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He knew he could go out for the evening or even just spend some time on the street with his camera, but Christian didn’t feel like it. He didn’t want to do anything. A soft ringing in his apartment brought him out of his reverie and Christian walked though, picking up the receiver just before the phone went to voice mail.
“Christian.”
“Evening, Sandra,” Christian answered. “What have you got for me?” She was one of the best modeling agents in the city and she was always on the lookout for talent and faces that Christian might find interesting.
“I’m messengering the portfolios of three men over to you first thing in the morning. Take a look and let me know what you think.” She sounded energetic even at this time of the night. “All three of these men were thrilled when I told them I was sending you their portfolios. I have them lining up to pose for you.”
“I’ll get back to you in a day or so,” Christian answered. It had been years since Christian had had any difficulty getting models. Being relatively famous and in demand did have its advantages.
“What’s wrong, honey? You sound tired,” Sandra asked as Christian heard her take a drag on the cigarette that always seemed permanently attached to her right hand, “and don’t tell me nothing. I’ve known you for years and you sound like hell, so what’s going on?” Almost a decade earlier, Sandra had been the first person to take a chance on him, and they’d worked well together ever since. Sandra was the closest thing to a friend he had.
“Nothing,” Christian answered, and smiled when he heard her cough.
“You little shit. Now spill it.”
Christian wasn’t sure how to put it into words. He certainly couldn’t tell her he was pining for his assistant. “The work is great and I’m taking some of the best pictures of my career, but…”
“I’ve heard what you’re doing to get those pictures, and you know that’s going to come back to bite you in the ass, so to speak.” She laughed at her own joke. “Seriously, I know you’ll do whatever you need to to get the pictures you want. That’s what makes you brilliant and your work so powerful, but that comes at a price. And I think you’re beginning to see exactly what that price is.” The sound of another drag on her cigarette came through the phone. “No one wants to date a man who spends his days fucking gorgeous men in order to capture them in the moment of passion. How would you feel if your boyfriend did that to you? So you take totally amazing photographs, but you’re destined to be alone because of it.” The phone hissed slightly as she moved around. “Call me tomorrow and let me know what you think, and maybe we can have lunch next week.” She was gone before Christian could answer, and he hung up the phone.
“You were a big help,” he muttered to the phone before walking to the large windows that lined the outside corner of the apartment, where he could see the entire city stretching down the avenue. Maybe Sandra was right, and he needed to get out. If he didn’t want to be lonely, then he needed to find someone to spend his time with, and to do that he couldn’t remain cooped up here. Checking the clock, he saw it was still early, so he checked himself in a mirror, grabbed a light jacket, and barely remembered to lock the door heading down the stairs and into the night.
A cab ride later and Christian was standing in front of one of the hottest gay clubs in the city. He approached the doorman, and the huge brick wall of a man stared down at him. These guys always intimidated Christian, and his instinct was to back away, but instead he told the man his name. He expected to be instructed to stand in line, but caramel-colored man’s eyes widened and he looked Christian over before standing aside. “I love your work,” the huge man explained with a broad smile before letting him into the club.
Christian thanked him and stepped inside. It had been a while since he’d been out like this, but Christian hadn’t forgotten the thrum of the bass as the music assaulted him or the scent of sweat, cologne, sex, and testosterone that permeated the place and almost immediately activated his dick like the aroma of the gods. Moving further into the club, he was bumped and jostled by the sheer number of men in various states to dress as they moved and ground against one another to the beat of the music. Christian threaded his way to the bar and caught the eye of one of the shirtless bartenders, ordered a martini, and waited for his drink. Other men jostled around him, and as Christian turned to glare at them, they seemed to back away.
“I know you,” one of the men said a bit reverently. “We have all your books on our coffee table,” the tall, thin man next to him said before moving closer. “Is it true you fuck the models to get those pictures? I can really see that, because the pictures are freakin’ hot.” He leaned closer yet. “May be you could photograph my partner and me.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t do portrait work,” Christian stammered, becoming impatient. His drink arrived and he paid for it with a generous tip before backing away and, he hoped, disappearing into the crowd. Christian saw two guys step away from a table near the wall, so he snagged it, sitting down to watch the mating rituals of the gay male go on around him. Sipping his drink, he thought of dancing, but he had the rest of the evening and decided to wait a while.
“You’re Christian Coulliet, aren’t you?” A deep voice near his shoulder asked, and he turned. “I love your work.” The man was tall, strong, and handsome, with great cheekbones, gorgeous, long, auburn hair, and expressive eyes. If he walked into his studio, Christian could see him in a session with plenty of water cascading over those muscles. He motioned toward the empty chair, and Christian nodded. “I’m Blaze,” he said with a slight smile. “Believe it or not, that’s what my mother named me.” He leaned closer, and Christian felt a tingle go up his arm when Blaze’s large hand enveloped his. “I know this is going to sound corny, but I’ve never seen you here before and I’d certainly remember you.”
Christian chuckled. It was a corny line, but Blaze’s eyes seemed earnest and honest. “I don’t get out much.”
“From what I hear, you don’t need to,” Blaze said, his thumb making tiny circles on the back of his hand. “I’d love to see your studio and get a look at some of what you’re famous for.” Blaze’s eyes bored into him, and Christian had to bury the urge to tear his hand away.
