Michael had called him “baby.” But now it sounded peculiar, almost insulting. He stood
there staring at Michael’s thick biceps and large, strong hands. Dexter’s body was aching
to be touched by a strong man like Michael. And even though he and Michael were polar
opposites, they’d always shared an outrageous erotic connection. But he lifted his chin
and said, “I should sit alone. I don’t think your new young lover would like it very much
if you put your arm around me. We both have new lives now, Michael.”
Michael smiled and shrugged his shoulders. His dark gypsy eyes narrowed. “He’s
gone, baby. I’m all over him now, and I’m all alone.”
Dexter’s eyebrows went up and his head went back. “I see,” he said. He wondered
if the nineteen-year-old had dumped Michael for someone else. But he didn’t ask. It
didn’t really matter anymore.
Michael patted the empty seat again and said, “Come over here and sit next to me,
baby.” Then he yanked down his zipper, pulled out his long, thick penis, and waved it at
Dexter. He was baiting him; Michael had never been able to resist his penis.
Dexter wet his lips and took a shallow breath. He hadn’t planned on doing
anything with Michael. But now that they were alone and Michael’s beautiful penis was
right there in front of him, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to resist the strong temptation to
suck him off. He hadn’t had a man in so long he’d almost forgotten what dick tasted like.
While Michael was waving his penis, a gust of wind blew across the porch. It
knocked over a potted plant and blew a magazine off the table. The ashtray on the table
next to Michael moved. Michael reached forward so it wouldn’t fall on the floor. When
he tried to grab the ashtray, the new loveseat lunged forward. The back legs of the loveseat went up, Michael went down on the gray painted floor, and the entire loveseat
landed on top of him.
Michael shouted for help; he was scrunched up in a ball and he couldn’t move.
Dexter ran over and tried to right the loveseat. But it was so heavy and awkward it
took him a few minutes to lift it off Michael’s body. He couldn’t understand how
something so heavy could just blow over. The wind hadn’t been that strong.
When Dexter finally lifted it, he helped Michael to his feet and asked, “Are you
okay?”
“My dick hurts,” Michael said. He was still holding his penis in his hand.
Dexter looked down between Michael’s legs. He stepped forward and said, “Let
go of it and let me see.” Michael had always been such a baby about these things. The
slightest cut on his finger sent him into a dramatic tailspin.
Michael lifted his hand and his heavy penis plopped down against his legs. It
hung out from the opening of his jeans. Dexter squatted, leaned in, and frowned. When
the loveseat went over, Michael’s penis must have rubbed against the chipped ashtray.
There was a long, red slash on the shaft just below the head, and a few drops of blood
dripped from the wound. But it didn’t look serious.
Michael was terrified; he wouldn’t look down between his legs and his hands
started to shake. “What happened?” he asked. “Is my dick okay?”
Dexter shook his head and said, “You’re fine. You cut your penis on the chipped
ashtray. I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but you’re not going to be using your dick for
at least a week or two.” For some reason, he smiled when he said this. Then there was another strong gust of wind. It blew the back of Dexter’s hair
forward and he thought he heard the sound of distant laughter. Though Marion would
have taken pleasure in seeing Michael’s penis damaged, she wasn’t the one laughing.
This was the sound of a man laughing, mixed with the sound of blowing wind. Dexter
figured it was one of his neighbors or someone down on Commercial Street.
After that, Dexter wrapped Michael’s penis in gauze and Michael spent the rest of
the weekend either sitting in a chair or walking very slowly with his legs spread apart.
Dexter told Brighton that Michael had sprained his ankle. But he told Marion the truth on
Saturday morning when they were alone in the kitchen. She laughed so hard she ran
cross-legged to the bathroom.
On Sunday afternoon, about two hours before Dexter had to take Michael back to
the airport, Michael asked to speak to him alone. They went upstairs to the study and
Michael sat down very slowly on a brown leather wing chair. He couldn’t move fast
because when his underwear rubbed against the cut on his penis, it burned.
Dexter sat behind his desk and shrugged his shoulders. “What’s so important?” he
asked.
Michael frowned. “First, I can’t find my cell phone, all my underwear is missing,
and every night I go to bed with the covers pulled up to my neck and I wake up a few
hours later freezing because the covers are down around my ankles. There’s something
very creepy about this place, and it’s freaking me out, man.”
Dexter tilted his head sideways and shrugged his shoulders. “You must have
misplaced your underwear and cell phone, and you probably got hot during the night and
kicked the covers off yourself.” “Maybe,” Michael said. “But I heard someone whistle, too, last night.”
Dexter laughed and waved his arm. “You were probably dreaming, Michael. Is
this all you wanted to talk about?”
Michael took a deep breath and frowned. “No, there’s something else. I’ve been
putting it off all weekend.” He stared down at his shoes and said, “I’m just going to come
right out with it.” He took a deep breath and shrugged his shoulders. “We’re broke, baby.
The money is gone.”
Dexter started. “How can we be broke? That’s impossible.” He had always
thought he had enough money to last him the rest of his life. He knew Michael had made
a few investments with his money, but nothing too risky.
Michael wouldn’t look him in the eye. “Remember that deal I told you about? The
deal with Preview Pictures?”
“Yes,” Dexter said. He remembered something about investing money in a new
motion picture company. But he wasn’t sure how much money Michael was planning to
invest. He’d always trusted Michael to handle all their finances and manage his money,
and he’d never had to worry about anything.
“It all crashed and burned, baby,” Michael said. “The company folded and
everyone lost their money.”
“How much did you invest?” Dexter asked. His heart began to pound in his ears
and his hands felt shaky.
Michael lifted his head and looked into his eyes. He shrugged his shoulders and
said, “Everything we had, baby. It’s all gone.” He sat forward and lifted his hands, palm
up. “But don’t freak out yet. This is why I came here this weekend. I want to get back together, baby. I made a huge mistake when I left you, and I want us to be a family
again.”
Dexter looked into his eyes. His heart started to race and a lump formed in his
throat. He’d waited so long for Michael to say these words. But before he could open his
mouth to reply, a floor lamp next to Michael’s chair toppled over and landed in Michael’s
lap.
Michael jumped up from the chair and pointed to the lamp. “You see,” he shouted.
“This is the sort of thing that’s been happening to me all weekend. That lamp tried to kill
me.”
Dexter wanted to laugh. Michael looked so pathetic, standing there staring at a
floor lamp as if it were ready to jump up and smack him in the head. “The lamp is old,
Michael. It’s probably not balanced.”
Michael looked down at the lamp with raised eyebrows and slowly stepped away
from the chair. He crossed to the desk and placed his hands on the surface. He leaned
forward, looked into Dexter’s eyes, and said, “We can sell this place for a huge profit, go
back to Hollywood and buy a condo, and pick up just where we left off, baby.” He
reached for Dexter’s hand. “We’re good together, we always have been.” Then he
grabbed his crotch and said, “And if that fucking ashtray hadn’t cut my dick, I would
have been fucking you all weekend to prove it. Rough and hard, just the way you like it,
baby. You’re tongue would have been hanging out of your mouth. I know what you like
in bed, Dexter. I know what you need, baby.”
Dexter pressed his lips together and smiled. He’d fantasized about this moment
for almost a year, the day Michael would come back to him. But then he looked over Michael’s shoulder and gazed at the smooth walnut fireplace mantel. He couldn’t wait for
cold weather so he could build his first fire in Keel Cottage. When he looked to the left,
he took a deep breath because the sky looked so blue and clear through the long thin
windows at the front of the turret. He’d always dreamed of having a house with a circular
room. He’d always dreamed of living in a place where no one cared that he’d once been a
famous TV star. There were other famous people living quiet lives in Provincetown,
playwrights and poets. Dexter was nothing compared to them.
Michael squeezed his hand. “What do you say? Are you coming back to
Hollywood?”
Dexter lowered his head and frowned. “I’ll think about it,” he said. Then he
pulled his hand back, stood up from his desk, and said, “We’d better get moving. You
don’t want to miss your flight.” He didn’t want to argue about the money; he was still in
shock. And he also knew that it was his own fault. When they’d separated, they should
have divided up all their assets like married couples did in a divorce. Dexter had refused
to do that because it would have meant they were never getting back together. And he
hadn’t been ready to face that fact when he’d left Los Angeles.
Chapter Four
On Monday afternoon, Dexter made phone calls to Los Angeles. He would have
called earlier, but because of the three-hour time difference he had to wait until at least
noon. The first call was to his accountant in Los Angeles to check his finances. When
Dexter told the accountant what Michael said, the man hesitated. He’d been Dexter’s
accountant for more than ten years and they knew each other socially. Then he confirmed
what Michael had already told Dexter. Their money was gone and Dexter and Michael
were broke.
Dexter hung up and stared out the window for a few minutes. He’d heard stories
about Hollywood actors losing their money, but never imagined it would happen to him.
His stomach turned and his fingers felt numb. He’d never had to worry about money.
And in the same respect, he’d never been one to waste money either. He’d always
shopped for bargains, he’d never spoiled Brighton with extravagant gifts, and there was
always a nice reserve in his checking account for an emergency. (Michael didn’t know
about this money; it had always been Dexter’s little secret.) If Dexter lived frugally for
the next year, there was enough money in his checking account to cover all his monthly
living expenses. And, thankfully, he didn’t have to worry about mortgage payments with
Keel Cottage, and he’d already paid his property taxes for the year. His accountant had
wanted him to take out a mortgage for tax purposes. But he’d refused. Dexter had wanted
to own the house outright, and he was glad he’d insisted. When he realized all this, that he wasn’t totally broke, he took a deep breath and
sighed. But that spare money would only last for a year or so with a very prudent lifestyle.
And he knew there was no way he could live with that kind of anxiety. Whether he sold
Keel Cottage or not, he still had to think about his financial future. He had a daughter to
support; it was time to get serious. So the last phone call he made that morning was to his
agent in Hollywood. Dexter hadn’t actually worked in show business in years, but he still
kept in touch with his agent and they’d always had a good relationship—he’d learned not
to burn bridges in Hollywood. Working as an actor again was the last thing he wanted to
do, but he didn’t know how to do anything else. If he wanted to hold on to his life, he
didn’t have much of a choice.
His agent was so thrilled to hear from him he almost gushed into the telephone.
Dexter wasn’t like most childhood television stars are as adults. He was better-looking
now than he was then, he’d never done anything that would hurt his public reputation,
and he’d always attracted the best publicity without controversy. His agent told him about
an opportunity he’d just heard about that might be interesting. One of the newer,
aggressive Hollywood TV personalities was branching out into production, and he was
