Page 62 of In Frame
“Sam took pictures of me,” Jason said, “picking these up.”
“Colby, stay right there,” Sam said. “Hold that first one up again.” Through the camera lens, Colby’s long fingers mirrored the lines of the frame: elegant, mobile, permanently excited about ship designs and amateur watercolors and the stories of the world. The waves of Colby’s hair stood up and out against the kitchen window, becoming a halo, fuzzy with light.
He rethought his own words. Giving orders. To Colby Kent.
Who had obligingly lifted art, cradling the watercolor with delight. “Like this?”
“Yes,” Sam said, “yes, like that—look down—and a little bit toward me, but pretend I’m not here.”
Colby laughed—Sam caught that too, Colby unguarded and amused—and gazed down at history and connections across time and space, holding the frame with exquisite grace. He was luminous on camera, all cheekbones and pointed chin and wayward hair and enormous eyes, different from Jason but equally tempting as a subject. Colby knew how to pose, to find angles and light, and wore emotion in the way that’d won him so many awards: expressive and natural and easy to fall into.
Sam took a few just to be sure, though he had a favorite: Colby in the wake of laughter, smiling. Brown paper and strawberry tarts added texture and color to the story, in the foreground.
He put down the camera. “Um. Sorry about the sort of photo shoot directions, there.”
“Oh, no, that was thoroughly helpful, and you’re the professional! May I see?”
Sam swiped back to his favorite, held it out.
“You look so happy.” Jason put an arm back around Colby. “Happy about art, and history.”
“And about you, and you having done this for us, for this house.” Colby looked over at Sam. “You’re so very talented. Such a small moment, but you’ve got so much in here, the emotion and the gift and the glimpse of more, a whole scene, with the tarts and the unwrapping, and I want to know more. That is, obviously I do know more, I’m in it, but if I were looking at this in an exhibition or a display book, without being me, as it were.”
Sam’s brain tripped over itself. Colby Kent, complimenting him. With evident sincerity. Eyes all blue and generous and full of conviction, giving away words likeexhibitionandtalentedas if Sam ought to be hearing them every day. “Um. Thank you? I. Um. You make it easy. Want to see Jason?”
“Entirely yes!”
He showed Colby his favorite of that set also. Colby actually did a little fingertips-to-mouth gesture, soft and wide-eyed. “Oh, that’s…oh, look at that…”
“You can have copies of any that you want,” Sam said, because Colby had gone worryingly speechless, drinking in Jason on the camera’s screen, Jason with a small smile and one big hand holding art, a man in love. The real-life Jason was blushing, but in an embarrassedly proud way: a knight who’d pleased his liege lord. “I like that one too.”
“Oh, my…” Colby put out a hand as if wanting to touch the camera, then took it back, penitently. “I’d like both of ours. Next to each other on display, perhaps.”
“So,” Jason said. “Logistics.” His tone said more: Colby was happy, and therefore this was happening, so that Colby would continue to be happy. Colby momentarily ducked out from under his arm to open the refrigerator; Jason went on, “And also lunch. But plans, first. The rest of the bookshelves for this room should be showing up today, so that’s mostly what we were planning to do, but I don’t know how interesting that is for you. And I think we said we didn’t expect you to have to work today.”
Sam took in the concept of being paid tonotwork, as such, for a day. Or tried to. No. Couldn’t do it. “It is interesting, though, I think? The two of you moving in, making this place your home. I don’t mind helping, or grabbing some shots of that for you. You might want them, later.”
Colby resurfaced from the refrigerator with at least four different types of cheese. “I would, if you wouldn’t mind!”
“I offered,” Sam pointed out, but gently. He was startingto think that Colby at home was different from any version ever seen in public: talkative not just as a performance for press and publicity about projects, but overflowingly enthusiastic about everything from cheese to photographs, and also both more vulnerable and stronger than anyone knew. Colby hadn’t hid a need to lean on Jason after what sounded like a stressful phone call, and worried about not doing enough for people, and listened to directions promptly; Colby had also in five minutes shared more personal information than most interviewers ever got, having apparently decided that if Leo and Jason both approved, Sam must be worth trusting.
Kind of dizzying, that. Being trusted by Colby Kent. Sitting on Colby’s bar stool, eating Colby’s food.
He hoped he was worthy of that. He wanted to be.
“Anyway,” he added, “that’s more or less what we talked about, as far as me getting to document this week with you? Domestic life, daily life…at home, and at your premiere…just let me know when and where to show up, or if there’s something you don’t want me there for. Anything you want.”
“Leo will be here the day after tomorrow.” Colby looked around for bread; Jason had already gotten it out. “So of course you’ll want to spend some time together, so we won’t expect you to do much that day, which is fine, because that afternoon we have a meeting with Jill and Andy over at the Raven Studios production offices, about the possible next project, and I think we’re supposed to be keeping those discussions confidential so the announcement’s a surprise—not that I’d mind having you there, but it might be best to not bring a person with a camera into the room. So you and Leo can enjoy yourselves.” His voice sounded innocent, but his eyes danced, under lifted eyebrows.
Colby was evidently a lot less precious and a lot more capable of innuendo than anyone would ever believe. “I’ll tell him you said we should. He’ll be thrilled.”
Colby’s eyes lit up even more. “Feel free to tell him the offer about gay sex advice still stands, not that you’ll need it, but please make a note of his expression when you say that. For me.”
“And the world thinks you’re fluffy and harmless.” Sam saluted him with a strawberry tart. “Well played.” He also had the impression that Colby rather enjoyed having someone not defaulting to either overly protective or overly deferential upon first meeting. “So tomorrow I’ll come along while you go furniture shopping, like your email said, and today we’ll set up some bookshelves? Sounds good.”
Jason said, “Colby said out loud, during one of the big group interviews for the London press, that he’d be happy to sit on my lap if there weren’t enough chairs. Everyone thought he was just being polite and sweet and, y’know, comfortable with me.” He was eating one of the caramelized onion bites, and leaned over to feed one to Colby.
“All of that was true.” Colby ate the bite, and flipped an absolutely mouthwatering grilled cheese sandwich over, at the stove. “It’s just that another truth happened to involve the position we’d been in two hours earlier, in bed.”
