1
Trevor
Late April
I felt like I was in a straitjacket. A boring black straitjacket. I was regretting with every fiber of my being the subterfuge I’d orchestrated to avoid being mobbed by reporters and paparazzi.
Up until the past year, that had never been a problem for me. I was a West End stage actor. Very few people cared about the lives of stage actors unless they transitioned to the screen, like Patrick Stewart or Ian McKellen.
My rise to fame, as it were, began when I took on the lead role in a musical about Oscar Wilde and Lord Alfred Douglas called What If? It was a reimagining of the romance between Wilde and Douglas, if the world had been more accepting of their relationship. Needless to say, the subject matter brought all the homophobes out of the woodwork, pitting right-wing pundits and influencers against the queer community and our allies.
It all came to a head for me on the night it was announced that the show was optioned for a movie and I was asked to play the lead. A photographer got so aggressive about getting close to me that he shoved one of my castmates, causing her to fall. The injury she suffered took her out of the show for a month. In front of all the cameras and reporters, I’d called the photographer a massive bellend. The insult went viral on social media and made it to television.
The photographer, Simon Davies, apparently took exception to my pronouncement and made it a point to be at every single event and show I attended. He would shove his camera in my face, trying to get as close to me as possible. When he started showing up outside my flat, I nearly lost my mind. I finally had to hire a bodyguard. I was not pleased.
Fast forward to my current predicament. What If? was having its US premiere on Broadway, and I would be playing the lead role for the first three months. In order to keep the photographer from following me and boarding my flight to New York, we sent a body double to Heathrow Airport while I took a flight out of Edinburgh.
Now, I was flying to New York City in the most uncomfortable clothes ever created because I couldn’t escape the wanker photographer. Have I mentioned that I couldn’t stand wearing stiff, restrictive clothing? No? Well, now you know. And the only black I wore was my underwear—sometimes.
A kink in the plan arose because my regular bodyguard’s wife was pregnant and due during the time I would be in the US. The agency assigned me another bodyguard who quickly made it abundantly clear that he did not approve of my normal style of dress. In his eyes, my clothes weren’t manly enough. I liked soft, flowy tops and trousers that didn’t make me feel like my bollocks were being strangled. On occasion, I even liked wearing skirts. Apparently, I was supposed to wear suits and ties or jeans and T-shirts. Shudder.
I sent that bodyguard away and told the agency I would find someone in New York instead. I decided to do my own search and was glad I did. I happened upon the Angel Security website, and right there on the home page was a Pride Ally flag. I spoke at length to the owner, Tony D’Angelo, who assured me their agency was queer-friendly and no one would give me grief about how I dressed.
When the plane finally landed, I nearly wept with joy. Thankfully, I’d flown first class and was able to get off the plane quickly. Mr. D’Angelo said a driver would be waiting for me after the customs checkpoint. I had to go through baggage claim first, but thankfully, I only had one checked bag, since I’d decided to ship the rest of my wardrobe rather than lug it through a busy airport.
As soon as I got through customs, I headed straight for the restroom. Breaking all the rules, I used the accessible stall to change out of my horrible black outfit into something more me. I breathed a sigh of relief after I’d exchanged my black straitjacket for a pair of periwinkle-blue loose trousers, a cream-colored gauzy cotton shirt, and a dark-blue duster, shoving the offending clothes carelessly into my carry-on.
I checked my makeup in the mirror, adding more lip gloss and fixing my eyeliner. I put on a little blush so I didn’t look so peaky after an eight-hour transatlantic flight. I ran my fingers through my wavy blond hair to make it look less slept-on. With one last look, I was satisfied that I was ready to meet my new bodyguard.
Outside the customs station, a line of people held signs and tablets with names on them. I scanned the group, my gaze finally landing on a tall, very good-looking dark-haired man holding a tablet that read Mr. Lawrence.
Relief swept over me. I was that much closer to my hotel and a bed. I wondered if he was my bodyguard. Mr. D’Angelo hadn’t given me a name or description of whoever it would be. I headed over to him, raising my hand to get his attention.
The man smiled and held out his hand in greeting. “Mr. Lawrence, I’m Tony D’Angelo. Nice to meet you.”
I took his outstretched hand. “Just Trevor is fine, Mr. D’Angelo. It’s lovely to meet you. I didn’t expect you to be the one picking me up.”
He shrugged. “Please, call me Tony. The driver I originally assigned called in sick. I decided it was better for me to do it since I knew more about your situation.“
He put out his hand again. “Let me take the big one. The car is in the parking garage.”
The walk to the car took about ten minutes, and by the end, I started to feel the effects of my lack of sleep and jet lag. When Tony opened the back passenger door of the black Mercedes sedan, I could have cried in relief. On the seat was a pillow on top of a folded blanket. “Oh, you beautiful man. Thank you so much. I could kiss you.”
He chuckled. “You’re welcome. Slide on in and make yourself comfortable. It’ll take about an hour to get into Manhattan, more if traffic is bad.”
He took my carry-on and large bag and loaded them into the boot while I did as he suggested. In addition to the blanket and pillow, a cold bottle of water was waiting for me in the cup holder. The water would do for now, but what I really wanted was a proper cup of tea. Hopefully, the hotel would have some.
I buckled my seatbelt and arranged the pillow and blanket to my liking. Tony got in and started the car, but he didn’t immediately start driving. “I’m going to take you to my office before we go to your hotel. I want you to meet Khalil and Rory before we get started. Khalil will be your primary protection. Rory will be his relief.”
I was too tired to object to this extra step. “All right. Wake me when we get there.“
I was asleep before we got out of the parking garage.
I was awakened by a hand gently shaking my shoulder. “We’re here,“
Tony’s voice said.
I blinked and slowly opened my eyes. We were in another parking garage, this one clearly underground. I stretched and put the blanket and pillow aside. “Please tell me I don’t have drool on my face,“
I said to Tony.
He shook his head with a smile. “No. You’re fine. Hair’s a little messy, but that’s about it.”
“Bollocks,“
I muttered as I ran my fingers through my hair. Tony held the door open for me while I stepped out. “He’ll have to take me as I am.”
“I’m sure he won’t mind messy hair,“
Tony assured me.
Thankfully, the lift was nearby. Tony pressed the button for the fifteenth floor. As the doors slid closed, I found myself unaccountably nervous. I made a sweeping gesture of my clothes and makeup. “Are you sure he’ll be all right with me?”
“I’m sure,“
he replied emphatically. “Khalil is one of the kindest men I know.”
I nodded, still uncertain. Kindness didn’t always translate to acceptance.
The lift doors opened, and Tony led me a short way down the corridor to a glass door with Angel Security in black letters. He held the door open for me, so I stepped inside. I was greeted by a middle-aged woman with shoulder-length dark hair. She held out her hand and smiled. “Welcome to Angel Security, Mr. Lawrence. I’m Liz, Mr. D’Angelo’s executive assistant.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Liz. Please, call me Trevor.”
Her cheeks went a little pink. “Thank you, Trevor. If you’ll follow me, Khalil and Rory are waiting in the small meeting room. I set a kettle to boil, and we have a box of all kinds of teas in addition to milk and sugar.”
“You are an angel, Liz.“
I turned to Tony and said, “Give this woman a raise.”
“What a wonderful idea,“
Liz replied with a wicked smile.
He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. I know.”
We followed Liz to a room just to the left of the entrance. The door was open, and I heard two men speaking. They both rose when we walked in. Tony came up beside me. “Trevor Lawrence, this is Khalil Azar. He’ll be your primary detail. Rory Campbell is his relief.”
Rory was a tall, broad-shouldered redhead. Khalil was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. Not quite as tall as Rory, but lithe and muscular just the same. His fitted white dress shirt accentuated his muscular arms and chest. His jet-black hair and well-groomed stubble set off an angular jaw and high cheekbones. His hazel eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. He must have caught me staring because he held out his hand and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Lawrence.”