Fallen Star (Part 2): Janus
By: Dean Archer ( dean_archer@hotmail.com )
This is a fictional story, describing erotic relations between two consenting adults. If this makes you uncomfortable, or if it is illegal for you to read something like this, then why are you here in the first place?
The following story is entirely a product of my imagination, and is not intended to imply anything about any real people.
Permission is granted for this story to be distributed solely by the Nifty Archive: http://www.nifty.org/. You may of course keep a copy for your own use, but you may not redistribute it.
Author's notes follow each installment.
"Tell me," Justin said, looking deep into my eyes.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. I took a deep breath, and tried again.
"Well, I always wanted to be an actor. Ever since I was a little kid, I wanted to be the center of attention. My dad used to get so mad when I would stick my face in front of the video camera and block his shot. I did community theater, commercials, the whole bit. Then my agent heard about an open call for young boys for a television pilot. I still remember reading for the part...I was so sure I blew it," I chuckled slightly. "But I got the callback and landed the part."
"I loved that show, Justin, you just don't understand. The rest of the cast became my second family; I mean, I basically went through puberty in front of millions. When I was about 17, that's when the whole teen idol push began. My agent told me it would be good for my career if I went along with all of those magazines and just answered the interview questions. You know, I counted once that I said I wore boxers 47 times in one week." I smiled slightly when he laughed out loud at my statement.
"Sorry, but I know what you mean...what the hell do they care what you're wearing?" Justin said.
"Uh huh, anyway, it was right around then that I started getting letters from a forty year old guy fan. It's funny, because it never occurred to me that older guys might like to watch my show; it wasn't exactly quality television all the time. At first, it was kind of neat. I even answered him myself in the beginning. He seemed like he had a really rough life; his wife had left him after their teenage son had died. I mean, how can you not feel bad about that?"
"Then it started getting weird. First, he started calling me boy' in his letters. His writing started to ramble on about strange stuff, mostly about his wife and what a bitch she was. Then he started calling me son'. That was it."
"Weird."
"Yeah, you have no idea. I quit responding to his letters, and got my agent to send them back unopened. After a few months, they stopped. I thought he had given up."
"While we were in summer hiatus, I started finding things in my car...there was a birthday card from `Dad' when I turned 18. I thought I had left it there, but it really wasn't like my dad to give cards. Then, one of our privacy gates at my parent's house in LA kept on being propped open. My cat disappeared. They found her body later, but..." I paused, trying to work up the courage to continue. Justin, who had somehow ended up holding my hand, gave me a reassuring squeeze.
"One night, I was home alone going over a script outline for the new season.
The room went dark, the power was out. That's strange, but not unheard of in the area where I lived. I went to call my agent to go over some changes I wanted to make, but the phone was dead. I started to get scared, very scared...the weather was fine outside, and I was more frightened than I'd ever been in my life. I heard something downstairs at the entrance hall. Someone was trying to get in, cutting the security bars with what sounded like an electric saw. I automatically picked up the phone. Dumb move; all I heard was my own breathing. The alarm system's panic button upstairs would have the same problem. I didn't know what to do. Our house was pretty secluded, so there wasn't anywhere to go, and no one could hear me even if I could work up the courage to yell for help."
"I guess God really does open windows, because that's when I heard my mother's cell phone sound off that it had finished it's charging cycle. I practically flew down the hall, being as quiet as I possibly could, to get it. The 911 operator was very understanding when he could make out what I was saying. He told me not to panic, and to stay on the line and out of sight. Yeah, right."
"I could hear someone actually working the lock now downstairs, trying to get the door open. The operator kept assuring me that help was on its way, but I was beginning to block him out. All I could help thinking was that I never got to see the Grand Canyon. What kind of stupid shit is that? I mean, of all the last thoughts to have, who thinks about not seeing some hole in the ground?" I was laughing again, this time that bitter laughter of self-loathing. Justin was a silent, pensive shadow, still holding my hand.
"Right when the person outside decided to give up on picking the lock and just try breaking the door down, I heard sirens in the distance. The noise level downstairs decreased remarkably, and I swear I heard someone running down the walk. I looked down at myself and remembered that I hadn't taken a breath in a while. Now I couldn't stop them from coming, short, ragged gasps. That was the first of many panic attacks."
"A few minutes later a cop came to the door. I made him show two forms of ID, partly because I'd seen the movie `Copycat' too many times, and partly because I just wanted to be SURE it was the good guys. He told me they had a suspect in custody, and asked me if I could identify him. I told the truth: I hadn't seen anything. He said that they would hold him at the precinct, and told me that my parents had been contacted and were on their way home."
"The next day, I was still on edge, but the panic had begun to fade. That afternoon, two detectives showed up. They wanted to ask some question, starting with me. They wanted to know if I had been receiving strange notes or calls lately. I told them about the crazy fan and a few other recent episodes. They then asked if I recognized a name. I froze. It was the guy. The same guy who had been writing me. He was the suspect. He was `Dad'."
"It turned out that he had quite a collection of information on me, my sister, my parents, everyone I knew. There were pictures of me taken from a distance. There were news clippings and floor plans, lists of private numbers, everything. The worst part was when the detectives started to detail what the guy had been saying in interrogation. Turns out he was talking rather freely about his plans, proud of his work. It was a kidnap attempt, with a triple murder on the side for my family. He was going to break in and wait for us that night; he didn't know I was home still. Then, in the darkness, he could reconstruct his own `family' and try to win back his wife. That's basically how the police said it, like it was the third story on the evening news." I was breathing harder now; I could feel an attack coming on. "I interrupted the report to ask if I could be excused for a few minutes. I went into the kitchen, and blacked out. I remember coming to later in the living room with several anxious faces around me."
"The police made their suggestions on increased security, the production company that ran the show came in and tried to keep everything quiet, and that insane asshole was sent to some hospital. They didn't want news of this leaking out and marring my image or the show. My fucking image'!" I was crying now, clenching my fist that I had torn away from Justin's hand. I didn't even notice him anymore. "Life was supposed to go on. My family took it pretty well, but I couldn't stop thinking about the whole incident. None of this would have happened if I weren't famous, if I weren't on the show. My family was in mortal danger, and all my supportive' hangers-on could worry about was how many teen magazines I could sell that week. We started taping the show again, but I wasn't interested. I started drinking. Heavily. I couldn't sleep, and when I was awake I was depressed or angry. I was in a downward slide. Then, one day, I had an epiphany. No show means no fame. No fame means no stalkers. No danger for my family. I could save them yet."
"I went in and let it be know that the production company had two choices. They could write me off at the end of the season and keep me quiet. Or, they could try to hold me to my current contract, and I'd go to the tabloids myself with the story. I didn't have enough money to buy out my contract outright, but I also had maneuvered out of a nondisclosure clause in the last negotiation. I had them by the balls, and I had saved my family."
"Shooting went on, and the more the producers tried to change my mind, the more eager I became to get out. The panic attacks would still come, and the nightmares got worse; I still get both, but not that often. As we wound down the season, everyone on the cast was so sad to see me go, but I was ecstatic. None of them knew what was going on, so I'm sure that I hurt some of their feelings for not taking their pain worse. So, I died, but I got a new lease on life."
"What?"
I jerked back then, remembering Justin after a moment's confusion. "I got to start over. I'm a totally different person now. Not really, but just being normal is such a thrill. I have enough time behind me to say that I miss some things, especially the other actors. But, there are plenty of things I don't miss. Reporters, for one. They wouldn't leave me alone for the last month of the show. Pretentious people in Hollywood, either. No, I'm happier now than I have been in a couple of years."
"Anyway, that's why I get so touchy over the subject. It's painful, because that desire to entertain is there still. I WANT to act, but I don't think that I feel I NEED to act anymore."
"You don't miss acting?" Justin made his presence known again.
"Yes, I guess I do. When it was known I was leaving `The Point,' lots of stuff rolled in. There were even some pretty good movie deals. My family actually pushed me pretty hard to do something, but I wouldn't talk about it. I'm really stubborn when I want to be."
"I know something about people like that," he said.
"Not people like me, but never mind that. I was talking about acting. You know, I still get offered parts, not so much now as before. But I don't want to be another rat in the pack. There are so many young stars today, and I don't see myself like them anymore. I'm defining myself on my own terms now. God, I'm starting to sound like one of those self-help tapes."
"No, Dean, you don't. I can't tell you how it makes me feel that you would share that with me."
I smiled, a true smile, for the first time in a little while. "I HAD to share it with you, Justin. Otherwise, I'd have beat myself up over the way I treated you guys.
Which reminds me, where are the rest of them?"
"Uh, I guess back at the hotel. I told them not to wait for me."
"Well, which hotel?"
"Why? You turning crazed fan on me?" he grinned.
"No, you jerk," I chuckled as I cuffed him on the shoulder. Damn, he was solid. "I want to go and apologize to them. I can only imagine what that whole scene at the diner must have looked like."
"Dean, it's almost 11. It can wait until morning."
"I seem to recall having said something about me and maybe something about being stubborn," I feigned a thoughtful pose that caused Justin to laugh.
"Okay, okay, we're at the Hilton."
"On 5th? That's pretty close to my apartment. So are you ready to go?"
"Jeez, you don't pull any punches, do you? Yeah, I guess so."
"I guess I should have added impatient."
"Whatever."
We were able to flag down a cab, which was no small feat in that part of town. We sat in back and talked the whole way across town. It was amazing how easy it was to open up to this guy; he seemed interested in everything I had to say. He asked me questions about my family, school, and what else I was doing, all the while skirting around the acting issue. I happy to talk about my parents and my sister, and I was pretty grateful for him keeping away from the topic of our earlier discussion. I think he realized that I'd have to go over the story again with the other guys, and he gained even more brownie points in my book by letting me relax. I asked him questions too, but I couldn't help returning to my earlier thoughts about his possible crush. Wishful thinking, eh? It was still one of the better conversations I had experienced in awhile.
Which meant, of course, that everything was about to fall apart.
"So, D, do you have a girlfriend now?"
I had been so wrapped up in my own thoughts that his question really threw me. I stumbled for an answer.
"Uh, well, no, I, uh, haven't found the, uh, right guy yet..." Shit, shit, shit! Had I really just said that?
Oddly enough, he didn't seem to notice. I thought I'd dodged the bullet and just decided to stay quiet for a bit. How long did it take this damn cab to get to 5th? Then, a strange look crossed Justin's face, a cross between a smile and a look of pure panic. He leaned close, very close, to me.
"Neither have I," he whispered.
Now, as an actor, I'd trained to express almost any emotional state at any time. I'd always found shock or surprise the hardest ones to imitate. I guess I had never had the right stimulus before. After a few minutes, Justin reached over and closed my mouth. With his touch on my chin, I began to smile. He smiled back at me. We must have looked like a couple of idiots, grinning at each other. Luckily, I don't think the cabby was that aware of anything, let alone his passengers.
Justin started to lean closer in, still grinning. I leaned too, knowing what was about to happen, and wanting it more than anything else. His face came into exquisite detail, and his lips were so soft as they came into clear focus in front of my nose.
I closed my eyes, and...
Slammed directly into the back of the seat as the cab screeched to a halt. "We're here," the driver barked.
Justin had apparently also been jolted back into reality. What the hell were we doing? In a cab? In public? Can we say "career suicide"? He was thoroughly and properly arranged, but his eyes spoke the disappointment and longing that mirrored my feelings. I leaned up to pay the fare, and opened the door.
"Thanks," Justin said, shyly smiling as he walked past me towards the front door.
You know, hope is an emotion, too. And it's a hell of a lot more fun to experience. All you need is the right stimulus.
Next time: Laughter! Tears! Facials?!?
Okay, so I made up my mind. I want to thank everyone who wrote me and asked for this continuation. Big props to Scott. I'm happy to have met you; if I find my cat dead, then I'll start to worry. :-)
I know this seemed a bit short, but I want to make clear right now that I DO NOT have the stamina nor the free time to write installments of JM's or DLS's length (or caliber). I'm aiming for a new chapter every week, beginning in August, as I'm about to head out on a three-week vacation.
NO SEX WARNING: I took a look at the outline tonight, and there is no sex per se until Part 4. I want to develop the characters a bit more.
Suggestions are always welcome at dean_archer@hotmail.com. Comments and criticisms are appreciated; flames will be printed and used for toilet paper.