Authors: G.A. Hauser
Alex sat in the hotel room, alone, reading the script for
the day’s
shoot
. Once Jack and
Steve had left, he tried to contact
Billy
,
but again, wasn’t able to. So the day had gone by and night had fallen on Rome. He had dinner in his room, alone.
A few of his co-stars had sent him text messages, so Alex replied, telling them the work was grueling and
the shooting time
too long. He didn’t like it. The TV show was easy compared to this.
Alex checked to see if anyone
had
sent him a message about his dad, but no one had. He wondered if they had even found him yet.
Where would Dad go?
Alex found the courage to call his grandmother. He dreaded it, but felt he was the only one to actually check that option. He
check
ed
to see if he had
the number on his phone and heard a light tap to his hotel door. Alex looked up, wondering if it was an assistant ready to hand him a revised script, which happened constantly.
He sighed, set his phone on the nightstand and opened the door.
“Billy?”
“Hey, baby.”
Alex leapt on him and wrapped his legs around his hips, locking his ankles around him. He kissed his cheek and lips as Billy tossed his bag into the room and closed the door behind him.
“You came
.
You came!
” Alex hugged him, squeezing him. “I love you. I love you so much. I don’t care what you did. I don’t care.”
“Thank you, baby. Thank you.” Billy cupped Alex’s head, kissing him, walking with him to the bed. Alex sat on it, dragging Billy down with him. “Make love to me. Make love to me.”
“Alex.” Billy let Alex take his jacket off
for him
. Billy dropped it on the floor. “Alex, I need to talk to you.”
“Love first. Talk later.” Alex latched onto him, kissing him.
“Baby, please. It’s about your father.”
Alex slowly heard what Billy said. He caressed Billy’s cheek. “I know you screwed. It’s okay.”
“No. No, my sweetness. Your dad tried to kill himself.”
Alex tilted his head. “Again? Now what?”
“Alex. He’s in a coma. He’s unresponsive.”
Though he heard, Alex couldn’t comprehend. “What?”
Billy held Alex’s hand on his lap. “He went riding in Glendale. He took an overdose of pills.”
“What do you mean by unresponsive?” Alex began to feel ill.
“Unconscious. We found him. Me, Jeff, Mickey and Adam. He was lying on the ground near the horse. He’s in the hospital in Glendale.”
“But
…
but he’ll be okay,” Alex asked.
“I hope so.”
“You
…
hope
so?”
“We weren’t there quickly enough. He was unconscious a long time.”
“But
…
he’ll regain consciousness. Right?”
“We don’t know.”
Alex stood off the bed. “What do you mean, you don’t know?”
“Alex, it’s a day by day process.”
“What did the doctor say?” Alex rubbed his stomach as he began to feel nauseated.
“They don’t know either. They said they hoped he hasn’t suffered brain damage—”
“What?” Alex began to hyperventilate. “No. You can’t be serious. This is a joke, right? For me being a screw up? For mocking him?”
“Alex.” Billy stood and hugged him, rubbing his back. “
I want you to come back with me. We need to talk to Mr Ford.”
Alex stared with unblinking eyes at the wall. “No. Dad’s going to be okay. He will be okay.”
“Alex. We need to speak to someone to see if you can take a break and go home.”
Alex looked at Billy and felt as if he was going to be sick. He gagged and Billy said, “Shit. Come on.” He dragged Alex to the bathroom and Alex dry-heaved.
Billy opened the toilet lid, pushed Alex to his knees and aimed him for the toilet.
Alex gagged and closes his eyes.
Billy held his hair in a ponytail, rubbing Alex’s back. “Okay, baby. Okay.”
Alex threw up, coughing and spitting into the bowl.
“Okay
…
hang in there, baby. Hang in there.”
More came up from Alex’s stomach and he felt dizzy and weak. He spit and sat on his heels. Billy handed him a glass of water. Alex rinsed his mouth and Billy flushed the toilet.
Alex stared into space. “Dad will be okay.”
“I hope so, Alex.”
Alex met Billy’s eyes. “He has to be!”
Billy reached for him and cradled him. “Okay. We can go home and you can tell him that yourself.”
Alex’s bottom lip began to quiver. “I did this to him. I did this.”
“You?” Billy asked loudly
and pressed his hand to his own chest
.
“I need to tell him I’m sorry. Billy, I have to see him.”
“How do we get in touch with your director?”
Alex tried to stand up.
Billy helped him. “Are you going to be sick again?”
“I don’t know.” Alex stopped moving, holding his stomach. “Can you get my cell phone?”
“Yes. Stay there.”
Alex nodded. Billy raced out of the bathroom. Alex peered into the mirror and gave himself a nasty glar
e. “Ya happy now, ya slut
?” He hated himself.
Billy returned and handed Alex the phone.
Alex scrolled through numbers and felt sick again. He crouched on the floor in case he threw up. Billy sat beside him, caressing his hair.
“This is Alex Richfield. I need to fly to LA. My father is
…
is…” He swallowed black water in his throat. “Is in the hospital in a coma.”
“Hang on, Alex. I’ll get Mr Ford on the phone.”
“Thank you.” Alex felt hot tears run down his cheeks.
“Alex?”
the director asked.
“Mr Ford
…
Dad
…
my dad tried to kill himself and…” Alex began crying. He shook his head and handed Billy the phone.
“Mr Ford? This is Billy Sharpe, Alex’s husband. I’m with him in his room. His father, Mark, is in intensive care in a hospital in Glendale after a suicide attempt.”
Alex gagged into the toilet and felt more black water in his mouth, spitting it into the bowl.
“Yes, sir. I do appreciate that, sir.” Billy touched Alex’s hair. “We will. We will keep you abreast of any news. Yes, sir. Thank you.”
Alex gagged into the toilet again and began weeping.
“Yes. I hope for the best too, sir.” Billy’s eyes overflowed. “I will. Thank you again.” He disconnected the call and said, “He said go.”
Alex nodded. “I have to go now.”
“Yes, we do.”
“Let me call Grandma.”
“You sure?” Billy held onto Alex as he stood up unsteadily.
“I want her jet.”
Billy nodded. “Okay, baby.”
Alex
rins
ed his mouth at the sink and dialed, closing his eyes as he called London.
~
As the news began to spread, the waiting room at the hospital in Glendale filled. Adam hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours as their friends
,
who had returned from the estate
,
stayed with him. Jeff and Mickey were slouched in the same chairs they had sat in since they arrived, and Josh was inconsolable, wailing against Tanner’s chest in heaving sobs.
Adam didn’t know who was supposed to be at work, and taking time off, but everyone was here; the firemen, the actors, the twins and their lovers
…
and Jack.
Finally
,
Jack Larsen had showed up.
He was beside Pete Harrison, bent over his lap, his hands covering his face, silent.
Adam was nudged out of his thoughts by Colt, holding out a cup of coffee to him. Thanking him, Adam took it and said, “Let me bring it to Steve.”
Colt nodded, kissing Adam’s cheek and said, “I’ll have one for you when you return.”
“Thanks.” Adam looked at his husband. “Jack.”
Jack didn’t move.
“Jack, do you want to see Mark?”
All Adam got was a slow shake of Jack’s head. Jack kept his face concealed and Adam knew this was killing him.
Adam held the coffee and was allowed through the restricted area to Mark’s room. Steve was beside Mark, resting on Mark’s shoulder.
When Adam entered Steve opened his eyes.
“I brought you coffee.”
Steve didn’t react.
Adam set the cup down. He dragged a chair beside Steve and said, “If you want to go home and shower, change clothing, I’ll be here.”
“What if he dies? I can’t leave him.”
Adam studied Steve’s rough beard growth, his bloodshot eyes and disheveled clothing. “He won’t die. The machines are keeping him alive. No one is pulling plugs.”
Steve sobbed and battled it back. He reached for Mark’s face, kissing his lips. “Baby. Adam is here. Adam is right here.”
Adam choked up and wiped his eyes.
“Come back to us, baby.” Steve kept kissing Mark’s lips. “We love you. We love you so much.” He coughed and stood, turning
away from
Adam
as if humiliated
.
Adam rubbed Steve’s back affectionately. “All the guys are out there. Get one of them to take you home for an hour to freshen up.”
Steve appeared to take a deep breath, getting a hold of his emotions.
He left, not looking back.
Adam took the chair Steve had sat on and held Mark’s hand. “Baby
…
Alex is on his way. Billy is bringing him back from Rome. You need to hang on for Alex. Please.” Adam kissed Mark’s hand. “Can you hear me?” Adam squeezed Mark’s hand. “Lover, please, give me a sign. Move your finger. Something.”
Adam waited.
Nothing happened.
He rested his head on Mark’s shoulder and warm tears ran down his face.
~
When Steve emerged from the ICU he couldn’t believe the number of friends that were gathered in the waiting area. Seeing Jack, curled in a ball, his hands covering his face, Steve wondered
,
now that reality had set in, how deeply this wounded the tough lawyer.
Not so funny now, is it, Larsen?
Jack hadn’t even gone in to see Mark, but Steve had no idea who the hospital was allowing in and who they were restricting.
His co-worker from Parsons and Company,
Donny approached Steve, embracing him. “How are you holding up?”
“Fine.” He nudged Donny away.
Donny held onto Steve’s arms. “You don’t look fine.”
Steve caught Jack’s eyes as Jack glanced up at him, then Steve left the hospital, shaking and weak, losing his mind.
~
“Dad! Come on. Please? Let me ride him.”
“He’s too much of a horse for you to handle, Mark.”
“I’m not a baby. I’m fifteen!”
“Milt, let the boy ride the horse. I bought him that thoroughbred for Mark to enjoy.”
“You spoil the brat, Leslie. He’s nothing but a fuckup and you pamper him.”
“I’m not a fuckup! Don’t you see my grades? I’m applying to Ivy League schools, Dad!”
“Oh? Do they have affirmative action for fags now?”
“Milt! Don’t speak to the boy that way.”
“Can I ride him? Huh?”
“I don’t care what you fucking do. Just stay the hell away from me.”
~
Steve pulled into the driveway of his home in Bel Air. Mark’s TVR was now on the driveway. He didn’t know who had called
the tow truck
to have it returned, but figured Jeff or Mickey had. The cops. They were so efficient when it came to details like that.
Steve used his remote to open the double garage door. He parked and left the garage door open, then entered the house. It was how he had left it; drawers open when he hunted for a pen and paper, his overnight bag from Rome on the floor, his dead phone on the counter…
Steve picked up a spare key for the TVR and
headed for it. He sat down inside the amazing sports car, catching Mark’s cologne scent. Before he started it he closed his eyes, knowing this car, this special car, was Mark’s pride and joy. Very few TVRs were allowed into the states, and even less were converted to street legal. The American government classified this car as a race track vehicle. Not like our Corvettes or Shelbys. No. TVRs were Lamborghinis, Ferraris, speed-mobiles that were made for the track. But not this one. No. Mark had spent a fortune modifying it for USA
standards, years ago
.
Steve started the engine. The rumble was indeed, like a race track car. To Steve, the automobile was as sleek and sexy as Mark, and never failed to turn heads.
He managed to get it into the driveway without smashing the front into the far wall. His car wasn’t a high-performance race car, and he didn’t drive the TVR very often.
He shut it down and looked at how immaculate it was. Mark’s love of this car was obvious. He kept it detailed and as manicured as himself.
Steve opened the glove box. Nothing was in it, but a folder with his registration and insurance card.
He climbed out,
walked
to the kitchen,
lowered
the garage door as he did. Steve picked up his phone as he headed to the upper floor. He finally found his charger, and plugged the phone in. He stood looking at the bed.
The room was clean, as if someone had come to service it, like maids at hotels. Steve knew Mark liked things uncluttered, beds made, floors vacuumed. Once a month they did have a team come in to do the deep cleaning. After working long hours, neither man wanted to scrub toilets or scour kitchen floors.
Steve began to undress, having been in the same clothing since he flew out of Rome. He stunk from the stress, the travel
and Alex
…
As he stripped, letting his clothing drop in a pile on the carpet
,
he felt ill. He had not eaten. It made him think of how Mark must feel before shoots. A strange ache was in his gut. But he had no appetite. None.
He made his way to the shower, starting the water to warm. He glanced at his reflection and could not believe what he saw. His beard growth, his puffy eyes
,
his sallow cheeks
…
he appeared ill, gaunt.
Smelling Mark’s cologne, Steve began to get emotional. He held onto the shower door and stepped in, under the spray. As it soaked him he sobbed, barely able to run the soap over himself, so sick of his actions, the sex with Alex, l
eaving without finding Mark.
H
ow could he have not thought of Piccadilly? How?
How could Jack not have thought of it?
Jack
had to know
. Jack knew Mark used to run to his horses at the estate, even as a young man. Mark used those animals to decompress.
It was inconceivable to Steve that the thought of Mark’s horse had not even occurred to Jack. Or him.
Steve dropped the soap and rested his head against his arms on the tile wall, sobbing. The blame of Mark’s
self-destructive
act
ions
was rushing up him like a tsunami.
He knew the entire sequence of events. The fault
lay
with him.
He
went to Randy Dawson to confront him.
He
lusted after Alex since Alex showed up at their door.
He
left for Rome to fuck Alexander instead of putting all his effort into finding Mark. And
he
didn’t prevent the love of his life from seeking a man in uniform
…
when Steve could so easily have role
-
played for Mark nightly.
But Mark was too shy to ask it of him.
Steve knew. He knew if he had given Mark that uniform, played the powerhouse for him, Mark wouldn’t have attended that SWAT training.
And where was Steve when he did?
At the fucking estate.
He
knew Mark should not have been dragged there in the first place.
He
knew he shouldn’t have let Jack stop him from leaving when Mark did.
Blame. Steve had no one but himself to blame.
He shut off the water and tried to function, but he could not function. Mark was on life support. Mark was most likely
brain
dead.
Brain dead.
How long had Mark lain on that fucking trail alone? In the ice cold night? Valium
chok
ing his veins?
Steve staggered out of the tub, holding the walls, filled with so much anguish he was out of his mind.
He headed for the walk-in closet. The small space was filled with Mark’s incredible wardrobe, and the scent of Mark was strong.
After running his hand along Mark’s suits and trousers, all hanging in perfect order, Steve
crouched down
. He
pull
ed
a lock box out
from under shoe boxes,
and
dialed
the combination. With hot tears running down his face, he opened it. His Glock was there,
taken down to its parts
.
Sitting on the carpet, Steve quickly assembled it, putting a full magazine of forty caliber bullets into the receiver.
He
tapped
it
against his palm
, seating
the magazine
properly, and chambered a round.
Holding it, staring at it for a moment, Steve needed the doorframe to help him to his feet. He swayed and staggered to the bed he and Mark had shared since they had gotten married.
Dropping to
sit on
the foot of it, Steve looked at the gun.
He inhaled deeply and gazed up at the ceiling, warm tears running in rivers down his cheeks.
Brain dead? Life support?
“My baby
…
my lover…” Steve covered his eyes with his left forearm. “Not without you. I can’t. Not without you.” He began wailing loudly, out of his mind with grief. “I failed you! Oh, God, Mark! I failed you!”