Object of Desire (37 page)

“Danny,” Randall was saying, pulling still closer to me. “I told Hassan I loved him today.”

I turned my head to him sharply. “And what did he say?”

“In his typical, formal way, he thanked me for it.” Randall laughed. “I think that's his way of saying he loves me, too.”

I gripped Randall by the shoulders. “Be careful, buddy,” I said. “I don't want you getting hurt. Not so soon after Ike.”

Randall laughed again. “Ike? Who's that?”

I gripped his shoulders tighter. “
Please,
Randall. Falling in love can hurt. It can be the worst thing in the world.”

“Or the greatest,” he said.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned. It was Thad, with Marie Antoinette.

“
This
is the man I was telling you about,” Thad said to Penelope.

“Hello,” I managed to say.

She extended her white-gloved hand. “Penelope Sue Hunt,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “We've met.”

“Darling,” Thad said to her, “you must see Danny's work. He will soon be all the rage. I just bought a print, and I understand Bette Midler has commissioned something. And the rumors are that Gwyneth Paltrow has ordered up a whole series. And you know Geffen has a Fortunato in his house on Fire Island.”

“Really?” Penelope asked, her collagen-injected lips curving into a small smile.

None of this was true, except for the fact of his own purchase. I glared at Thad.

“Well, of course, Danny has a policy of never confirming rumors about who he does work for,” Thad continued. “But that's what they say.”

“You do lithographs?” Penelope asked, not entirely with admiration.

“Various kinds of prints. Photographs, digitally manipulated,” I said.

“I see.” She adjusted her enormous white beaded wig, probably to keep it from falling over. “I'd like to see some of your work. I trust Thad's opinion.”

“Well, I'd be happy to bring some by,” I told her.

“Mmm,” she said—and then she did it.

She rolled her eyes.

“Thank you,” I said. But she was already moving off into the crowd.

“You're
in,
baby,” Thad whispered to me. “If Penelope buys from you,
everyone
will follow.”

I smiled. “Thank you.”

“Don't mention it,” Thad said, hurrying to follow Penelope Sue. “We working-class kids need to stick together to get what we can out of the fat cats.”

I laughed.

“That's fabulous, Danny,” Randall said. “Frank will be so happy when he hears.”

“Well, you'll have to tell him. He's not speaking to me,” I said.

Randall shook his head. “This is crazy. Danny, you can't let this go on much longer. You and Frank, you're like the same person. You complete each other. You can't throw away twenty years.”

I turned, not wanting to have this conversation. I was in luck. I finally spotted the other half of the Hunts. Donovan was approaching me through the crowd.

“Did I just see my wife speaking with you?” he asked.

“Indeed. She wants to see my work.”

Donovan made a face of surprise. He was dressed as an army general, his chest resplendent with ribbons. And on his arm, as Thad had prepared us for, was the most spectacular blond specimen I had seen in a very long time, dressed as a sailor in his formal whites. Tall and broad-shouldered, the young man couldn't have been more than twenty-five, and he possessed eyes as blue—and as cold—as the North Sea.

“I guess my wife listens to Thad Urquhart more than she listens to me,” Donovan said. “I've been telling her about you for years.” He sighed. “Then again, who am I? Just her husband. Thad is going to be the mayor of Palm Springs.”

“She hasn't bought anything yet,” I said. “She just said she wants to see my work.”

“Oh, she'll buy something,” Donovan said. “If you've gotten this far with her, she'll buy something.” He seemed to remember the young man on his arm. “Oh. This is Sven.” The boy nodded, unsmiling, not offering his hand for us to shake. “Sven, this is Randall and Hassan and Danny.” Donovan's eyes, stretched so tightly from so many cosmetic surgeries, clamped onto me. “Danny is one of the first friends I met when I first came out to L.A. a hundred years ago.”

I smiled. An image of Donovan from those days flashed in my mind. Back then, he hadn't needed cosmetic surgeons to stretch his eyelids, to tighten up his cheeks. None of us had. We'd been the boys then, the young prizes on older men's arms. How fast the time had gone. I remembered a day, sitting in Donovan's old Porsche—long discarded, since he'd upgraded to Bentleys—and listening to him talk about his father, the father who'd expected so much from his only son, the father who'd only truly been satisfied when Donovan married the even wealthier Penelope Sue.

“Not quite a hundred years,” I gently corrected him. “But close enough to it.”

Donovan laughed. “So are you all having fun?”

“Brilliant party as usual,” Randall said.

“And
you?
” Donovan purred to Hassan. “Are
you
having fun, my hunky Arab?” I saw Sven frown slightly.

“I am honored to have been asked to your beautiful house,” Hassan told him.

“Well, I hope you'll come back another time,” Donovan said, winking, as he and Sven began to move away. It was the same old Donovan, flirting with someone no matter who else was around.

Before he could get too far, however, I reached out and grabbed his arm. “Donovan,” I said, “might I speak with you a moment?”

He threw an eye back over his shoulder. “Sure. What's up?”

“In private. Just for a moment.”

“All right.” He turned to Sven. “Run along and keep Penelope company for a while, okay, sugarplum?”

Sven said nothing, just frowned again and slunk away.

“Swedes can be so sullen,” Donovan grumbled as we moved off in the opposite direction. “Sometimes I feel like he just stepped out of a Bergman movie.”

I smiled. “I remember when you didn't know what a Bergman movie
was.
It took me to show you, to take you to the AFI screenings.” Of course, it was Randall who'd introduce
me
to classic film, teaching me there was more to see than just
Doctor Who
and
Monty Python
and
Star Wars.

Donovan threw his arm round me, grinning wide. “Oh yes, I remember those days well. You would argue with me about the need to make movies that actually
said
something.” He opened the door to his private study, which opened onto his bedroom, and gestured for me to enter. Enormous picture windows looked out onto the mountains and down into the valley, sparkling with lights from the city below. “And I would say to you,” Donovan continued, “‘Danny, I'll only make those kinds of pictures if you will star in them for me.'”

I smirked. “You were just blowing smoke up my ass so you could get up there yourself.”

Donovan closed the door behind us and looked over at me slyly. “So why didn't the good husband accompany you tonight? Why did you show up with a posse of girlfriends?”

“Frank…he had a…school thing.”

Donovan's smile showed he didn't believe me. “I see.”

I let out a breath awkwardly.

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” he asked.

“I don't know. It's silly, really. I…”

Donovan folded his arms across his chest and leaned against his desk, a big old mahogany piece that had been his father's, which he'd shipped out here from Connecticut after the old man finally died.

“Danny, what is it?” He seemed to find my discomfort amusing. “What's on your mind?”

“Kelly,” I blurted out.

Donovan looked at me oddly for several seconds. “Kelly?” he finally repeated.

“Yes.”

“Kelly…Nelson?”

I nodded.

He laughed. “You want to talk about
Kelly?
”

“We've been…seeing each other.”

Donovan made a face as if I were speaking a language he didn't understand.

“L-look,” I stammered, “I don't know what kind of relationship you had with him, and I don't mean to pry. But I can't really talk to anyone else about this…”

“About
what?
”

“About how I'm feeling about him.”

“About Kelly?”

“
Yes!
”

Donovan looked at me intently for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed loudly. Not a mean laugh, just one that seemed genuinely amused.

“What?” I asked. “What is so funny?”

“Danny Fortunato,” Donovan said, composing himself, “are you in love with Kelly Nelson?”

I swallowed. “Yes. Yes, I am.”

“I don't know what to say.”

“You're the only person I know who really knows him,” I said. “And I know that if someone isn't worth it, you don't keep them in your life. So Kelly was obviously worth it, since you had him to your party at the Parker.” I paused. “And I saw him here tonight, too.”

Donovan stood and walked over to the window. “Yes,” he said. “He's worth it.”

“Well, I can't figure him out.” I sighed, feeling foolish. “I've been trying to help him, but he's so hard to reach. And I can't figure out how he feels about me. He seems to want me, but then he…”

“Did you get him into bed?” Donovan asked, not turning around to look at me.

“If you can call it that.”

Donovan turned, a small smile on his lips. “Then you got more than I did.”

I looked at him. “Did you…fall in love with him, too?”

He sighed. “I wouldn't go that far. But I
was
fascinated. I met him in L.A. He was working at the Abbey. One night I saw him get into a fight with the manager, and he got fired. I suggested he move out here. I hoped…” His voice trailed off.

“You hoped what?”

“That something might blossom between us. But it never did, though I sure as hell tried. He wasn't interested in all the sparkly things other boys are interested in. He wouldn't let me buy him a damn thing.”

“Didn't you get him that old Mercedes he drives?”

“Nope. He bought that himself with money he saved.” Donovan sighed. “God, he's beautiful.”

I nodded. “Don't I know that all too well.”

“Funny what beauty does to a man,” Donovan said, moving back toward me now, lifting a bottle of brandy from his desk and pouring two snifters. He handed one to me. “I've kept him in my life chiefly because of his beauty, but also because—and this I
will
grant you, Danny—there is something rather special about him, down deep.” He smiled. “It all rather reminds me of the way I felt for you, Danny, all those years ago.”

“Oh, come
on,
” I said as we toasted each other and sipped the brandy. It tasted good. Warm and thick and sweet.

Donovan shook his head, smiling as he looked at me. “You've never trusted your own appeal, have you?” he asked. “I could never understand that. I still can't. You were the hottest boy in West Hollywood in those days. Everyone wanted you.”

“I was not and, no, they didn't.”

He smiled. “Perhaps that was part of your appeal. You were oblivious to it.”

“I wasn't oblivious. I was just realistic. Any twenty-year-old boy who gets up and shakes his ass in a thong is going to get a crowd of horny older men wanting him.”

“But I didn't know you then,” Donovan said. “Remember I only met you
after
you gave all that up, and
after
you'd hooked up with Frank.” He made a face. “To my eternal regret.”

“Oh, Donovan,” I said.

“I'm being totally serious. I know I can come on strong. I know I can be a real smooth talker. But I liked you, Danny. I liked you a lot.”

I was touched. “Thank you, Donovan.”

“And now here we are. To think, all those years I hoped that
I
might be the one who could break you and Frank up. But no. Along comes a drifter like Kelly Nelson to succeed where I failed.”

I said nothing, just shook my head.

“Is it true, then, Danny?” Donovan asked. “You really
would
leave Frank if Kelly seemed available to you?”

“I don't know,” I admitted.

He laughed. “I should be
furious.
I should throw you out of my house right now.” He poured himself some more brandy without offering me a refill. “I mean, all these years I've allowed myself to believe that the only reason you turned me down was because what you shared with Frank was so special, so profound, so rare. I contented myself that, in the face of such a profound love, even I—Donovan Hunt—stood no chance.” He shrugged. “I could live with that. But to think that you might so easily give up that special and profound love for a measly little trifle like Kelly Nelson—”

“Kelly is not a trifle!” I actually took a step forward in my defense of him. “Maybe you didn't take the time, Donovan, to really see him for what he is. Kelly is a smart, talented person who—”

“Oh, come on, Danny. He's a wanderer. A vagabond.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I like vagabonds.”

“Maybe you just wish you'd been one a little longer than you were.” He smirked. “You know, you're shattering all my illusions tonight, Danny. Here I was, envying you—”

I laughed out loud. “
You
envied
me?
Donovan, for Christ's sake, my whole house could practically fit inside this study. I drive a beat-up 1999 Jeep Wrangler. And when was the last time you had to worry about paying your monthly bills?”

Donovan's eyes popped with such sudden fury that they startled me. “As if money is worth envying! When was the last time
you,
Mr. Danny Fortunato, felt like a
fraud?
”