Kiki

Chapter 2

♦

Clay (continued)

One of the indications it might be someone in the family who was posing the threat against Kiki was his name. Kiki’s name was actually Keith, and the last time I’d seen him, very briefly a year and a half ago, he’d made it clear to everyone that Kiki was a kid’s name, and maybe a girl kid’s name at that, and he only answered to Keith now.

The note had called him Kiki. It also had said ‘the house’ which was suggestive to me. To someone not intimately familiar with it, I thought they’d call it ‘your house’ or even just ‘house’. ‘The house’ suggested familiarity, subtly, but the nuance of it was there. There were other nuances as well. Of course, they could have been intentional, but they seemed too subtle for a ransom note.

My immediate thought was, this was the work of a disgruntled or perhaps debt-ridden family member. They’d know more about Dad and all of us than anyone else, and I didn’t see how anyone could get a sheep into that bedroom without inside help. Who’d know the help better and which of them was bribable than someone who’d spent time in that house?

If it was one of his children who was threatening Dad, or one of his grandchildren, it could be any one of way too many people for me even to guess about their identity.

Dad had probably looked me up—up, down and sideways—before asking for my help. It was one of his strengths, doing research. He’d probably learned I too employed security, and so Kiki should be safe with me squirreled away here secretly and with my security on hand.

The thing was, if I agreed to this, it wouldn’t be for him but for Kiki, and he probably was aware of that, too. Probably figured that would be the only reason I’d agree.

As already noted, I hardly knew Kiki. Basically I didn’t, really. He was one of my half-brothers, one of the many. My dad loved money, and he loved women. He loved each woman he was with for a short time, then wanted a new one. The harder to get they were, the more he wanted them. Almost all the ones he’d had, he’d had on his own terms, and he’d never married. The type of women he wanted to bed were all high-class, beautiful, and not the type who’d normally dabble in one-night stands. So, he had them for a few weeks, even months and then booted them out. They’d get pregnant, and that would end any relationship right then and there: out they’d go. There’d be negotiations, he’d pay them the amount that was agreed to, and that was it.

Some stayed with him a bit longer, but Dad wasn’t one to put up with babies and the muss and fuss around those. For the women who managed to stay until the birth, they were still offloaded before the kid was six-months old.

Mostly he had nothing to do with the kids he produced. They were of no interest to him. Money and women; that’s where his interests were. Not kids.

I was like that, except I stayed with him as I grew up. Circumstances were the reason. My mother died when I was two. She’d stayed with him all that time, much longer than any of teh others. I didn’t know how she managed that; perhaps she was a modern-day Scheherazade, but of a non-story-telling sort. She may have been smart enough not to reveal all her sexual wiles right away. Scheherazade did it with stories; maybe Mom did it with sex. That would have worked with him.

Anyway, she died, and that was a problem for Dad. He did have a rep that he wanted to be crystalline; he was honest in his dealings and morally straight; that was the rep he cultivated; it helped him in the multi-million-dollar deals he made. Putting his two-year-old son up for adoption would have tainted that irreparably. He had a live-in staff, and for me he hired a nanny to be part of that. He also sent me away to boarding school as quickly as he could, which was when I was ten.

Ten is too young for a boy to be sent to boarding school, sent away from everything he knows, away from any support system. I hated it, and when the holiday recess came around, I came home and told him I wasn’t going back. You’d imagine a high-powered man like him could browbeat a boy of ten pretty easily. I’d never been shy, and I knew how to stand up for myself. I knew which of his buttons to push as well. He kept raising his voice louder and louder, and I never varied mine at all. When he’d turned red and began sputtering—he was entirely unaccustomed to anyone arguing successfully with him—I told him if he tried sending me away, I’d run away from wherever he sent me and go to the cops. I’d tell the truth, and I’d lie. His treatment of me would be plastered all over the papers, just what he didn’t want. His name would be mud. Crystalline no more. I’d make sure of that.

So I lived at home till I was eighteen, graduated from a public high school, and earned a scholarship at Columbia. I told him I was gay, and he told me to get out. I was leaving anyway. I grinned at him and told him I doubted I’d ever see him again and thank goodness for that.

Now he wanted to hand Kiki to me. Not to get rid of him. He actually liked and cared about Kiki! That was a revelation. The question was, did I care anything about Kiki, and what did I want?

I was a bachelor. I didn’t have any interest in having a kid around. On the other hand, why not? I’d learned about being gay in college. I’d been there with other boys like me who were gay but hadn’t had any practical practice in the art. Freshman year, I’d had lots of one-night stands, several two-month trial periods.

I’d always been smart enough; I’d been writing in a journal since I was seven. Freshman year in college I was feeling a freedom like I’d never had before and the experiences I was having gave me much more interesting things to write about. So I did: I ended up writing a book. It focused on gay life, gay attitudes, gay sex, topics that were in vogue then. The book wasn’t written as a textbook treatment of gay life. It was risqué and even had a few graphic scenes and, lo and behold, it appealed to a mainstream audience. Evidently, gays were emerging from the shadows. The book came out at exactly the right time. It was a smash hit—the sages are indeed smart: sex does sell—and the rights were sought by movie studios. I hired an agent to negotiate for me. He’d gotten me a whole lot of money for the movie rights and a seat at the table with the writing team that would change the book into a script.

I already had a ton of money from the best seller. Now, with the film engagement, I had even more.

Being on that writing team was an eye-opener. I had to drop out of Columbia, but I already knew writing would be my career, and if I had more college, it seemed likely my writing would become more academic, more literary, and sales would suffer. So I was happy to join the writing team and get acquainted with the ins and outs of script writing.

The movie’s director was also on that team. He wasn’t as young as I was but not much older, either. We hit it off. He was gay, too, like so many creative people working in the movie-and-TV business in L.A. He was also single.

The book was on the New York Times Best Seller list for several months, and then the movie was a major hit. My agent was earning his fee, and I was now rich. I couldn’t believe how much money was coming my way. But more than being rich, I was happy. I was doing what I loved doing: writing, bringing my ideas to life in stories and films. Living in a bitchin’ area of L.A. There I was, still with a lot of young kid in me, living large.

And not giving a single thought to the nightmare of living under my father’s cold, indifferent and parsimonious thumb.

It was now a few years later, I’d settled a little, but I liked how things were going. Did I want to change the life I now enjoyed? Take in a kid and substantial change would be inevitable—impossible to avoid.

I had to think about this. Take in Kiki and, as my life would no longer be what it was now, this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment thing to agree to. But niggling at the back of my mind was the thought that, if anything happened to Kiki and I hadn’t stepped up to the plate, how much of that would be my fault?

“You want me to take Kiki off your hands?”

“It’s the best idea I’ve had until I can figure out who sent the note and delivered the sheep.”

“I’ll need a couple of days to think about it.”

“I can’t give you that. For my idea of hiding him away in Australia to work, I have to fly there. They, whoever they are, will see Kiki is gone, and if they know I came here, that I’m staying here, they’ll think this is where I stowed him. I came in my private jet, and L.A. is on the way to Australia. We filed a false flight plan, then flew into a private airfield here. You can do that if you pay the right people. But I have to fly to Australia to sell this, and I need to go tonight.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Look,” he said, using his most persuasive tone, “take him with you tonight, maybe a couple of nights. Figure out if you can keep him and let me know. If not, I can understand. You see no need to help me out. I get that. But he’s the one who really needs help, and I’m sure if you get to know him, you’ll take to him. This is reasonable, isn’t it?”

The thing was, it did make sense. I had only met Kiki very briefly and only a couple times, but he was the type of kid it was easy to like. Energetic, outgoing, friendly, funny, and smarter than your average bear. Plus, he exhibited a great deal of self-confidence, more than the average 12-year-old would. Good-looking, too, which, along with manners and a polite respect for adults, makes any kid easier to accept. And this way—this very temporary way—I’d get to spend a little time with him to find out how we got along before I had to make any long-term decisions.

“Okay, I’ll do it. But give me a number where I can call you in strict privacy so I can tell you whether to come get him or not.”

He smiled. I hated that smile. It was his victorious one. Like he’d conned another sucker. Well, he hadn’t. It had been my choice to do this. Totally independent of him.

) 0 (

) 0 (

Kiki had been stashed in the second bedroom of the suite; Dad, with his ‘other room’ statement, had kind of lied to me about that; lying was second nature to him. There were two security men with Kiki, quite obviously bodyguard types. When Kiki saw me, he jumped up and came to me with a big smile on his face.

“Clay,” he said, and to my surprise, hugged me. We didn’t know each other. It wouldn’t have surprised me if he hadn’t recognized me. Plus, 12-year-old boys don’t hug men, especially men who are virtual strangers. But my surprise wasn’t all that great. As I said, Kiki was a confident kid. And I’d liked what I’d seen of him in the past and when we’d said a few words together. He’d evidently liked me, too.

“Hi, Kiki,” I said, then remembered. “Oh, oh, I’m not supposed to call you that, am I? Sorry about that. Old habits.”

He released me, stepped back, looked up at me and laughed. “Actually, when people I know use my nickname, I don’t mind; some people—ones I like. When people I don’t know use it, or when other people are around to hear it, that’s not cool, but I always liked you, and family members I like can call me Kiki; that doesn’t bother; you’re fine.”

He was older than when I’d last met him, and even more attractive. He wasn’t what anyone would call cute. But he was definitely good looking. Cute seemed to imply a certain something that you didn’t see looking at Kiki, a certain something that lacked depth or character. He was attractive and would probably grow into a very handsome man. ‘Cute’ often faded with maturity; attractiveness rarely did.

He had medium-to-dark brown hair. I wondered if it lightened a little, became somewhat blonder in the summer. Then I realized this was summer, and I didn’t know how much time he spent outside. I did know that now, his hair was rather dark. He wore it longer than what Dad probably liked. It came past his ears and reached his shirt collar in back. I wasn’t always pleased with how long hair looked on boys, but on Kiki, it looked just right. His features were regular but whoever the Great Designer was, he’d done a magnificent job with Kiki. The only kids I came in contact with these days were kids who’d gotten roles in films or TV shows, and they were mostly either very cute or very distinctive. Kiki had them matched or beaten in good looks. He also projected a personal magnetism that perhaps eclipsed theirs.

“Good,” I said, grinning at him. Being with him tended to evoke that grin. “That’s how I think of you, so using that name is easier for me. Now, tell me: do you know what this is all about?”

Before he could answer, I moved to a chair, and he took one next to me. It was strange, but what I was feeling was what I’d felt before when I was with Kiki. There was something about him that just made me feel good. He was almost always upbeat, and that might have been part of it. Maybe it was his natural optimism. I didn’t know, hadn’t ever known what it was, but whatever, it was there.

I repeated the question once we were seated, changing it only slightly. “Do you know why you’re here? Did Dad tell you?”

Before Kiki could answer, Dad jumped in. “No need he should know. He’s 12. Best leave it alone. It’s enough to know he’ll be with you for a time, and you don’t know how long right now.”

I gave him a cursory glance. “That’s your opinion, of course, and it’s certainly the way you do things, Dad. You play your cards close to your chest. The less info you provide, the stronger you feel your position is. I, on the other hand, like to be open about things. I’ve found it works better that way for me. I’m not looking for relationship advantages with Kiki. And what you’re doing is going to turn his life upside down. Fair’s fair; he deserves to know why.”

Dad frowned, but before he could challenge me, I dismissed him with a look and turned back to Kiki. “You’re old enough to want to know about things that concern you, aren’t you? Even if they’re upsetting?”

His smile disappeared, replaced by a look it was hard to decipher. But what he said was clear enough. “Yes. Of course. Please tell me.” He took a quick look at his dad, and I could see something in that glance that I found easy to interpret. I’d worn the same expression when with Dad many times. It was a sour look, showing displeasure.

“All right, then. This might be difficult, but you have every right to know. Your father is being blackmailed, and the threat against him isn’t directed at him but at you. If he doesn’t do what’s asked of him, the bad guy or guys say they’ll grab you and he’ll never see you again, nor will he ever know your fate. Just that that fate is unspecified.

“That’s why he brought you here secretly. No one knows you’re here other than him, me, and the security people.”

I got to see Kiki then as I hadn’t before. Many 12-year-olds would have reacted differently. He didn’t seem scared or even worried. He thought for a moment, then asked, “I’m going to be with you? Out here?”

“Yes. Dad’ll be flying to Australia today and that’s where he’ll tell people you’ve been stashed. For your protection. Meantime, I’ll have you here and make sure you’re safe. And being here, you’ll get to see a little of L.A. and maybe even meet some movie stars.”

Kiki scowled, but that changed quickly, and a tepid smile reemerged. “Good,” he said. “If I have to be placed with anyone in the family, you’re who I’d pick.”

That was a surprise. “Why me? You don’t know me at all.”

He hesitated, then said, his smile growing larger, “I’ll tell you later.”

) 0 (

Kiki was in my car with me. After making a phone call, I’d gathered Kiki and his suitcase, dismissed the security Dad had hired, and left the hotel by a back door off the kitchen. Had to grease the concierge to get access, but when you live in L.A., you learn ways to get what you want, often involving a little largesse. All in a day’s work. No one ever said living in L.A., living well in L.A., was cheap.

The phone call I’d made had been to my house. I had live-in security. Have some money, and you become a target in L.A., and living alone, even in a gated community, meant you were vulnerable. Having live-in security also made the house less lonely. I hadn’t gone through an agency. I’d talked to people and found someone to my liking, an experienced, odd-jobs sort of person who’d done security work and been in some films as a stunt double. We’d spoken and hit it off. Just what I needed: someone who was willing to provide security, do occasional housework and keep me from being lonely, all in exchange for a salary, a place to live, companionship and food.

Her name was Julia. She was tough as nails and cute to boot. She’d become a good friend. She was the one I’d called for a ride home. She’d driven to the hotel and picked up Kiki and me at the hotel’s back kitchen door.

“Kiki, this is Julia. Julia, Kiki.”

“Ah, the son you’ve been hiding. Don’t blame you. You produce a kid when you’re fifteen, best to squirrel him away so you don’t get a rep.” She laughed, then said, “Hey, cutie, I’m harmless. You going to be with us long?”

I’d been watching Kiki. He didn’t seem affected at all by being transported from whatever his home had been like across the country and given to pretty much a comparative stranger—me—and now confronted with a lady he’d never met before. He answered her with no hesitation at all. “I don’t know. Ask Clay. But nice to meet you.”

“Awww! Polite, too. We’ll be good together. Keep your old man straight.”

“We’ll talk about that,” Kiki said with a smile before I could jump in, which I did before this went further.

“Hey, he’s not my kid! He’s my brother, sort of.”

“Didn’t know you had a brother-sort-of, or one of any other kind, either,” Julia said, pulling out of the hotel’s driveway and heading west on Wilshire Boulevard, heading to Beverley Glen and then Sunset Boulevard. It was only a six-mile jaunt but took almost half an hour. Going anywhere in L.A. from no matter where seems to take forever, even at ten at night. L.A., at least this part of it, wasn’t an early-to-bed place.

“Well, I do. Kiki’s the youngest. All of them are sortas. Half-brothers, really. None of us are close; the rest are all older than I am, much older than Kiki. I hardly know any of them. Oh, that reminds me. Kiki, you said you’d rather stay with me than anyone else in the family. You don’t know me at all. You said you’d explain later. How about right now?”

He hesitated, looked around, then said, “It’s kind of personal. You don’t mind Julia hearing?”

“I don’t have any secrets from her. Nothing to be ashamed of, either. So go ahead.”

He pinned my eyes with his, not something you expect a 12-year-old to do, but then grinned. “Okay. You’re already much better to live with than Dad! Straightforward is never his way. Keeping secrets is. So, my reason? It’s this. I’m gay, and if Dad found out, I’d be kicked out, sent to live with some other half-brother. But since you’re gay, too, I figure not only will me being gay not bother you, but you’ll be someone to guide me through all the parts—good and ugly—of living as a gay teenager and eventually coming out.”

“Hey! Whatta you mean, I’m gay!”

My outburst didn’t faze him at all. In fact, his grin got larger, and then he laughed. “No secrets? Yeah, right. But I guess you must not be out. Hey, Julia, just forget the last few seconds, okay? I was just yanking his chain. Nothing to see here, folks. Just teasing. Clay isn’t gay at all. That’s probably why he brings a different chick home every night.”

Julia laughed. There was way too much laughing going on at my expense. I’d have to seriously rethink this business of keeping Kiki around. It would greatly help my credibility with these two, though, if I could stop laughing as well.

Julia took a quick glance back at Kiki. “Hey,” she said, “I know Clay’s gay. He doesn’t announce it to everyone he meets as if sharing with strangers was his thing, but I live with him. When he’s sharing a bed with someone, I know about it—hell, I make breakfast for them—and it’s never with a lady. I don’t know how you figured him out so easily, though.”

“Well . . .” Kiki gave me a sideways look and I saw his grin before he refocused on Julia. “I didn’t figure it out. Dad told me. Told me that was why he’d kicked him out. He didn’t say he was proud of what Clay’s become, how successful he’s been, but I could hear it in his voice. Most of my half-brothers and -sisters aren’t very successful. Clay made it on his own, and that means something to Dad.”

I couldn’t let him get away with making stuff up. “Proud of me? Yeah, sure he is. That’s why he keeps in touch, which he hasn’t done even once since I walked out of his house.” I couldn’t believe it. Dad, proud of me? I checked myself, seeing if I felt anything about that. I didn’t. Dad was no longer part of my life. He never had been in a significant way.

We reached the gate into my area of Bel Air. We didn’t have a gate code or card to insert anywhere. There was a gatehouse, manned 24/7, and the man on duty recognized the car and had the gate swinging open as we arrived. Julia and I waved as we passed.

The entire fenced area where I lived was made up of both detached and semi-attached houses and condos. I had a house, a small one but that was all I needed. I liked not having other people on the other sides of my walls. I also liked the communal atmosphere of the Estates and the fact all the work of keeping up the landscaping and doing upkeep chores was hired out by the housing board. I paid monthly fees to the board, and they took care of needed maintenance, the various pools, the parks, and made sure the outside appearance of all the buildings was up to code.

Inside my house, I’d had a decorator do the dirty work as I hadn’t the time or skill to do it myself. She’d consulted with me, though, and I was very comfortable with how the place looked. Masculine, but not too much. Comfortable was probably the best word to describe it. Julia had decorated her own room.

The rooms weren’t very large, but the layout had been skillfully arranged so nothing seemed cramped. The living room and kitchen blended into each other with a dining nook separating them. There were three bedrooms, one for each of us now. The third bedroom was set up as a guestroom, which made it easy for Kiki to move in. I didn’t need an office at home and didn’t have one. The studio where I worked provided me with a private workspace, and I made good use of it. I did have a laptop, so when I had ideas at home, I used that to jot them down, usually sitting in the nook where we ate. But I liked to relax at home and wasn’t one to bring work home with me.

Kiki had the entire house scoped out in about a minute, and the smile on his face told me it was satisfactory.

“You’d probably like to hit the hay,” I said. “It’s not quite eleven o’clock here, but that’s nearly two AM for you. Look, make yourself at home here. Anything you want and can’t find, just ask either of us. There are a couple of new toothbrushes in the drawer in the bathroom. You’ll be sharing that with Julia; you saw there’s a separate one in my bedroom. There’s a shower in the tub in your bathroom, or a walk-in shower in my room that you can use if you wish. We’re very informal. If you have questions, just ask.”

We were in the living room, and Kiki was on the couch. Julia had gone into her room.

“You go into work during the day?”

“Yes. I don’t know what you know about me. I’m working now as a writer on a TV show. We, the writers, work at the studio. We usually begin at nine in the morning and leave in the afternoon when we’ve made the progress we need to make for the day. We’re five scripts ahead of what episodes have already been taped, and we try to stay that way. So one script a week, and if we’re done early, we leave early.”

I gave him a serious look. “Hey, Kiki, you must be tired. Big day. Stress. Bed?”

He started to speak, then yawned. “Okay,” he said, grinned at me, and went to his room. I thought of that grin, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he did, and I thought, this was a kid I could easily grow fond of.

♦

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