Beautiful Box Set

Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The next time Johnny’s in Lou’s office, his portfolio is spread out on the desk between them. None of the nude pics made it in there. Johnny deleted them off Brett’s computer himself, after they snickered over them. He’s decided he quite likes the faces he makes while being f****d. He’s been to the studio twice since then for similar sessions. None of those pictures are in the folder Lou’s glancing through, either.

Instead, there are the required headshots, a few full-body poses, a couple “come-hither” close-ups that Brett called grade A jerk-off material. One of those close-ups now hangs in the tiny bathroom of Brett’s studio, tacked right behind the toilet for easy daydreaming. Johnny laughed when Brett padded barefoot across the studio, nothing on but a pair of tight briefs, a large print of the photo in one hand and a roll of Scotch tape in the other. Now every time he has to take a leak when he’s visiting, Johnny stares at himself and mimics the look in the photo, as if it’s a mirror.

But Lou doesn’t like it. “Too sexy,” he complains, tapping the pic with one blunt thumb. Before Johnny can speak, he pulls it from the folder and, with the flick of his wrist, sails it across the desk. “You want to do legit films, don’t you, kid? Save that sort of look for Playgirl.”

Johnny catches the photo and sets it facedown on his lap. He tries not to think of the image on the other side, the pouted lips now planted on his crotch as if he’s blowing himself. Because blowjobs make him think of Brett, which makes him glance at the clock like he’s running late for an appointment. If Lou sees that look, Johnny can only imagine what the man would say. “Am I holding you up? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to inconvenience you, but this is your career we’re talking about here, not mine. It’s nothing to me if you leave now. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

No, better not to get on Lou’s bad side. Not when Johnny needs his help.

“Nice,” he announces, pointing at the only shirtless picture that made it into the portfolio. “Real nice. We’ll send this one to DreamWorks. They have an open call Friday but I know the girl there, she says they’ll take a look at you before they let in the public.”

Johnny’s heart quickens. “Friday? So soon?” Inside, he wants to cheer. Yes. He’s got an audition.

Lou holds up a hand in caution. “You’re not a shoo-in,” he warns. “Not by a long shot. But I’ve got favors I can call in and I really believe in you, Johnny. I know you got it in you to come back.”

“But DreamWorks,” Johnny says with a laugh. “That’s a huge step up from nothing.”

“You ain’t nothing,” Lou reminds him. “You have talent, you have that spark, and hell, you already have your own page at IMDB so it’s not like you’re some bum off the streets. The minute you left here last week, I put the word out that you were back in the game and half a dozen reporters called me before the end of the day for the story. Within hours the news was on the street. Do you even look at the tabloids when you’re in line at the grocery store?”

Johnny shakes his head. To be honest, he hasn’t been in a grocery store lately. His whole weekend was spent with Brett, either at the studio or eating out, going to the movies, just chilling. Getting to know each other better. Having s*x.

Lou sighs. “By the end of the month, your name will be in all the major celebrity rags, People, Us Weekly, OK. Little write-ups at first, nothing major, but we’ll start scheduling interviews once you land your first role. Something to get you back in the public’s eye, you know. Though it seems you might already be doing that yourself.”

“What do you mean?” Johnny sits up a little straighter—he doesn’t like the dark look that flickers across Lou’s face. “I haven’t—”

Interrupting him, Lou asks, “Ever heard of Z-23?” When Johnny shakes his head, Lou closes his portfolio and digs out a large manila envelope hidden beneath the calendar on his desk. “Largest gossip site online. It’s like the love child of the worst tabloid you can name and the most invasive celebrity gossip show on TV, rolled into one graphic-intensive website. It’s updated like every five minutes or so, around the clock, and everyone who’s anyone is on there, doing anything.”

Johnny doesn’t think he likes where this is going. He tries to remember if there were any paparazzi around, the times he and Brett went out. Or rather, more paps than usual.

Who could tell? The damn vultures are everywhere.

Lou’s opening the envelope now, extracting a sheaf of paper. “Take a look at these,” he says, handing the papers to Johnny. “Tell me what you think.”

The top page shows a high-quality photo of him at an outdoor café. This was taken Sunday morning, he remembers. He sits facing the camera, sunglasses on to hide bloodshot eyes, a bagel in one hand.

Brett’s hand in the other.

Brett’s back is to the camera, but there’s no mistaking the fingers entwined together on the table top. Brett wears a ratty T-shirt and a pair of long cotton pants in a loud print that screams PJs. His hair is disheveled, as if he just rolled out of bed. Johnny peels the top page away and sees the next shot, this one two seconds later—Brett has pulled Johnny’s hand off the table and placed it over his crotch, a move that set them both laughing. Johnny can still feel Brett’s heavy c**k through that thin material, the limp member fluttering to life beneath his touch.

The next page has Brett leaning across the table, his face in profile, his lips puckered up. Oh God.

Johnny’s not sure what to say. He can’t really deny the pictures—it’s obviously him, and though he’d pushed Brett away before the photog could steal a kiss in public, the images still look pretty incriminating. He clears his throat, mind working in overtime; he never was any good at improv….

Lou’s voice is surprisingly gentle. “Who is he?”

“Just a friend,” Johnny says.

Lou laughs. “Don’t play coy with me. I’m your manager, Johnny. I need all the facts up front here. I’m the one they’re going to call about this. You’re just lucky the site’s updated so damn often, and no one’s really looking for s**t on you yet. But the minute you’re back on top, and they start Googling you? Don’t you think someone’s going to find these?”

“We’re just playing around.” Even to his own ears, Johnny knows that sounds lame.

“Are you serious?” Lou asks. Johnny glances up, confused, but Lou nods at the photos in his hands and asks, “With him? Is it something I should know about?”

“Not yet.” Then Johnny thinks a moment, and his voice drops to a mere whisper. “But it’s getting there, I think. I hope.”

“You hope.”

For a moment, Lou is silent. Johnny frowns at the paper in his hand, unable to look his manager in the eye. Who took these pictures? Who knew?

With an exasperated sigh, Lou mutters, “God damn it, Johnny. Not even female celebs can get away with grabbing their guy’s crotch in public. That’s the worst thing you can do, right there. Britney did it to her husband and people still called her a slut. How am I supposed to fix this?”

“I don’t—”

“You’re killing me here,” Lou sighs. “Find a friend, I told you. A girl friend. And the next thing I know, there are candid shots of you grabbing some guy’s d**k on the internet. What’ll it be next week? A gay s*x tape? c*m shots?”

Johnny starts, uncomfortable. No, he wants to say. I deleted those. Instead he keeps silent, a slight pout on his face. Can’t they get back to the audition at DreamWorks? Why’s Lou have to drag Brett into this?

Lou waits for Johnny to answer, but when he realizes there isn’t anything to say in his defense, he sighs again. “Look. You owe me, kid, so much you don’t even know it. My son’s girlfriend is an intern at Z-23, and she’s sort of trying to break into the industry herself. I made a few calls this morning, got those photos deleted from the archive, and had the article taken down. This is like a do-over you never get in real life, you hear me?”

“Thanks,” Johnny mumbles.

Lou talks right over him. “I want you in a movie, not some art house flick, but a summer blockbuster, you got that? So you keep your hands to yourself in public, and you ditch this playboy pal of yours for some pretty little brunette. One with t**s and ass, something curvy to distract the cameras. What do you say?”

Johnny clears his throat. “Thank you. For….” He ruffles the papers in his hand. “You know.”

Leaning across his desk, Lou steeples his fingers and pins Johnny in place with a steady stare.

Johnny glances up, can’t meet the intensity of that gaze, and looks away, but within a minute or two, he’s looking back again. He can’t help it.

“Johnny,” Lou purrs. “Listen to me. This may be the twenty-first century, and gays may be able to marry here in the Golden State. But earlier this year, a fifteen year old boy was shot and killed in school by a classmate because of his sexuality. So you’re treading a very thin line here. You’re putting yourself out there for the world to see, and you don’t want to give them any ammunition to tear you down. Do you understand me?”

Johnny nods. Perfectly.