Ron and Brian stood looking at each other for a few seconds
before they both burst into laughter.
"You son of a bitch!" said Ron. "What do you think you're
doing?"
Brian took a joint out of his the inside pocket of his suitcoat
and lit it, taking a long, slow toke. "Getting to know the lay
of the land."
"But why Connor James?" Ron sniffed. "You can do better
than that, Brian! He hasn't had a hit in four years."
"That isn't why I did it," Brian replied. "It was... personal."
Ron frowned, thinking. "I see," he said. "He was supposed
to play Rage. And that's you -- Rage. You were showing
him that he can never replace the real thing."
"That's one reason," Brian admitted. "But it was a stupid
thing to do anyway. Do you believe that he actually thought
he was going to fuck me out here? He leaned against this
fence and took out his dick. When I saw it, it was all I
could do not to laugh right in his face!"
"That's why they invented Special Effects," Ron informed
him. "For guys like Connor James!"
"Once I saw his micro-dick, I lost all interest in fucking
him," said Brian. He handed Ron the joint and watched
him take a pull on it. "So I brought out my cock. He took
one look and dropped to his knees."
"Connor James is an asshole and a closet case," said Ron.
"But at least he has good taste."
Brian's dick was still hanging out of his trousers, half-hard
and waiting. But Ron wasn't about to take Connor James'
place. Ron took hold of Brian's cock and squeezed it gently.
"Christ," whispered Brian. "I think I need a little help
here Ron."
"No, Brian," said Ron, seriously. He pressed him back
against the fence, his face near Brian's. Near enough to
feel Brian's hot breath. To feel the pulse in his long,
beautiful neck. "I'll blow you any day of the week, any
hour of the day, but not here. Not now. I won't take
anyone's seconds. Not Connor James'. And not your old
boyfriend's, either. I won't be Number Two to anyone.
Do you hear me?"
But Brian didn't answer. He was holding his breath. And
Ron kept stroking his dick, softly, but relentlessly.
"I asked if you heard me?" said Ron.
"I heard you," Brian replied, barely audible.
"Are you afraid?" asked Ron. But again Brian didn't answer.
"I mean it, Brian. When I say something, it's the truth. You
can count on it. I've only ever loved one man in my entire
life. One. And that will never change." Ron moved back,
taking his hand away from Brian's cock.
"Shit," Brian inhaled as his dick convulsed and he came on
the grass in front of him. Then he shook his cock and shoved
it back into his trousers.
Ron watched him. Then he put his arms around Brian and
held him closely.
"I know what I want," Ron continued, his lips on the edge of
Brian's generous mouth. "I've always known. And I never
give up on something I want. That's how I've been successful
in Hollywood, against all the odds. I wanted to be a great
director. It's taken me years, but it's happening. Now there's
only one other thing I want. The same thing I wanted back in
1988 in my little apartment in New York. And I'm willing to
wait for it, Brian. But every minute we wait is another minute
lost. Another minute when we could be happy. Think about that
when you're fucking around."
And Ron raised the joint to his lips and took another toke. The
weed rushed into his head, giving him a feeling of intense
euphoria.
Brian pressed his own lips to Ron's neck, sucking gently.
Euphoria, thought Ron. That was it.
But maybe it wasn't the weed after all.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
Ron looked around for Brian at the bar.
Ron had been away longer than he had intended, having run
into Ed Cartwright, a soap opera actor who'd been bugging
him about casting him in one of Ron's films. Ed was a nice
guy and they had tricked a few times years ago, but Ron
didn't like making promises to actors. There were so
many variables that went into casting a picture that it
was impossible to know who would be right for a part
before a film had even been greenlighted.
Unfortunately, Ed wouldn't take no for an answer. He kept
badgering Ron, until Ron finally told him point blank that
he didn't have any roles for him, now or in the future. Ed
had stormed off, bitching about old friends who thought they
were too good to help out a pal. Ron was relieved to see the
back of Ed.
That was the trouble with being successful. It was a
double-edged sword. You got to see the best scripts and
were offered the best projects, as well as being courted
by A List actors who wouldn't return your calls a few years
before. But people also thought you owed them something.
Guys like Ed Cartwright somehow believed that Ron should
hire every old trick or even every guy he knew from the
old days, just because they were gay. But the Business
didn't work that way.
"Excuse me," Ron beckoned the bartender. "My friend was
standing here, waiting for me. Have you seen him? Tall guy,
very good-looking, wearing a blue Armani suit?"
"Sure, Mr. Rosenblum," the dark-eyed bartender grinned.
Paco was also an actor and he recognized the director
immediately. "He was here. He had a Bourbon, neat. He also
made a few new friends. He looks like a guy who makes friends
wherever he goes."
Ron tried not to let his feelings show on his face, but it
was difficult. He and Brian weren't a couple. They weren't
anything -- at least not yet.
"Did you see where he went?" Ron asked.
Paco leaned over the bar. "Behind the tennis courts," he
said in a low voice. "Or you could wait until he gets back.
If he comes back."
"Thanks," said Ron. "I appreciate it."
"No problem," said the bartender. "Maybe you'll take a
look at my resume sometime? I also do stand-in work."
"Sure," said Ron, vaguely. "Send it to my office with a note."
Ron left the bar behind and made his way through Charles
and Donnie's crowded great room and outside. He walked
around the pool, past the poolhouse, and down the walkway
to the tennis courts. He heard laughter in the shadows and
smelled marijuana smoke. It was getting late and guys
were either pairing off, getting ready to hit the clubs, or
they were working on a buzz to last them through the rest
of the evening.
It was dark behind the tennis courts, but Ron could make
out two figures. One was leaning back against the chainlink
fence, while the other was kneeling in front of him. He didn't
need to wonder who the standing man was. Even in the dim
light Ron recognized Brian's height and the angle of his head
as the other man worked over his dick.
Ron watched for a moment, uncertain. But then he knew what
he had to do.
"Hey you!" he said, stepping up to the pair. He nudged the
kneeling man with his boot. "Get lost!"
Brian opened his eyes sleepily and regarded Ron, then he
shrugged and glanced down at the other man. The guy stopped
sucking and looked up. Ron was startled to see that it was
Connor James.
"Ron?" said Connor. What was the director doing here? How
had he found them? Shit, thought Connor, he's fucking pissed!
"I said to get lost!" Ron repeated with more emphasis just in
case Connor James didn't believe him. "Don't make me say it
a third time!"
Connor stood up slowly, brushing some blades of wet grass
from his knees. "I... I didn't know this was your boyfriend,
Ron! I swear I didn't. I mean... I'm fucking sorry! But he...
well, he wanted to!"
"This is the third time I'm saying it, James," Ron reiterated.
"Get the fuck out of here!"
"Yeah," Brian added, stifling a snicker. "Fuck off. If you
knew what you were doing, I'd have gotten off ten minutes
ago."
Connor James gaped at Brian and then at Ron. Ron didn't
seem the least bit angry at his wayward boyfriend. And
Brian was laughing at him! Shit! He turned and almost
ran back towards the house.
Ron and Brian stood looking at each other for a few seconds
before they both burst into laughter.
"You son of a bitch!" said Ron. "What do you think you're
doing?"
Brian took a joint out of his the inside pocket of his suitcoat
and lit it, taking a long, slow toke. "Getting to know the lay
of the land."
"But why Connor James?" Ron sniffed. "You can do better
than that, Brian! He hasn't had a hit in four years."
"That isn't why I did it," Brian replied. "It was... personal."
Ron frowned, thinking. "I see," he said. "He was supposed
to play Rage. And that's you -- Rage. You were showing
him that he can never replace the real thing."
"That's one reason," Brian admitted. "But it was a stupid
thing to do anyway. Do you believe that he actually thought
he was going to fuck me out here? He leaned against this
fence and took out his dick. When I saw it, it was all I
could do not to laugh right in his face!"
"That's why they invented Special Effects," Ron informed
him. "For guys like Connor James!"
"Once I saw his micro-dick, I lost all interest in fucking
him," said Brian. He handed Ron the joint and watched
him take a pull on it. "So I brought out my cock. He took
one look and dropped to his knees."
"Connor James is an asshole and a closet case," said Ron.
"But at least he has good taste."
Brian's dick was still hanging out of his trousers, half-hard
and waiting. But Ron wasn't about to take Connor James'
place. Ron took hold of Brian's cock and squeezed it gently.
"Christ," whispered Brian. "I think I need a little help
here Ron."
"No, Brian," said Ron, seriously. He pressed him back
against the fence, his face near Brian's. Near enough to
feel Brian's hot breath. To feel the pulse in his long,
beautiful neck. "I'll blow you any day of the week, any
hour of the day, but not here. Not now. I won't take
anyone's seconds. Not Connor James'. And not your old
boyfriend's, either. I won't be Number Two to anyone.
Do you hear me?"
But Brian didn't answer. He was holding his breath. And
Ron kept stroking his dick, softly, but relentlessly.
"I asked if you heard me?" said Ron.
"I heard you," Brian replied, barely audible.
"Are you afraid?" asked Ron. But again Brian didn't answer.
"I mean it, Brian. When I say something, it's the truth. You
can count on it. I've only ever loved one man in my entire
life. One. And that will never change." Ron moved back,
taking his hand away from Brian's cock.
"Shit," Brian inhaled as his dick convulsed and he came on
the grass in front of him. Then he shook his cock and shoved
it back into his trousers.
Ron watched him. Then he put his arms around Brian and
held him closely.
"I know what I want," Ron continued, his lips on the edge of
Brian's generous mouth. "I've always known. And I never
give up on something I want. That's how I've been successful
in Hollywood, against all the odds. I wanted to be a great
director. It's taken me years, but it's happening. Now there's
only one other thing I want. The same thing I wanted back in
1988 in my little apartment in New York. And I'm willing to
wait for it, Brian. But every minute we wait is another minute
lost. Another minute when we could be happy. Think about that
when you're fucking around."
And Ron raised the joint to his lips and took another toke. The
weed rushed into his head, giving him a feeling of intense
euphoria.
Brian pressed his own lips to Ron's neck, sucking gently.
Euphoria, thought Ron. That was it.
But maybe it wasn't the weed after all.