All About Yves (14 page)
When they piled into Molly's and Jasper's Escalade on Monday afternoon to head back to New York, Marco was worried about getting back in time for a live taping of the reality show. They were heading toward the grand finale of the season and he'd invested a good deal of his time in making the show a hit. He didn't want to be late and miss a live performance. Marco had never missed a day's work in his life. One time, he'd even flown to a desert island a day after minor surgery on his foot so he could follow through with a photo shoot he'd been contracted to do. He'd done this against doctor's orders, too.
When they were in the car, Jasper reassured Marco he'd be back in New York in plenty of time for the show. Molly just sat in the front seat, bundled up in a red fake fur coat, without saying a word.
"What time is it?” Marco asked. He was in the back seat staring out the window. He was wondering what Frazier had done while he'd been in Vermont. This was the first weekend they hadn't spent together in a long time. Going to bed alone in a strange place had been the hardest part. He'd tossed and turned; he counted sheep. The sex between them had always made Marco's eyes roll to the back of his head, but the quiet times they'd spent in bed in each other's arms always helped him sleep with ease.
"It's three minutes after three,” Jasper said. He was frowning. “It's one minute later than the last time you asked me what time it was, Marco."
Marco rolled his eyes. “We should have left yesterday,” he said. “For the life of me I'll never understand why anyone wants to go to Vermont in the winter.” Normally, he loved Vermont. But he was in a negative mood.
"To ski,” Jasper said.
"I don't ski,” Marco said.
Molly smiled. “But it's so peaceful and so quiet here in the winter."
Marco frowned and gave her a look. She was goading him. “The entire state is just one huge library,” he said. “But at least the guys are cute. I did see a few rough-looking farm boys in plaid jackets and heavy boots."
"I'm sure you did,” Molly said. “Did you notice the one with the dark hair at that little grocery store yesterday morning? He was bagging the food."
Marco smiled. “Are you kidding?” he said. “When he started packing the groceries, the butter melted. He had a bulge between his legs that looked like he'd stuffed a grapefruit down his jeans.” He knew it would make Jasper uncomfortable to hear them talking about good-looking young men.
Molly laughed; she loved campy talk with Marco. “But when I got close to him while he was bagging the groceries,” she said, “he smelled kind of ripe, as if he hadn't taken a shower in a few days."
"That's just wrong,” Marco said, knowing this would really freak Jasper out. “I hate when a good-looking guy doesn't pay attention to personal hygiene, especially between his legs. I absolutely hate
stank
balls. I make Frazier soak his balls in a hot soapy tub for an hour before I teabag him.” He noticed Jasper was rubbing his jaw and shaking his head.
Molly laughed so hard she screamed. “I don't make Jasper soak his balls, but I do make him take a shower and clean his balls well if I'm going to teabag him."
"I'm in the car,” Jasper said. “You're talking about my balls. I can hear everything.” His voice was deep and serious.
"Calm down, Jasper,” Marco said. “We're just having fun with you."
"I'm not even sure
stank
is a word,” said Jasper.
"Sure it is,” Marco said. “Stink,
stank
, stunk."
Molly laughed so hard again, she leaned forward in her seat and crossed her legs.
"But you didn't use it correctly,” Jasper said.
"Well, you get the fucking drift,” Marco said. “
Stank
balls are sour, and this isn't a goddamn English exam.” This was just like Jasper. He could take the lightest joke and turn it into something serious. Once, during a conversation about how he preferred his ice cream slightly melted, Jasper went into a dissertation about how long it took to freeze the ice cream so it wouldn't be soft.
Molly, however, couldn't stop laughing. She could barely speak. “And cologne doesn't help,” she said. “It only makes stank balls worse. A man's balls have to be washed thoroughly, with soap and water."
"Okay, seriously,” Jasper said. “It's time to change the subject.” Then the Escalade swerved and jerked to the right.
Marco leaned forward and tapped Jasper's shoulder. “If I'd known you were going to go off the road, I wouldn't have mentioned that young guy's big balls.” She started choking. Her face was red and she wiped a tear from her eye.
"It's not
that
,” Jasper said. “The road is icy."
"Well, be careful,” Marco said. “I don't want to wind up in a ditch like this."
Molly laughed again. “Why? Are you wearing long underwear today?"
"I'm not wearing
any
fucking underwear,” Marco said. “But I did wash my balls this morning."
Jasper shook his head. “Too much information,” he said.
A mile down the road the enormous SUV began to slow down. It jerked a few times and Jasper pulled to the side of the road. When he looked down at the dashboard, he frowned and said, “We're out of gas. I could have sworn we had a full tank yesterday. I don't understand."
Molly slumped down in her seat and looked back and forth. She pressed her lips together and gazed out the window.
"Did you notice how much gas we had when you went out yesterday morning?” Jasper asked Molly.
She waved her hand, avoiding eye contact. “I never look at those things."
"How far are we from the next gas station?” Marco asked. He was leaning forward now, staring at his cell phone to see if he could call for help. “I can't get a signal on my phone."
"You'll never get a cell phone to work out here,” Jasper said. “The next gas station is about ten miles from here. I'll get out and walk to the nearest house and see if I can get a ride. You two wait here and lock the doors."
Marco sat back in his seat and slumped into his shoulders. He liked being in control and the thought of being stranded on the side of the road twisted his stomach in knots. “I'll go with you,” he said.
"And leave me here all alone?” Molly said.
Jasper opened the door and stepped out of the car. “You two just stay here. I'll be back with help. And lock the doors."
"It's so nice to have a man around house,” Marco said, knowing how Jasper tended to put on the macho act whenever they were in situations like this. Marco was perfectly capable of walking to the next house. He was just as much a man as Jasper. But he decided to stay in the car for Molly's sake.
When Jasper was gone, Marco climbed up front and sat behind the steering wheel. He fooled around with the radio for a minute, then said, “I'm sorry I've been acting like such a fucking asshole lately. I've been horrible to you and to Jasper, and you're two of the most important people in the world to me."
Molly shrugged. “We've all been under a lot of stress,” she said. “We know you, Marco. We love you and we never get seriously angry with you. Just a little mad."
"Ha,” he said. “Then I wish you'd tell me who I am, because lately I don't have a clue. I've always loved what I do, but I've been starting to think about the future a lot. I've been working on something I haven't told you about, Molly."
She sat up in her seat and smiled. “You have?"
He nodded. “It's a book,” he said. “A huge book filled with household hints and tips. I haven't even told Frazier I've been writing it late at night. I've been working on it for a long time and it's almost finished."
"What are you going to do with it?” Molly asked. She turned to face him completely. “You should get it published."
"I don't have a clue,” he said. “I haven't figured that out yet. For all I know, this book sucks. I haven't figured anything about the rest of my life. I'm not getting younger, and I can't keep modeling forever."
"You're still young and you're just as good as ever,” Molly said.
"But not for long,” Marco said. His voice was low and even. “And there are young models like Yves ready to take my place. And I've been awful to Yves. I let his youth and his eagerness get the best of me and I've treated him worse than anyone else. I've acted like a spoiled child who is desperate for attention and works too hard to be loved."
"Frazier loves you,” Molly said. “He adores you, Marco."
"And I love him,” Marco said. “I've never wanted anyone else but him. Frazier North is the love of my life and there will never be anyone else. But I want him to love me for who I am now, and for who I'm going to be ten years from now when my hair is gray and my forehead is wrinkled and my ass is sagging. If I'm not even sure who I am, how can I expect Frazier to know?"
"Marco,” Molly said. “Frazier is only a few years older than you. You've grown up together. He's going to feel the same way about you ten years from now."
"But these young guys aren't going to disappear,” Marco said. “And I'm not sure how Frazier is going to react to me getting old. He has his career and his designs—his life won't change no matter how old he gets. But it's going to be all over for me faster than you think."
"You're not giving Frazier enough credit,” Molly said. “I know how much he loves you."
"We'll see,” Marco said, staring out the window at the snow-covered landscape. “The interesting thing is that Yves is so desperate to have everything I have, and the truth of it all is I want what he has, too. I want his youth and his innocence. I want to wake up every morning and see a twenty-year-old face in the mirror. It's been so long since I was innocent about anything I can't even remember what it felt like. The biggest mistake I've made in my life is that I've let my career and what I do define me as a person, and I've lost the person I once was along the way. I'm not sure I can go back and salvage anything."
Molly sniffed back. She wiped a tear from her eye. She reached for Marco's hand and said, “I'm sorry."
"Sorry for what?” She seemed overly emotional for some reason.
She gestured with her right hand. “I'm sorry for this, running out of gas and getting stranded here. You'll probably miss your show."
Marco shrugged his shoulders and frowned. “You have nothing to be sorry about. You didn't drain the gas out of the tank yourself,” he said. “It's karma. I'm getting back what I've been giving out."
Molly took a quick breath and blinked. Then she turned around in her seat, rested her head on the headrest, and closed her eyes.
"I want those papers on my desk first thing in the morning,” Harris shouted into his cell phone to his newest assistant. “And if they aren't there, you'd better find a good place to hide, sweetie.” He wasn't joking either. Though his effeminate voice lisped, his wrist was limp, and he had one hand on his hip, he knew how to give orders to his subordinates.
Harris Wolfe expected—demanded—perfection from his personal assistant at the magazine. This new guy, a recent college graduate from the Pacific Northwest who wore bad jeans, big clunky boots, and had one of those deplorable shaggy haircuts, didn't seem to get this fact of life. In a good year, Harris went through at least four personal assistants. He liked them young because he didn't have to pay high salaries. But this younger generation didn't seem to have much of a work ethic, and they all lacked ambition. When he'd been the personal assistant to his boss at the magazine forty years earlier, he'd been willing to do anything to advance his career, including sexual favors. And he certainly wouldn't have become editor-in-chief if he hadn't been dedicated, ruthless, and eager to be better than all of his peers. Goodness, hope, and peace weren't the things in life that had made Harris into the successful man he was. Backstabbing, tenacity, and knowing the difference between suck and blow had been his best assets.
When Harris hung up the phone, he sighed and rolled his eyes. He pulled out a tube of ChapStick and ran it across his thin lips. Harris had a feeling he would be disappointed in the morning. He'd only asked his new assistant to work late at home that night, organizing a few of his personal files. So what if it was the assistant's birthday? He could celebrate his worthless birthday the following night with his little friends in the Village.
Harris had important things to do. He was standing outside Marco Denny's dressing room at the TV studio. Yves Marisano had called Harris, along with several other member of the press Harris knew, and told them all to be at the studio that night. Yves was filling in as the host of the live taping of the reality show for Marco Denny and he wanted publicity. Yves didn't tell Harris why Marco was going to miss the live show. He just called and said, “Unforeseen circumstances have come up and Marco will not be able to host the show, so I'm going on as his back-up tonight.” But he'd called Harris mid-afternoon, long before anyone knew Marco wouldn't be able to make the show.
This had certainly piqued Harris's curiosity. He'd known Marco Denny for years and Marco had never missed or canceled any event involving his career. And Marco would never willingly allow Yves Marisano to take his place, even if it was just for one evening. On his way to the studio to watch the live show, Harris couldn't stop smiling. He pictured Yves Marisano knocking Marco Denny on top of the head, then locking him up in a broom closet so Yves could go on national television in Marco's place.
Yves Marisano had the kind of ambition and determination Harris loved to watch. He looked shy and innocent on the outside, but Harris knew there was nothing Yves wouldn't to do advance his career. This is what Harris had looked for in his personal assistants and never found. In many ways, though Harris had never been as flawlessly attractive as Yves, Yves was a carbon copy of Harris as a young man.
After he watched the live show in the studio, Harris wanted to go backstage and congratulate Yves on doing a fine job as the host. Yves had taken control of the show with his smooth easy voice, he'd made love to the camera with his soft gentle eyes, and he'd worn Marco's wardrobe as if the clothes had been custom fitted to his body. Yves had been every bit as good as Marco, if not better. Besides looks and ease and general appeal, Yves had one extra thing Marco didn't have: a huge bulge between his legs that rode that thin line of being one step away from obnoxious. Harris hadn't seen a public personality advertise his dick in such a blatant way since Tom Jones.