All About Yves Read online

  Molly grabbed his arm and pulled him to the door. She knew Marco wouldn't like this, but she didn't care. When she opened the door she smiled and said, “You're the sweetest young man I've met in a long time. I think it would be a shame if Marco didn't meet you. After all, you are his most devoted fan. By the way, what's your name?"

  "Yves Marisano,” he said.

  "C'mon, Yves,” she said, and yanked him into the building.

  When they entered the back end of the TV studio, Molly watched Yves look around. He stared at the guys in the crew moving props around from the set; he gazed up at the lights and down at all the cords and wires connected to the cameras. Without even realizing it, he crossed to a long rack of clothing and touched a silk jacket with the tips of his fingers. He stared at the jacket with his mouth half open and ran his fingertips down the entire length of the sleeve. He looked as if he'd just touched something both forbidden and magical at the same time.

  Margo smiled. “It looks a lot different behind the scenes than it does on TV,” she said.

  "It's all so exciting,” Yves said, turning back in Molly's direction. His voice rose with an animated lilt and his eyes glistened beneath the lights. “I've never been backstage in a TV studio where so many models have just done a show. I've never been this close to anything so important. You can actually feel and smell the energy."

  Molly smiled and turned toward a door marked with Marco's name. The walls were thin and she could hear Marco laughing about something with Frazier. Yves stepped up to her side and stared at the door. There was a star above Marco's name in bright gold. Yves pulled the hood off his head and reached up to touch the star with two fingers. He stared at it with his mouth open, then smiled.

  "Wait here,” Molly said, noticing Yves's entire face for the first time. She'd hadn't actually seen him without the hood. His hair was thick and dark and wavy, and his clean skin was even younger and smoother than she'd thought it was. “I'll go inside and tell Marco you're here. And don't be shy and run away or anything. This might take a minute."

  Yves nodded.

  Molly gave him a quick smile, then took a deep breath and went into Marco's dressing room.

  "Hello, everyone,” Molly said, removing her raincoat and hanging it on a hook near the door.

  They didn't reply and Molly wasn't offended. They all knew each other so well there wasn't a need for formalities. Besides, she didn't want to push her luck by complaining about anything. She had a strange young man waiting outside the door and she wasn't sure how Marco was going to respond to this. Though she loved Marco dearly, she knew he wasn't always the warm-hearted hero the press made him out to be.

  Marco was sitting in front of the mirror removing his TV makeup. He was wearing a robe and his face was covered in cold cream. His personal assistant, Jane Francis, was helping him get ready to leave the studio. Jane Francis—no one ever just called her Jane—was hanging up the clothes he'd been wearing on the show. She was in her mid-fifties, she had tight pinched lips, and spoke with a harsh Brooklyn accent. Her voice was deep and raspy from too much smoking and she wasn't fond of small children. She'd been working for Marco since he'd been a teenager, and she thought nothing of telling Marco whatever came to the top of her head.

  Frazier and Jasper were sitting in chairs beside the dressing table, listening to Marco complain about doing a TV reality show. Marco was groaning about how many magazine covers he'd been on, how many top fashion shows he'd done all over the globe, and how many magazines had been sold just because of his photo spreads. He'd been the top male model in the world for fifteen years, and he felt it was beneath him to do a reality show on television. This show, as far as Marco was concerned, was one step higher than posing nude on the Internet.

  "But the show is number one in its time slot, and the ratings are going through the roof,” Frazier said. “This is the best advertising for you, and for the new line, we could ever have."

  Marco rubbed more cold cream on his face and frowned. “It's just so mundane,” he said. “I never thought my career would be reduced to this.” His arms went up in an overly dramatic gesture and he looked around the dressing room. “I'm an international model, not a reality television host."

  "But they love you,” Jasper said.

  "They love trash,” Marco said, wiping cream from his forehead.

  Molly stared down at her lap. Marco was getting older, and even though he was still on top, they all knew it wasn't going to last for long. The fashion industry was based on youth, beauty, and unrealistic body images. There wasn't room for a middle-aged man strutting down the runway in clothes too young for him. The fact that his life partner was one of the most successful fashion designers in the world made it even worse. If Marco didn't know when it was time to step down, they would start printing vicious comments about him because he was Frazier's partner.

  Jane Francis handed Marco a full box of Kleenex and said, “Here you go, your royal highness.” Her tone was sarcastic, and she gave him one of her sadistic grins.

  Marco took it from her and said, “Thank you, you mean old bitch.” This kind of banter wasn't unusual and Marco meant no harm. The two of them usually spoke this way to each other and it meant nothing. Jane Francis would have done anything for Marco, and he would have done anything for her.

  While Jane Francis moved toward another clothing rack to get Marco's street clothes ready, Jasper smiled and said. “You're going to be glad you did this TV show. It's the best thing you could have done.” He looked in Molly's direction and nodded so she'd offer support. When Marco went into one of these moods, it could ruin an entire evening.

  Marco ran his fingers through his thick sandy blond hair and rolled his eyes. “Blah, blah, blah,” he said.

  Molly stood up and put her hands on her hips. “Wait a minute,” she said. “You're the most famous face in the world, you have more money than you know what to do with, and you've got an ass that makes even straight guys go wild. Stop complaining and deal with it.” She wasn't mad and she wasn't saying it to be mean. Every now and then Marco needed a good dose of reality, and Molly was usually the only person willing to stand up to him and be honest. Frazier and Jane Francis tended to spoil him, and Jasper hated overstepping his bounds. But as his best friend, Molly felt it was her duty to speak the truth—even if Marco didn't like hearing it.

  Marco smiled at her in the mirror. “Do you really think my ass is that great? Do straight guys really go wild over it?"

  Molly laughed. She knew Marco loved to be complimented on his great ass. He'd missed the point of her rant, but at least he was smiling now. “Yes, I do,” she said, hoping this would make things easier when she announced Yves was standing outside the door waiting to meet Marco. “The whole world goes to bed at night dreaming about your ass."

  "You're the best,” Marco said. “I don't know what I'd do without a best friend like you.” Then he pointed at his life partner, Frazier. “It's getting harder and harder to get a compliment out of this one these days. He hasn't said anything nice about my ass in months.” Marco was still smiling, and he wasn't serious. At times he could be vain and self-absorbed, but most of the time he knew how to laugh at himself.

  "You know I love your ass,” Frazier said.

  Molly watched Frazier reach down and try to grab a handful of Marco's ass. They were the most devoted couple, gay or straight, Molly had ever known. She and Jasper had a wonderful marriage, but there was something about Frazier and Marco that was unusually special. They were inseparable, and never seemed to get tired of each other. Molly loved Jasper and her marriage was the most important thing in her life, but when Jasper went away on business trips she couldn't honestly admit to herself she wasn't happy to have a little time to herself. She suspected Jasper felt the same way. But Marco and Frazier weren't like that. They went everywhere together and did everything together.

  "Stop that,” Marco said, slapping Frazier's hand. “There are other people in the room, you fool.” He was smilin
g, loving the attention. “And no matter how many times you grab my ass, I'm still not going to be thrilled about doing reality television. It's just so declasse."

  Molly knew it was time to announce Yves was waiting outside the door, and she knew she had to be sneaky about it. “But just think about all the fans who love you, Marco. They stand in the streets waiting to get a glimpse of you. They wait in the wind and the rain just to see you walk by. They follow you on Internet social networks as if you were royalty. Now they can see you on TV every week."

  Marco turned and looked directly into Molly's eyes. “Stalkers and loons,” he said. “Most of those people are obsessed with stardom and fame and they'll do anything to get close to any celebrity. They have no manners, no common sense, and they don't care about taking advantage of someone's privacy or stealing their personal space.” He was ranting now. If Yves was still outside the door, he had to hear everything Marco was saying.

  Frazier applauded Marco, agreeing with him as usual. Frazier had always hated the way Marco's life had been controlled by the press and by screaming fans.

  "Ah well,” Molly said, with a softer voice. “They aren't all like that.” She looked down at the floor and kicked the carpet with the tip of her boot. “I'm sure some are genuine fans who would just love to meet you without asking for anything in return."

  "Ha,” Marco said. “I'd love to meet one."

  "Then wait right here,” Molly said. “There's one right outside the door."

  Marco dropped the box of Kleenex and everyone else in the room just stared at Molly.

  "What are you talking about?” Marco asked. He put his hands on his hips and turned all the way around in his chair.

  Molly's eyes grew large, she laced her fingers together, and she tilted her head to the side. “You know that nice quiet young guy who is always lurking around the back door, waiting to see you come and go,” Molly said. “He's been here for weeks. Since the show started."

  "The goofy-looking guy, with the hood on his head and big feet?” Marco asked. He pointed to Jane Francis and said, “You know what to do."

  Jane Francis adjusted her girdle and braced for battle. She smiled for the first time that night and walked toward the door. She had knack for getting rid of unwanted autograph hounds and pushy fans who were always chasing Marco, and she wasn't shy about doing it.

  "That's the guy,” Molly said. But she didn't think he was goofy looking at all. Molly thought he was extremely handsome, with good, decent eyes. “He's right outside the door. He's been waiting out in the rain all night just to see you walk by. He's watched every show you've taped, he has collections of every magazine you've ever done, and he's your biggest fan."

  Then Molly grabbed Jane Francis before she reached the door. “You can't just throw him out in the street. Marco, he's nice young man and he only wants to meet you. It's his dream. You should see the way his eyes light up with adoration when your name is mentioned. He's not just any ordinary fan. There's something different about this guy. I'm not sure what it is, but he's not like everyone else.” Molly added the last part because she knew Marco's ego well.

  And it worked. Marco took a deep breath and sighed. “Let him in. What harm could it do? I'll trust your judgment. After all, you are my best friend and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

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  Chapter Three

  Molly was wearing her blond hair in a chic little chignon that night. When Marco heard she'd invited a complete stranger backstage to his dressing room, he wanted to grab her tight little bun and shake her head back and forth a couple of times. Molly had done things like this before, always with wide innocent eyes and a soft tender voice. She made it sound as if she was doing good deeds for nice people. But Marco knew her too well. Molly could be a conniving, catty woman. Not in a harmful way; just for sport. It was the main reason why she was a consummate fag hag and had no female friends of her own. Other women wouldn't put up with her tricks and games.

  Marco knew she was playing games. She'd invited this creepy character in the hooded sweatshirt back to his dressing room because she knew it would piss him off.

  Only Marco was not going to let her know it bothered him. If he had thrown a tantrum and refused to see the little creep, it would have given Molly too much satisfaction and Marco would have gone home feeling guilty for the rest of the night.

  So when Molly crossed to the dressing room door and escorted the young man inside, Marco turned all the way around and smiled as if he were being shot for a new photo spread. If this guy wanted to see Marco Denny, the most important model in the world, he'd give him a grand show he'd never forget.

  The young man's sweatshirt was still soaked and his black boots were so worn the soles were beginning to separate from the toes. He was about ten pounds thinner than he should have been and his thick dark hair fell to the nape of his neck in wavy, hapless chunks. Marco continued to smile, wondering how on Earth anyone would dare to step out in the street with such horrid jeans.

  "I wasn't sure if you still wanted me to come inside,” the guy said, speaking to Molly but staring down at the floor.

  "Of course I still want you to come in,” Molly said. She wasn't shouting, but her voice was louder and more animated than usual. She reached for the guy's elbow and pushed him to the dressing table. “Marco, this is Yves Marisano,” she said. “He's your most devoted fan."

  Marco wanted to gag. But he lifted his chin and said, “It's such a pleasure to meet you, Yves. Molly has told me so much about you.” His voice rose. He spoke with his best Upper East Side fake accent, pronouncing the word pleasure, plea-shah.

  When Marco extended his right hand and Jane Francis noticed his insincerity, she rolled her eyes and said, “Give me a break."

  "This is my husband, Jasper,” Molly said. “And this is Marco's partner, Frazier North."

  While Yves was shaking their hands and complimenting them, Marco lifted his arm and gestured toward Jane Francis. “This is my dear, dear friend and associate, Miss Jane Francis.” His phony accent became even thicker: dear sounded like dee-ah.

  Jane Francis put her hands on her hips and said, “Ah, give me a break, will ya?"

  Marco knew Jane Francis was on to him. She knew he was pretending and she knew he was only mocking the young man.

  "What do you mean, give you a break?” Jasper asked.

  "When Marco starts sounding like Queen Elizabeth,” Jane Francis said, “he thinks he's holding court and we're all his subjects. Next thing you know he'll start using creepy words that nobody else uses, like ‘nary’ and ‘preamble'.” She pointed her thumb in Marco's direction in a crude way, rocking her fist back and forth.

  "Don't you have something important to do in the bathroom, Jane Francis?” Marco said, pronouncing bathroom as bahth-rum."

  Jane Francis pressed her palm to her bosom, lowered her eyebrows, and curtsied. “Not really, your highness, but I'll be more than happy to find something to do in there until you come back to earth. Would you like me to polish your throne while I'm in there?” Then she crossed to the back of the room and slammed the bathroom door.

  When she was gone, Marco gestured to a small chair near his dressing table and said, “Please have a seat, Mr. Marchesi."

  "Marisano,” Molly said, giving Marco a nasty look.

  Yves sat down on the edge of the seat and leaned forward. At a second glance, Marco noticed he wasn't a bad-looking young man at all, just unkempt and poorly groomed. Marco watched him closely. He had a thin face with strong bone structure. He spread his long legs wide and laced his fingers together with slow precise movements. His face remained blank and he seemed to have trouble knowing what to do with his hands. But at least he wasn't staring at the floor anymore.

  There was an awkward moment of silence. None of them knew what to say, and Yves didn't seem to be the best conversationalist. So Marco and Molly started talking at the same time, asking simple questions to make Yves feel more relaxed.
Marco asked if he wanted anything to drink, and Molly asked how many times he'd seen Marco's TV show.

  "No, thank you,” Yves said to Marco. Then he smiled at Molly and said, “I've seen every single show. I've also read every magazine that Marco's ever been in and I've seen every photo spread he's ever done. The TV show, for me, is like something extra. I've always been more interested in Mr. Denny's long-running career as a male model."

  "You certainly are a dedicated fan,” Jasper said, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. “What do you do, if you don't mind my asking?"

  Yves shrugged. “Right now I work in a couple of restaurants as a waiter. And I use the computer at the library. I've Googled everything Mr. Denny has ever done. I spend all day researching his work and reading about him. I haven't missed one single taping of this TV show.” His voice was low and humble and honest. He didn't seem to have a pretentious cell in his frail body.

  Marco stared at him with a half smile. Suddenly, Marco felt closer and more comfortable with Yves than with anyone else in the room. Marco knew he had millions of fans, and he was thankful for them all. But he'd always taken them for granted, expecting them to just be there like the sun, the wind, and the rain. Until that moment, when Yves mentioned such dedication and devotion, he never fully understood the impact he had on other people.

  "Do you like the new TV reality show Marco is doing?” Jasper asked. He was still upset about the fact that Marco didn't like doing the show. He thought it was the best deal he'd ever made for the company and for Marco.

  Without hesitating a second, Yves said, “I love everything Mr. Denny does. He's a star."

  "How nice,” Marco said, smiling so wide his dimples indented more than usual. “You're such a nice boy, and so smart, too."

  "What if Marco gained a hundred pounds and became the Slim Diet spokesperson and started doing TV commercials about losing weight?” Molly asked. “Would you love him fat?"