Hard Pressed

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Gary Caldwell stood in the hallway, before his open front door, holding it back with one hand. His other hand was busy down the back of his boxer shorts, scratching away at one cheek. Phillip Drake pictured a pimply, hairy backside, but the image refused to hold sway. No one of any s****l orientation looked at Gary Caldwell and believed him to have a pimply or hairy anything. Nothing about the man was disagreeable, except his attitude. In Phillip’s experience, all actors had oversized egos. Caldwell’s disregard of the media to date suggested he was no different. By the end of the week, Phillip intended to do something about knocking that inflated ego down to size.

He stood waiting to see whether the yawn accompanying the scratching would remove the top of Gary’s head, or at least give Phillip the opportunity to examine the man’s tonsils. The yawn ended with a chewing motion. Muscles around his eyelids quivered. He finally blinked a few times and peered at Phillip, his expression indicating brain cells trying to fire.

While he waited, Phillip glanced down—since he was about four inches taller than Gary, he’d have to get used to looking down—and then back to Gary’s face, taking in that trim, but not excessively muscular physique. He could see why the man had many fans, both male and female. Gary had a better body than the average man—compact best described him—but that wasn’t the only thing that caught one’s attention. Something about the whole package held Phillip’s interest.

Pity Phillip hadn’t been able to get Caldwell or his agent to agree to a photographer joining them. At best, Caldwell had said he might agree to a few informal photos before the week ended. He should have had his camera out to catch Gary…scratching his arse, yes, but still looking utterly shaggable. Or at least that was what Gary’s thousands of admirers would think.

Phillip gave himself a mental shake. No. That would have got him a slammed door in the face before they even got started. No point capturing Gary like this. His brief was to make people dislike the little s**t, not fall deeper in love with him. A photo of Gary looking adorable, despite the scratching, or maybe because of it, wasn’t going to help.

“Oh, yeah,” Gary said.

Phillip took this to mean that Gary had finally worked out who he was. He waited for an invitation over the threshold. Instead, Gary turned from the door as he pulled his hand free from his underwear. The elastic of the waistband gave an audible ping and thruupppttt back against Gary’s hip. That had to sting, but Gary didn’t even flinch. Taking the open doorway to mean he should follow, Phillip trailed after Gary down the hallway.

He found Gary in the open-plan kitchen area, holding the kettle under the tap. The man ignored Phillip as he put the appliance on to boil, but he did take down two mugs.

Phillip set his briefcase down on the counter, gaze wandering over the neutral decor. He didn’t mind large living rooms, but he disliked cooking and dining where he sat. That the design in this particular house had been put into place to maximise a small living space did not go amiss. He’d raised an eyebrow at Gary Caldwell’s address first time he saw it. Now he raised both brows. The man certainly wasn’t living up to his status.

Of course, the minimal number of rooms and single living space might make some of Phillip’s snooping easier.

“Coffee? Tea?” Gary yawned out the words.

“Not if it’s instant coffee or tea from a bag.”

He pulled a notepad and digital recorder from his briefcase. Gary had his head tilted down and gazed pointedly from beneath one raised brow.

“Snob?” Gary asked, with a quick nod to the mugs.

Phillip bristled. “Maybe. Or maybe just fussy where beverages are concerned.” He had standards, but he didn’t expect someone like Gary to understand.

Gary laughed. At least, Phillip interpreted the sound as such. People, especially celebrities, were never this nonplussed around him. Even when he’d started out in this job, Phillip had a couple of points over on most of the others, who tended to sit around on the bottom rung. He hadn’t started as one of those fooled into believing he had a staff job, when the truth was he was given no-win scenarios even the captain of the Enterprise couldn’t cheat. Those who survived what the editor threw at them until the next staff job became available were instated behind a desk. Phillip had by-passed this ‘system’ by placing a huge story directly on the editor’s desk, one so impressive he’d gone straight onto staff.

Furthermore, whilst his job had been to harass celebrities with ridiculous questions, he had a knack for starting with some sensible ones no reporter of his standing would have even contemplated. Phillip then often tricked the celeb, his charm lulling them into false security, into giving something away. When Phillip started out, he had done ‘celebrity doorsteps’ like no other. Arriving uninvited and unwanted, he’d still managed to gain entry and was often sitting down over a respectable cup of tea and nice slice o’ cake before his victim realised he had no business being there. Nowadays, he often felt he wanted to be at an interview less than the interviewee. Gary sounding and looking so relaxed did all manner of strange things to Phillip’s calm.

Ignoring the laugh, he continued. “Shall we begin here, now?”

Running fingers through his unkempt hair—an action that actually seemed to tidy it—Gary said, “What?”

Phillip hated people saying ‘what’ when the correct term was ‘pardon’. “The interview?” He was already inside as agreed; Phillip saw no reason to waste time on unnecessary sweet talk. He’d flatter Gary if it proved necessary as the week progressed.

The other man seemed to take more time than required to stir the contents of a mug. Phillip suppressed a shudder. A mug. Ugh. Another reason he’d refused a drink.

“Interview?” Gary finally straightened, although something about his stance remained calm. “Aren’t you trailing me all week?”

“Yes.”

“Then you’ll have plenty to go on. I’m sure you’ll make it up, as you usually do.”

“That’s libellous. What the public think of what goes on in a reporter’s life isn’t worth writing on the back of a postage stamp. And if that’s how you feel, why irritate the reporter you’ve invited into your home?”

“Good question.” While that was true, Gary seemed no more inclined to answer that than he was disposed to answer anything else. “Especially if you’re going to talk to me in clichés all week.”

Phillip bit back his retort. “You have to answer some questions.” He spoke quietly and firmly, but received no reaction. Taken unawares by Gary’s silence, together with his sipping his coffee as if he had all week to savour the flavour, led Phillip to breathe in deeply. He was piqued. Flatter him. Flatter him. Deep calming breaths.

“News to me,” Gary said as if he were telling Phillip the time. “No one said anything about me answering questions. It’s not what we arranged. I’m surprised you’re even taking the time to do this.”

“A week in the life of Gary Caldwell. It’s what my paper and your agent agreed.” Although Phillip couldn’t understand why the agreement stood, he didn’t say so. The situation was damn dangerous…for Gary. He couldn’t know what he might give away in an hour spent with a reporter. Spending a whole week with one was like begging someone for help to commit social suicide.

“You honestly promising to quote me accurately?”

“Of course.” Gary definitely laughed this time, the sound long and loud, full of mirth. “Spare me. I used to have a friend who worked for a rag like yours. I know the difference in reporting news and showbiz gossip. I know when a paper quotes ‘sources’.” Gary made little quotes in the air with his fingers, one hand still gripping the cup so that the contents sloshed. “Those are often either a hack on a deadline making it up or the star’s agent or PR department, even the stars themselves. Real news is about facts. The kind of thing you write isn’t.”

Phillip couldn’t work up the energy to feel annoyed. The most he managed was irritation over the idea that Gary knew more about how the gossip columns worked than he had anticipated. However, he wasn’t surprised. Celebrities co-operated with the media all the time, even calling them up when they needed publicity and agreeing on the number of zeros in a payout. Others wanted privacy and were hounded. Gary seemed a little more clued-in than Phillip would find convenient.

“You do realise you’ve given me enough to write an article right there? Caldwell’s view of the media.”

Gary shrugged. “Would anyone care? Besides, not your style of exposé.”

The way Gary said exposé reminded Phillip how little the other man wore. He tried to keep his gaze from drifting. His only interest was in details for his article, but Gary might misinterpret the look.

“What happened to your friend?” Phillip asked. Gary blinked at him. “You said he used to work for a rag.”

“He quit. Hated crossing the line. Decided he didn’t like what he was doing anymore and resigned.”

Sympathetic, but not liking the sensation, Phillip resisted asking what the friend did now. Whatever it was had to be better. The thought came from nowhere. He couldn’t quite equate what he knew of himself with the idea that he’d rather be just about anywhere than facing a week spent with the very attractive Gary Caldwell. Even the thought that in the allotted time, he might glean all sorts of incriminating information did little to lift his spirits. Sad, but true.

Gary took a swig from the mug, steam rising into his face, then licked his lips and made an ahh sound. He seemed to think the muck in the mug was good coffee. At least he had dispensed the granules from a matching set of containers, but the absence of the jar meant Phillip couldn’t tell which brand. Not that it mattered. He intended to look into all of this man’s cupboards before the end of the week. He had no way to know what he might find and even brands might tell him something about the man. Meanwhile…Gary didn’t appear quite to understand the point of Phillip being here.

“You really intend I should just trail after you without asking questions?”

“You can ask questions,” Gary said.

Good. Now they were getting somewhere.

“Doesn’t mean I have to answer them.”

Phillip stopped his shoulders from sagging. He’d had enough of difficult celebrities in the last few months, had spent several months trailing around trying to get the dirt on two other queer celebs coming out, and the upshot of that hadn’t been what he’d expected. In a roundabout way, he’d ended up getting to know the men, and while he wasn’t sure he could call them friends, they weren’t his enemies.

He wasn’t here to drag Gary into the public eye. The man had already caught everyone’s attention and, most annoying of all, appeared to have done so without effort. Without too much prompting, Gary had chosen to go public concerning his personal life, likely owing to professional advice. Phillip had been hot on his trail, and no doubt Gary’s advisors had known. When they agreed to this, Phillip had thought he was in for an easy assignment, one he felt he deserved. He believed someone had finally seen that he had real ability.

How mistaken could he be? Hadn’t his last interview proved he could write when he put his mind to it? His paper didn’t want journalism of that type, but even his bosses hadn’t been able to ridicule the quality of his exclusive. Good job, they’d said, and he’d been so busy patting his own back, he’d received quite a slap in the face when he realised they were ordering him to get back on track. They wanted dirt on Gary, and despite feeling discouraged, he was in a bad enough mood to provide it if the little sod was going to be difficult.

“You’re going to be awkward.” It wasn’t quite a statement or a question. He just didn’t see the point in dancing with Gary.

Gary shrugged, grinned. He moved with a far more graceful movement than he had hereto exhibited, light on the balls of his feet, around the end of the breakfast bar and off down the hall. Just as Phillip started after him, Gary sang out.

“I’d make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Those blue eyes twinkled as Gary glanced back over his shoulder.

The slightly smug expression that Phillip knew so well hovered about the man’s mouth and shone out from his gaze.

“Unless you intend to trail me all the way into the shower.”

If that was a genuine invitation, the man was out of luck. Phillip shook his head, trying to convey disgust rather than vexation. In response, the little bopping sway of Gary’s hips as the actor walked away seemed to mock him.

Damn actors. Damn…queers. Damn queer actors. When would Phillip learn not to go after them?

Outing gays was beginning to grow old for both him and the public. Revelations and accounts of coming out used to produce a thrill, but since Brokeback, no one seemed to care. The public retained some mild interest, depending on the star and what he or she had been caught doing, but the headlines just didn’t provide the weeks of news they once did. He’d even tried to do a piece on how and why straight men took gay roles, but that hadn’t raised much attention, either. Enough general interest abided right now concerning Gary Caldwell to make this story worthwhile, but this was going to be the last report Phillip did of this nature. He just hadn’t looked too closely at what he would do instead. What did one do at the age of thirty-two when one suddenly realised so much of life had already passed one by? He needed a change of career, though he was lost as to what and why.

Today wasn’t the time for self-examination. Gary had left him unattended, so to begin with, he would start by getting a good look in Gary’s drawers.