Pretty Man Read online

  Pretty Man© 2018 Ryan Field

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  For more information contact:

  Riverdale Avenue Books

  5676 Riverdale Avenue

  Riverdale, NY 10471.

  www.riverdaleavebooks.com

  Design by www.formatting4U.com

  Cover by Scott Carpenter

  Digital ISBN: 978-1-62601-473-2

  Print ISBN: 978-1-62601-474-9

  First edition published by Ravenous Romance 2009

  Second Edition August 2018

  Introduction

  Anyone who grew up LGBT during the 20th Century saw little or no LGBT content in books, movies or television. If there was LGBT content, it was either a mockery or a highly emotional serious dramatization that left us in tears. There were no gay romances with happy endings. There were no gay characters living happy lives. Even though we craved stories like this, and we looked for them everywhere, the best we could do was fantasize about heteronormative romances with happy endings and dream about what they might be like if there were LGBT characters. And even though Pretty Man is a gay male romance, I’m including everyone that falls under the LGBT umbrella, including people who are asexual. The general LGBT content simply was not there.

  So when a romance publisher asked me to rework the Pretty Woman storyline into a gay romance with gay male characters in 2009, I took the project on because I’d always wanted to see something like that done. I didn’t know until much later that many other people wanted that, too. I would be remiss if I didn’t admit that a portion of Pretty Man is a parody of Pretty Woman. But it’s more than that. If you remove the erotica, the story line itself is the classic Cinderella trope. It’s been done many times, in many different ways, but never with two gay characters that actually meet and fall in love just like heteronormative characters meet and fall in love. There are certain differences that had to be taken into account with respect to the way two gay characters interact, but they weren’t dramatic differences either.

  And now new generation of LGBT people can read or see a story line with LGBT characters at least once in a while. The most important factor for me was a happy ending. But there’s still a long way to go, and my hope has always been that a book like Pretty Man would give LGBT readers something with the happy ending they’ve always craved.

  Ryan Field

  August 2018

  Chapter One

  When Roland Marcus decided to return to New York for the first time in more than a year, he had no idea his entire life would change in less than one week.

  He’d just turned 45: ancient in his eyes. Though his short, wavy hair was still dark brown and his waist size remained 32, his right shoulder ached after working out and his feet bothered him if he jogged more than five miles. When Roland looked in the mirror late at night, he noticed the right side of his face seemed to be aging faster than the left. There were a few faint laugh lines at the corner of his left eye, while the corner of his right remained smooth and tight. From a distance he could still pass for 30; but up close in broad daylight, you could tell he was closer to his true age.

  Roland wasn’t obsessed with his looks, forgoing the Botox injections and eye tucks most gay men his age underwent. “We’re going to fight getting old all the way,” they would say as they ran to their plastic surgeons. He knew one man who had mortgaged his home so his ass could look 10 years younger. Roland could have easily afforded the most expensive plastic surgeon in the world without a second thought; but thanks to all those years of jogging and dieting, his ass was still as round and firm as it had been when he was 25.

  On the night everything began to change, Roland walked down Bleecker Street in Manhattan’s West Village near Magnolia Bakery. It was a warm, humid Friday in early August, and he’d just arrived in town to attend a few fundraisers for his favorite charity, the Ashley Foundation for Men and Women with HIV/ AIDS.

  The Village was so crowded that night it looked like there was a street festival going on somewhere. Groups of college kids from New Jersey stippled the sidewalks; young girls wearing tube tops and low-rise jeans giggled and chirped about offensive prices as they passed trendy little boutiques; and young couples walking hand in hand searched for outdoor cafes in which to sit and talk. The locals, dressed mostly in black, weaved in and out of the crowd as they crossed from one side of the street to the other. Their heads were lowered and they turned their shoulders quickly, so they wouldn’t have to make physical contact with the tourists.

  A tall guy with salt and pepper hair walked two enormous Afghan hounds near a shop with an obnoxious zebra chair in the front window. The man’s snakeskin boots were outrageously long, and so pointy that the toes curled up. He wore tight, jeans with a wide leather belt, and a tight black shirt that floated an inch above his thin waist.

  Roland wore tan slacks, a white polo shirt and brown loafers. He walked slowly, his hands tucked so far into his pockets his Rolex was hidden. This was the first time he’d actually walked through his own neighborhood in years, and he felt like a tourist. Though he’d owned his brownstone on West 11th Street for almost 25 years, it hadn’t occurred to him how much things had changed while he was off building the family skincare business. Years ago, grim-faced artists with wild hair had carried frayed portfolios down the street, while rough-looking men with exaggerated mustaches and black leather chaps cruised for sex.

  Roland stopped in front of a used bookstore and tightened his fists. Across the street in the cupcake shop, he saw his ex-lover Kenneth Rhodes on line. Worse, Kenneth had already spotted Roland. There was no place to run. Kenneth smiled and waved his arms back and forth as the man he was with—Roland recognized him as Kenneth’s new lover—leaned forward to see who Kenneth waved to.

  Roland smiled and waved back. The men hadn’t seen each other since Roland left New York to live on his yacht off the coast of Florida. Kenneth motioned for Roland to cross the street. Roland lifted one arm and raised his index finger before ducking into the used bookstore. He took a deep breath and wrinkled his forehead at the distinct smell of rich, smooth chocolate. He looked to his right, beyond shelves and tables stacked with books, and saw a glass counter filled with delicate, handmade chocolates. Above the counter was a long, narrow sign: “Vous avez le chocolat sûr votre dent.” The background of the sign was off-white, and the words were written in dark brown, with thin, delicate wisps and curls. Roland laughed. He knew French well enough to roughly translate the sign: “You have chocolate on your tooth.”

  On any other day, Roland wouldn’t have been able to resist the aroma; but chocolate was the last thing on his mind. His heart raced and his mouth felt dry. He knew he’d have to see Kenneth at the charity events that week, but he hadn’t expected to run into him elsewhere. Kenneth now lived full time in Bucks County, Pennsylvania, where he owned and operated a trendy floral shop in a town called New Hope. He called the shop Apro-Posie. After their 23-year relationship ended (because Kenneth fell in love with a 25-year-old), Kenneth got the house in Bucks County and opened the flower shop. Roland had always been the primary breadwinner and could have kicked him out on the street. But he hadn’t.

  When Roland leaned to the right to look out the window for Kenneth, his elbow accidentally bumped into someone and a pile of old books fell to the floor. “Excuse me,” Roland said, “I’m so sorry.” He bent down to pick up the mess.
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br />   “Ah, well,” a man said, “I guess it’s not safe anywhere these days.” He placed his hands on his slim hips and shook his head, smiling. His voice was deep and strong, but friendly.

  Roland stood up and placed a pile of books neatly on the shelf. He pressed the corners together and lined them up perfectly. When he looked up, the good looking young guy, with sandy blond hair and pale blue eyes, was still smiling at him. “Sorry about that,” Roland said, shrugging his shoulders.

  “Don’t worry about it, man. The guys that usually bump into me are over 70 and have false teeth. You can bump into me anytime.” He wore tight jeans that made his crotch bulge. The jeans were torn and there was a large section of hairy thigh exposed up near his groin. His white cotton shirt was tight and his chest muscles popped like halved grapefruits.

  Roland raised one eyebrow and smiled. This new generation of gay men certainly was bold. “I’ll have to remember that,” He said. Roland inhaled again. The intoxicating smell of chocolate made him light-headed.

  “You do that, Baby.”

  Roland suddenly had a brilliant idea. “How would you like to make $500 in cash, for a few minutes of work?”

  “Ah, well,” the guy said, “I usually only make $200 an hour. What do I have to do? I’m not into any weird, kinky shit, man. And I only top.”

  Roland blinked. “You only top?”

  “Yeah, man,” he said. “I’m not into being a bottom, no matter how much the guy wants to pay. It’s just not my thing.” He stepped back and raised his hands; they were large and wide, like dinner plates.

  Roland laughed. “You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t want to pay you for that sort of thing; I don’t want sex from you. I just want you to stand across the street with me for a while and pretend to be my new boyfriend. My ex is over there with his new boyfriend, and I don’t want him to see me all alone on a Friday night.” Roland didn’t beg, and his voice wasn’t desperate.

  “Sure,” the man said, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not? Just let me tell my friend what I’m doing. She’s over there, at the back of the store.” He pointed toward an attractive young woman with long brown hair and large dark eyes standing under a black and white sign that read “Biographies.” From a distance, she could have doubled for Angelina Jolie.

  “I’ll wait here,” Roland said. He watched the man walk across the store, admiring his wide shoulders and muscular legs. Roland watched him say something to his friend. She looked back at Roland and frowned. He walked back to the front of the store.

  “Your friend looks upset,” Roland said.

  “Ah, don’t worry about Hillary,” he said, “She’s fine.” He looked back at her, smiled and waved.

  “Okay,” Roland said, “What’s your name?”

  He spoke fast, with determination. “Josh Holden.”

  “Okay, Josh,” he said, “My name is Roland Marcus. Now, all you have to do is walk across the street with me, let me introduce you as my new boyfriend, and then we get lost as fast as we can. I don’t want to stand there and talk all day. The faster we leave, the better.”

  “And I get 500 bucks for doing this?” Josh asked.

  “That’s right,” Roland said, “I live on West 11th, not far from here, and we’ll go back and I’ll get you the money.”

  “Cool.”

  When they crossed toward Magnolia, Roland found Kenneth and his new partner near the entrance, still in line. Kenneth lifted his arms in the air. “Well!” he exclaimed. “I thought you were trying to avoid me, Roland.” He stepped out of line and gave Roland a hug and kiss on the cheek. Kenneth was extremely tall; when he leaned forward and pressed his knees together he appeared about to curtsy.

  Roland stood back and shoved his hands into his pockets. “I had to get Josh. He was in the bookstore.” He noticed that Kenneth had gained a few pounds around the middle, and wore loose, baggy jeans too young for him. Nothing else had changed. His hair was still puffy, stiff, and dyed jet black. His eyebrows were still tweezed, and he still wore a hint of eyeliner. Kenneth had never been able to lose the style of the l980s.

  “You already know Marty,” Kenneth said. His voice went high and his gestures were overly animated. He didn’t seem to be ashamed in the least that Marty was the reason they had ended their long-term relationship.

  “Yes,” Roland said, “We’ve met.” He smiled and nodded toward Marty. How could I forget Marty? he fumed. He’d slept with Kenneth for a year while we were still a couple.

  Roland introduced Josh to everyone but didn’t go into details. Kenneth looked at Josh and raised one eyebrow; Josh flashed a quick, nasty smile and leaned into Roland’s side. And after they’d all been introduced, Roland said, “Well, it was nice to see you. We have to run now.”

  Kenneth pressed his palm to his throat. “I’m sure we’ll see each other over the next week at the Ashley Foundation events.” Though he didn’t actively participate in anything for the foundation, Kenneth still sent in his annual $25 membership fee so he could attend all the events. Kenneth hated to miss social events—the charity aspect was always a second thought. “Will we be seeing more of Josh this week, too?” he asked.

  Roland froze.

  Josh smiled. “Oh, you’ll be seeing more of us both, I’m sure.” He reached back and slapped Roland on the ass so hard Roland’s entire body jerked forward. “That is, if Roland can still walk tomorrow after I get done with him tonight.”

  Roland took a deep breath and smiled. He wasn’t fond of public displays of affection. “Ah, well, good seeing you.” Then he reached back and yanked Josh’s hand off his ass. “Down, Boy.”

  As they walked away, Josh reached down again and squeezed a handful of Roland’s ass. The entire line of people, including Kenneth, saw him do this.

  When they rounded the corner and started walking toward Roland’s house, Josh shook his head. “What a fucking bitch!”

  “Kenneth isn’t that bad,” Roland said. “He has his good points.” People had been telling him Kenneth was no good for years, and he was always the first one to defend him.

  Even though he knew their relationship wasn’t perfect, he’d been devastated when Kenneth had dumped him for a younger man. Yet, he continued to defend him.

  “It’s none of my business,” Josh said, “But I didn’t expect him to be like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “Ah well, so flamboyant and in-your-face,” Josh said. “You seem like such a nice guy.”

  Roland laughed. “I’m not that nice, trust me.”

  “Did you see his face when I grabbed your ass?” Josh asked. “I thought he was going to drop dead right there on the street.”

  Roland smiled. “That reminds me. You can take you hand off my ass now; they can’t see us anymore.” He didn’t even like holding hands in public but found Josh’s wide hand on his ass strangely exciting. Roland felt a tug in his groin.

  Josh removed his hand. “Sorry, man.”

  Roland stopped a few minutes later in front of a large brownstone, where a flight of wide steps led to a pair of highly polished double doors with brass hardware. To the left of the stairs, a black iron fence led down to a small courtyard with a well-landscaped container garden. Roland reached down to open the gate. “Hope you don’t mind going in through the kitchen. We’re not very formal around here.”

  Josh stared up at the large house, his mouth agape. “Man,” he said, “this place is something else. Hillary and I share a studio walk-up on Seventh Avenue South, above a little grocery store. But this is amazing.”

  Roland smiled and extended his right arm. “After you.”

  The kitchen was larger than Josh and Hillary’s entire studio. The cabinets were African walnut, the floors beige marble, and the countertops an unusual type of brown granite with large, thick veins. The look was complemented by stainless steel appliances and a coffee machine that looked unnecessarily complicated. The only imperfect thing in the room was an old aluminum coffee pot that looked like something
found at a tag sale. An older man, wearing black slacks and a white dress shirt, stood in front of the sink stacking the dishwasher.

  “I’m home, Russell,” Roland said. He spoke louder than usual so the old man would hear him.

  “Ah, I see,” Russell said. But when he turned toward them and saw Josh standing next to Roland, one eyebrow went up. The old man pressed his lips together tightly.

  “This is my friend, Josh,” Roland said, “and this is Russell. He’s been working for my family since I was in high school. He takes care of the house while I’m away.”

  Russell stepped into the middle of the kitchen and looked Josh up and down. His eyebrow was still raised, and he bit his bottom lip.

  “Hey, man,” Josh said to Russell. His hands were in his back pockets and he rocked back and forth on his heels.

  Russell didn’t reply. He looked at Roland and shook his head. Roland smiled. “We’ll be upstairs.” He turned to Josh. “Follow me.”

  “Catch you later, man,” Josh said to Russell.

  He followed Roland across the room and into a small hallway with a narrow wooden staircase. They ascended four flights of stairs, passing rooms with crystal sconces, white marble floors and silver gilt furniture. When they finally reached his fourth floor suite, Josh said, “I don’t think your guy Russell likes me very much.”

  “Russell is very protective,” Roland explained. “He got me through the rough times when Kenneth left me. Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll get your money.” He crossed through a pair of tall double doors.

  Josh sat very carefully on a white settee next to a white marble fireplace. The polished, dark floors were adorned with thick white carpets in various sizes, and white silk draperies fell in neatly arranged puddles. The furniture was a combination of modern design and antiques, with mirrored tables that had square, blunt angles mixed with French antiques trimmed in gold. Josh spread his legs wide and folded his hands between them.