Thirty-year-old Ethan Emerson stopped short at the sight of a luxury car parked on the boulevard. He asked Cliff, “This is your car?” “Do you like it?” Ethan had never seen one in person before. He walked around the front end and shook his head. “Holy shit.” “It’s a Wraith.” Cliff tapped a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. “How much did it cost?” “Why?” “Never mind.” Ethan shook his head in awe. He figured three-hundred grand, give or take a bit. He’d seen them advertised but never knew anyone rich enough to afford one. Cliff stood near the car, smoking. “So, you want to take a drive?” Ethan paused in his admiration for the car, and met Cliff’s dark eyes. Yeah, this man spelled trouble. He was twenty years older than Ethan, a film producer of the highest caliber, with a resume, if printed out, would be taller than his six-foot-two inch height. “Are you offering me a ride home?” Ethan knew he was good looking. He’d heard it before…his eyes. Oh, my God, everyone commented on his eyes. Cliff put the cigarette out with his shoe, and said, “Get in.” Ethan opened the passenger’s door and sat down. The interior was a religious experience; every type of upgrade had been installed including features he’d never seen before. He may be a wannabe star, but he was no moron. He knew these types. They picked up young hopefuls, lured them with roles and huge parts in movies, then fucked them and never called them again. Was Ethan willing to take that chance? What the hell. I’m not doing very well on my own. Cliff started the motor and classical music was playing. He lowered the volume and put his hand on Ethan’s knee. Ethan glanced at Cliff’s hand. It had a gold and diamond ring on it. Totally not his thing. He didn’t reciprocate or touch Cliff. To Ethan, this was about his curiosity. And he knew what curiosity did. Or at least what it did to cats. Did he know Cliff personally? No. He knew of him. Anyone in Los Angeles who was interested in film knew him. Cliff Beckett could be his ticket into something big. But, Ethan wasn’t holding his breath. Just to make conversation, since the chatting had gone silent, Ethan asked, “Have you ever been married?” “A few times.” Cliff didn’t glance over, his eye on the traffic, his hand caressing Ethan’s leg. “To…women.” “Yes.” “But…you’re gay.” Cliff didn’t comment. Did he have to? He had picked Ethan up outside of a gay nightclub. Ethan leaned his elbow on the classy door’s armrest and thought about what he was going to do with this guy. Cliff was far from horrible, and obviously took great care of himself, but, he wasn’t Ethan’s type. Not really. And it wasn’t just an age thing. Ethan would be cool with an older partner. So, he’s using me and I’m using him? Ethan glanced at Cliff’s profile, his prominent nose and slightly graying hair. The chatter had died once more. Nerves grew in Ethan, so he kept talking. But it was beginning to feel like an interview. “Do you do this often?” Ethan asked. “Do what?” “Take guys back to your place after meeting them at a club?” “Not too often. I thought you were nice. Why? Do you want me to turn around?” Cliff’s hand went to the steering wheel. Ethan didn’t know the answer to that question. It should have been ‘yes’. But…there was his curiosity again. “No. This is fine.” But Ethan knew it wasn’t…not really. Cliff asked him, “Do you do this often?” It made Ethan smile. “Ha. Touché.” Ethan could see they were driving into an exclusive area of Beverly Hills. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Um…” Ethan tried to define ‘often’. “I’m not into the hookup scene. I mean, if I think I like someone, I’ll take a chance.” “But?” Cliff drove up a long winding roadway. “But…I would rather have a boyfriend.” Cliff glanced at him and then they drove through a gated entry to a massive home. “How old did you say you were?” “Thirty. Why?” Cliff didn’t answer, pulling in front of the main entrance of what appeared to be something dropped from space, or out of the future. The exterior was white and the only thing breaking the blank canvas of the white paint were windows, everywhere. As Ethan exited the car, he could see why there were so many windows, or glass walls, really. The view. They were on top of a hill and nothing but trees and shrubs surrounded the landscaped lawn. It felt isolated yet, this was how rich people got off. On odd or expensive ‘things’. Ethan should have been impressed but so far, he thought the design was ugly. Cliff tapped a cigarette out of his pack and stood by the front entrance, which had an overhang and was paved…white. Ethan waited, putting his hands into his pockets, feeling his phone, but not looking at it for messages. He watched Cliff smoke. “So, you don’t smoke in the car or your home?” Cliff glanced at him and then crushed the cigarette out under his shoe, the same way he did before he got into the car. Ethan wasn’t a smoker, and didn’t like the way smokers smelled, or tasted, when he kissed them. Cliff opened his front door and as Ethan entered, he stopped to admire the interior. Okay, this is cool. The ceilings were so high, Ethan could see the home had several floors, with staircases and ramps leading up from the central courtyard. It may look like a monochromatic mess from outside, but inside? “Go. Explore. I’ll make us a cocktail.” Cliff walked off. Ethan said, “I’ll need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find my way back.” He heard Cliff chuckle. You have to be kidding me. Ethan headed up the stairs. He paused at the second level and could see windows, glass, everywhere, all open to an expansive view. The second floor had access to an infinity pool and a large deck, as well as bedroom-like lounges, all with sliding doors leading to the pool. He continued to the top floor and found actual bedrooms, as well as places to contemplate the world, or read. On this level, some of the rooms were completely surrounded by glass walls. He stood beside one and looked out. The entire view of the LA skyline was visible. “Motherfucker.” Ethan kept exploring. He poked his head into bathrooms which had skylights, sunken tubs, again, with glass windows to see outdoors, and then he descended a curving ramp to the bottom floor, only to find an open-planned living area with a centrally located fire-pit lit by gas and filled with crystals or some kind of stone that did not burn, but sparkled with the flames. It too, was white, as was everything in the home, except the accents and artwork. Ethan moved towards another glass wall, one that was at least twenty feet high, and looked out. He could see the highways below, lit by red and white lights from the traffic. He heard a noise behind him and Cliff had two cocktail glasses. He gave one to Ethan. Before Ethan sipped his, which he assumed must be a Cosmopolitan or Tartini, since it was pink, he said, “Okay. If you wanted to impress me, you did.” He tasted the cocktail. Berry vodka, orange liqueur, pineapple and cranberry juice and champagne and lime. Yes, a Tartini. Cliff sipped his drink and gazed at Ethan. “I’ve never seen eyes that blue.” Ethan smiled. “I constantly get comments on them. Hell, to me? They’re just blue.” “Venetian blue.”
