“I’m so glad you mentioned it, Sharon, because we’ve set up a fund…”
Adam then goes on to plug his favorite charity, which is a no-kill animal shelter in L.A. because every A-list celebrity needs a cause. My phone rings, a call from Lucia, and I excuse myself to answer it.
“Lucia darling, how are you?”
“I’m up to me elbows in Branzini if you must know. My apartment smells like a wharf. Cooking for Adam is a chore.”
“I’m sorry, dear, but he has to build lean muscle for his upcoming role. I told you we should just go out.”
“I want to show Pietro that I know my way around the kitchen.”
Pietro is Lucia’s newest flame. A swarthy, well-hung Italian model with commitment issues, he ticks all her boxes.
“You should have done what my mother did and order in, then put all the food in your own dishes.”
“I believe in honesty in a relationship,” she says pointedly.
“Well, that is your first mistake.”
They’ve wrapped up filming and Sharon and Adam are now saying their goodbyes. Even off-camera, she is clearly dazzled by him. Adam has the world convinced he’s as wholesome as baseball and apple pie. The fact that only I know his secret hedonist side is something of a turn-on.
“Cassius?” Lucia says, “are you even listening to me?”
“Yes, Lucia, I’ll bring the wine. Do you mind if Elizabeth Taylor tags along?”
“Elizabeth Taylor isalwayswelcome to visit.”
Lucia loves the dog, which was essential in mending fences between us. Of course, she was shocked and dismayed by the news that Adam and I were getting hitched, but I laid out my reasons quite compellingly, and I think we can all agree, a good man is hard to find.
“Yes, of course,” I say to Lucia in response to her needling me about my wine selection. “Something Italian to remind your paramour of his homeland. I’ve got to go, darling. Ta ta for now.”
I end the call and return to my post by camera #1. Sharon has excused herself to meet with her producer, and Adam strolls over to where I’m standing. I reattach Elizabeth Taylor’s lead, and she smiles up at me, tail wagging with abject adoration, yet another terrible judge of character.
“Damien, thank you so much for coming,” Adam says and gives a starstruck Damien a hearty bro hug.
“My pleasure, Adam, I do love seeing you in action.”
The double entendre doesn’t go unnoticed by me, nor does the lingering eye-fuck Damien gives to my fiancé, who is as oblivious as ever to the effect he has on people. But it’s bad form to mix business with pleasure, so they share a few more heartfelt words and then Damien excuses himself for his next appointment.
Adam steps right up, wraps his arms around my waist, and asks, “So, how did I do?”
“Marvelous, as always.”
“How did I handle theSoldier of Chaosplug?”
“As smoothly as your freshly waxed taint.”
Adam smirks but doesn’t bat an eye. “And Sitges?” he asks.
“I can’t wait to fuck you in a sauna.”
His smile widens, a flare of desire alighting in his eyes. “I’m starting to get the hang of this,” he says, fluffing up his proverbial feathers.
“Darling, you’re a natural.”
“You really think so?”
“A million times, yes.”
