Desperate Enemies 3 (16 page)

“Enough!” Melbourne demanded. The agent roughly turned Sawyer Block around, facing the desk. He viciously pulled at the model's pants.

“Max, don't do this.”

“Hey, kid, don't take it personal. It's just business.”

But before Max could penetrate his young associate, there was a sharp knock at the door. Both men froze. The knock resounded louder, followed by a shout, “Hotel security. Please open the door.”

Melbourne let Sawyer up, quickly fastening his pants. “We'll pick this up another time.” He grabbed his suit jacket and went for the door.

Sawyer leaned against the table, trembling. “No need, Max. I quit.”

The agent and the model exchanged a few more words before Max stepped into the hallway to smooth things over with the security agent. In the quiet, Sawyer remembered he'd left Dane hanging on the computer. But when he looked, his boyfriend had already terminated the connection.

* * * *

Sawyer didn't sleep that night. He spent the next day hiding in his room, not even ordering room service. Just avoiding everybody. Well, not everybody. He tried Dane at home more times than he could count. No answer. He placed two equally unsuccessful calls to Tyler Wood.

Max must be right, Sawyer reasoned.
Everybody's cut me loose

His first impulse was to get away. Find someplace to be alone. But he had an obligation to be present for Tyler, even if the designer didn't want him around. For the past few months, Sawyer had been the “face” of Wood fashions.

By 9 p.m. that evening, the festivities for the L.A. Fashion Awards were in full swing. Tyler's table was situated toward the front of the highly-decorated room, near the stage. When Sawyer reached his seat, a number of other models greeted him with saccharine smiles, quickly turning away though not before showing their distaste. A few snickered at him. Sawyer sat, looking at his lap, wishing he were anywhere but here. This was humiliating.

“Seen any good movies, Sawyer?” That little zinger came compliments of Ray Rhodes. Jenny Shear, his date for the evening, stifled a laugh.

Adjacent to Sawyer was Tyler Wood, who looked at Sawyer somberly. He leaned over and whispered, “I know you called. We do need to talk.” Sawyer nodded.

A few minutes later, the tension unbearable, he excused himself from the table to get a drink. Sawyer moved gracefully across the room, head held up in defiance of the stares that followed him. Thankfully, at that moment, the lights dimmed. The show was starting. Under cover of the darkness, Sawyer pressed against the far wall of the auditorium, his black Tyler Wood shirt hopefully helping him blend in, making him invisible.

About an hour into the event, Sawyer's phone vibrated.
Dane!
He quickly answered, “Hey, babe!”

“I am not your ‘babe,’ Mr. Block. But I do want to make you a proposition.”

Converse.

Danvers continued, “Word has it your career is in the gutter. And I guarantee you're about to lose your house. No sense in going away empty-handed.” Sawyer's jaw ground as Converse spoke. “That Latin kid already agreed to sell his house. Let me make you an offer on yours.” Sawyer was so pissed, he could barely hear what Converse was saying. Claps erupted around him as another happy award recipient was called to the stage. In the racket, Sawyer missed the amount the man was offering. It didn't matter; he wasn't giving in.

“I won't make this offer again, Mr. Block.”

Sawyer thought for a moment, and turned the phone off.

The night was finally winding down. Punctuated by mini-runway exhibitions and video clips from Paris, New York, and Miami, a menagerie of awards had been given away, the winners graciously accepting their accolades. It was now time for designer of the year. Tyler Wood, for sure. Sawyer doubted anyone in the room thought differently.

The presenter took the stage. Sawyer looked on with embarrassment as Max Melbourne acknowledged the audience from his perch before the microphone. “Thank you.” Max cleared his throat. “I have the honor of presenting the final award of the evening. . . to a designer who has truly made a mark this year. It's doubly my honor because, well. . .” Polite chuckles wafted from the crowd, here and there. “I know, I know. . . but he's
my
client!” Max motioned for people to calm down. “Before I call him up, I'd like to do a shameless plug for the Melbourne Modeling Agency.” Max nodded into the darkness where the tech people were stationed. The stage lights dimmed and a video began to play on the screen to Max's right.

Sawyer couldn't bear to watch. He was sure that Max had cut any reference to him from his promo. Which was bullshit, because if it hadn't been for Sawyer, Max would never have won Tyler's account in the first place. Instead, Sawyer watched the faces in the audience; many of them people who, before the last few days, he would have called colleagues. Friends.

Some friends.

But something was wrong. Their expressions, glued forward, were those of shock. He whipped his head around, stunned at what he saw.

On the big screen, Max Melbourne was dropping his pants, forcing himself at Sawyer. His voice boomed, “You know what I do to the other guys I represent? I fuck them.” Sawyer countered, “You fuck them over.” And Max smiled, “No, I just fuck them.”

The audience at the Four Seasons shouted in anger but not as loud as Melbourne himself, trying to get someone to turn off the damn video. Seconds later, the crowd booed Max off the stage. The agent fled into the wings, out of sight.

And still the video continued, whipping the audience into a frenzy that nonetheless hung on every word.

Max: “Poser!”

Sawyer: “It's what I do, Max. I'm a model.”

At that, the crowd erupted in applause and whistles.

The lights came back on and Tyler Wood ran onstage, asking everybody to settle down. “Well!” He laughed. “Leave it to Max Melbourne to upstage the winner. I'm told I
am
Designer of the Year, but I'll tell you, if the past two days has taught me anything, it's that all the support and praise. . . it could all disappear. Like that.” He snapped his fingers. “I share this award with my staff who works hard for me every day. And the models who make my clothes. . . make
me
look so good. Right now, I'd like to call up my star.” Tyler scanned the room, which was still relatively dark. “Sawyer? Sawyer Block, are you still here?”

Sawyer stood, immobilized. Then slowly, he responded, walking toward the stage. When he reached Tyler's side, the designer leaned forward to speak into the microphone. “Sawyer, I know you've had a tough couple of days. But I'd like you to know—this is your award too. And you have a job with me as long as you'd like it.” Sawyer blushed, fighting back tears.

Wood motioned him to the mike.

Clearly, it was expected that he say something. “Um. . .” The microphone squeaked with reverb. Sawyer backed up a half step. “I just wanted to say to everyone, to all of you. . . I'm sorry. Sorry for leading you to believe I was something I'm not.” He looked at the familiar faces. “In case you haven't heard, I'm gay.” People started laughing. But, Sawyer realized, they weren't laughing at him this time. They were laughing with him. “I'm—”

His thought was lost in his throat. Coming up the main aisle, emerging from the darkness, was Dane, dressed smartly in one of Sawyer's suits.

“I'm. . . in love.”

Dane looked up at him, flowers in his hand. Sawyer beamed back a thousand watt smile.

“I'm in love with this man.” He pointed to Dane. Four hundred heads turned to the new arrival. “Dane Walters, with all these people as a witness, will you marry me?”

The room burst into pandemonium.

* * * *

Dane kissed Sawyer passionately, melting into his lover's arms. They parted lips for a moment to look soulfully into each other's eyes. Sawyer traced the masculine features of Dane's face with a finger.

They'd had a good laugh when they first returned to Sawyer's hotel room. Dane explained that he started recording the Skype session when things went south with Melbourne. Then he jumped into the car and headed to Los Angeles, not sure what he was going to do when he got there. Fortunately, he ran into Tyler Wood in the hotel lobby. They shared a good conversation. It was then that Dane learned about the video clips for the awards dinner. When they met, Tyler had been heading to the hotel's special event coordinator to submit his own clip. And that gave Dane a great idea. Posing as one of Max's harried staff, he passing the coordinator a “new video” that Melbourne insisted be used for the show.

“You know, you never did answer my question.”

Dane turned from the city lights twinkling outside the window to find Sawyer kneeling before him. “Yes, baby, I want you, now and always.”

“You sure?”

“I've never been so sure of anything in my life.” His gaze dropped to his fly. “But while you're down there. . .”

* * * *

Danvers Converse was busy at his desk when the telephone rang. He picked it up and listened. Then, without speaking a word, hung up.

“Well played, Mr. Block. Now it's my move.”

He pulled a piece of paper from his desk drawer, picked up the telephone receiver, and began dialing.

“Good evening. Is this Diana Block?”

* * * *

Their orgasms had taken the urgency from their bodies. Now they leisurely kissed their way to round two. Dane looked up, mischievously, motioning to his bag.

“If you liked the flowers, you'll love the other present I brought.”

Sawyer bounced across the room and opened the zipper. “Aw, babe. It's just what I wanted.” He brought the bottle of lube to the bed. “Let me try it on.”

He applied some to his hardening dick, but not too much to eliminate all friction, and then a tiny dollop on Dane's asshole. Sawyer worked it in with his thumb, until Dane was breathing heavy. Then, satisfied his lover was ready, he pressed the tip of his curved cock into Dane's ass. Warm folds accepted the member as if it were part of his own body.

It was, Sawyer decided, exactly where he belonged. Inside his true love.

Unhurried, he pressed forward, inch by inch, until it was in to the hilt. Then Sawyer slowly, playfully, pulled all the way out to rub against the outside of Dane's hole. Once again, the cock found its way in, deeper still, and out again, teasing.

“Oh, Saws. I love it!”

“I love you.”

He lifted Dane's legs, leaving them dangling on either side of his hips and leaned forward until he was laying atop his boyfriend. Sawyer's cock twitched inside of Dane's.

“What are you doing?”

Sawyer's head rested on the mounds of Dane's chest as he began to fuck his lover with easy, methodical thrusts. “I'm listening.” He picked up tempo. “Listening to your heart.”

Tears began to leak from Dane's eyes, not because their lovemaking was painful. It was quite the opposite, in fact. No, it was just that he realized he had never been so happy, so fulfilled in all his life. “Make love to me, Sawyer.”

And he did. Not once that night, not twice, but three times before their desire was satiated and they fell fast asleep in each other's arms, exhausted.

* * * *

The next day, they quietly drove back to Wonderland as though they didn't have a care in the world. Alas, that sentiment was not to last. As they reached the driveway to their home, Diana and Michael Block greeted them. Neither of Sawyer's parents looked pleased.

It seemed Mrs. Block had learned about the sex tape on the Internet. Her born-again sensibilities fully outraged, she promptly called her ex-husband, who owned Number One Eldon Court. Michael Block had no love for the gays either. He didn't see them as an abomination; he just considered them an embarrassment to society. And now a waste to the legacy of his family.

The elder Blocks made it clear to both boys that this was an intervention. And a reclamation of the house.

“Sawyer, I'm disappointed, son.”

Sawyer stammered as he tried to explain.

His mother put her foot down. “We're going to have a long talk, mister.” Anger rose from her in almost-visible waves. “And I pray that the good Lord can see fit to forgive you.”

Dane seethed at that, but Sawyer calmed him down. “Dane, let me work this out. Give me a couple of hours, okay?” He went in to speak with his Dad.

Diana Block remained on the stoop, glowering at Dane even as abundant sunshine bathed them. Dane wasn't sure which glare was harsher. “You can pick up your belongings tomorrow. They'll be in the front yard.” Tears welled in her eyes. “How could you do that to our son?”

“How could. . . He was a willing participant!”

Mrs. Block's eye narrowed at him. “Watch yourself. Remember what happened at Sodom and Gomorrah.”

Dane countered, “The sin of Sodom and Gomorrah wasn't homosexuality. It was inhospitality. So who knows—
your
days may be numbered.”

Indignant, Diana Block slammed the front door in Dane's face.

It was then that his cell phone rang. Dane didn't recognize the number.

“Hello? Mr. Walters? Gerald Green here. We spoke the other week. About the photo. I wanted to say how sorry I am about your brother.” Dane stood there, feeling empty. “Well, I'm still in town if you'd still like to meet. I think it'll be worth your while.”

* * * *

They sat in the late-afternoon sun on the patio of the Bayside Hotel. Dane only knew Gerald Green, the former owner of Number One Eldon Court, from an old photo he'd found in the attic, taken some forty years prior. Clearly, time had been kind; what was once a tangle of thick black hair was now a full head of gray. Green's stature, even bent by age, was still formidable. His smile, though, was disarming.

It might have set Dane at ease were it not for the fact that he knew he'd been followed again, all the way from Eldon Court to Down Wonder and lush surroundings of the Bayside. This time, he chose to ignore the tail. For now, he focused on what Mr. Green was saying.

The old man imparted his message in clipped phrases, spoken over the table in a hushed tone. “It's easy if you think about it as a progression. Drew Saunders came here when there wasn't even an outhouse to shit in, back in the 1800s. Drew fathered Parker Saunders at the turn of the century. Who became a judge. A crooked one, from what I hear. Parker, in turn, had Nathaniel. Eventually a San Francisco circuit judge and an even bigger asshole than his dad.