We shot six hours of footage and I’d been working on editing that down to a 113 minute feature—the exact same length as Audrey’s ‘Roman Holiday’. There was to be a general admission version of the film, suitable for viewing by the likes of my mother and Blake’s parents, but also an alternate version just for us and a few select guests. I gave Strauss an early preview and he declared it the uncut version because ‘of the preponderance of uncut Italian schlong’ and admittedly, there are some lingering shots at Lido di Osti, a delightful beach near Rome where Speedos are shunned. There is also a five minute sequence devoted to a slow pan of the Pope’s grenadiers. I provide a candid assessment of each gendarme, scoring them on how snugly they fill out their uniforms, whilst also speculating on their cock size and whether they top or bottom. Then there was that overgrown park we ventured into at twilight. We’d been informed that it offered an unusual perspective on the Victor Emmanuel Monument, though we didn’t linger long on that particular aspect. We were distracted by some other very impressive edifices which happened to be out and standing at full attention.
A private screening seemed absolutely perfect—though first I had to finish my masterpiece. I’d been working on it every day since our return and it felt so satisfying to be involved in something creative again. I was a film-maker! I felt confident that the film would work its seductive charms upon Rick. How could it fail? It featured the glamour of international travel, the splendours of the eternal city, and me, centre stage, in my new Italian fashions or on occasion, semi-naked? I envisaged an intimate evening for three with an Italian theme—Italian wood-fired bread, antipasto platters and a generous supply of Prosecco. It would be simply divino.
As soon as Blake came in the door from work, I excitedly announced my plan, but he merely shrugged. I put his lack of enthusiasm down to the fact that his role in the film is strictly supporting. It might even be described as a cameo. ‘Okay, I’ll ask him,’ said Blake, as if he and Rick were already firm friends.
‘No,’ I corrected him. ‘I’ll ask him, introduce myself properly at the same time and correct any false impressions he may have formed of me after your performance last night.’
Blake didn’t even look sheepish. He strolled into the kitchen. ‘Haven’t you got dinner organised?’ he asked sharply.
‘No I haven’t,’ I snapped. ‘I’ve been busy.’
Though all I’d done besides the laundry was watch both rough cuts of ‘Roman Holiday’ to help me decide which one would give Rick the best impression of me. Finally, I’d elected to throw caution and modesty to the winds and screen the uncut version. Rick would soon forget Blake in his boxer shorts once he saw my naked butt on the sands of Lido di Osti. ‘I’m going to the gym seeing as I didn’t make it this morning,’ Blake announced tersely, ‘and I suppose I’ll have to get a takeaway on the way home.’
I was going to ask him to get something for me but thought that might be pushing it. Once he’d departed, I decided to extend my invitation to Rick. He appeared to be at home: the car was parked outside and the living-room lights were on. I changed into my Diesel jeans and a muscle shirt. Satisfied with my look, I marched downstairs, went outside and rapped on his door. As I heard his footsteps approach, it occurred to me that perhaps I should have thought through what I was going to say to him. How should I explain away last night? Apologise, laugh it off, or blame it all on Blake? I was plumping for the latter, when the door opened and I was confronted by the beguiling sight of our neighbour’s famous appendage.
Rick was several inches taller than me but there was also a small step up from the front path to his doorway. These two factors combined to pitch my eye level somewhat lower than his, and though I certainly wasn’t at crotch height, my eye somehow gravitated there. Rick was wearing his gym gear; a singlet and cotton sweat shorts, and was damp from his workout. The cotton was clinging. It was tremendously exciting to discern that he wore no underwear beneath his sweats. The contours were clearly defined. It was indeed very large. Larger than I had imagined and I had been thinking big. This unexpected view was utterly distracting and very difficult to draw my eye away from. However, I forced myself to look up and was a little startled to note that Rick was studying me curiously and somewhat coolly.
‘Hey,’ he said rather brusquely.
For a moment, I didn’t know how to reply. My mind wasn’t focusing on introductions and witty opening lines. It was thinking of pretexts to steal another long, lingering look down below. ‘Um, hi, I … I’m Stephen from next door … ’
‘Yeah yeah, we kind of met last night.’
That remark helped guide me back to my purpose. ‘Yes,’ I said with a grimace, ‘and that’s why I popped over. I wanted to apologise for that scene. You caught us, well actually, you caught Blake at a bad moment. He’s been a little tense lately and got himself worked up into a state. Anyway, I wanted to apologise and introduce myself properly. I’m Stephen Spear.’
I said my name with great emphasis, in case it triggered some recognition, but Rick merely responded with his name—Rick Lang—and thrust out his hand. We shook and eyed one another.
His hand shake was deliciously firm and butch. I couldn’t help fantasising about those hands pinning me down firmly, then him doing whatever he wanted with me. He was tall, maybe 1.9 metres, and with a strapping physique to match. But it wasn’t one of those gym-built bodies that screamed steroids. It was a more natural, defined build. He also hadn’t been plucked and tortured into ubiquitous smooth submission but had a hairy chest and legs. To me, that hairy chest was the sexiest thing about him. There it was, inches from my eyes, exposed so delectably in the scoop of his singlet, damp with sweat from his workout, the nipples teasingly prominent through the white ribbed cotton. Everything about him combined to give the impression that he would be one hell of a top.
He pulled his hand away. Suddenly, I realised that I was staring and neither of us had spoken for what was beginning to seem an awkward length of time. But, and this surprised me, it wasn’t just me that was staring. He was also studying me, intently. Then he nodded slightly and smiled. That smile: there was such a knowing edge to its curl. It was laden with an undercurrent of pure sexual insinuation.
‘I know you from somewhere,’ he mused, nodding his head. ‘Don’t tell me. I’ll remember. I have a good memory for faces.’
I prepared myself to modestly acknowledge my celebrity. But as the moments passed, it began to seem that Rick’s memory was not all that he claimed it to be. ‘Perhaps you know me from television?’ I suggested.
‘Oh yeah, you’ve been in an ad. Blake mentioned that but I’ve never seen it.’
I was furious that Blake had told him about that career low-point.
‘Actually, I was also in a drama series on TV last year. ‘Sunnyside Street’?’
Rick didn’t seem to know it. ‘Sorry, I don’t watch much TV. No, it’s from somewhere else …’ He shrugged and smiled helplessly. ‘Anyway, it’ll come to me eventually.’
‘Perhaps you’ve just seen me out or something?’
‘Maybe. You get around a bit.’
Perhaps, that was intended as a question, but his intonation made it sound like a statement. It gave me a moment’s pause and made me more convinced that I had some slanders to undo.
‘When you had coffee with Blake this morning,’ I began, ‘I hadn’t had an opportunity to talk to him. He was angry with me and may have said some things to you …’
I paused to see if Rick might elaborate as to what had been said against me. But he didn’t. Instead, he leant forward slightly, his eyes fixed on me, as if he was deeply interested in what I had to say.
‘I mean, I don’t really know you,’ I continued, ‘but we are neighbours and I wouldn’t want you to have a false impression of me, from what was said in the heat of the moment.’
‘No,’ Rick agreed.
I was beginning to flounder. I’d been expecting a little more help from him, some specifics as to what Blake
had said.
‘It was just a misunderstanding. He found an old boyfriend’s phone number in those pants he threw off the balcony and jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
Rick raised his eyebrows. ‘Really?’
I was beginning to get irritated by his monosyllabic responses. Was he saying ‘Oh, that’s what happened’ or ‘That seems highly unlikely’? I stared up at him defiantly. ‘Yes.’
He held my gaze for a moment, and then he smiled again, that sexy insinuating smile. ‘So you’re telling me that you’re not the sort of guy who gets tempted to stray from his boyfriend?’
I began to answer ‘no, of course not’, when the ramifications of my answer suddenly occurred to me. It was Rick asking me this question. If I was to answer in the negative that might very well quash any possibility I might have with him. It was a delicate situation, but I had to say something. My hesitation was beginning to answer his question.
‘I suppose I might be tempted,’ I admitted carefully, ‘but it would take someone very special indeed for me to act on that temptation.’
I raised my eyes and let them finish the sentence for me.
‘I see,’ said Rick slowly.
I was getting an erection, but I also felt that enough had been said. I would leave him to mull over our exchange. ‘I should get home and cook Blake dinner,’ I said turning, to allow him a look at my arse, which always looked exceptional in these particular jeans.
I could feel his eyes on me.
‘Yeah, well thanks for stopping by and explaining,’ Rick said.
I said goodbye and as I turned into my own house, I glanced over to find him watching me. That smile played across his face and he raised his fingers in farewell.
It was only when I’d closed the front door behind myself that I remembered the other purpose of visiting Rick—to invite him for drinks and a screening of ‘Roman Holiday’. But he had flummoxed me, slightly bewitched me, and I’d forgotten. Not that it mattered. It merely provided an excuse for me to pay him another visit.
7
Chapter Six
‘I’ve remembered,’ Rick announced.
It was the first thing he said when he walked through our door ten days later for the ‘Roman Holiday’ evening. ‘Where I know you from,’ he continued. ‘It’s the gym. You go to City Gym and you’re friendly with Alejandro, right?’
Rick laid a little too much emphasis on the word friendly. Blake’s head swivelled around slowly and gave me a cold, appraising stare. I felt sure that I was blushing. It wasn’t only the surprise of Rick’s words but sheer guilt. Alejandro and I had been estranged for a couple of months due to my trip and then his new boyfriend. However, only the night before, we had reconnected rather spectacularly at Bodyline, with a Serbian tourist. After the Serbian had sloped off to the shower, we’d had another bout together, just the two of us. We’d parted with a vague promise to do it again sometime over the weekend.
‘I do go to City Gym,’ I said, consciously trying to keep my tone casual, ‘and yeah, Alejandro was helping me train for a couple of months.’
‘Who’s this Alejandro?’ demanded Blake. ‘You said you were working out with a friend. You never said you were paying a personal trainer.’
‘I wasn’t paying him,’ I replied.
‘Really?’ Rick looked startled.
‘He’s an old friend. We went out for a while years and years ago.’
‘Ah, old boyfriends. Well that explains it. Why you seemed so familiar with each other,’ said Rick.
‘Did we?’ I asked, laughing nervously.
‘You never said he was Spanish either,’ Blake observed. ‘You seem to have quite a thing for Latinos lately.’
‘Now Blakey,’ I soothed him. ‘Don’t be jealous. It was eons ago we went out. He was only helping me get back into shape for our holiday.’
‘Hm, well I think you need to make some new appointments,’ Blake sniped.
I hastily offered around the antipasto platter. If Blake’s mouth was full, he couldn’t be bitching at me. I opened the Prosecco and filled everyone’s glasses. I took a couple of long slurps to soothe myself. It was a most unfortunate start to the evening. Rick would think we were one of those couples who liked fighting in front of an audience, when in fact things between us had been so much better over the past week. Blake seemed to have dismissed or forgotten the sauna coupon incident and had even refrained from nagging me about work and domestics. He’d been excited about entertaining Rick and had even complimented me on my preparations for the soirée. Although, he had tried to jettison the entire raison d’être for the evening and talk me out of showing ‘Roman Holiday’. ‘I don’t think it’s a good idea to subject Rick to that. After all, we’re trying to soften him up so he’s amenable to the renovations.’
I was so insulted. ‘What do you mean? You make it sound like such an ordeal.’
‘Well, it just may not be as interesting or mean as much to him as it does to you,’ Blake continued, obviously choosing his words carefully. ‘Other people’s holiday photos and slide evenings are notoriously dull.’
‘Yes, I totally agree, but ‘Roman Holiday’ is in a class of its own. It’s a real film.’
‘Well, it’s certainly very long.’
Of course I knew the real reason behind Blake’s negative attitude. He was scarcely in ‘Roman Holiday’. No doubt he was desperately trying to cling to the advantage he felt he had over me, after entertaining Rick for morning coffee in the semi-nude. He did not want to be eclipsed by an artistic homage to the beauty of Italy—and me!
‘Well, perhaps I’ll just show excerpts,’ I conceded, though I was certain that Rick would not want to miss a moment.
‘Ok,’ Blake agreed. ‘But please skip over the pretentious bits.’
I had no idea what he was talking about but I let the comment pass, rather than risk inflaming another argument. But it bothered me. Was the film pretentious? Certainly, the project meant a lot to me, but that was because I’d been frustrated in my craft for the past year, post ‘Sunnyside Street’. I’d had no outlet, no opportunities, and I needed to be centre stage again. Perhaps Blake had some right to feel aggrieved. On a couple of occasions, I had pushed him out from in front of some Roman monument and insisted he operate the camera. But he had to understand that such acts weren’t personal. It was just my thwarted artistry overwhelming my manners.
‘So?’ Rick turned to me with that smile of his. ‘You promised me a surprise tonight.’
When I’d invited Rick over for the evening, I’d been deliberately mysterious about the entertainment. It wouldn’t hurt for him to imagine that perhaps Blake and I might provide a very warm welcome to the street. ‘Yes I did, didn’t I? Actually, it’s a little film we made …’
‘Don’t implicate me. It’s totally his baby,’ Blake said firmly.
‘Oh, I like the sound of this,’ said Rick, rubbing his hands together. ‘Home movies.’
I had a feeling that Rick was jumping to the wrong conclusion and tried to steer him back on course. ‘It’s more of a travel narrative than a home movie.’
‘A vanity project is what it is,’ Blake interjected.
‘It’s set in Italy,’ I hurried on, ‘and it’s called ‘Roman Holiday’.’
‘Is it anything like ‘Summer Holiday’ by Bel Ami?’ Rick asked, grinning.
‘Alas no,’ said Blake.
I cleared my throat and tried to get the conversation back on track. ‘As you know Rick, I’m an actor, and this film has been one of my projects in between jobs. I think you’ll find that it’s a lot more than just a record of our trip to Rome.’
Rick smiled and nodded appreciatively.
‘Just let me dim the lights,’ I said, though the possibilities that might encourage were enough to give me an instant erection. ‘Oh, and the seating. Rick, I might just get you to move, so you have a bird’s eye view. Why don’t you sit here on the two-seater sofa?’
But then to my annoyance, after mo
ving Rick, Blake went and plonked himself down next to him. ‘No, no,’ I protested. ‘You sit over there in the armchair Blake.’
‘No,’ he replied petulantly. ‘I’m sitting here, adjacent to the wine, the nibbles, and to Rick. I can whisper in his ear and explain anything he doesn’t understand.’
‘The film has its own narration,’ I said sternly, giving Blake a look which he flagrantly ignored. ‘If any elaboration is necessary, I will make it.’
I waited for Blake to move, but he didn’t. Nor would he meet my eye. He pretended to be absorbed in offering Rick a goat’s cheese and tapenade bruschetta. I knew that if I insisted Blake move, he would create another of his hideous scenes. Then I had an inspiration. I gave them both a big smile.
‘Rightio, we’ll get started. Blake, could you get the lights for me?’
But he just gave me a look that said ‘I’m not falling for that one’ and I was obliged to do it myself. I was furious that Blake had usurped my seat. I had half a mind to spill my wine over him in the dark to make him move. I started the DVD, snapped off the lights and the opening music (Madonna’s ‘Holiday’) burst out.
We were probably half an hour into the film when I remembered that I had promised Blake I would only show excerpts. That in turn made me realise that there hadn’t been a sound from the sofa for quite some time—no ohs or ahs or appreciative remarks. I squinted in their direction but couldn’t discern anything except the silhouette of Rick’s head which from its angle seemed alert and entertained. Blake’s head was not visible at all which indicated he had slumped down in disinterest. Was perhaps even napping!