September 25, 2008

A Perfect Moment
by Kiernan Kelly
A Honeymoon Ficlet

The rumble of a thousand tigers purred under his seat as the plane finally began its taxi down the runway. The storm had temporarily closed the airport, grounding flights and raising tempers for over twenty hours. Nineteenth in line for take-off, it'd been a long wait in the crowded belly of the 747, after an even longer one in the airport terminal, full of shrieking babies, cranky children, and irritable parents.

There had been a mad rush toward the gate when the flight attendant's voice crackled over the loudspeaker calling for boarding, strollers and carry-on luggage jockeying for position, boarding passes waved like flags at a parade.

He and Cam hung back, letting everyone else pile on ahead of them, even though the flight attendant called for first class boarding. A single look, exchanged silently between them, was all it took to decide. It frightened Jake sometimes, when he thought of how close he and Cam had grown, how they could practically read each other's thoughts. He knew couples sometimes shared that mysterious Vulcan mind-meld, making them appear to be of a single consciousness, and worried about losing the privacy of his thoughts. How could a man have secrets when his partner could tell at a glance if he was hiding something?

Not that Jake would ever purposely try to hide anything from Cam. It just made pulling off surprises extraordinarily difficult.

Cam's cell phone had chosen that moment to ring. "Bernie, I told you no phone calls. I'm on my honeymoon, for Christ's sake." He touched the bridge of his dark sunglasses with one finger, sliding them down to peek at Jake over the frames. Cam's eyes, famous for their startlingly green color, rolled with mock derision. "I don't care how great the script is - let them get Cruise or Pitt. Tell them I'm too busy. Tell them I'm unreachable, in the wilds of the Amazon. Tell them I'm fucking dead, for all I care. I'm not talking business now. Bye, Bernie." He flipped the phone closed, sighing. "Sorry, hon. I told him not to call me for two weeks."

"You'd think with the money you earn, you'd get a decent phone…one with Caller ID and voicemail, for example," Jake teased, and laughed as Cam's cheeks pinked and he made a show of silencing his cell phone.

The interruption of the phone call, even the wait in the airport should have been anticipated. Nothing had gone right for them from the very beginning. Their entire courtship had been two years of comparing calendars, of juggling dates to fit in with their busy schedules, of last minute cancellations and apologies, and impromptu rendezvous.

In fact, Cam had tried to break it off more than once, telling Jake it would never work between them. Jake's job as a field reporter for one of the largest papers in the nation took him all over the world at a moment's notice; Cam's career as one of box office's biggest, most recognizable stars made meeting in public a nightmare. It sometimes seemed their relationship was one long string of duck-and-covers.

It's what prompted Jake to propose in the first place. Maybe if they married, shared an address, somewhere they could actually call home, they'd have more time together.

He sank back into soft leather of his seat, watching the runway roll by through the small window, his mind drifting back to that night in a hotel room in Denver, where they'd managed to catch up to each other.

"Marry me," Jake whispered. He rolled over, looking into Cam's sleepy, sated eyes. Their skin was slick with sweat; the air thick with the smell of sex. The confused look on Cam's face almost made him giggle. "Marry me."

"What? I'm sorry…the altitude must be fucking with my ears. I could swear you just asked me to marry you."

"I did. Marry me."

"Jake, stop fooling around. I'm hungry. How about we order room service, and then catch a few hours sleep? I have an early call in the morning."

He'd caught Cam's chin in his fingers, holding him, refusing to let him look away. The offer may have been unplanned, but once the words were past his lips, he knew it was what he wanted. "Marry. Me."

Jake would never forget the startled look in Cam's eyes as he realized Jake was being serious, the tender light that slowly warmed them, or the soft "yes" that formed on his full lips. It was a perfect moment.

Nothing, however, went right afterwards. Cam's agent pushed for a big, showy wedding, full of paparazzi and interviews. Jake's editor wanted a front-page story on same-sex weddings, using him and Cam as gay marriage poster boys. The tabloids got wind of it; Jake and Cam's face were plastered on the cover of every rag sheet in supermarkets worldwide. Cameras flashed, reporters haunted their steps. They were followed everywhere – from the jewelers, where they picked out matching wedding rings, to the florist, to the bakery where they chose a beautiful, four-tier wedding cake.

The constant intrusion by the press was a royal pain-in-the-ass, especially considering how precious little time they had together to begin with.

They'd held the wedding in the sprawling backyard of the house they'd bought together in Malibu, overlooking the crashing waves of the Pacific. Helicopters flew in lazy circles overhead; more than one reporter tried to scale the cliff from the beach to the yard. Hidden by an enormous white tent, at least they'd been able to exchange vows in relative privacy, witnessed by only a hundred or so close friends and family members.

Then their honeymoon flight to St. Maarten was delayed because of the freak storm, and they'd been stuck in the airport for nearly a full day. They couldn't leave the gate – they knew a virtual herd of reporters waited in the main terminal, just past security, on the off chance he and Cam might try to leave the airport. They spent the time in the VIP lounge, trying to ignore the curious looks of the other passengers, until the plane was finally ready for boarding.

"Penny for your thoughts," Cam whispered, nudging him with a shoulder. "You look like you're a million miles away."

He found a smile for Cam. "Just thinking about how difficult everything always is for us. Finding time, finding privacy – is it always going to be such a struggle?"

Cam shook his head. "Nah. Why, in thirty or forty years when my looks are gone, and you need an adult diaper, people will lose interest in us."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, we'll have all the privacy we need in between medication doses and playing bingo at the home."

"See? I can find the bright side to anything."

"I know. Your sense of optimism is one of the things I love best about you," Jake said, laughing, reminding himself things could only get better from there on out. Their plane was finally in the air, winging them toward a romantic, private honeymoon on a tropical island. They'd soon have all the privacy they could want; two whole weeks' worth.

***

Things didn't get better, instead continuing on a downward spiral. They were stuck in customs for an hour, held up by the mysterious disappearance of Jake's passport in flight. They finally found it stuck between the pages of a paperback Cam had been reading. Then the hotel couldn't find their reservations, and only Cam's star status secured them a single room with a view of the parking lot. Their luggage didn't arrive, and they were informed by the airline it was onboard a plane heading to Newark, New Jersey.

Dressed in t-shirts and shorts bought at the gift shop, they went to the hotel bar for a cocktail only to find themselves surrounded by reporters, shouting their names, and taking pictures.

Making a run for it, they dashed into the lobby and headed for the elevators. One of Cam's recently purchased flip-flops broke and he twisted an ankle, hopping on one foot and swearing a blue streak. Jake helped him limp into the elevator, aware that the lights flashing behind them would assure them of a front-page spot in next week's tabloid editions.

Their honeymoon was turning into a disaster.

"Maybe we should just go home," Cam said softly. His head was a comforting weight on Jake's shoulder, his fingers lazily drifting through the Jake's chest hair. Their lovemaking had been hurried and quiet, almost edgy. Both of them worried what the paparazzi might try next – just a few hours earlier, one of them had tried to barge into their room pretending to be from housekeeping. It wasn't just the reporters, either – they'd had problems with hotel staff trying to sneak into their room with cameras. The last thing Jake and Cam needed was a photo of them naked, splashed across the Internet.

"No. This is our honeymoon, Cam. It's supposed to be special! No other trip we take together will ever be like this one."

"Thank God for that, because this trip sucks, so far."

"It'll get better. I promise," Jake said, although he didn't really believe it would, no more than Cam did. Fate seemed determined to ruin it for them.

As Jake lay in bed later that night watching Cam sleep, he came to a decision. He'd keep that promise, no matter what the Fates thought to contrary. He'd give Cam one single, perfect memory of their honeymoon to bring home with him.  A single, perfect moment they could treasure for the rest of their lives. They deserved that much.

He walked into the bathroom, locked the door, flipped open his phone, and began making calls.

***

"What the hell is all this?" Cam asked, pointing to a white wig. It lay on the bed in a mess of curls, looking like a deflated poodle. A pile of clothes – garish, tropical print shirts, shorts, black socks, and sandals – were stacked next to it, along with two pair of wrap-around black sunglasses, and two floppy straw hats bedecked with plastic flamingos and dolphins. An aluminum walker stood near the wall; a black, wooden cane with a rubber stopper at the bottom leaned nearby. They'd been trundled into the room in black garbage bags by two stewards, whom Jake had tipped generously.

Jake grinned sheepishly, and shrugged a shoulder. "Our disguises."

"Why do we need disguises? Jake, what's going on?"

"Do you trust me, Cam?" Jake asked, cupping his smooth cheeks with both hands. He stared into Cam's eyes, searching for the answer he already knew would be there, shining in their green depths.

"Of course." Cam's unhesitant reply was followed by a much more suspicious, "Why?"

"No questions. Just get dressed. Hurry up, now." Jake began shrugging out of his clothes, redressing in a bright pink shirt decorated with large yellow and orange hibiscus flowers, and a pair of white shorts. He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on his black socks and sandals. "What are you waiting for? Get busy. The wig is for you – we have to hide your hair." Cam's longish black hair, sleek and shiny, was almost as identifiable as his green eyes. "Do you want the walker or the cane?"

"You've gone crazy," Cam said, fingering the cheap, white wig. "Certifiably ape shit."

"You said you trusted me."

"I do. I trust you to tell me if you're having a breakdown of some type."

Jake laughed. "I needed to find a way to get us past the reporters downstairs. Hopefully, they won't pay any attention to the pair of old geezers on their way to the beach."

Cam arched an eyebrow at him. "You're kidding."

"Nope. You're an actor, so…act. I'll just follow your lead, okay? We'll head through the lobby and outside. I've got a car waiting for us."

"To take us…where?"

"You'll see. No more questions. Get dressed, Grandpa."

***

The door to Jake and Cam's room creaked open twenty minutes later. A quick peek up and down the hallway confirmed no reporters in sight, and they quickly stepped out.

"Walk slower, and limp a little," Cam whispered as he slowly hobbled next to Jake, his walker thumping almost inaudibly against the carpet. His Hawaiian shirt was splashed with waves and surfers, and his green shorts hung well past his knees.

Jake bit back a grin, and pretended to limp, leaning on his cane. "Are you going to really look like this forty years from now? 'Cause I might have to trade you in for a younger model."

"Shut up. This was your idea, remember?"

"You'll be glad later on. Promise," Jake said as they stepped inside the elevator for the short ride down to the lobby. The doors slid open, and they found themselves facing a large group of reporters.

"No, it was Clint Eastwood," Cam said, leading Jake out of the elevator. His voice sounded rusty with age. "Beats John Wayne all to shit and back."

"Aw, you don't know what you're talking about, Lester. Eastwood couldn't act his way out of a paper bag." Jake couldn't hope to match Cam's expertise, but felt he did a fair job, considering he'd never taken an acting lesson in his life.

"Dirty Harry. Now there was a picture. Go ahead, make my day," Cam said, following it with a high-pitched cackle.

"Shit. That wasn't acting. Now, True Lies…that was a movie!"

"Stupid sumbitch," Cam muttered, shaking his head. "True Lies was that Arnold Schwartz-whatever, not John Wayne! You're thinking of True Grit."

"The fella who's governor of Oregon?"

"California, I think. Sweet Christ, Henry, didn't you take your pills this morning? I thought Esther gives 'em to you with your coffee?"

"She don't let me have coffee any more. Says it's gonna harden my arteries."

"Yeah? Well, at least something'll get hard for you!" Cam hooted.

They slowly edged their way through the throng of reporters to the front door, and Jake didn't let himself breathe a sigh of relief until they were outside, sweating in the high humidity. His scam had worked – the reporters cast half-curious glances at them, then returned to their previous positions of watching the elevator and stairwell for signs of Jake and Cam.

He wasn't taking any chances in blowing their cover, though, not until they were well out of sight of the hotel and the reporters. He led Cam to a white minivan waiting in the looping driveway in front of the hotel. A magnetic sign proclaiming "Senior Island Tours" in large, black lettering was adhered to the side panel. Inside, several older people, mostly women with blue-tinted hair, waited.

"Are you shitting me?" Cam hissed as Jake paused before the open door of the van.

"Shh! Do you want to blow our cover?"

"You're taking me for a ride with a van load of senior citizens? That's my surprise?"

"Just get in," Jake ordered, following Cam up into the van. They found seats in the very back. He ignored Cam's black looks as the driver started the engine and pulled away from the curb, following the rounding driveway down to the highway.

As soon as they were out of sight of the hotel, Jake burst out laughing, and took off his hat and sunglasses. "Thanks, folks! You were all perfect!"

A half-dozen heads returned his grin, waving and smiling. A few called, "Congratulations, boys!" then turned to chatter among themselves.

"This was all a set-up?" Cam asked, slowly pulling his sunglasses off. "I don't believe it!"

"Meet the members of the Palm Resort Senior Home Theater Group," Jake said, gesturing toward the older women and men. "I think they turned in a fine performance."

"Anytime, Jake," one woman said, smiling a mouthful of dentures at them. "You too, Cam. I saw you in that movie with that red-haired actress. Not bad, sonny. Not bad at all."

"Thanks," Cam replied. Jake laughed at the look of confusion on his face.

"I hired them so none of the reporters who might have been watching would be suspicious and follow us. We'll drop them off at the Senior Center, and then take the van to where your real surprise is waiting."

Cam's answering smile made it worth all the trouble he'd gone to setting it up.

***

Jake leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the myriad of pinpoint, twinkling stars above them. The moon was full, painting the waves with silver and the sand with shadows. The cove was nearly hidden from view – only the locals knew of it. Jake had called in several favors from people he knew on the island, but it was all worth it to spend an entire evening alone with Cam on this tiny piece of paradise.

They lay naked on several blankets, the remains of a picnic dinner strewn around them, listening to the music of the waves. They'd made love under the stars, washing the sticky evidence of their sex off in the warm water. They'd eaten cold chicken, crab, and lobster, washing it down with Cristal champagne, following it with strawberries and cream. After they were stuffed, they'd made love again, slowly.

Jake loved seeing Cam naked in the moonlight. His body seemed to glisten, tiny drops of perspiration glittering like stars on his sleek skin. Cam's mouth tasted of champagne and strawberries, his tongue cool from the chilled, sparkling wine and fruit, and Jake took his time savoring Cam's taste.

"Have I thanked you yet?" Cam whispered, his head resting in the crook of Jake's shoulder.

"No, but feel free anytime."

Cam chuckled. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Did you enjoy it?"

"What? This? Oh, yeah, this was wonderful, but that's not what I thanked you for," Cam said, lifting his head. His fingers gently stroked Jake's cheek.

Jake quirked an eyebrow at him. "No? What for, then?"

"For asking me out on a date. For being stubborn enough not to let me break it off with you when things got rough. For marrying me. For being you, and for letting me love you."

Jake didn't answer – for a reporter, he suddenly found himself critically devoid of the words necessary to describe the love swelling in his heart. Instead, he leaned in and claimed Cam's mouth, pouring his feelings into his kiss, hoping it was enough.

As it turned out, it was. He felt it in the way Cam moved beneath him, and in the small sounds of pleasure rumbling in his throat.

It may not have been a perfect honeymoon, but this…this was a perfect moment they would always remember.

~ End

***

Today's clue:It's all about Kiernan