All About Yves (3 page)
Frazier applauded Marco, agreeing with him as usual. Frazier had always hated the way Marco's life had been controlled by the press and by screaming fans.
"Ah well,” Molly said, with a softer voice. “They aren't
all
like that.” She looked down at the floor and kicked the carpet with the tip of her boot. “I'm sure some are genuine fans who would just love to meet you without asking for anything in return."
"Ha,” Marco said. “I'd love to meet one."
"Then wait right here,” Molly said. “There's one right outside the door."
Marco dropped the box of Kleenex and everyone else in the room just stared at Molly.
"What are you talking about?” Marco asked. He put his hands on his hips and turned all the way around in his chair.
Molly's eyes grew large, she laced her fingers together, and she tilted her head to the side. “You know that nice quiet young guy who is always lurking around the back door, waiting to see you come and go,” Molly said. “He's been here for weeks. Since the show started."
"The goofy-looking guy, with the hood on his head and big feet?” Marco asked. He pointed to Jane Francis and said, “You know what to do."
Jane Francis adjusted her girdle and braced for battle. She smiled for the first time that night and walked toward the door. She had knack for getting rid of unwanted autograph hounds and pushy fans who were always chasing Marco, and she wasn't shy about doing it.
"That's the guy,” Molly said. But she didn't think he was goofy looking at all. Molly thought he was extremely handsome, with good, decent eyes. “He's right outside the door. He's been waiting out in the rain all night just to see you walk by. He's watched every show you've taped, he has collections of every magazine you've ever done, and he's your biggest fan."
Then Molly grabbed Jane Francis before she reached the door. “You can't just throw him out in the street. Marco, he's nice young man and he only wants to meet you. It's his dream. You should see the way his eyes light up with adoration when your name is mentioned. He's not just any ordinary fan. There's something different about this guy. I'm not sure what it is, but he's not like everyone else.” Molly added the last part because she knew Marco's ego well.
And it worked. Marco took a deep breath and sighed. “Let him in. What harm could it do? I'll trust your judgment. After all, you are my best friend and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."
Molly was wearing her blond hair in a chic little chignon that night. When Marco heard she'd invited a complete stranger backstage to his dressing room, he wanted to grab her tight little bun and shake her head back and forth a couple of times. Molly had done things like this before, always with wide innocent eyes and a soft tender voice. She made it sound as if she was doing good deeds for nice people. But Marco knew her too well. Molly could be a conniving, catty woman. Not in a harmful way; just for sport. It was the main reason why she was a consummate fag hag and had no female friends of her own. Other women wouldn't put up with her tricks and games.
Marco knew she was playing games. She'd invited this creepy character in the hooded sweatshirt back to his dressing room because she knew it would piss him off.
Only Marco was not going to let her know it bothered him. If he had thrown a tantrum and refused to see the little creep, it would have given Molly too much satisfaction and Marco would have gone home feeling guilty for the rest of the night.
So when Molly crossed to the dressing room door and escorted the young man inside, Marco turned all the way around and smiled as if he were being shot for a new photo spread. If this guy wanted to see Marco Denny, the most important model in the world, he'd give him a grand show he'd never forget.
The young man's sweatshirt was still soaked and his black boots were so worn the soles were beginning to separate from the toes. He was about ten pounds thinner than he should have been and his thick dark hair fell to the nape of his neck in wavy, hapless chunks. Marco continued to smile, wondering how on Earth anyone would dare to step out in the street with such horrid jeans.
"I wasn't sure if you still wanted me to come inside,” the guy said, speaking to Molly but staring down at the floor.
"Of course I still want you to come in,” Molly said. She wasn't shouting, but her voice was louder and more animated than usual. She reached for the guy's elbow and pushed him to the dressing table. “Marco, this is Yves Marisano,” she said. “He's your most devoted fan."
Marco wanted to gag. But he lifted his chin and said, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, Yves. Molly has told me
so
much about you.” His voice rose. He spoke with his best Upper East Side fake accent, pronouncing the word pleasure,
plea-shah.
When Marco extended his right hand and Jane Francis noticed his insincerity, she rolled her eyes and said, “Give me a break."
"This is my husband, Jasper,” Molly said. “And this is Marco's partner, Frazier North."
While Yves was shaking their hands and complimenting them, Marco lifted his arm and gestured toward Jane Francis. “This is my dear, dear friend and associate, Miss Jane Francis.” His phony accent became even thicker: dear sounded like
dee-ah.
Jane Francis put her hands on her hips and said, “Ah, give me a break, will ya?"
Marco knew Jane Francis was on to him. She knew he was pretending and she knew he was only mocking the young man.
"What do you mean, give you a break?” Jasper asked.
"When Marco starts sounding like Queen Elizabeth,” Jane Francis said, “he thinks he's holding court and we're all his subjects. Next thing you know he'll start using creepy words that nobody else uses, like ‘nary’ and ‘preamble'.” She pointed her thumb in Marco's direction in a crude way, rocking her fist back and forth.
"Don't you have something important to do in the bathroom, Jane Francis?” Marco said, pronouncing bathroom as
bahth-rum."
Jane Francis pressed her palm to her bosom, lowered her eyebrows, and curtsied. “Not really, your highness, but I'll be more than happy to find something to do in there until you come back to earth. Would you like me to polish your throne while I'm in there?” Then she crossed to the back of the room and slammed the bathroom door.
When she was gone, Marco gestured to a small chair near his dressing table and said, “Please have a seat, Mr. Marchesi."
"
Marisano
,” Molly said, giving Marco a nasty look.
Yves sat down on the edge of the seat and leaned forward. At a second glance, Marco noticed he wasn't a bad-looking young man at all, just unkempt and poorly groomed. Marco watched him closely. He had a thin face with strong bone structure. He spread his long legs wide and laced his fingers together with slow precise movements. His face remained blank and he seemed to have trouble knowing what to do with his hands. But at least he wasn't staring at the floor anymore.
There was an awkward moment of silence. None of them knew what to say, and Yves didn't seem to be the best conversationalist. So Marco and Molly started talking at the same time, asking simple questions to make Yves feel more relaxed. Marco asked if he wanted anything to drink, and Molly asked how many times he'd seen Marco's TV show.
"No, thank you,” Yves said to Marco. Then he smiled at Molly and said, “I've seen every single show. I've also read every magazine that Marco's ever been in and I've seen every photo spread he's ever done. The TV show, for me, is like something extra. I've always been more interested in Mr. Denny's long-running career as a male model."
"You certainly are a dedicated fan,” Jasper said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?"
Yves shrugged. “Right now I work in a couple of restaurants as a waiter. And I use the computer at the library. I've Googled everything Mr. Denny has ever done. I spend all day researching his work and reading about him. I haven't missed one single taping of this TV show.” His voice was low and humble and honest. He didn't seem to have a pretentious cell in his frail body.
Marco stared at him with a half smile. Suddenly, Marco felt closer and more comfortable with Yves than with anyone else in the room. Marco knew he had millions of fans, and he was thankful for them all. But he'd always taken them for granted, expecting them to just be there like the sun, the wind, and the rain. Until that moment, when Yves mentioned such dedication and devotion, he never fully understood the impact he had on other people.
"Do you like the new TV reality show Marco is doing?” Jasper asked. He was still upset about the fact that Marco didn't like doing the show. He thought it was the best deal he'd ever made for the company and for Marco.
Without hesitating a second, Yves said, “I love
everything
Mr. Denny does. He's a star."
"How nice,” Marco said, smiling so wide his dimples indented more than usual. “You're such a nice boy, and so smart, too."
"What if Marco gained a hundred pounds and became the
Slim Diet
spokesperson and started doing TV commercials about losing weight?” Molly asked. “Would you love him
fat
?"
Marco smirked at Molly and almost laughed. Leave it to her to take a perfectly innocent comment and turn it into something vicious and witty. He had a feeling Molly secretly would have loved nothing more than to see him gain a hundred pounds so he could be the spokesperson for
Slim Diet
.
"I doubt that would happen, Mrs. Page,” Yves said. “Part of Mr. Denny's stardom has to do with the fact that he always chooses the right projects. Even the clothes he models are always perfect for him. He's not just another pretty face and body. He's smart, too."
Then they asked Yves more about why he was so eager to watch and research Marco's life and his work. Frazier and Jasper didn't understand; Molly's eyes were large and she couldn't wait to hear his answers. Yves smiled and told them how much he loved Marco's work, then told them he had no family, no friends, and no real life of his own. He lived for one thing: to study Marco Denny's modeling career.
When Marco heard this, he pressed his palm to his throat and said, “But there are other models far better than me.” This time he was serious. He just didn't understand why anyone would be so completely devoted to him.
"No, there aren't,” Yves said, looking directly into Marco's eyes. “You're the number-one model in the world.” Then he turned to face Frazier and Jasper. “And you model the best line of menswear in the world. Don't get me wrong. I'm not one of those weird, unstable stalker types. I'm just an honest, devoted fan."
Marco's eyebrows went up and his head went back. “Well, thank you for explaining that,” he said. “To be honest, I was a bit worried. You're so intense. And thank you for not using the word
supermodel
when you talk about me.” Marco despised that word. It reminded him of cheesy tabloids and second-rate daytime talk shows. As far as he was concerned, the word
supermodel
had been used and abused and it was time to stop using it altogether. Whenever someone referred to him as a
supermodel
, he felt like donning a designer cape and a mask and flying out a window.
"Tell us more about
you
,” Molly said. “We already know about Marco. We're not interested in him.” She leaned forward, and seemed almost too eager to know all about this stranger.
Marco sighed. Molly had majored in one of those social things in Smith College, or wherever it was she'd gone, and she loved examining strange people this way.
Yves shrugged with a blank expression. “I'm not sure there's anything to tell,” he said. “I'm a waiter and I'm a fan of Mr. Denny's."
"Go ahead,” Molly said. “Tell us something."
While they were waiting for him to speak, Jane Francis opened the bathroom door and stepped into the room again. Her hands were on her hips and she was biting half of her bottom lip. Everyone went silent and they stared in her direction. She paused for a moment and stared back. When she realized she'd interrupted something that must have been important, she slowly crossed to the other side of the room and stood behind Frazier's chair. She stared at Yves with raised eyebrows, as if she didn't trust him. She clearly didn't understand what this stranger off the street had to say that was so important.
They all turned and focused on Yves. He sat back in the chair and said, “I saw Mr. Denny for the first time when I was a child. I used to read my uncle's magazines about men's fashions and Mr. Denny was always in them. From the moment I first saw his face, I couldn't get enough. It's art. There's nothing else like it. I had magazine collections all over my room, and I'd read through them every night before I went to sleep."
"What did your family think about this?” Molly asked. Her eyebrows were knitted together and her lips were pursed.
Marco gave her a look. When Molly wasn't playing the part of Good Samaritan social worker, she was playing amateur psychiatrist. But Marco had to admit that even he was interested now. He couldn't help wondering if Yves had masturbated to his images in those magazines. Though Marco had never cheated on Frazier, there was something so flattering about a young man masturbating to his image.
Yves smiled. “They didn't understand. I was a shy, fat kid and I spent most of my time in my room. They wanted me to go out and play baseball with the other boys, and all I wanted to do was look at magazines with Marco Denny and learn all I could about the fashion industry. When I was a senior in high school, though I was still as interested in Mr. Denny as always, I started doing aerobics and eating less. I lost all the weight and started seeing this guy down the street. I fell in love with him. He was captain of the football team, and I would have done anything for him. But I come from a small town in the Midwest. We kept it all a secret...until the night my father caught us making love in the back seat of his car."
"Oh no,” Molly said, covering her mouth with her palm. “How awful. What happened then? Were your parents okay with the fact that you were gay?"