Authors: G.A. Hauser
It was cold. And it was late
on Sunday night
.
Mark lay
on
Piccadilly Phantom, bareback, feeling the stallion’s heat after they had run the trails from the stable in Glendale. Mark closed his eyes as he pressed his cheek against Piccadilly’s mane, hearing the horse’s labored breathing from the exertion. Mark didn’t know where he was. The trails here were new to him
and it was nearly pitch black without streetlights
.
Piccadilly shook his head, a caracole dance, making the bridle jingle. Mark
held onto him, stretched out on the big horse’s broad back. The
late January
night was deepening. Stars began to shine through the ambient light of the
distant
neighborhoods around them. Mark felt the chill on his legs, but was warm from the horse and his leather jacket.
Piccadilly blew out a snort in the cold air, making a vapor cloud
,
which vanished on the breeze. Mark hugged his neck, holding onto him, wishing he could die this way. Die holding his beautiful stallion.
He ran his fingers through the white horse’s thick winter coat, then his long silvery mane. Mark thought of his childhood, of the horses that ha
d
come and gone, beloved, cherished beasts he would forever mourn.
Mark looked at Piccadilly’s head, his perked ears, twitching as if waiting for a word or sign from his
own
er. Mark released the rein, snuggling on the horse, holding his mane. “Go where you will, my lovely. I am no one’s master.”
Piccadilly seemed to feel the release, stretching down to the dried grass and taking a bite.
Mark sighed and caressed him, rubbing his warm neck and shoulder. The horse snorted again, chewing on the long grass that had gone to seed.
The horse walked a few steps. Mark felt every movement of his muscular size. He closed his eyes and warm tears fell down Mark’s cheek. He tried to block all his thoughts out, his demons, his deeds.
But it was impossible.
Was there any greater sin than betraying your child?
A sob rose in Mark’s throat.
He loved Alexander so much, would do everything in his power to protect him, give him anything he needed
…
yet.
Yet, Mark had done the unthinkable.
Did he really imagine he’d simply come home from that training session and satisfy himself? Or
di
d Mark plan to seduce Billy since he had met him?
Mark blamed Steve and Jack for their lusting after Alex, but he knew now. He was the guilty one. Not them.
Sitting up
, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand
, Mark took a vial of pills from his trouser pocket. He sat still as Piccadilly contentedly ate the long grass. Mark opened the top of the vial. He looked into it in the dimness. He didn’t know how many pills he had left.
It was a newly refilled prescription, so it had to be at least twenty or more.
Opening his
lips
, he poured them all onto his tongue and chewed the bitter mouthful. He dropped the vial and swallowed the dry nasty paste down. One tablet
he could chew easily, but over two
dozen was difficult. He shook his head at the terrible taste and kept forcing himself to swallow the pills with saliva.
Once he had
,
he relaxed on Piccadilly, holding his mane as the horse began to walk on his own. Would they miss him?
Miss the mess he had made of everyone’s life? Mark figured yes, for a while. But he had done enough. What more could anyone expect of him?
He had achieved what few had. Been the reigning king of male models long enough.
His brand would become stale
; his
look obsolete
as younger, more trendy men took his place. Even Alex could take over the cologne brand now. Pretty Alex.
Mega film star
…
beloved cable vampire
…
loving husband to the captain.
Alexander
…
you have shined. My baby. Be burdened no more.
Mark felt as if he was a humiliation to his son. His judgment
was
so poor, Mark couldn’t even get his own mother to give what was owed to her grandchild. So weak, Mark could not stop Billy from taking him.
He blamed himself. He had prepared himself that morning for seduction. Maybe it was to be admired by the men in uniform. Maybe it was to prove he was still worthy of their admiration. Not old. Not past his prime. But truth was, he was old. The men on that team were mere babes. Twenties. That’s when he should have blossomed.
But Mark had missed that era. He had been confused and lost, beaten down by his father and unloved by his mother.
Unloved.
Mark wiped his wet eyes on Piccadilly’s mane.
What will Steven do when he finds out? Steven Jay. The only man who will suffer.
Mark sobbed as he thought of his husband. “I forgive you, Steven. I forgive you for wanting Alex.”
Mark felt tired. “I forgive you.” He wept and hugged Piccadilly’s neck.
“Forgive me.”
~
Adam and Jack drove Santa Monica Boulevard in vain. The TVR was so unique, it would stand out like a red bird amo
ng pigeons. His phone rang so Adam
answered it with his hands-free set up. “Hello?”
“Anything?” Steve’s weary voice came over the speaker phone.
“No.” Adam glanced at Jack who was staring out of the passenger’s side window of his car.
“I called Mickey and Jeff. They’re looking.”
“Are they on duty?” Adam asked.
“Yes. For a few more hours.”
“Okay.” Adam looked at Jack again.
“I also called the hospitals.”
Adam nodded. “Good idea, Steve.”
“He hasn’t been admitted to any of the local ones. Do you think he’d fly to London?”
Jack muttered, “Rome?”
Adam perked up. “Rome?”
“Rome?” Steve echoed.
“Would he fly to Alex?” Adam asked.
“Fuck! Would he?” Steve sounded
encouraged.
Jack shrugged. “Maybe.”
Adam pulled over when he could and put the car in park. “You know, Steve. He may have.”
“Yes!” Steve said, loudly. “Jack, he must have flown to Rome!”
Jack shrugged and took out his phone.
Adam said, “He wouldn’t be there by now. Would he?”
“I’m going to Rome,” Steve said, sounding excited.
“What if he’s not there?” Adam asked.
“He has to have
gone there.” Jack pushed buttons on his phone
.
Steve said, “I’m on my way to the airport. I’m going.”
“Steve!” Adam replied, “What if he’s not there?”
“He’s there. That’s just what Mark would do.”
Adam wasn’t so sure Mark would run to his son
if he
screw
ed
Billy.
Jack looked at Adam as he disconnected the call he made. “Voicemail.”
“Who did you call?”
“Alex.”
“Let me go,” Steve said, and the line disconnected.
Adam yawned and rubbed his face. “What next?”
“Head home. I think
I’m
right. Mark went to Rome.”
Adam drove back to Malibu. “I hope you’re both right.”
“You stay here. In case he didn’t.”
A strange pang of suspicion hit Adam. He glanced at Jack. “Right. So you and Steve are going to Rome, on the off-chance Mark flew there.”
Jack didn’t reply.
“Fine, Larsen. Go to Rome. Go get Alex out of your fucking blood.”
Jack shifted on the seat and sighed.
Adam shook his head in amazement. “You’re a real piece of work, Larsen.”
“It’s worth a shot.”
“Sure. Keep telling yourself that’s why you’re going.” Adam coughed on a laugh. He drove back to Malibu having a very dark feeling things were not going to turn out well for anyone.
~
Alex tried not to let his aggravation over Billy piss him the hell off. He had lines to memorize, directions to follow, stunts to learn
…
he did not have time!
Alex resigned himself to dive into the work and not let everything else distract him. He had personal goals to achieve, and goddamn it, he would achieve them.
Coming from a household
,
where his step-father had married his mother while she was pregnant with him, Mark Antonious Richfield’s child
; t
o putting up with twin brothers who teased him mercilessly over being effeminate and gay
;
to nearly getting rejected as he stood on the front door
step
of his real dad’s home, after his mother warned him not to seek Mark out, after Alex had been lied to for eighteen years until he spotted his real father’s photo in an ad and could not help but see the resemblance to himself…
Alex raised his head proudly and looked at George Ford.
He was here. In Rome. Working on his first f
eature
length blockbuster film, and nothing
-NOTHING- was going to diminish that accomplishment.
And this was just the beginning. Alex would ‘wow’ the world, show everyone in the industry he should be taken seriously as an actor. Not type
-
casted as a pretty vampire from
Being Screwed’s
cable drama.
Alex would prove to himself and the
rest of his critics
, he could be a powerhouse in this industry.
The assistant director gestured to him.
Alex walked confidently to the spot marked for his scene. He was touched up by the stylist and makeup artist, made to look perfect for the high resolution cameras.
The
action
had gotten dark and dramatic. Not only was this a gay love story, it was a spy thriller.
Randy’s character, ‘Cody’ had been beaten up, and was sewing his own wound closed
in the last scene
.
His two Italian
co-stars were in the scene
with him
, in a
rundown apartment
, where they were deciding how t
o deal with their situation
.
Alex stood on his mark and waited for the signal for ‘Action!’ He met his director’s gaze and gave Mr Ford an expression that meant to Alex,
Go. I am ready for anything
.
And as if his telepathic words reached the brilliant man, George smiled at him and nodded.
“Action!”
In his Italian accent, Alex said his line, “What have we done?”
“I am still grasping it.” Giovani, playing Eden, sat on the
single bed
and interlaced his fingers
.
“Where are we to live?”Alex asked.
“I do
not know,
” Giovani answered.
~
Billy looked at the cut on his lip from Steve’s punching. He rinsed his mouth and had sobered up from the whiskey. He scrubbed his face and scuffed his heels to the bedroom, sitting at his desk, booting up the computer. He checked to see if Alex was online. He was not.
Billy looked at his cell phone which was beside him. No text from Alex. Nothing.
He called Mark. It went to voicemail. “Mark
…
Steve is back. He’s going crazy. Call him. We love you.” Billy disconnected the call and slouched in the chair, staring at the computer.
His tongue kept being drawn to the cut in his lip. He’d been hit harder, worse. Bullets to the vest. Bruise
d
ribs. He could take physical pain. The military had done more damage to him than the LAPD,
more
than Steve could.
But his heart?
That felt broken. He stared at the gold band on his finger, spinning it. Was his relationship with Alex always destined for failure?
The tabloids thought so. Every move, every public spat was plastered on the rags. Insults hitting Billy like smacks in the face at how old he was. Twenty years Alex’s senior. Angel had even scoffed at him. Laughed mockingly at Billy for falling for Alexander, a boy Angel’s son’s age.
His love for Alex wasn’t fake. Wasn’t some infatuation with a star. Billy knew Alex long before Alex had gotten the part on
Being Screwed
. He knew a young college student at UCLA. One that had dropped out once he got
ten
the acting role.
It was fitting
,
this affair
with Mark
. Once a cheat, always a cheat.
Billy had cheated on Angel Loveday.
Previous to meeting Angel, y
ears went by without Billy finding a partner to date steadily. From the time he enlisted to the time he joined the police department in Santa Monica, where he had met Angel, Billy had never imagined he was the ‘marrying kind’. He didn’t fuck around a lot. But he liked to be independent. Free.
His and Angel’s relationship had grown so stale, so predictable. Angel may have been content, or maybe not.
Billy wanted to watch Angel’s old porn movies to get off with him. Angel hated those films, preferring to be a simple bookstore owner.
When Billy transferred to the LAPD he was looking for excitement, for crazy
,
wild street battles and SWAT was perfect for him.
Unlike Mark,
Billy was a fighter, not a lover.
War was where he belonged, a gun in his hand, a uniform on his back. He knew of nothing else.
He tapped keys on the computer, looking for? Nothing in particular. Bored. Guilty. A screw up. Newly
promoted and going to work tomorrow
with a fat lip.
He tapped
Alex’s name into the search engine. So many fan sites popped up, Billy knew he was not worthy of the young man. A young man with so much promise, so much talent…
Was that why Billy took Mark? Some way to feel worth? To feel he was not inferior to Alexander?
How many people wanted to fuck Mark Richfield?
Millions.
How many wanted to fuck Alexander?
Billy stared at the photos of Alex, some promotional, some candid. Alex in his fangs and fake contacts, snarling.
Billy actually laughed at the photos of Alex as a vamp. So pretty. So very pretty. If it weren’t for the lithe blond from Sweden, Tadzio Andres
sen, a mere nineteen year old waif, Alex would be the androgynous woman on that set. But how they managed to find a young man who looked more female than Alexander when made up? Billy had no idea.
Nineteen. At nineteen Billy was wearing military fatigues and training to be a soldier.
Billy’s youth had been removed from him. By choice. He did not hang with his buddies at the local taverns. He fought battles on the front lines.
Billy continued to scan the search engines for photos. Inevitably
,
Mark’s pictures came up with Alex’s. The ads they shared, posing back to back in riding gear. Billy
had
made love to them both. Had anyone else on the planet?
It certainly gave Billy pause to think.
“Motherfucker.” Billy stared at father and son. “I think I’m the only person on this earth to have had them both.”
He rested his chin in his palm and stared at the image on the screen of Alex and his amazing dad. “Son of a fucking bitch.”
If there was a patch or medal he could wear with that accomplishment, Billy would pin it to his captain’s uniform. He may have survived many battles, but having fucked two of the world’s most beautiful men certainly was unique.
He gazed at Mark, shirtless, wearing beige britches and his riding boots.
You gorgeous motherfucker. I would own you
both
if I could
.