Supermodels Don't Wear Underwear
cheekbones.
Ryan loved driving to school in the morning. It was one of the few times that he was ever completely alone. It also didn't hurt matters that he was driving a Corvette with a sound system that could make angels cry. He drove his best friend home most days, but the mornings were his. A nonfat soy latte and a blueberry bagel with organic cream cheese. Always listening to CDs so he didn't have to hear mentions of his name on the morning radio shows. And, possibly, if he hadn't gotten any double looks, a cigarette before he pulled into Madison Heights' parking lot.
Madison Heights was a private high school in Los Angeles without uniforms. Half of the staff had taught at universities and the other half seemed to have masters degrees in adolescent psychology. It cost thirty grand a semester to attend, as well as a two point five grade point average. Ryan went because his mom thought public school would be too dangerous and he refused to wear a uniform. (Instead, he usually wore Armani jeans and some obscenely expensive screen print tee he'd taken from a photo shoot.)
Ryan parked and checked his eyeliner in the rearview mirror. "You're beautiful." he whispered to his reflection, still not believing it. He reached in his glove box for the bottle of Xanax he'd refilled the week before, but he'd barely gotten the lid off when the passenger door of the car opened and his best friend, Brendon, jumped in.
"Tell me everything," the boy said immediately, eyes widened to almost manic proportions.
"Nothing to tell." Ryan replied with an eye roll, popping the pill in his mouth and washing it down with the bottle of Evian in his bag. He didn't even need to ask. He knew his picture from the iPhone release party were all over the internet. "I just talked to some designers and stuff. I got you one of the phones though."
Brendon's eyes lit up like Ryan was Santa Claus. "Dude, I love you."
*
Brendon's mom was the school nurse--a real nurse--so her kids all got free tuition. Or rather, the three of her five children who were still in school when she got the job received it. Kyla had graduated two years before and Kara was a senior. They didn't quite fit in with the rich teens who all seemed to have sports cars and no-limit credit cards. But Ryan liked Brendon.
Mainly because the sophomore boy didn't bullshit around. The first time they spoke, Brendon admitted he still jerked off to Ryan's Calvin Klein jeans ad. And then, without batting an eyelash, he'd immediately asked if Ryan got to steal the clothes from his photo shoots. Brendon had never once tried to hide the fact that he was completely enthralled with his best friend's lifestyle, but he'd never used it to his advantage. (Except the one time he'd begged Ryan to take him to a party so he could meet Keira Knightley.)
"Did you get any?" Brendon asked as the pair of them walked across the parking lot.
Ryan refrained from rolling his eyes and glanced at the boy who was playing the new 'toy' he'd been given in the car. Brendon always asked about sex. There was never much to tell. Ryan didn't like to kiss, let alone fuck. "When everyone's after a piece of you, it's almost satisfying to give them nothing, even if you end up feeling anorexic," Ryan had been quoted in 'Rolling Stone' six months before.
"That's a no." Brendon said finally. "Well, hopefully you at least got drunk." He laughed and flashed his over-bright smile at Ryan. "By the way, are you going to prom?"
Ryan shook his head almost too quickly. Brendon wanted to go, but he was a sophomore. Ryan had no desire to go, but he'd considered taking the other boy. He just knew that someone would sell pictures and Mrs. Urie would freak when her son showed up on the cover of some magazine and got called Ryan's 'faggot boyfriend' on the internet. (Even the woman had never once said a negative word about Ryan's gender-ambiguous photo shoots or the fact that he was openly gay.)
"I guess prom's kind of lame compared to parties and stuff."
Ryan made a mental note to get concert tickets to something Brendon really wanted to see that weekend. "I think parties are lame, Bren." he mumbled. "I only go when Hal makes me." Hal, of course, referring to his agent, a bisexual man with a toupee and perfectly manicured nails. He always gave Ryan shoulder rubs when they were alone together and tried to get him to drink champagne on plane rides.
"Well, what about Friday?' Brendon asked, already know the answer. Ryan never knew about Friday until Friday. Thursday night if he was lucky.
*
"Hal wants you in New York tomorrow." Ryan's mother chirped via Bluetooth earpiece to her son. He was driving Brendon home. "I already called the school. There's two tickets waiting for tonight. You need to be at the airport at six."
Ryan frowned. "You're not coming?" He did not like the idea of spending hours on a plane with a horny agent who was trying to get him drunk. "What's in New York anyway?"
"It's some thing for America's Next Top Model." the woman said impatiently. "And I can't go. I have that spa detox in Monterey, remember?" She gave a sniffle and Ryan made a face at Brendon.
"Fine. Whatever. I'm taking Hobo though. Tell Marcus to get her kennel out of storage." He hung up before she could argue. "I don't think I'll be back 'til Thursday at least." he told Brendon. "I'm going to be on America's Next Top Model." He put on a falsetto and did a fake hair flip, making the other boy laugh slightly.
"Why are you taking the dog though?" Brendon looked confused. Ryan's dog was not the typical 'rich bitch' dog. It was beagle that the boy had picked from the pound when he was fourteen and landed his MAC ad. She was adorable, but did have a tendency to chew shoes. (Not a very good habit for a fashion model's pet.)
"Hal hates Hobo."
"Why don't you just fire him?" Brendon asked. "I mean, you hate him enough."
"Mom won't let me." Ryan flicked his turn signal and pulled into the other boy's driveway. "Will you get my homework for me?"
Brendon laughed. "I'll send it from here!" he said excitedly, holding up his new phone. "Call me though." He gave Ryan a one-armed hug and opened the door. "Steal me some supermodel undies, too."
"I told you," Ryan said before the car door shut, "supermodels don't wear underwear."
*
"Hal doesn't like it when you bring Hobo." Chantal Ross said uncertainly as her son started packing his Louis Vuitton suitcase. Shoes, jeans, shirts, a D&G jacket. Make-up case, deodorant, hair products. Two packs of cigarettes and his laptop. Chargers.
"Yeah, I know." Ryan replied with a shrug. "He'll like it a lot less if I don't show." The dog in question wandered into the room at that moment with a sock in her mouth. The boy smiled and scooped her up in his arms, adopting a baby voice reserved only for her. "Who's a good puppy? You? Yes, you. You read to go to New York, pretty girl? Yeah?" She squirmed and Ryan dropped her to the bed before tossing his school books on top of his clothes. "By the way, I'm taking prom weekend off. I'm going to a concert with Brendon."
"That should be fun." Chantal said absently. "Honey, please change before you go. Just because you were in school for eight hours doesn't mean you should look like it in the papers tomorrow."
Ryan rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his mother's retreating back. But he did change out of his 'school' clothes and put on a clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt with a sports jacket. Reapply the eyeliner, redo the hair. Ask Marcus to give Hobo a puppy Xanax and load her in the kennel. Kiss Mom good-bye and get in the limo.
Hal was waiting at the airport, smiling until he saw Ryan pull the kennel out of the limo. "You brought the dog."
The teenager met the man's gaze without flinching and handled the kennel to Marcus while he grabbed his other bag. "Yeah." He smirked. "Don't worry. She took a Xanax." A flashbulb went off to Ryan's left and boy slipped on his sunglasses. "Shall we?"
*
Ryan avoided the champagne glass for both flights and kept his earphones in as much as possible. Hal's hand ended up on his thigh more than once, but Ryan just employed his personal favorite brand of self-defense, which was to hit the call button (and not, his but his agent's) each time it happened.
When they got to the hotel, Ryan dead-bolted the door on his suite and let Hobo out of her kennel. "If he tries to fuck me this week, but his balls off, okay?" he instructed the dog, who immediately started scratching at the door and whining. The teenager groaned and got one of the puppy pads from Hobo's bag before turning on the television.
The thing was, Ryan wouldn't have been at all shocked if Hal had done exactly that. Despite minimum sexual experience, Ryan had plenty of experience with people trying to change that. And, despite the fact that Hobo wasn't much of a guard dog, she would bark incessantly if she thought Ryan was in trouble. So he'd brought her to New York.
*
"Get that damn cigarette out of your mouth." Hal snapped. They--that is he, Ryan, and Hobo on a leash--were in a limo on the way to a quick interview with The View before they were meant to hit the reality TV show set. "That takes years off your career."
Ryan exhaled in the man's direction. "No. Losing my cheekbones is the end of my career," he retorted dryly. "Martini for breakfast?" He raised an eyebrow.
They rode the rest of the way in silence and then Ryan--Hobo in tow--got whisked away to hair and make-up. He and the female cosmetic artist started talking about liquid versus pencil eyeliner until he got dumped on the couch. (an unenthusiastic intern was given the task of baby-sitting the dog.)
"Do you think the fact that your shoots are known for being androgynous makes you appeal more to both genders?"
Ryan shook his head. "No. I think it makes the idea of different gender identities not such a scary thing." He chuckled. "Though I have received a few letters from straight guys saying things I probably shouldn't repeat on TV."
*
"Is it fun?" Brendon asked. "Was Tyra hot? Did you steal any underwear?" He was at home, hiding out in the garage as he sucked on a joint.
"I'm gay." Ryan replied, emphasizing the word with an eye roll. "And it sucks and I'm not repeating the underwear thing because I think you like to hear it too much."
Brendon giggled. "By the way if you're home and free Friday, there's a party we can go to. That guy you think is cute who works at Vans? It's at his place."
"I'll see what I can do." Ryan said half-heartedly. He narrowed his eyes at television suddenly and grabbed the remote. "Hang on. I'm on TV."
"Is Ryan Ross getting a little too friendly with his thirty-seven year old agent?" some blonde was asking on the screen. "Sources report seeing Hal Remmington getting a little too close to the sixteen year old model on a flight from O'Hare to New York late yesterday where the teenager is set to appear on an episode of the popular reality TV show, 'America's Next Top Model'."
Pictures from Ryan arriving at the hotel with Hal flashed across the screen, including one where his agent's hand rested on his lower back, almost on his ass. "Only because I was so tired I could hardly walk straight." Ryan mumbled, forgetting he was on the phone.
"Are you just seeing that thing about you and Hal?" Brendon asked. "Seriously, it's kind of pathetic. It's worse than when they said you went straight for Megan Fox. At least Megan Fox is hot."
"She's really nice, too." Ryan said absently. "Hal was groping me on the plane," he added softly. "If anyone got pictures of that, I'll die."
Brendon made a face no one could see. "Dude, that's so gross. Seriously, that should be illegal." He paused for the briefest of moments. "I think it is. You should report him."
"You're so high." Ryan laughed, a choked sound. Brendon had no idea what the boy had to put up with in order to get jobs. (He was lucky to still be a virgin.) Flirting and tolerating hands where they shouldn't be. Air kissing and ass kissing. The only person he wouldn't take it from was Hal. And, to be honest, the only reason he didn't take it anymore was probably because he'd caught Hal with his mother. "I'm gonna call you tomorrow, Brendon." And he hung up.
*
Ryan handed a twenty to the bellboy. "I'm coming home now," he snapped into the phone. "Hal's fired. Don't fucking argue with me." He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket, ignoring the camera shutters click and getting into the cab, taking the kennel from the bellboy. "JFK," he told the driver, face set.
He couldn't remember everything from the night before, but he remembered enough. Hard hands, heavy breaths, feeling cold, and Hobo barking from the bathroom. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
Michael, a twenty-six year old photographer's assistant, was waiting for Ryan at the airport. He was a nice guy, straight, and he was the only one who'd agreed to met him. Despite being an internationally known supermodel, he still wasn't old enough to check himself in at the airport. Michael had been the only one to answer his phone.
"You okay?" Michael asked, beckoning someone over to get Ryan's bags. "Where's Hal?"
"Fired." Ryan said coldly. "I need to go home." He practically melted when Michael put an arm around him and lead him inside. He didn't care what TMZ said. The twenty-six year old was married with twins and Ryan wouldn't have a qualm about pressing charges if anyone attempted to slander Michael's name.
"We'll get you home then, kid." he promised.
*
"I just don't understand why you want to fire him." Chantal protested, sipping on her martini. "If this is about those photos, we'll just issue a statement."
Ryan's eyes flashed. He had no intention of telling his mother, or anyone for that matter, why. "If you don't fire him, I'll quit. I already called Joseph Marset. He's happy to take the job."
"Marset?" Chantal scoffed. "What does he know about male models? Why on God's green earth would you call him?"
Ryan glowered. He doesn't want to eat my as, for starters, you alcoholic bitch. "And I'll get emancipated if you don't do this," he added in a low voice. "I'll take everything. I already called a lawyer."
The woman's lips pursed, but the boy knew he'd won.
*
"Come on." Brendon whined. He was holding the joint out to his best friend. "Think of it as a toast. So long Hal!" He took a drag and sat in the other boy's lap, poking his shoulder. "Come on . . ."
Seven other people in the room were waiting for their turn. Ryan told himself that's why he did it. Ryan lied.
"I can't believe you've parted with Diddy but you've never smoked pot." Alex, the cute boy from the Vans store, said. It wasn't an unkind statement, more bewildered. They were in Alex's basement. He was one of the few boys Ryan actually wanted to hook up with. (Most days, at least.)
The model shrugged with a small smile. "It makes you eat a lot."
"Watching your figure." Alex gave a half-smirk, letting his eyes linger.
Any other day, Ryan would have been beaming, but not now. And Brendon noticed. His eyes followed his best friend up the stairs and then Alex's figure as it climbed the steps as well.
Ryan was coming out of the bathroom when Alex walked up and kissed him on the mouth. The model balked, pulling away, eyes the size of dinner plates. "I-I'm sorry." he stammered.
Alex frowned, looking hurt." Brendon . . . he said you liked me."
Ryan winced. "I do. I just . . ." He stared at his hands. "I haven't had a good week. I just . . . I-I . . ."
"So you did break up with him then?" Alex looked disgusted.
Ryan eyes narrowed, knowing who he was referring to. And, without really thinking, he slapped the other boy across the face. "Shut the fuck up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Alex was livid. He didn't like to be fucked with in his own house unless it was the kind of fucking with that involved no clothes. His own hand was coming up when Brendon seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Ryan, we need to go. Now."
And so Alex retreated. Ryan stood there for a moment before bringing a hand up to his face and letting out a small sob. Brendon pulled the boy in,close, against his chest while Ryan continued to cry.
"He hurt you?" Brendon whispered. "Hal, not Alex."
Ryan couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. He certainly couldn't remember that he had sworn to himself no one would know. Instead, he just gave a weak nod and clung to Brendon's shirt.
They stood there like that for a moment, the younger stroking his best friend's hair. "Let's go." he said softly after a moment. "We're going to my house, okay? You're staying the night."
Ryan nodded, feeling heavier than he had in his entire life.
*
Ryan was sitting in Brendon's basement in his boxers and one of Brendon's tee shirts. They were both eating ice cream from the carton (the first non-organic food the model had eaten in over a year). 'Life of Brian' was playing on the television but they weren't paying much attention.
Ryan hadn't said a lot since they left Alex's and nothing about Hal. Brendon hadn't asked. He didn't really need to, but he would eventually. Right now they were safe and that was all that mattered.
Madison Heights was a private high school in Los Angeles without uniforms. Half of the staff had taught at universities and the other half seemed to have masters degrees in adolescent psychology. It cost thirty grand a semester to attend, as well as a two point five grade point average. Ryan went because his mom thought public school would be too dangerous and he refused to wear a uniform. (Instead, he usually wore Armani jeans and some obscenely expensive screen print tee he'd taken from a photo shoot.)
Ryan parked and checked his eyeliner in the rearview mirror. "You're beautiful." he whispered to his reflection, still not believing it. He reached in his glove box for the bottle of Xanax he'd refilled the week before, but he'd barely gotten the lid off when the passenger door of the car opened and his best friend, Brendon, jumped in.
"Tell me everything," the boy said immediately, eyes widened to almost manic proportions.
"Nothing to tell." Ryan replied with an eye roll, popping the pill in his mouth and washing it down with the bottle of Evian in his bag. He didn't even need to ask. He knew his picture from the iPhone release party were all over the internet. "I just talked to some designers and stuff. I got you one of the phones though."
Brendon's eyes lit up like Ryan was Santa Claus. "Dude, I love you."
*
Brendon's mom was the school nurse--a real nurse--so her kids all got free tuition. Or rather, the three of her five children who were still in school when she got the job received it. Kyla had graduated two years before and Kara was a senior. They didn't quite fit in with the rich teens who all seemed to have sports cars and no-limit credit cards. But Ryan liked Brendon.
Mainly because the sophomore boy didn't bullshit around. The first time they spoke, Brendon admitted he still jerked off to Ryan's Calvin Klein jeans ad. And then, without batting an eyelash, he'd immediately asked if Ryan got to steal the clothes from his photo shoots. Brendon had never once tried to hide the fact that he was completely enthralled with his best friend's lifestyle, but he'd never used it to his advantage. (Except the one time he'd begged Ryan to take him to a party so he could meet Keira Knightley.)
"Did you get any?" Brendon asked as the pair of them walked across the parking lot.
Ryan refrained from rolling his eyes and glanced at the boy who was playing the new 'toy' he'd been given in the car. Brendon always asked about sex. There was never much to tell. Ryan didn't like to kiss, let alone fuck. "When everyone's after a piece of you, it's almost satisfying to give them nothing, even if you end up feeling anorexic," Ryan had been quoted in 'Rolling Stone' six months before.
"That's a no." Brendon said finally. "Well, hopefully you at least got drunk." He laughed and flashed his over-bright smile at Ryan. "By the way, are you going to prom?"
Ryan shook his head almost too quickly. Brendon wanted to go, but he was a sophomore. Ryan had no desire to go, but he'd considered taking the other boy. He just knew that someone would sell pictures and Mrs. Urie would freak when her son showed up on the cover of some magazine and got called Ryan's 'faggot boyfriend' on the internet. (Even the woman had never once said a negative word about Ryan's gender-ambiguous photo shoots or the fact that he was openly gay.)
"I guess prom's kind of lame compared to parties and stuff."
Ryan made a mental note to get concert tickets to something Brendon really wanted to see that weekend. "I think parties are lame, Bren." he mumbled. "I only go when Hal makes me." Hal, of course, referring to his agent, a bisexual man with a toupee and perfectly manicured nails. He always gave Ryan shoulder rubs when they were alone together and tried to get him to drink champagne on plane rides.
"Well, what about Friday?' Brendon asked, already know the answer. Ryan never knew about Friday until Friday. Thursday night if he was lucky.
*
"Hal wants you in New York tomorrow." Ryan's mother chirped via Bluetooth earpiece to her son. He was driving Brendon home. "I already called the school. There's two tickets waiting for tonight. You need to be at the airport at six."
Ryan frowned. "You're not coming?" He did not like the idea of spending hours on a plane with a horny agent who was trying to get him drunk. "What's in New York anyway?"
"It's some thing for America's Next Top Model." the woman said impatiently. "And I can't go. I have that spa detox in Monterey, remember?" She gave a sniffle and Ryan made a face at Brendon.
"Fine. Whatever. I'm taking Hobo though. Tell Marcus to get her kennel out of storage." He hung up before she could argue. "I don't think I'll be back 'til Thursday at least." he told Brendon. "I'm going to be on America's Next Top Model." He put on a falsetto and did a fake hair flip, making the other boy laugh slightly.
"Why are you taking the dog though?" Brendon looked confused. Ryan's dog was not the typical 'rich bitch' dog. It was beagle that the boy had picked from the pound when he was fourteen and landed his MAC ad. She was adorable, but did have a tendency to chew shoes. (Not a very good habit for a fashion model's pet.)
"Hal hates Hobo."
"Why don't you just fire him?" Brendon asked. "I mean, you hate him enough."
"Mom won't let me." Ryan flicked his turn signal and pulled into the other boy's driveway. "Will you get my homework for me?"
Brendon laughed. "I'll send it from here!" he said excitedly, holding up his new phone. "Call me though." He gave Ryan a one-armed hug and opened the door. "Steal me some supermodel undies, too."
"I told you," Ryan said before the car door shut, "supermodels don't wear underwear."
*
"Hal doesn't like it when you bring Hobo." Chantal Ross said uncertainly as her son started packing his Louis Vuitton suitcase. Shoes, jeans, shirts, a D&G jacket. Make-up case, deodorant, hair products. Two packs of cigarettes and his laptop. Chargers.
"Yeah, I know." Ryan replied with a shrug. "He'll like it a lot less if I don't show." The dog in question wandered into the room at that moment with a sock in her mouth. The boy smiled and scooped her up in his arms, adopting a baby voice reserved only for her. "Who's a good puppy? You? Yes, you. You read to go to New York, pretty girl? Yeah?" She squirmed and Ryan dropped her to the bed before tossing his school books on top of his clothes. "By the way, I'm taking prom weekend off. I'm going to a concert with Brendon."
"That should be fun." Chantal said absently. "Honey, please change before you go. Just because you were in school for eight hours doesn't mean you should look like it in the papers tomorrow."
Ryan rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at his mother's retreating back. But he did change out of his 'school' clothes and put on a clean pair of jeans and a button-down shirt with a sports jacket. Reapply the eyeliner, redo the hair. Ask Marcus to give Hobo a puppy Xanax and load her in the kennel. Kiss Mom good-bye and get in the limo.
Hal was waiting at the airport, smiling until he saw Ryan pull the kennel out of the limo. "You brought the dog."
The teenager met the man's gaze without flinching and handled the kennel to Marcus while he grabbed his other bag. "Yeah." He smirked. "Don't worry. She took a Xanax." A flashbulb went off to Ryan's left and boy slipped on his sunglasses. "Shall we?"
*
Ryan avoided the champagne glass for both flights and kept his earphones in as much as possible. Hal's hand ended up on his thigh more than once, but Ryan just employed his personal favorite brand of self-defense, which was to hit the call button (and not, his but his agent's) each time it happened.
When they got to the hotel, Ryan dead-bolted the door on his suite and let Hobo out of her kennel. "If he tries to fuck me this week, but his balls off, okay?" he instructed the dog, who immediately started scratching at the door and whining. The teenager groaned and got one of the puppy pads from Hobo's bag before turning on the television.
The thing was, Ryan wouldn't have been at all shocked if Hal had done exactly that. Despite minimum sexual experience, Ryan had plenty of experience with people trying to change that. And, despite the fact that Hobo wasn't much of a guard dog, she would bark incessantly if she thought Ryan was in trouble. So he'd brought her to New York.
*
"Get that damn cigarette out of your mouth." Hal snapped. They--that is he, Ryan, and Hobo on a leash--were in a limo on the way to a quick interview with The View before they were meant to hit the reality TV show set. "That takes years off your career."
Ryan exhaled in the man's direction. "No. Losing my cheekbones is the end of my career," he retorted dryly. "Martini for breakfast?" He raised an eyebrow.
They rode the rest of the way in silence and then Ryan--Hobo in tow--got whisked away to hair and make-up. He and the female cosmetic artist started talking about liquid versus pencil eyeliner until he got dumped on the couch. (an unenthusiastic intern was given the task of baby-sitting the dog.)
"Do you think the fact that your shoots are known for being androgynous makes you appeal more to both genders?"
Ryan shook his head. "No. I think it makes the idea of different gender identities not such a scary thing." He chuckled. "Though I have received a few letters from straight guys saying things I probably shouldn't repeat on TV."
*
"Is it fun?" Brendon asked. "Was Tyra hot? Did you steal any underwear?" He was at home, hiding out in the garage as he sucked on a joint.
"I'm gay." Ryan replied, emphasizing the word with an eye roll. "And it sucks and I'm not repeating the underwear thing because I think you like to hear it too much."
Brendon giggled. "By the way if you're home and free Friday, there's a party we can go to. That guy you think is cute who works at Vans? It's at his place."
"I'll see what I can do." Ryan said half-heartedly. He narrowed his eyes at television suddenly and grabbed the remote. "Hang on. I'm on TV."
"Is Ryan Ross getting a little too friendly with his thirty-seven year old agent?" some blonde was asking on the screen. "Sources report seeing Hal Remmington getting a little too close to the sixteen year old model on a flight from O'Hare to New York late yesterday where the teenager is set to appear on an episode of the popular reality TV show, 'America's Next Top Model'."
Pictures from Ryan arriving at the hotel with Hal flashed across the screen, including one where his agent's hand rested on his lower back, almost on his ass. "Only because I was so tired I could hardly walk straight." Ryan mumbled, forgetting he was on the phone.
"Are you just seeing that thing about you and Hal?" Brendon asked. "Seriously, it's kind of pathetic. It's worse than when they said you went straight for Megan Fox. At least Megan Fox is hot."
"She's really nice, too." Ryan said absently. "Hal was groping me on the plane," he added softly. "If anyone got pictures of that, I'll die."
Brendon made a face no one could see. "Dude, that's so gross. Seriously, that should be illegal." He paused for the briefest of moments. "I think it is. You should report him."
"You're so high." Ryan laughed, a choked sound. Brendon had no idea what the boy had to put up with in order to get jobs. (He was lucky to still be a virgin.) Flirting and tolerating hands where they shouldn't be. Air kissing and ass kissing. The only person he wouldn't take it from was Hal. And, to be honest, the only reason he didn't take it anymore was probably because he'd caught Hal with his mother. "I'm gonna call you tomorrow, Brendon." And he hung up.
*
Ryan handed a twenty to the bellboy. "I'm coming home now," he snapped into the phone. "Hal's fired. Don't fucking argue with me." He hung up and shoved the phone into his pocket, ignoring the camera shutters click and getting into the cab, taking the kennel from the bellboy. "JFK," he told the driver, face set.
He couldn't remember everything from the night before, but he remembered enough. Hard hands, heavy breaths, feeling cold, and Hobo barking from the bathroom. It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
Michael, a twenty-six year old photographer's assistant, was waiting for Ryan at the airport. He was a nice guy, straight, and he was the only one who'd agreed to met him. Despite being an internationally known supermodel, he still wasn't old enough to check himself in at the airport. Michael had been the only one to answer his phone.
"You okay?" Michael asked, beckoning someone over to get Ryan's bags. "Where's Hal?"
"Fired." Ryan said coldly. "I need to go home." He practically melted when Michael put an arm around him and lead him inside. He didn't care what TMZ said. The twenty-six year old was married with twins and Ryan wouldn't have a qualm about pressing charges if anyone attempted to slander Michael's name.
"We'll get you home then, kid." he promised.
*
"I just don't understand why you want to fire him." Chantal protested, sipping on her martini. "If this is about those photos, we'll just issue a statement."
Ryan's eyes flashed. He had no intention of telling his mother, or anyone for that matter, why. "If you don't fire him, I'll quit. I already called Joseph Marset. He's happy to take the job."
"Marset?" Chantal scoffed. "What does he know about male models? Why on God's green earth would you call him?"
Ryan glowered. He doesn't want to eat my as, for starters, you alcoholic bitch. "And I'll get emancipated if you don't do this," he added in a low voice. "I'll take everything. I already called a lawyer."
The woman's lips pursed, but the boy knew he'd won.
*
"Come on." Brendon whined. He was holding the joint out to his best friend. "Think of it as a toast. So long Hal!" He took a drag and sat in the other boy's lap, poking his shoulder. "Come on . . ."
Seven other people in the room were waiting for their turn. Ryan told himself that's why he did it. Ryan lied.
"I can't believe you've parted with Diddy but you've never smoked pot." Alex, the cute boy from the Vans store, said. It wasn't an unkind statement, more bewildered. They were in Alex's basement. He was one of the few boys Ryan actually wanted to hook up with. (Most days, at least.)
The model shrugged with a small smile. "It makes you eat a lot."
"Watching your figure." Alex gave a half-smirk, letting his eyes linger.
Any other day, Ryan would have been beaming, but not now. And Brendon noticed. His eyes followed his best friend up the stairs and then Alex's figure as it climbed the steps as well.
Ryan was coming out of the bathroom when Alex walked up and kissed him on the mouth. The model balked, pulling away, eyes the size of dinner plates. "I-I'm sorry." he stammered.
Alex frowned, looking hurt." Brendon . . . he said you liked me."
Ryan winced. "I do. I just . . ." He stared at his hands. "I haven't had a good week. I just . . . I-I . . ."
"So you did break up with him then?" Alex looked disgusted.
Ryan eyes narrowed, knowing who he was referring to. And, without really thinking, he slapped the other boy across the face. "Shut the fuck up. You don't know what the hell you're talking about."
Alex was livid. He didn't like to be fucked with in his own house unless it was the kind of fucking with that involved no clothes. His own hand was coming up when Brendon seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Ryan, we need to go. Now."
And so Alex retreated. Ryan stood there for a moment before bringing a hand up to his face and letting out a small sob. Brendon pulled the boy in,close, against his chest while Ryan continued to cry.
"He hurt you?" Brendon whispered. "Hal, not Alex."
Ryan couldn't think. He could hardly breathe. He certainly couldn't remember that he had sworn to himself no one would know. Instead, he just gave a weak nod and clung to Brendon's shirt.
They stood there like that for a moment, the younger stroking his best friend's hair. "Let's go." he said softly after a moment. "We're going to my house, okay? You're staying the night."
Ryan nodded, feeling heavier than he had in his entire life.
*
Ryan was sitting in Brendon's basement in his boxers and one of Brendon's tee shirts. They were both eating ice cream from the carton (the first non-organic food the model had eaten in over a year). 'Life of Brian' was playing on the television but they weren't paying much attention.
Ryan hadn't said a lot since they left Alex's and nothing about Hal. Brendon hadn't asked. He didn't really need to, but he would eventually. Right now they were safe and that was all that mattered.