27
Damian
EXTRAtainmentUpdate!
Where Is Damian Marshall?
After a tumultuous few months, Damian Marshall has been keeping a low profile. While he’s still listed among the cast for the upcomingShadow Leaguefilm, news of any other upcoming projects for the actor has been scarce.
He was spotted yesterday at LAX catching a flight to Seattle. Whether he’s on his way to a shoot, looking for a little privacy, or carrying on to more exotic destinations remains to be seen. But we have to say he’s never looked finer, dressed in ultracasual Bermuda shorts and a stylish chambray button-down.
* * *
We’redeep into summer and the sun never quite sets in Alaska, even more than when I was at the lodge. The endless daylight does weird things to time, giving the illusion that days don’t end. Like today and the day I left Jack on that plane are the same.
The hurt look in his eyes is definitely the same.
I shouldn’t have turned up like I did, but I wasn’t sure what else to do. Marci told me—after I swore up and down a million times and then complied when she said to wait a week and call back if I still really wanted to know—he was in Homer, but she wouldn’t give me any more details than that. And Homer isn’t huge, but I still wasn’t comfortable with the idea of driving aimlessly through town asking people if they knew a man fitting Jack’s description.
I should have known he was down by the water.
And now he’s walking toward me, dressed in a denim jacket, faded hoodie, and dark sweatpants cuffed at the ankles. Something inside me settles, even though we could be minutes away from him telling me to eat shit in front of a room full of diners. It’s the same way I felt the first morning when I found him on his boat, like he’d been waiting for me to arrive so he could pour me a cup of coffee and tell me I would be safe here.
I want him to feel the same way. He can be safe with me.
“Thank you,” I say when he’s close enough.
“For what?”
“For coming. I wasn’t sure you would.”
He shakes his head. “Seems like I still don’t have much common sense when it comes to you.”
Likewise. The last few months had been a whirlwind. Tino’s original script is as amazing as Vin said it was. Turns out theBeloved Coveproject was essentially dead in the water. Oscar Kane had already backed out for some beach bingo musical thing, and if I wasn’t going to take the part they’d offered me, then they were more than happy to take my money and get the option off their plate. But now’s the part where we’re supposed to be convincing other studio heads that Tino’s version, the one where the gay best friend becomes the love interest, is worth producing.
No matter how busy I was though, no matter how many meetings I went to or scripts I read, I couldn’t stop thinking about Jack.
We walk into the restaurant, and a young woman who can’t be more than twenty years old takes one look at my face and goes completely white. She does her best to be cool about it as she walks us toward an open table in the middle of the room, but we don’t get very far before the whispers start.
“Oh my God.”
“It’s him.”
“Damian Marshall.”
Shortly after, the first person comes up and asks for a selfie. Then another. Then a few more. Autographs, handshakes. There have to be sixty people in the restaurant and once the avalanche starts, they all want a minute of my time. One teenager cries so hard he has to be helped outside. One mom seems to think I’m going to record personalized messages for each of her five children, who she and her husband left at home with their grandparents while they took a vacation for their fifteenth wedding anniversary. I know all of this because she tells me before I politely remind her that I’m here having dinner with a friend.
Though that friend has been completely swallowed up by the crush of people. Even the staff from the kitchen have come out to say hi. Their enthusiasm is gratifying. There was some backlash at first, especially online, after I came out. Sometimes people ask questions they shouldn’t and that I don’t want to answer. But most of the time, they still only want a smile and a selfie so they can tell their friends at home.
I catch sight of the top of Jack’s head at the back of the crowd. But he makes no move to get closer. No one seems to notice him either, which makes me feel a bit better. They haven’t put the two of us and the sex tape together, which hopefully means Jack’s been able to live a relatively normal life these past few months.
Finally, the people go back to their meals and their jobs. The hostess reappears and apologizes like she’d have been able to stop the tide of fans. She offers to find us a table that’s a little less exposed.
“This one is fine,” Jack says, reappearing at my shoulder. Without any further ado, he pulls back one of the chairs and sits down.
“Sorry about that,” I say as I sit across from him.
“I wanted to see what it was like.”
