Doc came back to the ranch a few days later just to check on Tatum. “She’s doing great,” he told Trace. “Hardly any heat at all, and the limp is just about gone. Probably only a couple of days more and she’ll be fit. You’ve done a good job.”
Trace wasn’t accustomed to an adult male praising him. Rory was the only other one who’d ever done that. That made Trace bold enough to ask Doc a lot of questions—a lot—and Doc could see the interest the boy had in animals. He invited Trace to come to his clinic and see what they did there. The clinic was just a twenty-minute horseback ride away. Trace did visit and then went back again and again. There were things he could do there, ways he could help out, and no one said anything degrading or cruel to him.
Trace began spending much of his time there.
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The cook’s name was Gloria Patterson. Her son was Thomas. She was in her late thirties. Thomas was sixteen and devilishly handsome for a young teen. He had an outgoing personality to match his looks. Gloria cooked for Rory and the boys at the big house and for herself and Thomas at the smaller house, where they slept. Another horse was purchased for Thomas, and Sissy was hired to teach him to ride.
The four teens got along well. Cary liked Thomas and asked him if it was boring living with just his mother. He told Thomas there was room for him to move into the big house if he wanted to be closer to the action.
“What action?” he asked, then winked at Cary.
That hadn’t been what Cary had meant at all, but it did give him thoughts. It was hard to be his age and not be randy much of the time. Thomas took Cary up on his offer and did move into the big house.
Sissy was there a lot, too. She didn’t sleep over but was there during the day helping Thomas learn to ride and showing him some of the things he should be looking into on the ranch for the odd-job part of his existence there. She helped him build a chicken coop and protect the area with a chicken-wire fence around where they’d be confined. “Lots of coyotes around. They love chicken dinners.”
Trace did get a dog. Doc had one he’d mended that the owners never came back for. It was an Australian Shepherd. Doc told Trace it needed lots of exercise and was a very smart and loyal dog, perfect for being outside on the ranch. “It’s not a dog for just lying around. He’ll want to be active.”
Trace was delighted, and the dog, which he named Sam, became a family favorite and slept on Trace’s bed with him.
It was still summer, though not for much longer. School lay ahead, but Rory wasn’t sure what to do about that. Plans for the filming to start were moving briskly. Cary was spending time learning his part. He’d be on screen more than any other actor. It was a huge role, but he loved the character he was playing, and Nolan, working with him, was surprised at the maturity of his acting chops and thought he was perfect in the part.
School would start about the same time the filming at the ranch would commence. As Rory was in charge of the boy’s welfare, he spoke to Nolan about his problem. “State law says kids on set have to be tutored. We have three kids here that need school. If we hire a tutor for Cary, why couldn’t all of them stay here and work with him or her? Trace would certainly like that better. That could work, couldn’t it? Then we wouldn’t have to send them off to school every day. You’d have more time with Cary, and the others could benefit, too. Outside its major cities, especially in rural agricultural areas, California is very conservative. Cary, Trace and Thomas are gay, and they might not do nearly as well at a local school as they could being tutored right here.”
Nolan didn’t have to think long about that. “Good idea. I’ll see about getting a woman, and maybe she could keep Gloria company. They’d have female comradeship by staying in the house together.”
That was arranged; all the kids were delighted, but now there were four. Sissy joined the boys at their private school sessions, not liking the long bus ride she’d had to suffer before. On schooldays, Sissy began staying in the smaller house with Gloria and Ellen, the tutor.
Cary had been in on production meetings and arrangements. Because the film was being financed by Nolan—and to a lesser extent by Rory—an effort was made to keep costs to a minimum, and so Cary was helping Nolan and Rory do things normally done by a production team. He’d been asked, among other jobs, to call and hire various professionals. During his brief career, he’d worked with many of the people who had the skills necessary to make a top-level film. He knew the ones he’d liked and that were experts. Costume designers, set builders, hair and makeup people—he knew the ones to hire, and with Nolan’s approval, he made the calls to bring them onboard.
“Do I get associate producer’s pay?” he asked.
“Don’t see why not,” Rory laughed. “Ask Nolan. He’s the head producer. I’m just doing odd jobs like you.”
The county schools started before shooting the film got underway. Ellen, the tutor, wasted no time starting lessons for the kids in line with the county. Cary was in and out of the classroom, needing to work on lines and rehearse scenes, but the other three were there full time. Their academic levels were ascertained and a separate program for each was established.
After school started, with his work on the film, Cary had little time to be missing Trace. Trace was either in school or with Tatum or Sam, or with Doc at his clinic or making field calls. Because Trace was away so often, Cary was actually spending more time with Thomas than Trace, but much more time on preparing for the shoot to begin than with either boy.
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When Rory finished the script and turned it over to Nolan, he acted a bit reluctant to do so. “You know, writers usually get paid for their scripts,” he said.
“Yeah, but we’re a closely held corporation now. The corporation holds the property, and the script is part of that. The movie will be, too. If you want to separate the script from that, we can do that. We don’t have to be partners in this. For me, I want us to be partners in the film. In lots of things, actually, but, well, what do you want?”
“I want to be in this with you. I was just saying. Trying to get a rise out of you, actually. I want to make this movie with you. I like the partnership. I like the idea of us being co-producers as well as, well, not co-directors. I’m happy being an associate or assistant director, or even assistant to the director. Titles aren’t important to me; the work is.”
He paused, wanting to say what he was feeling with no ambiguity. “Producing this film, as we’re both doing—there’s a ton of work here. I guess this is how a real producer spends his time. He’s overseeing casting, costumes, sets, lighting, makeup, rehearsals, craft services, legal stuff, all this kind of thing—and we’re doing it now. But when shooting’s underway, we’ll be swamped. Who’s going to look after all that then?”
Nolan didn’t hesitate. “We are. You and I. Cary, too. He’s said acting’s okay, but in the long run, he wants something different. Kid actors rarely keep getting parts as they grow up. They aren’t so cute any longer, aren’t as photogenic, and some haven’t really developed acting skills other than relying on their cuteness. Cary wants to do this film, but thinks this might be it for him. He’s told me he wants to stay in the business but move to the production side. This film is where he can cut his teeth on that with two very supportive people working with him. Two people just as new to it as he is. We’re all learning by doing.”
“Yeah, he’s told me that, too. So, let’s decide who’s going to do what. Lay it all out on a whiteboard just like we do the scenes.”
That was what they’d done, and it had gone surprisingly well, mostly because the three of them worked so well together and had so much mutual respect. So many in the industry were bogged down in ego, and there was none of that in this production.
Shooting began early in September and was completed in less than a month. Editing took much longer but by the week after Thanksgiving it was finished. The music, which was being composed and recorded as the film was being shot, was added during editing, and the film was ready for release.
That was another decision the three co-producers were faced with. They were delighted with what they’d created, and now had to figure out when the film would go public.
They didn’t agree about when it would be best to release the film. Nolan wanted to wait till the following year. He was convinced it was a Best Picture candidate, and that it was too late to get the audiences’ reactions this year.
Rory told him he was out of his mind: it was a perfect Christmas movie, and kids would be out of school and looking for something to do. They’d go to this one several times, if only to look at Cary, who was magnificent. The two of them couldn’t decide, and they turned to Cary. They told him it was up to him when the film would open.
Cary was listed as a co-producer of the film, the youngest ever to have that honor. He’d earned it with all the production work he’d done. The release decision was a terrible one for him to make because he loved both men and didn’t want to disappoint either of them.
“Go with your heart,” Nolan told him, and Rory agreed.
So it opened in select theaters on December eleventh. It only played in theaters that weren’t previously booked with Christmas releases by the major studios, but where it played, it received rave reviews from critics and over-the-top word-of-mouth acceptance.
Rory was right. It became a Christmas season must-see movie, and when the school holidays began, the select theaters into which it was booked were full of kids, and other theaters begged to add it. Kids brought their parents, and they liked the movie and its message, too.
Cary, the film’s principal actor, was inveigled onto talk shows and magazine interviews. He accepted them all: the more interest there was in the film, the more money it took in at the box office. The film turned into a major hit, the highest three week opening of the year. The third highest ever. It appealed to a broad spectrum of audiences, which always worked well at the box office.
The NRC Corporation—Rory had wanted it to be the CNR Corp, but Cary had said no way, and Rory hadn’t pursued it—hired a lawyer, one Nolan knew and had worked with. They hired a financial adviser as well. The money was pouring in like a monsoon. Nolan was pestering Rory to start another script. Rory was responding by saying he was considering retirement. Nolan had been living in the big house since shooting had started. When it finished, he simply remained. No one had said anything about his leaving. It was a good thing the house was as large as it was. The three boys all had their own bedrooms, as did the two men. Gloria was having to make larger meals now, but she was happy. The tutor had been convinced to stay after shooting was over, and the four kids were now all reporting to her daily.
Over dinner one night, Trace told them he was going to be a veterinarian. “I wrote to Mom, and told her about it. She’s happy, by the way. She’s loving living with your mom, Rory, and says the two of them are doing great. But as I was starting to say, I told her that my plan is to go to UC Santa Barbara for an undergraduate degree in biology with an emphasis in veterinarian medicine and the Western University of Health Sciences in Pomona for my Doctor of Veterinary Medicine degree.”
“I thought it was almost impossible to get into any vet school?” Nolan said. “They’re all impacted.”
Trace didn’t miss a beat, nor even look down. He wasn’t doing that much any longer. “Yeah, but Doc knows the dean at Western. He says if I get the grades, he’ll get me in. And I’ll get the grades. I spent most of my time growing up in my room, reading. I know I can do the work. I think Doc might take me on as a partner, then. I can do small animal work and he can concentrate of the big guys he likes best. I’m really happy, and I’m motivated!” He laughed when he said that, indicating he might be overstating things, but Cary could see the gleam in his eyes. Trace was focused!
“I’m going to go to UCSB, too,” Cary said. “Either in pre-law or business; I haven’t decided yet. But I know I want to be a film producer. I loved what we did with the movie we just made. All the scurrying around; all the decisions. That was so great, making something grand out of nothing but skill and effort. That’s going to be my job.”
“No more acting at all?” Rory asked.
“I’m not shutting the door on that. If I get offered the right part, I’ll at least consider it.”
As both boys had spoken of their future plans, everyone turned to look at Thomas. He’d fit in well at the ranch, having proved to be a hard worker and one who found things to do to contribute on his own initiative. He grinned. “I’m staying right here. I love working here, love working for you guys, and if everyone else is going about making a living doing other things, someone has to stay here to take care of the place. There’s always a lot to do. I have no interest in going to college. I love the work here on the ranch. Maybe someday I’ll even be given a title, something like foreman. Maybe ranch manager.”
Nolan looked at Rory. “And you? You’re happy? Your future what you want it be?”
Rory laughed. “I’d heard Cadwaller had gotten the axe for some sort of sexual misconduct, caught by the MeToo movement. So instead of thinking of that asshole, I’m not looking behind any longer, just ahead. I’m content. I like working with you. I like you living here. We’ll see if another script idea appears. If so, fine. If not, I’ll still have my hands full with three teens to whip into shape.”
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Things had settled down by the first week in February. The reaction to the film and its producers/directors and actor didn’t abate till then.
Everyone was in the living room after dinner one evening. Both dogs were lying together by the fireplace where a hardwood fire was making the room feel cheery. Desultory talk was the business of the evening. Nolan was after Rory again to jump into another script, and Rory was acting blasé about it and was rebutting by telling him to take one of the many job offers he had piled on his desk. Nolan was a top-rung name now and had his choice of next pictures. He was letting his agent field the offers, only having the best ones sent to him.
As for another script, Rory wasn’t sweating it. He said he had to wait for his muse to awaken, and she seemed to be aping Rip Van Winkle at the moment. But he said it in the same jocular vein Nolan had used. One thing Nolan knew about Rory was that he wasn’t happy if he wasn’t busy.
Cary and Thomas were talking about something or other; Trace couldn’t quite make out what. What he could do was seethe. He liked Thomas all right. He was a difficult boy not to like. But Trace had one major objection to him that so far he’d been able to contain. Thomas was in love with Cary, anyone could see that, and tonight he didn’t make any effort to hide it. Tonight, it was all Trace could do to keep from screaming.
Thomas was flirting, and Cary was paying attention. Too much attention. Thomas did a lot of flirting, but it was always very low key, practically hidden. Tonight was different. Tonight there was no subtlety; it was overt.
Thomas batted his eyes; he twisted a lock of hair; he smiled beguilingly. He all but winked, and maybe he even managed that. Trace couldn’t stare at him but did keep glancing up, and each time he could see what was happening. And it was obvious Cary saw it, too, and was taken by it.
Finally, enough was enough. Trace had had it. If that’s what Cary wanted, there was nothing he could do about it. And he’d suffered through plenty enough torture for one night.
“I’m going up, people. I have to be at the clinic early tomorrow. Goodnight.”
Everyone returned the sentiment. Except when Thomas did it, he didn’t take his eyes off Cary.
Trace went up, took his shower, brushed his teeth, read his current book for an hour, then turned off his light.
Eventually everyone else called it a night as well. Cary went through the same motions Trace had but didn’t get into bed. It was Thomas’ fault, he thought. The kid had practically given him an invitation tonight, and the longer the flirting had gone on, the hornier Cary had become. The thought of getting into his bed alone, feeling like he did—well, he wasn’t going to do it. He had sex on his mind, he’d had it smacking him in the face all evening, and he wasn’t going to say no.
Not bothering to even put a robe on, he walked silently down the hall, naked and already half aroused. He quietly opened the door into the dark bedroom, then slipped into the bed. He moved so he was spooning the boy, his erection caressing a soft, warm butt.
“Really? I’ve been waiting forever,” Trace said. Then, trying to put some irritation into his voice and missing by a mile, he said “And it’s damn well about time!”
Cary chuckled. “These things take time, like a good cup of coffee. You have to let them percolate. Yeah, I’m a slowpoke, but I got here in the end. My feelings changed when I saw how intense you were with Tatum. Then with Sam. Then deciding your course of life. I saw the real Trace emerging, not the scared one you’d been. You’ve changed. We’ve lost the timid, scared Trace. You’ve became a different boy. I’ve fallen in love with this new Trace. I love you, Trace.”
Trace thought about saying, ‘It’s about time,’ again, just to show he was no pussy, but then his lips were otherwise engaged, and by the time they weren’t, everything was new and different and there were other things on his mind.
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Trace’s bed wasn’t the only one invaded that night. Nolan had watched Thomas’ obvious flirting, and it had made him think. Neither he nor Rory was getting any younger, and why wait? He’d been in love with Rory for over a year now, and it seemed it was now time to sink or swim. Rory had said he was happy Nolan was living with them. That was enough inducement.
He made his way to Rory’s room, dressed the way Cary had been and similarly ready for action. Rory still had his reading light on when Nolan walked in.
“You didn’t knock,” Rory said, but his smile showed he didn’t mean it as it sounded.
“I decided I was tired of pussyfooting around. I love you. We’re either going to do something about that, here and now, or at least I’ll know where I stand.”
Rory slid from the middle of the bed to one side and lifted the covers.
Nolan didn’t hesitate. He strode purposefully to the bed and climbed in, then kissed Rory as sensually as he could.
When they came up for air, Rory said, “Sure took you long enough.”
“Why, you—” Nolan stopped, then laughed, saying, “Love’s a two
way street. If you felt the way I do, why didn’t you let me know?”
“Not my way. I was brought up getting chewed out if I showed any emotion at all.
I’ve never really gotten over that. But you—”
“Yeah, I’m Italian. I show my every thought and feeling.”
“You know what this means, of course,” Rory replied. "I told you I don’t do flings. For me, this means forever. Is that what you want?”
Nolan was sliding over on top of Rory. “I’ve wanted it ever since we met. You weren’t ready then. I think you are now. We’ve wasted so much time.”
“Just what I was thinking,” Rory said, then gasped.
Later, much later, Nolan said, “You don’t show any emotion. But you feel things deeply. You’re the most sensitive, caring man I‘ve ever met.”
“Well, it’s a good thing we’re together then. You show enough emotion for both of us. We balance each other.”
“I’ll teach you how to be more expressive.”
“I’ll need lessons in a lot of things. I haven’t done much of this at all. But I’ll be a good student. An eager one.”
And then they were too busy again for any more talking.
THE END