The Land Whore - 23. Chapter 23

September 12, 1973

I sat in JP's study at Escorial, reading the paper in a vain effort to distract myself. There had been a revolution in Chile yesterday. Seems the US Government had helped to oust Salvador Allende, who conveniently killed himself during the coup, and Augusto Pinochet seized power. Democracy takes another hit, I thought ruefully. The markets continued to suck, but news was still great for me financially. We were making money hand over fist. I should be thrilled, but I wasn't.

Roger had moved out of my world and into Peter's. That didn't bother me, I was glad to be rid of him. I was sick of the lying and the aberrant behavior. He'd basically assumed the job of Peter's driver, a real drop in status. I'd seen him at a few parties, and whenever I did, I made a point to fuck him. He would glare at me and I'd glare back, and just slam him hard. The funny thing was that when I fucked him, he came. Probably another reason he was so pissed off.

None of that really bothered me. What was bothering me was Greg. Greg was flighty, he was a slut, he went from project to project with a frenzy, and he always seemed glad to see me. But he was also keeping his distance. I would almost call us friends with benefits, except he didn't treat me like a friend. He didn't confide in me, he didn't tell me what was going on, what he was feeling.

I kicked myself. How he was feeling? Greg is not a girl. He's not going to go into topics like that. At least not unless he really means it, unless he feels something strongly, say, for example, about me. But he obviously doesn't. And I am such an idiot that I can't just be happy with the way things are. No, I have to have more. Or less. Whatever I want. I was like a spoiled brat that had to have his way. So what was I doing now? I was here at Escorial pouting. And that was even more stupid, because my absence was not going to bother him. He'd be happy if I was there, but not unhappy if I wasn't.

This led to the most frustrating thing of all. I was determined not to chase him. I wanted him to chase me like all the other guys in my life had. So I was trying everything that I could to get him to do just that, only it wasn't working. And it just made me seem like I was scheming and playing games.

So it had been two days since I left Malibu, and I already missed him. I was lonely. Lonely for his body and the tidbits of love he tossed my way. I was so desperate I was sitting here thinking about flying back just to get whatever he was willing to give me.

I got into my car and headed to the office in hopes of distracting myself. The thing was, I had been gone so much and had delegated so much that there really wasn't much for me to do. Luke and Cecile loved my input, but they didn't really need it. I had made myself irrelevant, and I had done it to chase after a man that wouldn't chase me back.

Still unhappy I headed to my house in Saratoga. It was nice, but not the sanctuary that I wanted either. No, I wanted to be in Malibu. That was where I needed to be. I was willing to take what I could get from Greg. But that was a situation that would never work. I'd never win that way.

The doorbell rang and it was my neighbor. “You haven't been around for awhile. I thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing.” I was so starved for affection I pulled him in almost forcefully and sucked his dick with a zeal I didn't use last time. He shot almost right away, so I literally forced him to stay for a half hour so I could do it again.

I jacked off that night thinking about Greg.

September 14, 1973

Two more days had passed and no word from Greg. I was slowly starting to lose it. I thought about going out, doing something interesting, but then I'd be away from a phone in case he called. I was hiding out in Saratoga waiting for something that wouldn't come. I sighed, got in the car, and headed to the airport. Maybe sometime in the future I'd be strong enough to force the issue. Not now.

I got back to Malibu late in the afternoon. What to do now? I told him that I was leaving. Should I tell him that I was back? That would be the polite thing to do. I convinced myself that manners must drive me to his door, and I found myself shaking as I rang his bell. I steadied my hands. His housekeeper answered and guided me into the living room. What if he was with someone else? What if he'd found someone else?

I had hardly had time to freak out when he came dancing into the room and gave me the biggest hug. “I missed you Stef,” he said affectionately. “I was going to call you but I didn't want to bother you.”

Fuck fuck fuck. “I missed you too. I was going to call you but I did not want you to think I was stalking you.” He laughed at that. I wanted him to say ‘no, call all the time; I know you're not obsessed’. But he didn't.

“Hey, you wanna go out and get dinner?” I just stared at him. That's the first time he ever asked me out instead of wanting to fuck.

“That sounds great!” I followed him to his car, a Rolls Royce Corniche Convertible. Flashy and classy at the same time, just like Greg. He took us to Beverly Hills, to the trendiest restaurant in town. There were photographers there to snap our picture. The maitre d' seated us right away, despite the fact that there were people waiting.

“The press will call us an item now,” he said playfully. “They saw me with you at the premiere and now here.”

“So what will you tell them?”

“I'll tell them we're good friends.”

“But not an item?” I asked, flirting, while I raised an eyebrow.

“I'm not going to tell them that.” He said this more firmly, signaling that the playing around was over.

We ordered dinner although I wasn't really that worried about food. It was just nourishment, nothing more. I was just happy to be with Greg. “So tell me about you,” I demanded.

“What do you want to know?”

“Where were you born, what was your childhood like, have you ever had a real relationship?”

He smiled. “I was born and raised in Montreal. I could tell you that I had a poor childhood, raised by blue collar workers, and I pulled myself up by my bootstraps, a self-made man, but it would be lie. My parents are wealthy and I had pretty much all the advantages a guy could ask for. Unfortunately they're not too thrilled about the fact that I'm a homosexual, so we don't talk much.”

“When's the last time you talked to them?”

“On Father's Day. I had a formal conversation with my father.”

“When did you tell them you were gay?”

“They found out when I was in college. I fell in love with my college roommate and we were an item. No one knew, but I was close to them, and I wanted them to know. They didn't take it well. They weren't mean or violent, and they didn't cut me off, they just got cold and distant.”

“So what happened to your roommate?”

“People were whispering about us, and he couldn't handle it. He moved out and that was that. I've seen him a few times since then but it's weird. We try to be friends.”

“I'm sorry,” I told him sympathetically. I could see his pain. “So how about since then?”

“I started to fall for a guy after college when I was just starting my career. I was really getting into him, but he was fucking half the town. I was devastated when I found out, I felt really betrayed. After that, I swore I wouldn't risk that kind of pain again. So I have friends, people I care about, but I don't like things to get serious.”

I didn't say anything, I just thought about what he said. He reminded me a little of JP, only a lot more heartless. He had decided that love hurt, so he wouldn't love. Period. That was really too bad.

“How about you?” he asked.

“I have lived a life of contrasts.” I told him about my life in Paris, and my transition into a Schluter and a wealthy life in Claremont. I told him about JP and our early conflicts as I adjusted to life in America, and about my business and how I'd grown it.

“You are a very impressive young man,” he said.

“So are you, but when you say that you sound like you're my father,” I teased. He just smiled and shook his head.

“Have you had a lot of relationships?”

I paused before I answered. “I find that love is a wonderful thing, and worth the risk, although I have had my share of pain.”

“What about that big guy I saw you with?”

“Speaking of pain...” I joked. “He has issues. He had a bad childhood, and has lots of scars. I loved him, tried to make it work, but in the end I just could not handle the lying and weirdness.”

“You seem to be OK now?”

How to say this without freaking him out? “Well, it still hurts sometimes, but mostly when I'm alone. So I try not to be alone. And I'm finding that my feelings have faded for him pretty fast. I think that in a relationship, if one person creates a lot of drama it starts to destroy the relationship. Then when it ends, it's almost like a mercy killing.”

I saw him digesting this. “So I'm your rebound.”

I could have gotten upset or pissed, but I kept it light and laughed. “Yeah, but I keep bouncing back to you.”

He smiled. “I'm glad I could help out.”

“You frustrate me,” I said, even though I didn't want to. It just slipped out.

“And you scare me,” he responded. Before I could say anything, he said “You explain the frustration part first.” Fuck.

“You seem happy to see me, but you usually do not invite me over. When I'm not around, you do not call me. I get the feeling that you like having me here, but you do not miss me when I'm gone. You are different from all the other guys I've had a relationship with, and that excites me and frustrates me at the same time. It's not what I'm used to, so I do not know what to think.”

He smiled big. “So you're used to guys totally fawning over you, appreciating you, and maybe even worshiping you? And you're mad that I'm not doing it?”

I could tell he was joking. “That's right. I require worship,” I teased back.

“Well, I'll have to work on that. As soon as we get home.”

I giggled. “OK, now how am I scary?”

His mood changed and he got serious. It was nice to see him in the hot seat for a change. “I like you.”

“And that scares you?”

“Yeah.” I smiled at him and grabbed his hand under the table. What a sweet guy. That was his weird way of telling me that he was worried he was developing feelings for me.

We practically wolfed down our food and tore home, to his home, and raced to the bedroom. I wanted him so bad. I was all over him, like a shark that smelled blood. I explored every crevice on his body, every nook and cranny, and when I finally drove him nuts, he made love to me; he didn't fuck me, he made love to me. And when he stopped halfway through and I entered him, it was like I was in a dream. I had the best orgasm of my life. I'd been having some amazing sex lately, but nothing like this. I think he made my soul cum.

I lay in bed next to him, shaking. I grabbed him, using his body to calm my tremors. After I finally stopped panting, I looked him in the eyes and simply said, “Greg, I promise that I will not hurt you.”

September 22, 1973

The past week had been really nice. Greg worked during the days, and I spent the nights at his house with him. He didn't ask me, I just did it. And he seemed thrilled. I was a little nervous about tonight, and that was probably most evident by the way that I kept changing my clothes. Tonight we were going to our first big Hollywood party together.

Even the word “together” was weird. We weren't going as a couple, but we were going there in the same car. We weren't going to make our romance public, hell, we hadn't even called it a romance, but there was an implied connection.

He didn't seem nearly as bothered as I was. He was relaxed and jovial, although that was important for his job. Mine too, but I was more neurotic. Could it be that this was the first guy I'd end up dating that was more emotionally stable than me?

This wasn't a party like the ones Jackie threw; this was a much more highbrow affair. I wondered to myself if there was an orgy room here, and had to stifle a giggle. We mingled together, and I stuck to him but not too closely, just like I'd seen Tonto, Isidore, and JP's mom do. I was trying to be a good wife. That made me giggle again. The idiot that I was talking to just seemed to think I was being charming. I smiled when I thought about distance. About 20 feet apart was the maximum, while 10-15 was probably more common.

I'd been drinking a bit, OK a lot, and I was pretty tipsy when John Bartlett came up and put his arm around me. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He pulled me off into another room. I saw Greg watching me go, smiling, but was there a twinge in his eye?

“There's a room upstairs. Man I've missed you Stef. Come with me.” God he was tempting, such a stud.

“You are such a stud,” I said, trying not to slur, “but I cannot tonight.”

“You with Greg?”

“I'm not sure, but I like him.” I was being honest, probably too honest.

“He's got a heart of stone. Good luck.” He hugged me and left.

I strolled out into the crowd and headed straight to Greg. “Hello,” I slurred.

“I thought I saw you step out.” he said, smiling.

“You watching me?” I asked.

“I have been the whole night.” I barely restrained myself from kissing him.

“So how long do we have to be here?”

“Until now.” We made our excuses and headed to the limousine, and back to his house.

I woke up the next morning with a hangover and a big smile, a smile painted on my face by Greg and his amazing skill as a lover. “Every time I think it cannot get any better, you prove me wrong,” I told him.

“You probably say that to all the guys.”

“Yeah, but I actually mean it this time.” We laughed together. I loved feeling him holding me and laughing at the same time. I loved seeing him happy.

“You didn't go off with John Bartlett last night,” he said.

I almost said something corny like ’Why when I've got you?’ but I thought that might be a little too much. “No I did not,” I said simply.

“Why not?” he asked. Well, if he wanted to pursue this, fine.

“Because I like being with you.”

“I like being with you too, but we don't have any commitments,” he said. It came out cold and hit me like cold steel.

“No, we do not. But I wanted to be with you, not him. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it's a great thing. I just didn't want to, I mean, I didn't want you to feel obligated because I brought you or anything.”

“I'm not like a hustler, where I can only be with one client,” I said, joking but with a bit of acidity in my voice.

“Good thing too, because I'd be broke just spending my money keeping you around.”

I giggled. “What do you want Greg? Do you want a commitment? Do you want to be monogamous?” That came out so serious it just stunned him and me both. I raised my eyebrows to look cheeky and take some of the sting out.

“I don't know. You want the truth?”

“I always want the truth. It hurts less in the long run.”

“I want the commitment, the monogamy, without actually promising to do it.” In a clairvoyant moment, I understood him. He was so worried about being hurt that he was scared to make a commitment, or probably more to the point, to have me make a commitment that I couldn't or wouldn't keep. Somehow, that gave him insulation.

“OK,” I said. “I can work with that.”

He acted all serious. “Well now it doesn't work because we just basically made a commitment.” Then he smiled.

“Seems like we did. And I'm holding you to it.” He stared at me seriously and got all pensive.

“Alright. But this town is dangerous and has a lot of wags. So I'll do my best, and I know you'll do your best, but if we fuck up, we confess. I can forgive you if you fuck someone else, but I can't forgive you if you don't tell me about it, or lie to me.”

“I can live by those rules if you can.” And then we fucked on it to seal the deal.

September 28, 1973

FLASH. Another light bulb from another camera taking another picture of Hollywood's youngest, most successful producer. Occasionally the cameraman would get me in the shot, but the press didn't point that out. Still, it provided lots of gossip fodder for those people in the business.

“It gets old sometimes,” Greg said with a sigh.

“You love the fame,” I teased him.

“No, I love the money, the fame sucks.”

“Wanna get away?”

He looked at me skeptically. “Where could we go without the press?”

“Home. To my home in the Bay Area. Come on, let's go. There's bound to be a flight out of LAX shortly.”

He grinned at me like I was an idiot and disappeared. He was back in ten minutes. “Let's go.”

We headed to LAX but not to the terminal building, we went to a small building on the other side of the airport. There was a private jet, warmed up and waiting to whisk us off. That was pretty cool. Very cool. Even cooler was the way we christened the jet on our way. I could not keep my hands off this man.

Rafael was waiting for us at the airport and whisked us off to Escorial. I was smiling to myself. Greg thought he had the corner on cool things, but there weren't many things as cool as Escorial. The huge Spanish style mansion on over 25 acres in the Palo Alto Hills was almost a Wonder of the World.

“This place is incredible. You say this is JP's house? Maybe I should be dating him.”

“Oh yeah. Wait till you meet his partner. You will change your mind.”

He didn't have to wait very long. The family was extremely curious about this man that had won my heart. They knew I was falling in love with him even if I wouldn't admit it and Greg tried to avoid it. The first people to swamp us were the kids. Brad hugged me for the longest time, while Ace politely introduced himself to Greg with the charm and manners that impressed me at the same time they cracked me up. Brad was a bit shyer. I cringed. He was probably unwilling to get close to my boyfriends since they weren't around much.

Tonto was next. She's the only one who worried me. “So you're the guy who has stolen my grandson away and locked him up in Los Angeles,” she said with a scowl. I thought he was going to shit. Then Tonto smiled. “You must be a pretty special man if you can do that.” I laughed outright.

JP was all cordiality, of course, and Greg whispered to me: “He's cute. Maybe I will chase after him.” Then Sam came up and introduced himself. Greg turned to me again. “On second thought, maybe not.” I laughed even louder. After the initial hubbub, I took him to my room to let him settle in, and then we went swimming.

“This place is amazing Stefan. It's secluded, completely immune from the press unless of course they get helicopters.”

“That may not be easy for them to do. We're pretty close to Moffett Field, the Naval Air Station, The Alameda Naval base, and three big airports. The airspace is pretty busy.”

The next day we woke up late and had breakfast with Isidore, who filled me in on all of the issues with her construction business. I was annoyed that she was intruding on my time with Greg to talk about business, but he was really impressed with her. It turns out that Greg is an enthusiastic horseman, while I'm competent at best. I didn't let that stop me though. I took Isidore's calmer mare while Greg took JP's horse, a more spirited steed. We explored Escorial and took the back pathways into the hills. It was a great day, and a great escape.

When we left to fly back to Malibu, he seemed as disappointed as I was to leave.

October 2, 1973

We sat eating dinner in the dining room overlooking the Pacific. His housekeeper, Alice, had made us a terrific meal. I couldn't figure out what the occasion was at first, but whatever it was, it couldn't be good. Greg had been really crabby all night, snapping at both me and Alice. I had finally had enough.

“OK,” I said loudly, “What the fuck is bothering you?”

“What do you mean?” he spat back.

“You've been bitching at Alice and me all night long.” I realized that I was provoking a nasty confrontation and I didn't want that. I turned on a dime and said coyly: “I do not mind being your whipping boy, but I'd rather not do that at dinner.”

It didn't really work. He was still pissed. I just stared at him, willing him to mellow, willing him to calm down, and willing him to talk to me. “I have to leave for a couple of weeks.”

Now I was glum. Two weeks. Would he even like me when he got back? I wondered if he was thinking about the same thing. “I will miss you,” was all I could think of to say.

“I'll miss you too.” He was just so cute, so adorable.

“Where are you going?”

“I have to go to Israel. Tomorrow. We're working on a biblical epic, well, I wasn't, but I've been asked to step in and the film is a mess. It sucks, and it's way over budget.”

“Well, if you get horny and you meet a pretty Jewish man, I will try and understand.”

“I don't want a pretty Jewish man. I don't want you to have to understand.”

“I was joking Greg. I trust you, and even if you do screw up you will tell me. You go do your job, and I will be here waiting for you when you get back.”

He got up and headed to the stairs and I thought I had really pissed him off. “You coming?” he asked, looking at me with a smile. More mind blowing sex, more joy and ecstasy, all coupled with sadness because he was leaving.

I woke up early to help him get ready and head out. I felt a tear run down my cheek as he walked to the door, and I kicked myself for being such an emotional idiot, but it made him smile and hug me. He knew I was sincere. And then he turned and I watched his cute little ass as he headed for the limo, climbed in, and he was gone. I headed upstairs and into the shower where the water would wash away my tears.

I took a long shower and reluctantly put my clothes on and got ready for the day. I was a slug. I was depressed. Once again I'd built my life around a guy, and once again he was gone, leaving me with nothing to do. I sat in his room, looking at his things, not the ones in his drawers, but the things he'd left out. Pictures, a trophy from high school, mementos. I'd just picked up a trophy for playing football (soccer) in junior high school, running my fingers over it, treasuring this piece of him, when I looked up to see him staring at me. I rushed to hug him.

“What are you doing? You will miss your plane!”

He just had this stupid grin on his face. “Come with me.”

“What!? You want me to just drop everything, pack up and run off to Israel with you for two weeks?” I thought he was crazy.

“Yeah,” he said with a smile. It was contagious. I smiled back.

“Can I have an hour to pack?”

“One hour, and no more,” he said, and I literally ran back to my house to throw some clothes in a suitcase and to grab my passport. Exactly one hour after that we left for LAX, and one hour after that we had managed to make our flight to Tel Aviv.