Steve spotted Mark’s TVR parked beside his Mercedes. He opened his car doors with his key fob and folded his jacket, placing it into the back seat, then waited for Mark to get in.
Mark set his briefcase and jacket behind the seat as well, and dropped down on the passenger’s seat.
Before Steve started the car, he watched Mark. Mark’s hands shook as he put on his sunglasses. Steve didn’t start the car. He glared at Mark, trying not to say what he always had to say, and Mark had spent the fucking night on a motorcycle, and slept in a cemetery. Even someone who actually ate would feel terrible after doing that. But, Mark, the real talented actor in the family, was putting on a front, as usual.
“What are you waiting for?” Mark asked as he fastened the seatbelt.
Steve started the car, threw up his hands, and said, “I’m going to ask you.”
Mark rested his elbow on the armrest and rubbed his face tiredly. “I already know. And I don’t know. I can’t recall.”
“Unbelievable!” Steve slammed the car’s transmission into reverse and backed up. “A roundtrip bike ride for at least nine hours, and nothing but black coffee in you? How the fuck are you functioning?”
“Sheer will.”
“Jesus!” Steve left the parking garage. “What the fuck am I supposed to do? Huh? Every fucking week before a modeling gig, the same damn thing! Aren’t you sick of being dizzy? Sick of fainting?”
“Do shut up.”
“Shut up?” Steve stopped at a light. “Shut up?” he echoed loudly. “My husband leaves my bed in the middle of the night, accidentally forgets his phone, scares the living shit out of everyone, so we’re not only calling hospitals and other police agencies, Mickey and Jeff are looking for your dead body—”
“Steven, please.” Mark sank in the leather seat.
“Do you know how screwed up it was?” Steve tried to split his focus on the road and Mark. “You really are clueless. You have no idea the panic you create, do you?”
“I know. All right?”
“Then, why? All I ask is for you to leave a note. Huh? Send a text. Tell someone. Is that too much?”
“You’re giving me a headache.”
“No! I’m not! You not eating is! You taking a fucking trip to Sacramento on a fucking speed machine did!”
Mark took off his sunglasses and covered his face.
Steve stopped at another traffic signal. “I swear, every time I think we’re all right, you do something like this.” Steve moved with the flow of cars. “I know you needed to get closure. I have a good hunch those fucking photo albums hit you hard last night. Am I right?”
“Why did you open the box?” Mark glanced at him. “Why? I would never have. I was going to simply hide them.”
Steve stared at the car ahead of him. “I had to. I love you. Do you think I wouldn’t want to see you as a young kid?”
“I was punished! I was abused! Tortured! Beaten!”
Steve winced.
“Did that amuse you, Steven?”
Steve rubbed his jaw and didn’t answer.
“Nothing?” Mark asked glibly, “Nothing to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
“When you were born, the first baby boy after Laura, were you loved?”
Steve could hear the pain in Mark. “Yes.”
“I know Laura. She’s a delight. Did she adore you to the point of giving you so much attention you never knew pain as a child?”
Steve knew Mark was correct. His big sister clung to him like he was her favorite new toy.
“And if your father hadn’t pointed a gun at you and Sonja that day, if he hadn’t shown you his true colors, you and he, did you get along? Go fishing? Play ball in the park? And what about your mum, Steven? Hmm? Did she plan birthday parties for you? Bake cakes? Invite all your schoolmates?”
“Yes.”
“Well. I’m so happy for you.” Mark put his sunglasses on.
Steve drove quietly for a while. “Leslie is dead now. Will that be enough for you to heal?”
“That’s why I went. I wanted an answer to that question.”
Steve reached out for Mark’s hand. Mark clasped it.
As they drew closer to the building where they had to give a presentation, Steve pulled into a pay lot, taking the ticket. He parked, and shut off the car. “Mark.”
Mark took his hand back and dabbed at his eyes under his sunglasses.
“You have run over this ground for forty years.” Steve unfastened his seatbelt. “Can you let it go?”
Mark turned away from him, and Steve could hear him holding back a sob. “What did I do to them? Why did they despise me?”
“They were fucked up. You weren’t.”
Mark removed his sunglasses and wiped his eyes. “I looked at the albums. I was just a child. A baby. How could they treat a little boy the way they did?”
Steve inched over to him and unbuckled the seatbelt for Mark, then he tried to hold him over the console. “I don’t know.”
Mark laughed through his sob. “Bloody forty-four and still suffering like I’m living there. Living through it all over again.”
“I never should have opened that box.”
Mark didn’t meet his gaze. “Pandora’s Box. Have no doubt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologizing. It was normal for you to look. I certainly don’t blame you.”
Steve checked the time. “Do you want to stay here? I can do the presentation myself.”
Mark inhaled deeply and dropped down the visor, wiping his eyes in the mirror. “I can do it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. It will get me out of my head. I need to.” Mark flipped the visor back up and put his sunglasses on.
“Then, we eat lunch. You got it?”
“Yes, Steven.” Mark opened the car door.
Steve watched him take his suit jacket and put it on, wishing, begging, for Mark to somehow let it go. But do we ever shake our past?
Or does it haunt us forever?
As Steve stood beside his car, putting his jacket on, he knew Mark was anything but- ready for this meeting.
He held Mark around his waist as they walked to the elevator, and let Mark pull himself together. It was hell. And Steve kept waiting for heaven.
~
Billy received a formal email from the panel that selected him for the Chief’s position. He printed it out, read it carefully, and could see, yes, he was going to be their new top cop. Since he had to sign paperwork, he picked up his cap, held the papers, and headed out of his office to his patrol car. Before he did, his name was called.
“Captain Sharpe.”
One of the high-ranking commanders was behind him.
Billy turned around and saluted him, out of courtesy, since he was military trained.
The man outstretched his hand. “Congratulations, Captain. We’re sorry to lose you.”
“Word certainly travels quickly. I have the paperwork in my hand.” He showed him.
“We were notified a few weeks ago you had applied.”
Billy had no reply for that comment, but it shouldn’t have surprised him. The Santa Monica police must have requested his files and spoken to a few of Billy’s commanding officers.
“Can I ask you why you’re leaving?”
Billy tucked his cap under his arm. “The career advancement in a department this large is slow.”
“True.”
“And, well, my ultimate goal was top dog.”
Billy received a warm smile. “I understand.”
“Sir, I can’t complain about working here. I was treated very fairly.”
“Considering you’re out?”
That surprised Billy. “Yes. Considering I’m an out gay man.”
“Married to a movie star half his age?”
Billy’s good mood soured. “I have to go.”
“Captain.”
Billy paused and met this commander’s gaze.
“You should be very proud of yourself considering all the potential sticking points to your ambitious goals. Your work as a police officer has been impeccable.”
“Thank you, sir. In all situations, I try to do my best.”
“And it shows. This will be the LAPD’s loss.”
Billy reached out his hand. “Thank you.”
“I wish you the best of luck. I mean that.”
Billy nodded, then continued on his way to where the patrol cars were parked. Word was out. No doubt the media would be next to shout out to the world, there was a gay man leading a police department.
It angered Billy. He wasn’t a ‘gay’ man. He was a man. A man whom had worked like a fucking dog to get where he was; been shot, wounded, earned the respect from his peers, and didn’t flinch in battle, yet respected everyone.
He wasn’t ‘gay’. He was simply a cop.
Billy removed his keys from his pocket and sat in his sleek new cruiser, one with a low light bar on the roof. He started it, hearing the dispatch radio traffic, and drove to an office in Santa Monica. It was time to seal the deal.
“Fucking ridiculous.” He shook his head. Why he had to be defined by his sexuality was beyond him. But, this was how the world was at the moment.
And where you stuck your dick seemed to matter. He’d never understand why, and hoped, since he was an ‘out gay man’ whom had gotten the top position in the police, that other closeted men, may find courage to step out. But he was no Jack Larsen, champion of civil rights. He had enough battles to fight.
Billy tried to unwind. He had done it. And now, he should be able to relax, right?
He parked near Ms Drescher’s office and before he got out of the car, he sent Alex a text. ‘love you, babydoll. I’m ready to sign my soul over to the SMPD.’
‘Love, love, love you!’
Billy smiled, shut off the phone and got out of the car, putting his police cap on his head, and holding the paperwork.
~
“Adam Lewis, can I help you?”
“Yes, Mr Lewis, this is Tracy Hughes from TMQ. I’m calling to verify Alexander Richfield has a new television pilot coming up.”
Adam grumbled under his breath. “Why don’t you call the network?”
“I did. They refused to verify it. So? Is he?”
“No comment.”
“Is there any truth to the rumor that Alex’s costar, Jeremy Runner, prevented Alex from getting raped while at a cast party in Toronto?”
“No. Comment!” Adam hung up.
Natalie peered into his office. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. Just news hounds. Jesus. They never let up.”
“Anything I can do?”
“Yes.” Adam faced his computer. “Send this list of auditions to Carl Bronson. I forwarded them to you.”
“Okay. Any reason you’re not sending them directly?”
“Yes.”
She waited, tilting her head.
Adam took off his phone earpiece. “Nat, he wants a straight movie role.”
“Oh, okay.” She got it. “I’ll send them to him.”
Adam stopped her. “No. I should do it. Never mind.” Adam faced his computer and sent them to Carl’s email.
“Do you think he’ll blame you when he doesn’t get them?”
“Yeah. You were my buffer.” Adam smiled at her.
“Anytime, Adam.”
“Nat?”
“Yeah?” She stepped into his office.
“Would you go see a movie if you knew the leading man was gay, and he played a straight character?”
She shrugged. “Sure.”
“Then, what am I not getting here?”
“Hey,” she said, pointing to herself. “Would you hire a woman with purple hair, tattoos, and piercing as your assistant?”
He laughed. “Yes.”
“That’s why you’re wonderful.” She winked and left his office, closing the door.
Adam rocked in his leather chair, thinking about perceptions and judging people before you let them reveal who they were.
Since the media had been alerted to not only the mess in Toronto, but Alex’s new series, Adam looked for the source.
The worst of the gossip rags had published it. Simply unbelievable.
Then he spotted another headline.
‘The First Openly Gay Chief of Police- Captain William Paul Sharpe, the Meat in the Father-Son Richfield Sandwich. How Low Can The Police Go?’
Adam sneered at the headline. “Go fuck yourself.” He went back to his work of setting up his talent with auditions, but after seeing the smearing of a good man, and yet more sickening accusations, Adam was constantly tempted to sic Jack Larsen on them, but for what? It’s what the trolls wanted. Attention and a battle. He put his earpiece back on and focused on his work.
~
Mark shook the hands of the CEOs for the account he and Steve had just gotten.
“It will be a pleasure working with you, Mark.”
“Thank you. Likewise.” Mark kept up the act, smiling, pretending he was not ready to collapse. Once he and Steve made the rounds and gathered the signatures, Mark kept his smile for the new clients and buttoned his suit jacket. He and Steve were shown out of the office to an elevator.
Steve poked the button for their parking level and Mark closed his eyes as he leaned against the back wall.
The elevator stopped before it reached their floor.
A group of people joined them, making Steve back up and stand near Mark.
Mark removed his sunglasses from his jacket pocket, putting them on, and tried to hide behind his long hair.
It didn’t work. He kept getting glances from the occupants, giggles, and they were whispering.
Finally at their parking level, Steve excused himself, trying to get Mark out of the little crowd.
“Are you Alexander Richfield?”
“No.” Mark turned away.
“I told you it was Mark. Mark! Can we get a photo?”
Steve held Mark’s elbow and kept him moving. “Not at the moment, sorry.”
“Asshole,” was muttered behind them.
Mark didn’t look back. He waited for Steve to open the car doors remotely, and then tossed the briefcase behind the seat and sat down.
Steve started the car and got them out of the parking lot before anyone tried to take photos.
The lack of food began to make Mark dizzy. He attempted to hide it from Steve and ended up hanging his head low, nearly putting it between his own knees to stop the spinning sensation.
He heard Steve exhale loudly. He knew.
“I’m going to hit the deli before we go back.”
“Fine.”
“What will you eat?”
Mark didn’t want to eat anything he felt so ill. “Fruit.”
“Fruit.” Steve sounded furious.
“Steven.” Mark took off his glasses and rubbed his face.
Steve became alarmed. “Do you need to go to the hospital?”
“No!” Mark loosened his necktie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.
The drive was silent after that. Mark struggled to feel better, and didn’t.
Steve parked at a meter near the deli, which was on the same street as their office. “I’ll be right back.”
Mark didn’t answer.
Steve left the car running and jogged to the entrance.
Mark slouched low in the seat, put his sunglasses on once more and tried to hide from the pedestrian traffic.
~
Since it was after the business lunch crowd, Steve didn’t have to wait long to place his order. He got himself a turkey club sandwich, and Mark, fruit, and, a grilled chicken salad, as well as two healthy juices. He paid, took the bag, and returned to his car. When he found a crowd of people trying to take Mark’s photo from the sidewalk, Steve grew irate. He sat behind the wheel, placing the bag of food on the floor near Mark. He could see Mark hiding, doing everything but putting his suit jacket over his head, which would be ridiculous.
Steve entered the parking garage and pulled into his assigned space. He held the bag of food and exited the car. He waited. Steve walked to the passenger’s side and opened the door. “Are you coming?”
“One moment.”
Steve tried not to scream in anger. He set the food bag on the roof of the car and crouched by Mark. Mark was obviously sick; pale, and coated with sweat.
Steve opened the food bag, removed juice from it, and opened the top. “Drink this. Your blood sugar must be low.”
As Mark took the plastic bottle, his hands were trembling so much, he could barely hold it.
Steve clenched his jaw on an explosion of fury, as Mark used both hands to drink the healthy liquid. Steve crouched by Mark until Mark felt strong enough to get out of the car. Which to Steve, was a sign, this man was simply on a path to killing himself, one way or another.
Mark handed Steve the juice and nodded.
Steve capped it, backing up, and taking the food from the rooftop. Keeping his eye on Mark, he watched him take the valise, and then hold the car to steady himself.
The amount Steve wanted to continue to berate Mark was making him so angry he was grinding his teeth. Mark managed to walk to the elevator without toppling over.
Steve didn’t say a word.
They entered their office floor, and Steve made sure Mark walked directly to the employee lounge. He set Mark’s fruit and salad, and the juice carton, down on a round table, and waited until Mark had washed his hands and sat down.
“I’ll give Harold the contract.” Steve took Mark’s briefcase and left him in the lounge. He stopped at his office, removed the contract and paused to try and stop his rage. Inhaling a few deep breaths, Steve knocked on Harold Parsons’ door, and Harold called for him to come in.
~
Mark finished the juice, and looked at the salad, and the fruit. He ate a grape and chewed slowly, feeling sick to his stomach.
He put the plastic fork down and waited before taking another bite. Steve returned, rinsed his hands, and sat down with Mark, unwrapping his sandwich. Steve took a bite and as he chewed, Mark could see Steve watching him.
Mark forced himself to eat a piece of watermelon. It was nearly impossible to keep eating. Not only did he feel sick to his stomach, he felt as if he was going to faint. Ringing came to his ears and that horrible sensation of passing out began to overwhelm him. He scooted out the chair and put his head between his knees.
“Jesus Christ!” Steve yelled. “I’m getting you to the ER.”
Mark grabbed Steve’s leg to stop him. “Let it pass.”
“Mark, both Blake and Hunter warned you. They asked you to go to the doctor to get checked out. What they hell is wrong with finding out what’s going on?”
“Steven.” Mark held up his hand. “Stop.”
“Even fruit is making you sick? Are you kidding me?”
Mark couldn’t bear the scolding. He tried to stand, and landed on his knees, dropping hard.
“Fuck!”
Mark tried to keep from passing out completely. Steve immediately forced Mark to lie on his back, bent Mark’s knees, and then rested Mark’s head on his own lap.
Mark heard a commotion from employees seeing or hearing something going on. Someone said they were calling 911.
The humiliation Mark was suffering from fainting here, of all places, was a nightmare. He covered his face in shame and began to cry.