CHAPTER TWO
1992
“Say, aren’t you the guy from that movie?”
Hearing that never got old, though I’d been hearing it less frequently in the last few months. “Guilty.”
The girl smiled. “Wow, you were so good at that role! What are you working on now?”
“Hmm.” I cleared my throat. “I’m in the middle of a new project, but it’s top secret.”
She put a hand above her breasts, which seemed brand new. “That’s so cool!”
We chatted some more; a typical shallow LA exchange I’d grown accustomed to during the last three years. But I wasn’t there to chat with random girls—tonight was about mingling with the right crowd, as my agent had instructed me to. According to Agatha, this club, weirdly named “Pickles”, was the place to be in West Hollywood.
I narrowed my vocabulary to “Yeah,” and “Nah,” until the girl got the hint and returned to her friends. I made my way to the bar to browse the menu. As I feared, the alcohol cost like a full-blown meal. After losing multiple roles in the few months, I was living off of my last year’s paychecks.
I ended up ordering the cheapest wine on the menu and went to sit on a red velvet couch. Mingling had sounded easy enough, but the overly posh vibe made me self-conscious. It didn’t help that everyone was in groups, chatting and laughing while drinking their expensive drinks.
Someone sat next to me on the couch. I expected to see another girl, but that wasn’t the case. The first thing I noticed was his smile; how straight and white his teeth were, perfectly positioned between full, rosy lips. His blue eyes were almost gray, striking against his jet-black hair.
“Hello,” he said, and I noticed how close he was sitting. Judging by his long legs, I assumed he was taller than me. “What do you think?”
I frowned. “Think about what?”
He gestured with his hand. “My place.”
“Are you the owner?”
“Indeed I am.”
“Oh, wow.” I straightened. “Why did you go with Pickles?”
He laughed, and I didn’t know a sound could be handsome. When he leaned closer, I recognized his Tom Ford cologne. “It’s a long story that started with a private joke, but I’ll be the first to admit it is a silly name.”
“Doesn’t seem to be keeping people away.”
“That’s true.” He lowered his voice. “I know who you are.”
“You do?”
He nodded. “You’re a fine actor.”
“Just fine?” My ego struck unexpectedly.
He patted my leg. “Acting is like any other muscle; it gets stronger with time and practice. How old are you?”
“Twenty-one and a half.”
He held back a smile. “Well, then, the world’s your oyster.” He took my glass and sniffed it. “Oh my. The cheapest option on the menu?”
I nodded, my face growing warm.
“I know what you’ll like.” He called over a waiter and told her the name of a drink I’d never heard before. Watching his profile, I reckoned he was in his mid-thirties. With his impeccable black suit and alligator boots, he looked more like a movie star than a club owner.
“You’re in for a treat,” he said and leaned back on the couch. I did the same, trying to decide if there was a hint of flirtation in his behavior. I was wearing my straight costume suit tonight—as I did every night. This being the early ‘90s, being a gay actor in Hollywood wasn’t as taboo as it used to be, but I couldn’t risk it. Agatha had been blunt about the difference between what the city portrayed to the world and how things truly worked behind the scenes.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I said.
“Eliot Fitzgerald. And you are the promising Jonah Carter.”
Hearing my name from his mouth spread a sweet feeling in my chest.
The waiter came with our drinks. Mine looked purply and thick.
“Cheers.” I clinked my glass with his and took a sip. The taste of blueberries caressed my tongue, with a touch of bitterness. “Oh, wow.”
He winked. “Told you.”
We continued to chat, and I grew more relaxed around him, and not just because of the excellent alcohol. He asked about my first days in LA and my first acting gigs. I had started with silly commercials and a failed TV show. My big break came in a supporting role in High Life, shortly after signing with Agatha. The film had no famous cast members, but the script was incredible, bringing me to tears the first time I read it. We’d gotten a Golden Globe nomination for Best Screenplay but ended up losing. Between the premieres, award shows, and interviews, I’d been confident that new roles would be coming my way. I’d scored a decent number of auditions, but nothing worked out. I wasn’t superstitious, but I began to worry that someone might have put an evil eye on me.
Eliot stopped me mid-sentence when someone approached us. “What a nice surprise! I haven’t seen you in ages, Steven.” He rose to his feet and hugged Steven- freaking -Nixson! I stared open-mouthed as one of my favorite directors stood within arm’s reach. His movies had never been big at the box office, but they always played at festivals. He was as tall as Eliot but much stockier, his gray hair tied in a ponytail.
“I just wrapped up a production in goddamn Alabama,” Steven said. “It’s time to celebrate civilization.”
“I’m honored you’d consider my club as civilization.” Eliot signaled me to stand. “I’m sure you’ve heard of Jonah Carter.”
I jumped to my feet, heart racing. Steven eyed me as if he were trying to place me in his memory. Eliot put his arm around my shoulders. “Jonah is very up and coming. Better keep an eye out for him.”
I wanted to say something witty, but I lost my vocabulary.
“Nice to meet you, up and coming.” Steven held out his hand, and I hurried to shake it, my wide smile hurting my cheeks.
“I loved Living in the Dark !” I blurted.
Steven crossed his arms. “Oh, did you? Most people hated it. What did you love the most?”
“When Sally decided to stay with Roger at the end and lie to the police.”
He sighed. “That was what people hated.”
“I prefer for characters to make mistakes, like in real life.”
Steven patted my shoulder. “I prefer it as well, Mr. Carter.”
Eliot cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, would you care for a special treat in a place less crowded?”
Steven chuckled like he knew what Eliot had in mind. “I’ll never say no to that.”
“Good. Jonah?”
“Here—I mean, yes?”
“Are you joining?”
“I’m… yeah, for sure!”
The three of us headed to the back of the club. I recognized more faces of less-known actors and filmmakers, none as exciting as Steven, though. I told myself to keep it classy and not bombard him with questions.
Eliot took a turn into a narrow hallway and stopped midway. I frowned as he slid a key into a small crack in the wall. Seconds later, the wall slid aside, revealing a staircase. My excitement overcame my wariness. We climbed down, and I almost lost my footing when the basement came into view. It looked like a movie set from the ‘30s, with Art Deco furniture in black and white and jazz music playing in the background.
We sat around a table with a wooden box at its center. Eliot flipped open the box and plucked out a Cuban cigar. He handed it to Steven and lit it with a golden lighter.
“Have you ever tried one?” Eliot asked me.
“No, but I’ve seen them as props.”
Both of them laughed. Smoke began to spread across the room, making my nose itch.
“I wouldn’t want to corrupt you.” Eliot's tone hinted otherwise.
“I’m not easily corrupted.” I plucked a cigar from the box, sliding it between my lips. With a nod of approval, Eliot lit my cigar. I had smoked a few cigarettes in my life, but this one felt like a chimney. It was a miracle I managed to only cough twice.
Eliot sat and lit a cigar for himself, looking elegant as he casually puffed out smoke. Luckily, the basement had tall windows that helped bring some fresh air inside, offering a dim view of the back alley.
Eliot and Steven dove into a conversation about Steven’s latest production, and I soaked in every little detail, wishing I could’ve taken notes. Eliot tried to include me in the conversation, but I had little to contribute and was more than happy just to listen. I spent hours each week listening to interviews with filmmakers, but this was on a whole other level.
After a while, Eliot asked Steven if he was ready to be spoiled some more. Steven leaned back with his hands on his generous stomach, his smile wide and knowing. “You damn well know it.”
Eliot turned to me, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. “And you?”
I stopped myself from asking what they were talking about. “I’d love to be spoiled.”
Eliot nodded and rose to his feet. “Be back shortly.” He climbed up the stairs and exited the room.
That left me alone with Steven, and the man didn’t waste a second before continuing to talk about his work. I used the opportunity to ask every question I could think of, and Steven answered extensively.
I wouldn’t have minded talking to him until morning, but Eliot eventually returned, accompanied by two beautiful girls, a blonde and a redhead. I watched warily as he led them to the table, then told the blonde, “Steven had a dreadful time in Alabama. He deserves some LA hospitality.”
“Oh, I bet he does.” She walked over to Steven, who slid his chair back.
I gawked as the girl sank to her knees between his spread legs and pulled down his fly.
What is happening?
Steven tilted his head back and moaned. The blonde’s head began to move up and down his cock, and I hurried to look away.
A hand on my shoulder jolted me. “Should I call an ambulance?” Eliot asked. “You seem to be having a heart attack.”
I swallowed and shook my head. “I’m fine.”
“Good.” To the redhead, he said, “Jonah is a new friend of mine.”
That seemed to be enough for her to sink to her knees in front of me. I began to sweat underneath my shirt, my heart pounding. Without asking for permission, she pulled down my fly. In the background, Steven’s moans grew louder, the sound unsettling.
The magical moment we’d shared had all but vanished.
Before pulling out my cock, the redhead looked into my eyes. “You’re pretty like an angel.”
“Hmm, thank you.” Was I supposed to compliment her back?
Before I could decide, she took out my flaccid cock and wrapped her lips around it, her tongue immediately getting to work. I shuddered, telling myself this was happening, like it or not.
Aware of Eliot watching me from across the room, I shut my eyes and placed my hand on the redhead’s head, rolling with the scene.