"253 Creekside Canyon" 22
New Year's Eve at Brett Keller's.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
Dorian knew that Ron would eventually show up at Brett Keller's New Year's Eve Party.
Everyone who was anyone in the Velvet Mafia would eventually show up here -- even guys who were throwing parties of their own. Things would wind down at one place and then move on to the next bash -- and this would continue well on into tomorrow. While straight guys were watching college football games all over the country, the trendy gay men of Los Angeles would be drinking Bloody Marys, eyeing the trick whose name they couldn't remember, and working up the energy to make their way back home.
Dorian wondered if he'd be among their number. They say that nothing heals a broken heart like a new love affair. And if you can't find a new lover, then a hot fuck never hurts. He scanned the crowd. A few new faces, but mostly he saw the same guys who were at Charles and Donnie's Christmas Party. The same guys who were at Brad Lee Chang's Thanksgiving Party. The same guys who were at the AIDS Awareness Fund's Halloween Party at the Grid. The same guys who were at Ed Cartwright's Labor Day Picnic. And so on.
Dorian went to the bar and got another Cosmo. He was sick of Cosmos, but he stuck to them out of habit. He was like that. He liked habit. Routine. Maybe it was his European background. His British public school upbringing. Dorian disliked too much change, especially when that change wasn't in his favor.
And he missed Ron.
Missed his rude jokes. His moodiness. His bitchy commentary on all their friends. His encyclopedic knowledge of film. His hairy chest. His enthusiasm -- some would say his obsession -- for whatever was his newest project.
But it seemed as if his new obsession wasn't a film.
An obsession Dorian knew he could never compete with.
Ron walked into the room. He was wearing a dark grey suit. Armani, Dorian thought. New. And some kind of retro-looking tie. That was odd. Not something Ron would ordinarily wear. But it looked good with the Armani. A quirky touch to a classic look.
Which meant that Brian had probably picked it out. He'd probably chosen Ron's entire outfit.
And Brian walked in right behind Ron.
Brian was also dressed in Armani. A black suit with a fiery red shirt. No tie. They were both dressed up for New Year's Eve. Dorian knew they'd already eaten dinner and then made the rounds of other spots, only to end up here, like everyone else, about a half hour before midnight.
"Dori!" Ron called. He and Brian made their way through the crowd. "I thought you might be at Gordon's. I was surprised when they said you never showed up."
Gordon was Ron's decorator, the brother of producer Donnie Schwartz. That was a party mainly for the older crowd. Ron and Brian had obviously made a brief appearance there and then left for greener pastures.
"Rather than wander from place to place, I simply came here," Dorian forced a smile. "Hello, Brian." He held his hand out for Brian to shake. No use to pretend the man wasn't right in front of him.
Brian was simply too handsome. It was ridiculous to be jealous, but Dorian couldn't help it. It wasn't fair. Dorian's only hope was that Brian would soon be returning home. Going back where he belonged, to some nondescript city in the East. He'd already been in L.A. longer than Dorian had expected -- longer than anyone had expected. He wondered if Ron knew that everyone in their circle was talking about Ron's new flame. Speculating on who he was. How they had met. How long it would last.
And Dorian remained mute when they discussed Ron and Brian. He knew more than anyone, which didn't make him happy. Knew how deeply Ron was into this man. How hopeful he was for some kind of future with him. How serious it all was.
The thing Dorian didn't know was Brian. He was the unknown quantity.
"So this is Brett Keller's house," said Brian. He frowned.
Dorian remembered Brett showing some interest in Brian at Charles and Donnie's party -- before Connor James had stepped in.
"Brett doesn't throw that many parties, but when he does it's always quite a bash," said Dorian.
"A friend of mine stayed here when he was working on 'Rage,'" Brian explained. "In the guesthouse."
"'Rage'?" Dorian raised his eyebrows. That had been an ill-fated project from the get-go. Everyone was shocked when it had been given the greenlight, but no one was even surprised when the studio had finally pulled the plug. "Is your friend an actor?" Brett often had good-looking young actors hanging around the house. He promised them a few lines in one of his films and then he fucked them in his hot tub -- and then offered them to his friends.
"No," said Brian. "An artist. He and another friend of mine, Michael, created the character of 'Rage' and wrote the comic book. Keller brought him out here to work on the look of the film. What the fuck do you call it? An Assistant Art Director. But they were both crushed when the fucking movie was canceled. They thought it would be a huge hit."
"Those things happen in Hollywood, Brian," Ron interjected. He didn't add that the 'Rage' film had always been a longshot. Even after the relative success of 'The Olympian' and now, hopefully, 'Brokeback Mountain,' films featuring gay heroes and man-on-man sex were still anathema to mainstream Hollywood, and likely to remain so for a long time to come. "Maybe in a few years Brett will try again."
Brian shrugged. "Maybe. But what's done is done. When something's time has passed, it's over, you know?"
Ron nodded, knowing that Brian wasn't referring to the film. "Let's get a drink. Excuse us, will you, Dorian?"
Dorian watched the two of them walk away. Watched the way Ron placed his hand gently in the small of Brian's back. Watched the way Brian leaned into Ron slightly as they moved through the crowd. The way they created one entity that was undeniable to anyone who saw them. A couple.
"Hey, Dor, was that Ron Rosenblum's new squeeze?"
Dorian turned to see Leonard Parks, a writer he'd worked with a few years before. "Yes, that's Brian. Brian Kinney."
"I heard that he was to die for," Leonard exclaimed. "But, honey, he's SO pretty it ought to be illegal!"
"I know," said Dorian, sadly. "It ought to be illegal. But it's not."
Dorian turned away. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to 12:00.
It was almost the New Year.
Dorian hoped it would be a happy one.
By Gaedhal
Los Angeles, December 2005
Dorian knew that Ron would eventually show up at Brett Keller's New Year's Eve Party.
Everyone who was anyone in the Velvet Mafia would eventually show up here -- even guys who were throwing parties of their own. Things would wind down at one place and then move on to the next bash -- and this would continue well on into tomorrow. While straight guys were watching college football games all over the country, the trendy gay men of Los Angeles would be drinking Bloody Marys, eyeing the trick whose name they couldn't remember, and working up the energy to make their way back home.
Dorian wondered if he'd be among their number. They say that nothing heals a broken heart like a new love affair. And if you can't find a new lover, then a hot fuck never hurts. He scanned the crowd. A few new faces, but mostly he saw the same guys who were at Charles and Donnie's Christmas Party. The same guys who were at Brad Lee Chang's Thanksgiving Party. The same guys who were at the AIDS Awareness Fund's Halloween Party at the Grid. The same guys who were at Ed Cartwright's Labor Day Picnic. And so on.
Dorian went to the bar and got another Cosmo. He was sick of Cosmos, but he stuck to them out of habit. He was like that. He liked habit. Routine. Maybe it was his European background. His British public school upbringing. Dorian disliked too much change, especially when that change wasn't in his favor.
And he missed Ron.
Missed his rude jokes. His moodiness. His bitchy commentary on all their friends. His encyclopedic knowledge of film. His hairy chest. His enthusiasm -- some would say his obsession -- for whatever was his newest project.
But it seemed as if his new obsession wasn't a film.
An obsession Dorian knew he could never compete with.
Ron walked into the room. He was wearing a dark grey suit. Armani, Dorian thought. New. And some kind of retro-looking tie. That was odd. Not something Ron would ordinarily wear. But it looked good with the Armani. A quirky touch to a classic look.
Which meant that Brian had probably picked it out. He'd probably chosen Ron's entire outfit.
And Brian walked in right behind Ron.
Brian was also dressed in Armani. A black suit with a fiery red shirt. No tie. They were both dressed up for New Year's Eve. Dorian knew they'd already eaten dinner and then made the rounds of other spots, only to end up here, like everyone else, about a half hour before midnight.
"Dori!" Ron called. He and Brian made their way through the crowd. "I thought you might be at Gordon's. I was surprised when they said you never showed up."
Gordon was Ron's decorator, the brother of producer Donnie Schwartz. That was a party mainly for the older crowd. Ron and Brian had obviously made a brief appearance there and then left for greener pastures.
"Rather than wander from place to place, I simply came here," Dorian forced a smile. "Hello, Brian." He held his hand out for Brian to shake. No use to pretend the man wasn't right in front of him.
Brian was simply too handsome. It was ridiculous to be jealous, but Dorian couldn't help it. It wasn't fair. Dorian's only hope was that Brian would soon be returning home. Going back where he belonged, to some nondescript city in the East. He'd already been in L.A. longer than Dorian had expected -- longer than anyone had expected. He wondered if Ron knew that everyone in their circle was talking about Ron's new flame. Speculating on who he was. How they had met. How long it would last.
And Dorian remained mute when they discussed Ron and Brian. He knew more than anyone, which didn't make him happy. Knew how deeply Ron was into this man. How hopeful he was for some kind of future with him. How serious it all was.
The thing Dorian didn't know was Brian. He was the unknown quantity.
"So this is Brett Keller's house," said Brian. He frowned.
Dorian remembered Brett showing some interest in Brian at Charles and Donnie's party -- before Connor James had stepped in.
"Brett doesn't throw that many parties, but when he does it's always quite a bash," said Dorian.
"A friend of mine stayed here when he was working on 'Rage,'" Brian explained. "In the guesthouse."
"'Rage'?" Dorian raised his eyebrows. That had been an ill-fated project from the get-go. Everyone was shocked when it had been given the greenlight, but no one was even surprised when the studio had finally pulled the plug. "Is your friend an actor?" Brett often had good-looking young actors hanging around the house. He promised them a few lines in one of his films and then he fucked them in his hot tub -- and then offered them to his friends.
"No," said Brian. "An artist. He and another friend of mine, Michael, created the character of 'Rage' and wrote the comic book. Keller brought him out here to work on the look of the film. What the fuck do you call it? An Assistant Art Director. But they were both crushed when the fucking movie was canceled. They thought it would be a huge hit."
"Those things happen in Hollywood, Brian," Ron interjected. He didn't add that the 'Rage' film had always been a longshot. Even after the relative success of 'The Olympian' and now, hopefully, 'Brokeback Mountain,' films featuring gay heroes and man-on-man sex were still anathema to mainstream Hollywood, and likely to remain so for a long time to come. "Maybe in a few years Brett will try again."
Brian shrugged. "Maybe. But what's done is done. When something's time has passed, it's over, you know?"
Ron nodded, knowing that Brian wasn't referring to the film. "Let's get a drink. Excuse us, will you, Dorian?"
Dorian watched the two of them walk away. Watched the way Ron placed his hand gently in the small of Brian's back. Watched the way Brian leaned into Ron slightly as they moved through the crowd. The way they created one entity that was undeniable to anyone who saw them. A couple.
"Hey, Dor, was that Ron Rosenblum's new squeeze?"
Dorian turned to see Leonard Parks, a writer he'd worked with a few years before. "Yes, that's Brian. Brian Kinney."
"I heard that he was to die for," Leonard exclaimed. "But, honey, he's SO pretty it ought to be illegal!"
"I know," said Dorian, sadly. "It ought to be illegal. But it's not."
Dorian turned away. He glanced at his watch. Five minutes to 12:00.
It was almost the New Year.
Dorian hoped it would be a happy one.