Page 70 of Something Like Winter
“Which one of us?” Tim had asked.
“Don’t worry, dude,” his modeling partner replied, bringing his tongue close to Tim’s ear. “I’m straight.”
“Aren’t we all?” Tim muttered as his ear canal was filled with saliva and a barrage of flashes blinded him.
The endless outfits, poses, makeup, and homoerotic modeling partners went on and on, well into the evening. Then Tim went home to sleep. Unfortunately for him, the next day brought crisp clear winter weather, which the photographers loved. This meant he was paraded from location to outdoor location, all of them freezing.
“I think that’s it for the light,” one of the photographers said, checking a meter. “We’ll have to make do with what we got.”
“Gee, thanks,” Tim grumped, grabbing a bathrobe from a nearby folding chair and stomping toward the limousine. After climbing into the back seat opposite Marcello, he slammed the door extra hard to make his unhappiness clear. “You’re really getting your money’s worth, aren’t you?”
“I always do.” Marcello chuckled. “You know, there are less timeconsuming ways to make money. They pay better, too.”
Tim was too smart to ask. Porn was out of the question, and Eric had warned him about Marcello’s escort service that catered to an elite clientele. Instead, he pulled the robe tighter around himself and watched the crew outside gathering their equipment. The sun was going down, which hopefully meant that they were done for the day.
“Just one more shoot,” Marcello said. “This one on the rooftop with Austin’s lights glittering in the background.”
Tim sighed. “And me in a swimsuit?”
“In a gentleman’s suit, actually. A tuxedo.”
That was a welcome change. “Do I have time to grab dinner first?”
Marcello checked his watch. “Plenty, but don’t overeat or your stomach will show.”
He was one to talk! “Don’t worry. After a day like today, I’ll probably just drink my dinner.”
“Or you can dine with me.”
Tim shook his head, attention still on the crew outside. “If we’re heading back to your house, I thought I’d visit Eric.”
Eric’s home wasn’t far from Marcello’s place, and right now his grounded presence would be a welcome relief. Tim could rely on Eric not to treat him like a piece of meat. Those photographers were brutal!
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Marcello said. “How is Eric holding up?”
Tim tore his eyes away from the window. “Holding up?”
“Well, you know.” Marcello watched him, playing subconsciously with the rings on his fingers. “Or don’t you?”
“What?” Tim snapped.
“Never mind,” Marcello said, as if the topic suddenly bored him. “Get out there and tell those damn photographers they’re riding with the crew if they don’t hurry up. I’m starving!”
Tim watched him a moment longer, but Marcello acted as if the conversation had never occurred. If this was some new game, Tim wasn’t playing it. Instead he went and told the photographers that Marcellowantedthem to ride back with the crew. They were furious, but weren’t about to complain to their employer. Tim grinned all the way back to the limo.
Once back at Marcello’s home—just as grand and ostentatious as its owner—Tim hopped into his car, enjoying the solitude as he drove to Eric’s. Try as he might, he couldn’t purge Marcello’s words from his mind.How is Eric holding up?Since Eric and Gabriel split up, maybe? Wasn’t that ancient history? There had to be something else, unless Marcello was screwing with him. Even for Marcello, that seemed too childish, like a kid declaring with glee that he had a secret.
When Tim got to Eric’s house, an old Honda Civic was pulling out of the driveway. Tim slowed in the street, blinker showing he intended to pull in after it. The car backed out and crept forward in his direction, a chubby-cheeked woman checking him out with interest.
She slowed when their windows were lined up, rolling hers down. Tim did the same, recognizing her from last month. This was the woman Eric described as being too chatty. Maybe she intended to have a long conversation with Tim right here in the middle of the road.
“Are you family?” she asked.
Wasn’t that slang for being gay? Or did she want to know if he was related to Eric? Tim barely remembered Eric describing this woman as neither friend nor family, so he winged it. “Yeah, I’m family.”
“Well, bless you! I know this isn’t easy.”
What the hell was going on? Like a secret phrase passed from spy to spy, he tried Marcello’s mysterious words. “How’s he holding up?”
