Page 11 of Need to Know

Lucy occasionally pulled me aside for an introduction to a director, a writer, artist, or photographer she thought I should meet. I heard Roz’s rough bark of laughter above the cacophony of chattering voices. Like playing Marco Polo I could always tell where she was and as she liked to keep her client maternally close, it enabled me to keep tabs on Nate. I took another turn of the ballroom, eyeing a passing tray of canapés with longing, but no, it wasn’t good to chat with the rich and connected with caviar stuck between my teeth. The next time I glanced around Roz was talking with director Artur Moritz, and Nate was nowhere in sight. I’d become distracted for just a moment and I was a little annoyed with myself that Nate had slipped from my view. Had he gone to the bathroom? I hoped one of our useless guards was shadowing him, but no, they were standing like statues against a wall beside the entrance. They couldn’t exactly protect us from there!

I moved off into the crowd looking for my co-star. After a few minutes of searching I heard a voice that I recognized. Blessedly, the music in the venue wasn’t loud and guests didn’t have to shout to be heard. This fact seemed to have fled Nate’s notice as he bitterly roared,

“Can…can you fucking believe it, Trey?” I spotted Nate with his arm around the shoulder of one of the assistant producers, Trey Nichols, a Trans man from Seattle. Nate held a whisky glass in his other hand, as he slurred,

“This…this…is my first time in Gay Paree, dude, the city of love and romance…and I’m like…like…suuper gay but I don’t have no one to kiss me au paree.”

Oh dear, Nate sounded wasted.

“S’not fair. Haaaa, Super Gay, do…do you think his costumes got like, a rainbow cape?” Nate snickered. Trey grinned fondly and shook his head at the absurd comment.

“But, but yeah,” Nate continued, “D’yu, d’yu know I nearly got stabbed and my hubsband purfurrs kissin’ twinks.”

“That is awful, you’re so brave,” Trey said petting Nate’s head. “I swear, men these days don’t know when they’ve found a good thing! I blame the dating apps. They’ve turned relationships into a transaction.”

“Right, right…an…an I’ma I’ma I’ma a good thing, a really good thing. I never, never, cheated on Erik in all the years…all the years,” Nate gestured widely with the hand holding the whisky tumbler, narrowly missing a passing waiter with a loaded tray. “But he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants.” Trey anxiously looked around and his gaze found mine as I watched their interaction. He pleaded with his eyes. I stepped up.

“Oh, thank god! I know you’re not his keeper Jack, but I can’t see Roz and you’re at the same hotel. Could you maybe take him out the back so the paparazzi don’t see him in this state…especially after—” He didn’t need to finish that sentence.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get him back to his room. Can you tell our security detail we’ve gone back to the hotel? Those guys are fucking useless,” I said before texting our limo driver to pick us up at the rear of the venue. Taking the whisky glass from Nate’s hand, and passing it to Trey, I then hooked my arm around Nate’s back, “Righty oh mate, the party’s over for you,” I said drolly as I lead him towards the door at the back of the ballroom that was labelled staff only in French.

“Where’re we goin’ Crackerjack…Jackie-jack? Why’s my mouff not doing the thing?”

“The thing?”

“Talky thing.”

“That might have something to do with four glasses of champagne and was it, three whiskies on an empty stomach?”

“You, you counted?” he pouted.

“Of course, mate. I’m worried about you…been looking out for you, babe!”

My gut had roiled with a feeling of foreboding every time a waiter passed by and Nate swiped yet another glass from a tray. He was in shock after the attack, and he was hurting from discovering his husband’s infidelity. The night’s events were perfect tabloid fodder, and they’d just love to follow up with a story about Nate getting hammered and causing a scene. I was glad I’d found him before that happened.

“Babe…you called me babe,” Nate giggled…yes, giggled. Then he laid his head on my shoulder and snuggled in. “My hero, y’know. Smell so nice, always smell so nice,” he garbled fondly as I dragged him through the door and down the hallway that lead through the kitchens where the party service was winding down. A wide-eyed server directed me toward the back stairs that led up to the rear door at street level. We staggered up the steps and out onto an alley. Streetlights glistened off the wet pavement at the back of the venue. It had rained while the movie was on. Now the summer downpour had stopped, but it was the kind of rain during a heatwave that cooled nothing. The air was humid and smelled of hot wet trash. A horn honked and I saw the long black limousine at the end of the alleyway, which I now realized was far too narrow for the car to fit. I pulled my drunken friend up the alley to the waiting car. The driver rushed around and opened the rear door. I tossed Nate into the back seat, then piled in and took the seat opposite. The driver closed the door and rounded the car. When he was seated again, he lowered the dividing window.

“Where would you like to go, gentlemen?” he asked in French flavoured English.

I gave Nate’s chest a poke. “Did you eat tonight?” I hadn’t and didn’t think he’d eaten anything all afternoon either. We were both too nervous about walking the red carpet, hence, why the alcohol had hit him so hard. Nate opened his eyes and looked at me with a defeated, hound dog gaze.

“You always look after me, Jack,” he said, his plump lower lip pushed out in a pout that was way too adorable. I’d seen Nate ‘a bit merry’ before, but never this drunk. Sober Nate was always talking about having a healthy lifestyle, his training routine, the next script, the next project. I’m ashamed to say I liked how needy and affectionate he was like this. I enjoyed being needed by him.

“Frank, could you take us to the nearest McDonalds, and then we’ll go back to the hotel please.” I had to get some food into the both of us and it didn’t need to be healthy. I checked my phone and it was now just after nine-twenty-five p.m. Nate’s private charter flight to New York was at six-thirty a.m. so he’d need to be out of the hotel by five a.m. When the limo moved off into the flow of traffic, I sent text messages to both Roz and Lucy informing them Nate and I were heading back to the hotel. If Trey hadn’t done it, they could inform the security guards to follow on.

Twenty minutes later we were riding the elevator to the fifth floor of the hotel, me holding a paper bag containing burgers and fries in my left hand, and my right arm securely around Nate’s waist resting on his hip. After inhaling a scalding McDonalds black coffee in the limo he’d sobered up a little. The slurring voice had dissipated and he could stand on his own, but I didn’t let him go. Nate’s head rested on my shoulder and the warmth of his body at my side made all kinds of fond, protective feelings well up—feelings that I enjoyed but didn’t want to name. Nate needed food, water, a couple of ibuprofen and sleep. I’d make all of that happen and ensure his alarm was set too so that he didn’t miss his flight home to New York. It’s what any good friend would do, right?

When the elevator doors slid open, we strode down the silent hallway to our suites. Nate fumbled in his tuxedo pocket for his keycard. So, the decision was made, we were eating in his suite. I let him go as he opened the door and staggered in. The scent of Nate’s sandalwood aftershave was strong in the room. I’d always been drawn to the woodsy smell on him. The man himself sauntered toward the bathroom. I closed and locked the door. The turn down chambermaid had been in. I always refused the turndown service. It felt too invasive. I was more than capable of preparing for bed myself! But the lights in the lounge were dimmed, the suite was tidy, the bed comforter prepared with a corner folded over, a small box of four foil wrapped chocolate cherry liqueurs lay on the pillow, a couple of bottles of mineral water sat on the nightstand and slippers had been placed at the foot of the bed. The drapes were open to showcase the dramatic, romantic panorama of Parisian night lights. It was a gorgeous view. I swiftly moved to the mini-bar and collected two of bottles of still water. I put them on the coffee table, and sat on the couch. Ravenous, I tore open the McDonalds bag, retrieving the first of four cartons, each containing a double cheese burger. This was my reward for all of the fuckery I’d endured. I’d get an extra workout in this week to burn it off. I opened the carton and the filthy, delicious scent made my tummy growl. But before I could take a bite there was a knock at the door. Damn it! I put my burger down and strode to the door. Looking through the peephole, I saw Dimitri and Hector were outside. I opened the door.

“Hi guys. I got him back safe. You can clock off. Thanks for your help,” I said cordially, even though it was a lie. “We are on duty until midnight. We will be awake in the suite next door,” Hector said. “Okay, thanks,” I said and closed the door. Then with my suit jacket and dickey-bow blessedly off I was back on the couch preparing for the feast.

Nate returned to the lounge then, his tux jacket removed, along with the bow tie. The top buttons of his shirt and his suit pants were undone, and the shirt was pulled out from the waistband. He stood dishevelled, watching me as I pulled a serving of fries from the bag and poured them into the open lid of my burger carton. After stuffing a couple of fries in my mouth I moaned orgasmically. I then undressed the cheeseburger and taking the first bite of filthy heaven I moaned again before looking up and meeting Nate’s gaze. My friend was slowly sobering up, his guard was down, and he stared at me, eyes glazed with lust, like I was on the menu and not the burger. I took him in and oh; he had an unmistakable bulge in his trousers. I decided there and then that, in the circumstances, I could ignore the fact that watching me eat had given Nate a semi, honestly, I could. I focused on the burger, took another bite, chewed, swallowed. I couldn’t have him staring at me like a dog at mealtime. I put my burger down and ordered, “Sit, eat.” I pulled another burger and fries from the bag for my friend. I unscrewed the top from a bottle of water and placed the open bottle beside his burger.

“He wasn’t a Nazi,” Nate said all of a sudden.

“Who?”

“The guy who tried to attack me. I remember you saying earlier that he was a Nazi. Why did you say that?”