Page 69 of Something Like Winter
“Think so?”
“Yes. Or you can accept a gift from me and not deal with Marcello at all.”
Tim shook his head. “I can deal with Marcello. Why are you friends with a guy like that, anyway?”
“Oh, he’s not so bad. He does a lot for the community, even when distracted by the latest pretty thing. The charity balls he hosts every year raise so much money that entire organizations depend on them.But,Marcello can be pushy. Don’t let him be in charge of you.”
“I won’t.”
They returned to the party together, both ignoring a few knowing glances directed at them.
“Quite a turnout this year,” Eric said.
Tim nodded. “I’m surprised so many people came. Thanksgiving is usually a family thing.”
“Yes, but gay people choose their families, especially when they get older. I’m sure everyone here has parents or siblings they could be with, but there comes a time when all relatives seem to talk about is their children or grandchildren, problems at school, or parent-teacher conferences. The list goes on.” Eric sighed. “Sometimes you just want to be around others who are on the same page as you are, no matter how little you might have in common.”
On second thought, Tim was glad Travis wasn’t here, since this is exactly what he feared most. Somehow Tim would have to give him the traditional family he wanted. “Gay people can adopt.”
“Yes, we can,” Eric said, “and we have our own special way of doing that.”
Eric put an arm around Tim’s shoulder. The gesture was proud, affectionate, not creepy or lecherous. Forget kids! As Eric guided them both into the party, Tim wondered if anyone had adopted someone as their father before.
* * * * *
Five thousand dollars. Five thousand dollars. Five freaking thousand dollars!
This mantra ran on a loop through Tim’s mind. When modeling for Marcello, he had expected to fend off unwanted advances and have his integrity repeatedly tested. None of that had happened. What he hadn’t expected, however, was hard work.
Currently he was posing in front of a lake, wearing nothing but a swim suit while two photographers stalked around him, grumbling.
“Your stance isn’t natural at all,” one of them complained.
“Maybe because it’s the middle of fucking winter!” Two weeks into December, in fact. Shouldn’t he be decked out in burly sweaters, posing in front of a Christmas tree? Tim glanced over at Marcello, who was bundled up and toasty in a knee-length fur coat. Where were those PETA activists when you needed them? “Can I at least sit in the car and warm up for a minute?”
Marcello grunted. “The cold is good; makes your skin tighter.”
Tim glanced down self-consciously. What was wrong with his skin normally?
“However,” Marcello continued, “I think I’ll sit in the car until we’re finished here.”
When Tim glared at him as he wobbled away, one of the photographers gasped happily and began turbo-snapping pictures.
“What are these even for?” Tim said. “Who wants to buy a swimsuit in the middle of winter?”
“Winter is over, darling,” said one of the lighting technicians. “At least as far as the industry is concerned. You have to stay ahead of the game!”
“Less talking, more sulking,” one of the photographers ordered.
That part Tim could handle. This had been the weekend from hell. He had felt so proud at Eric’s Thanksgiving party when haggling with Marcello. Tim had started at ten thousand. Marcello had barely blinked, but still he talked Tim down to five, with the promise of only having to work two days. And Tim had jumped at the offer, thinking he had the upper hand. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Yesterday morning was spent being passed around from beautician to beautician. First they cut Tim’s hair. Gone were the lanky locks that he had preferred since high school. He loved having his hair long, especially since his father always complained about it. His mother would come to his defense, saying, “In Mexico, men can have beautiful hair too.” Sorry, Mom, because now his hair was buzzed short on the sides and gelled into messy spikes on top. They had wanted to give him highlights, but Tim had drawn the line there.
Then came makeup, not just for his face but for nearly his entire body as well. The first photo shoot yesterday involved swimsuits, but at least they had been in a warm studio. Then Tim was put into outfit after outfit, Marcello consulting the list as they went along, naming fashion brands too exotic to be cheap.
In the afternoon, another model was brought in, a guy with long blond bangs and arms so toned that Tim felt like hitting the ground for some push ups. Both he and Tim were outfitted in the same kind of pseudo-letter jackets that high school kids wore in the fifties. Then they had to get tangled up in just about every position imaginable, the clothing coming off piece by piece. Sometimes they were posed like buddies with their arms around each other. For other photos they might as well have been dry humping.
“Stick your tongue in his ear,” the photographer said at one point.
