All About Yves (2 page)

Molly looked back and forth, then frowned. She'd been to the studio almost every day for weeks, and each time she'd noticed there had been a quiet young man standing near the exit. The young man always wore the same hooded sweatshirt and baggy jeans, and he always had the same terrified expression on his face. Whenever he saw Molly or anyone connected to Marco Denny, he shoved his hands into his pockets and stared down at the sidewalk.

But the quiet young man wasn't there. Molly figured he'd decided not to come because of the constant rain. So without thinking twice, she walked into the dark alley and headed to the rear stage door that wasn't located far from Marco's dressing room.

"Hello, Ms. Page,” said a soft voice as Molly passed by a fire escape.

Molly stopped walking and turned around. The quiet young man in the hooded sweatshirt stepped out of a doorway and headed toward her. The hood was up over his head because it was raining. His hands were in his pockets and his shoulders were slumped forward. Molly found it difficult to resist staring at his smooth young face. And she wasn't the least bit afraid. You didn't see young men like this walking down the street every day. There was something interesting about him that made her want to stare. The guy had a dark wavy shock of hair dangling from beneath the hood. His olive skin was silky, his solid chin was square, and his lips were full and round. He had steel blue eyes, slightly almond-shaped with long dark lashes. Though he had traces of the rugged all-American-boy look, he was the perfect balance between masculine and feminine. He was almost too pretty to be a man, yet too sturdy to be a woman. If he hadn't been standing outside the TV studio waiting for Marco all the time, Molly would have assumed he already had a career in modeling.

"There you are,” Molly said. “I was looking for you. I didn't think you'd be here tonight with all this rain.” Though she didn't even know this person, she was glad to see him again. He seemed calm and decent, and there was nothing aggressive about him. Even the way he stood, so slumped and bashful, was passive. She had a feeling if she shouted, “Boo!” he'd run down the alley.

"Of course I'm here,” the young man said, with a deep smooth voice.

"It's just that this is such an awful night,” Molly said. “You could get sick standing out in the rain like this, waiting for Marco Denny to come and go without ever saying a word to you.” Marco was Molly's best friend, but she also knew Marco was usually too focused on work to notice he had a fan as devoted as this young man. Marco had been in the public eye all his life, and he tended to take these things for granted. Marco had walked by the young man every night for weeks and he'd never even smiled at the guy.

"Ah well,” the young man said. “I don't mind. I know how busy Mr. Denny is and I don't want to be a bother. I just want to watch him. He's my idol. Just standing near him or watching him walk by is enough for me."

Molly smiled. The poor young thing was infatuated with Marco, and Marco didn't even know he was alive.

"I hope you don't mind me talking to you this way,” the young man said. “I don't want to bother you or upset you at all."

"But I'm not a celebrity,” Molly said. “I'm nobody. I'm just married to the man who does Frazier North's books.” The rain started to come down heavier. Molly turned and walked to the stage door.

"You're Marco Denny's best friend,” the young man said. “You and your husband are always with Marco and Frazier. I'm a huge fan of Frazier North, too. His designs are the best in the world. And Frazier and Marco always seem like they are so much in love."

Molly laughed. “I think Frazier would be happy to hear this about his designs.” Then she stopped walking and faced the young man. She was curious about something. “You're here all the time, when Marco arrives for rehearsal and when he leaves rehearsal. And you're always here on the night the show is taped live. What on Earth do you do while you're waiting for Marco to come and go?"

"I'm not a stalker,” he said. “I swear I'm not. I'm just a fan of Marco's and I appreciate his work. When he walks by, my heart starts to beat so fast I can hear it in my head."

"I know you're not a stalker,” Molly said. “I'm a good judge of character. If you were just an obsessed fan, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. You're different. I can tell. But don't you get bored, standing around and waiting for Marco all the time?"

"I know Marco's routine well,” the young man said. “When he's in rehearsal, I go to the library and read, or I walk around town. There's always something to do in New York. On nights like this when they are taping the live show, I'm always in the audience. I know someone who works here and he gets me in every week. I haven't missed one single show since the season began."

"Follow me,” Molly said. Suddenly, she had a brilliant idea.

"Where are we going?” His eyebrows rose but he sounded cautious.

"I'm taking you to meet Marco Denny in person,” she said, turning toward the door.

"Ah, but I couldn't,” the young man said. “I don't want to bother Marco and I don't want to upset him. I've read he's a very private person. I'd be too embarrassed and I wouldn't know what to say to him. I'd just make a fool out of myself."

Molly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. She knew Marco wouldn't like this, but she didn't care. When she opened the door she smiled and said, “You're the sweetest young man I've met in a long time. I think it would be a shame if Marco didn't meet you. After all, you are his most devoted fan. By the way, what's your name?"

"Yves Marisano,” he said.

"C'mon, Yves,” she said, and yanked him into the building.

When they entered the back end of the TV studio, Molly watched Yves look around. He stared at the guys in the crew moving props around from the set; he gazed up at the lights and down at all the cords and wires connected to the cameras. Without even realizing it, he crossed to a long rack of clothing and touched a silk jacket with the tips of his fingers. He stared at the jacket with his mouth half open and ran his fingertips down the entire length of the sleeve. He looked as if he'd just touched something both forbidden and magical at the same time.

Margo smiled. “It looks a lot different behind the scenes than it does on TV,” she said.

"It's all so exciting,” Yves said, turning back in Molly's direction. His voice rose with an animated lilt and his eyes glistened beneath the lights. “I've never been backstage in a TV studio where so many models have just done a show. I've never been this close to anything so important. You can actually feel and smell the energy."

Molly smiled and turned toward a door marked with Marco's name. The walls were thin and she could hear Marco laughing about something with Frazier. Yves stepped up to her side and stared at the door. There was a star above Marco's name in bright gold. Yves pulled the hood off his head and reached up to touch the star with two fingers. He stared at it with his mouth open, then smiled.

"Wait here,” Molly said, noticing Yves's entire face for the first time. She'd hadn't actually seen him without the hood. His hair was thick and dark and wavy, and his clean skin was even younger and smoother than she'd thought it was. “I'll go inside and tell Marco you're here. And don't be shy and run away or anything. This might take a minute."

Yves nodded.

Molly gave him a quick smile, then took a deep breath and went into Marco's dressing room.

"Hello, everyone,” Molly said, removing her raincoat and hanging it on a hook near the door.

They didn't reply and Molly wasn't offended. They all knew each other so well there wasn't a need for formalities. Besides, she didn't want to push her luck by complaining about anything. She had a strange young man waiting outside the door and she wasn't sure how Marco was going to respond to this. Though she loved Marco dearly, she knew he wasn't always the warm-hearted hero the press made him out to be.

Marco was sitting in front of the mirror removing his TV makeup. He was wearing a robe and his face was covered in cold cream. His personal assistant, Jane Francis, was helping him get ready to leave the studio. Jane Francis—no one ever just called her Jane—was hanging up the clothes he'd been wearing on the show. She was in her mid-fifties, she had tight pinched lips, and spoke with a harsh Brooklyn accent. Her voice was deep and raspy from too much smoking and she wasn't fond of small children. She'd been working for Marco since he'd been a teenager, and she thought nothing of telling Marco whatever came to the top of her head.

Frazier and Jasper were sitting in chairs beside the dressing table, listening to Marco complain about doing a TV reality show. Marco was groaning about how many magazine covers he'd been on, how many top fashion shows he'd done all over the globe, and how many magazines had been sold just because of his photo spreads. He'd been the top male model in the world for fifteen years, and he felt it was beneath him to do a reality show on television. This show, as far as Marco was concerned, was one step higher than posing nude on the Internet.

"But the show is number one in its time slot, and the ratings are going through the roof,” Frazier said. “This is the best advertising for you, and for the new line, we could ever have."

Marco rubbed more cold cream on his face and frowned. “It's just so mundane,” he said. “I never thought my career would be reduced to
this
.” His arms went up in an overly dramatic gesture and he looked around the dressing room. “I'm an international model, not a reality television host."

"But they love you,” Jasper said.

"They love
trash
,” Marco said, wiping cream from his forehead.

Molly stared down at her lap. Marco was getting older, and even though he was still on top, they all knew it wasn't going to last for long. The fashion industry was based on youth, beauty, and unrealistic body images. There wasn't room for a middle-aged man strutting down the runway in clothes too young for him. The fact that his life partner was one of the most successful fashion designers in the world made it even worse. If Marco didn't know when it was time to step down, they would start printing vicious comments about him because he was Frazier's partner.

Jane Francis handed Marco a full box of Kleenex and said, “Here you go, your royal highness.” Her tone was sarcastic, and she gave him one of her sadistic grins.

Marco took it from her and said, “Thank you, you mean old bitch.” This kind of banter wasn't unusual and Marco meant no harm. The two of them usually spoke this way to each other and it meant nothing. Jane Francis would have done anything for Marco, and he would have done anything for her.

While Jane Francis moved toward another clothing rack to get Marco's street clothes ready, Jasper smiled and said. “You're going to be glad you did this TV show. It's the best thing you could have done.” He looked in Molly's direction and nodded so she'd offer support. When Marco went into one of these moods, it could ruin an entire evening.

Marco ran his fingers through his thick sandy blond hair and rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah,” he said.

Molly stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You're the most famous face in the world, you have more money than you know what to do with, and you've got an ass that makes even straight guys go wild. Stop complaining and deal with it.” She wasn't mad and she wasn't saying it to be mean. Every now and then Marco needed a good dose of reality, and Molly was usually the only person willing to stand up to him and be honest. Frazier and Jane Francis tended to spoil him, and Jasper hated overstepping his bounds. But as his best friend, Molly felt it was her duty to speak the truth—even if Marco didn't like hearing it.

Marco smiled at her in the mirror. “Do you really think my ass is that great? Do straight guys really go wild over it?"

Molly laughed. She knew Marco loved to be complimented on his great ass. He'd missed the point of her rant, but at least he was smiling now. “Yes, I do,” she said, hoping this would make things easier when she announced Yves was standing outside the door waiting to meet Marco. “The whole world goes to bed at night dreaming about your ass."

"You're the best,” Marco said. “I don't know what I'd do without a best friend like you.” Then he pointed at his life partner, Frazier. “It's getting harder and harder to get a compliment out of this one these days. He hasn't said anything nice about my ass in months.” Marco was still smiling, and he wasn't serious. At times he could be vain and self-absorbed, but most of the time he knew how to laugh at himself.

"You know I love your ass,” Frazier said.

Molly watched Frazier reach down and try to grab a handful of Marco's ass. They were the most devoted couple, gay or straight, Molly had ever known. She and Jasper had a wonderful marriage, but there was something about Frazier and Marco that was unusually special. They were inseparable, and never seemed to get tired of each other. Molly loved Jasper and her marriage was the most important thing in her life, but when Jasper went away on business trips she couldn't honestly admit to herself she wasn't happy to have a little time to herself. She suspected Jasper felt the same way. But Marco and Frazier weren't like that. They went everywhere together and did everything together.

"Stop that,” Marco said, slapping Frazier's hand. “There are other people in the room, you fool.” He was smiling, loving the attention. “And no matter how many times you grab my ass, I'm still not going to be thrilled about doing reality television. It's just so
declasse
."

Molly knew it was time to announce Yves was waiting outside the door, and she knew she had to be sneaky about it. “But just think about all the fans who love you, Marco. They stand in the streets waiting to get a glimpse of you. They wait in the wind and the rain just to see you walk by. They follow you on Internet social networks as if you were royalty. Now they can see you on TV every week."

Marco turned and looked directly into Molly's eyes. “Stalkers and loons,” he said. “Most of those people are obsessed with stardom and fame and they'll do anything to get close to any celebrity. They have no manners, no common sense, and they don't care about taking advantage of someone's privacy or stealing their personal space.” He was ranting now. If Yves was still outside the door, he had to hear everything Marco was saying.