Chapter 7
Hunter
That came off a bit harsher than I intended.
I had to get myself out of there before I got any more aroused.
That took me by surprise. I told Max to come in with me because we were pressed for time, and I didn’t want to mess around with his English politeness and going in and out of the fitting room.
Even when I took off my clothes the first time, I was focused on the task at hand.
But then we caught each other’s eye.
There was something so shy and innocent about Max’s gaze, like he knew he shouldn’t be looking but couldn’t resist. Even as his cheeks flushed red beneath those adorable freckles, he didn’t avert his eyes.
Watching him battle against his own desires like that was enough to drive me wild. Not to mention hard.
I must have been sixteen or seventeen when I first noticed someone watching me in the locker room.
I was never really into sports, but in my junior year of high school I got into swimming.
There was this one senior who was always there at the same time as me, right at the point we were stripping off.
It rapidly became clear that both of us liked it, him stealing furtive glances, me pretending I hadn’t noticed.
That was as far as it ever went. I was too scared of showing any visible signs of excitement in public. But that only added to the thrill.
When I got to college, I tried to put a lid on those impulses.
I kept everything polite and vanilla with the guys I slept with, even though nothing truly excited me beyond the initial rush of the chase.
I thought about joining the swim team until I found out they had open showers.
Not to sound arrogant, but when I’m turned on, it’s pretty hard to hide the evidence.
I even passed on a role in a production of Hair because it had a nude scene, and I didn’t want to get a reputation.
Then I met Rafferty. He took me to sex clubs, fucked me in Central Park at night, and I went along with it all, pretending I was only doing it to please him when I loved it more than anything.
After we broke up, all bets were off. I wasn’t interested unless there was something illicit about the situation.
I hooked up with guys I met at the gym, at auditions, I even slept with the priest at my cousin’s wedding.
Thankfully, Max appears to agree that nothing good can come from talking about what just happened.
As we walk over to the British Museum, he brings me up to speed on tonight’s event.
Apparently, one of Greece’s conditions for signing this trade deal was that Britain finally return the Elgin Marbles, or the Parthenon Sculptures, to give them their less problematic name.
They’re some of the most illustrious treasures of antiquity, and have been housed in the British Museum since 1816.
Tonight, they will be symbolically handed back to Greece.
Max tells me that the director of the British Museum, Montgomery Pim, is heartbroken over having to return his most famous artefacts.
‘Sorry, what?’ I splutter. ‘He’s heartbroken over having to return sculptures that your country stole?’
Max nods apologetically.
‘Then he can go fuck himself.’
Max recoils. ‘Jesus, Hunter! Do you understand what we’re about to walk into?’
I laugh. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not in character yet.’
Max swallows. ‘You might want to get into character pretty quickly.’
‘Why?’
Max gestures ahead of us. ‘We’re here.’
I look up and see the British Museum’s imposing facade.
You can’t deny what a perfect venue it is for tonight’s gala, being modelled on a Greek temple.
I look back at Max. He’s fidgeting with his cuffs as his eyes dart around nervously.
I remember what I promised him and what I’m planning to ask him at the end of the night.
It’s time to switch it on. I go to the place in my mind where I’ve stored the details that will help me bring this character to life.
I’m here to support my partner. I’ll do anything to help him get this job.
When I turn back to Max, it’s not me that’s seeing him, it’s Edwin, the trainee orthodontist and dependable boyfriend. I reach down and take his hand.
Max flinches, so I give him a reassuring smile.
‘Now let’s do this.’
As we enter the museum’s central atrium, its sheer vastness takes my breath away. Light spills down through a soaring roof of glass and steel, while the marble floor rings with the footsteps of hundreds of guests. I feel myself rising to the occasion, but Max has frozen.
‘What?’ I ask.
‘That’s him.’
‘Who?’
‘Montgomery Pim, the museum director. The guy I was just telling you about!’
Max points towards one of those British people you can’t quite believe is real, and not only because his name is Montgomery Pim.
He’s one of the most flamboyantly camp men I’ve ever seen, wearing a purple pinstripe suit and blessed with a bald patch that looks like it’s been polished for the occasion.
Max tries to steer us away from him, but Montgomery spies us and his eyes light up.
He abandons his conversation mid-sentence and glides over.
‘Gentlemen, welcome,’ says Montgomery. ‘Have we met?’
There are times as an actor when you feel ridiculous. When you have to say a line you know is trash. When you’re wearing an awful costume. Or when you’ve stepped into a role at short notice. But those are the times you really have to commit.
‘I don’t believe we have,’ I say confidently. ‘I’m Edwin.’
I glance at Max, but he’s gone quiet.
‘And what brings you here tonight, Edwin?’ Montgomery asks.
‘He does,’ I say, gesturing to my side. ‘This is Max.’
‘Lovely,’ says Montgomery, glancing down at our hand holding with a mixture of lust and envy. ‘Please, help yourself to an amuse bouche.’
The way he says it sounds almost indecent. He points out a tray of canapés.
‘I’m Montgomery, by the way. But call me Monty, please.’
I cannot believe this ridiculous specimen is the head of the country’s most important museum. All I can think of is Max’s comment that he’s heartbroken over having to return the Marbles. But I’m not me anymore. I’m Edwin.
‘This must be a difficult occasion for you,’ I say sincerely. ‘How are you holding up?’
Monty sighs dramatically. ‘Thank you for asking. I’m persevering.’
Max still hasn’t said a word. I’m having to suppress an urge to tell Monty how I really feel about this whole business.
‘You’ll be OK, Monty,’ I say, batting my eyelashes. ‘I know everyone appreciates what a sacrifice you’re making.’
Montgomery gulps, then turns to Max. ‘Goodness,’ he says, wiping his brow with a silk handkerchief. ‘This one’s a charmer.’
As another guest arrives and commands Monty’s attention, Max looks at me in awe.
‘That was incredible. I . . . I believed you.’
There’s something about Max’s earnest gratitude that tugs at my heartstrings, but I can’t get distracted by that.
I raise an eyebrow. ‘It’s called acting.’