Page 14 of The Devil's Detail
I think about my next statement before sharing it. “To be honest, I was enjoying myself too much. I could have gone on longer. I wanted more. Handing myself over to them, letting someone else control your every move. Be in charge of your pleasure. A person who knows what to do and how to do it. So fucking staggering. Astoundingly breathtaking, in fact. I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that.”
I’ve rambled on too long, she’s going to have a heart attack from the details I’ve shared. But then she totally surprises me. She really is very astute.
“You know, Jackson, throughout the whole of your little tale, I’ve been identifying the person you were with as she/her. Yet you’ve identified them as they/them. My question is, is that how they asked to be identified?” Her eyes are trained on my face and body, watching for my reaction. “Or is it because they weren’t a she/her but a he/him and you just have not wanted to say?”
She sits back in her chair, and it’s then that I see the tears falling from her eyes. My heart rate picks up. I hate her being upset. I certainly have that in common with her husbands Marcus Russell and Xander Barclay.
“What’s the matter, Kitten?” I call her by her family nickname as I take her hand in mine. “Why are you upset?”
“I’m upset that you didn’t feel you could say if you had been with a man. I love you, Jackson. I don’t care who you are with, have sex with, don’t have sex with, and love. I love you, brother. And if you love them or want them or whatever it is that’s happened, I will love them. As long as they are loving you.”
I wipe the tears from her eyes and close mine. I didn’t mean to upset her, I just didn’t know if I wanted to divulge everything to the whole of the family at this point in time. And I didn’t mean to play around with pronouns. I feel bad. Like I’ve used a serious issue for my own gain. Oh God, I need to rectify this, and quickly.
“I was with a man. And he didn’t identify as they/them. I just used that to avoid saying it. It was never my intention to offend or upset you. And I was going to tell you, I just didn’t know how, or if there would even be anything to say.”
She starts to cry and I wrap my arms around her. Trying not to crush the baby between us.
“Why didn’t you say? Do you think I’m bothered if you’re gay? Or bi or anything? I’m not, Jackson. I just want you to be loved and be happy. End of story for all of us.” Her eyes shine into mine.
“I know. It’s just… I’ve never been in this position before. I left the club on a total high. I’ve had sex with men in the past—all very casual, and not normally my preference—but I’ve never had sex like that. Because that night, what he did… Well, it blew my mind. And that takes a bit of doing,” I state with awe and confusion. It’s a bizarre mix.
We sit for a while in comfortable silence and then she asks, “And you have no idea who he is? No distinguishing marks, voice, anything?”
“No. And believe me, I have been on high alert. It’s not as if I can say to you, yeah he sounded like this person or that person. He didn't. He just sounded like himself. Seriously posh, and seriously British. All very stiff upper lip.”
“A Brit. Wow. We’re not known for our caring side. Or being overly emotional.” I can see her mind working.
“I have to say, though, the cool exterior voice, and the things he did, didn’t really match. But what is it they say, the more educated the man, the more kink? It was not only his lip that was stiff, and upper.” I chuckle at my joke.
“Ewww, no. Stop. That is far enough.” She tries to laugh. She knows I’m deflecting. But she allows it. “I’m glad you told me even though it’s not a happy ending for you.” She half rolls her eyes. Her tears have stopped, but I can see she’s still a little upset.
God this is a mess. But I feel utterly at ease with her knowing. I knew she’d be magnificent about it all. She’s loving and kind, and accepting of every part of us all in all our glorious fucking mayhem. She has loved us all through some very messy spots in life, and continues to do so. I feel lighter having bared that part of my soul to her. So when the calls start again from London, I’m content to go knowing that she knows everything, and loves me even more.
11
Carter
“They canall go fuck themselves. I ain’t going nowhere.” I’ve been steadily drinking all morning. But with every sip, instead of sweet oblivion claiming me, I seem to get more sober, more mistrustful, and more scared.
I can’t go out, I know I’ll be followed. Gary will turn up. And even though Jackson said he’d send someone, I’ve never seen them. The only good thing is I haven’t spotted the unknown stalker either. Maybe he’s given up, I’m that boring.
Kasey Becker, my long time friend and fellow Hollywood leading man, has turned up, and to be honest, I’ve never been so relieved to see a friendly face. Or at least one I can trust. All around me are backstabbers, and no matter what Jackson says about the potential fallout, these assholes have got to go. I don’t give a flying fuck how much it will cost me. They are history.
When Kasey finally comes into my hotel suite, I think I see one of the security staff lurking by the door. They’ve probably been chewing his ear off.
“Carter, are you going out today? The film crew is downstairs and they need a little retake,” Kasey says, as if he’s part of my crew. He’s always into everything, even when it doesn’t affect him at all.
“Are you coming with me, honeybee?” My drinking brings out my flamboyant side, and I’m happy to hand it all over to Carter Fucking Maywood, Hollywood’s leading man. Let them deal with him. I’m hiding somewhere inside this body.
“No, I’ve got to go to my PR office. I’ll send my security guy back to you once he’s dropped me off, though.”
I stare at him. “Is that what it’s come to? Me having to use your security?” I stand, throwing a scarf over my shoulder. “Get Freddie on the phone, now. Someone, anyone, fuckin’ do what you’re asked.” I’m shouting into the void. Nobody is around. They’ve all scattered into other areas of the hotel suite. Fuckin’ cowards. “Who’re you calling?” I demand when I hear Kasey talking rapidly to someone.
“Jackson. He—” he starts to tell me, but I shout louder.
“Jackson Fuckin’ Greystone? Don’t bother. He don’t want me. I’ve begged the man.”
Okay, technically, I haven’t. Yet. But I might.
