The sketchbook and pile of drawings on his dining room table called him—but not as much as the laptop sitting beside them. If I just search Gray Anson nude—
He grabbed the computer, sat on the couch, and did just that. A list of Gray Anson links turned up—the first of literally thousands of pages of references. The top searches were all paid links to films, upcoming releases, scenes, and reviews from older movies. In the middle of the pack—Nude Photos of Gray Anson Surface.
He clicked.
This link has been removed.
Shit! He used the back arrow. A couple of links said something about Gray suing for removal of illicitly acquired photos of him in the nude. That explained that. The long arm of the movie-star law. Disgusting how disappointed I feel.
The knock at his door brought his head up, and a quick flip closed the laptop cover.
He walked to the door. Some enthusiastic scratching gave him a clue. He opened and two giant poodles leaped up to lick his face. “Okay, okay. I love you too.”
Mrs. O stood there with a handful of papers. “Got a minute?”
“Just working.”
She waved the handful of paper-printed photos. Ru glanced and gasped softly. She smiled. “I knew you’d never believe me since all the nude photos are taken down. I guess he’s got a lot of power to fight crap like this.” She grinned. “But I copied all the pictures the first time I saw them.” She nudged him, and the dogs pushed between them. “Wanna see?”
Well, Jesus, no way could he look at Gray’s dong and not get hard. That would be embarrassing. But man, did he want to see.
She rattled the papers. “I know you’re busy, so I made you a set. Not as good as the originals—well, actually the original originals are pretty bad, since somebody took them with a long lens, and these are worse than that.” She assumed a drawl. “But it don’t take no magnifying glass, baby, to see Anson’s equipment, that’s for dang sure.”
Well, hell. He reached for the prize. She snatched them back. “You sure you’re ready?” She laughed.
“Uh, maybe not, you crafty minx.”
“Okay, I’m only going to show you one, then you can explore the rest on your own.”
He wanted to rip the pictures from her hand, shove her out the door, and feast. Instead he smiled. “I’m full of anticipation.”
“You better be.” She grabbed one of the papers, glanced down at it, flipped it over, and held it in front of his face as she cried, “My eyes! My eyes!”
Whoa. He swallowed. Say something clever, asshole. “That’s pretty impressive.”
She frowned. “Pretty?” She looked at the grainy black-and-white photo like they must be seeing different things. “Come on, that’s a nine- or ten-inch doofus, right? And this picture is pretty intriguing, because I’d call that at half-mast. There he is hanging with a bunch of guys, not a female in sight, and his thing is peppy.”
“Uh, yes.” He cleared his throat. “Maybe the women are inside putting on sexy lingerie or something?”
“Maybe. But I know for a while people were using this photo to claim Anson is light in his loafers. That’s probably why his lawyers fought so hard to get the photos taken down.” She handed Ru the stack. “Hey, you know me. Like a lot of women, I love my boys gay. It’s fun imagining what they get up to. But a bunch of Gray’s fans are redneck guys. Not so forgiving. And your total population of gay men just won’t make up the difference if he loses his good-old-boy audience. A lot of people make a ton of money off that boy’s ass.” She gazed at Ru. “It must be tough.”
He smiled at her. “You’re a good woman, Lottie O’Grady. Not many people could rustle up much compassion for a Hollywood gazillionaire with hot and cold running everything.”
She cocked her head at him. “But I bet you can.”
Anytime he wanted to relegate Mrs. O to the tall pile of Laguna eccentrics, he’d recall this moment. He just smiled. “Thanks for these. I’m sure they’ll be very educational.”
“Sure.” She chortled. “If you’re getting a PhD in giant cocks.” She held the door open. “Come on, kids.” The two dogs ran out, and she leaned in and kissed Ru’s cheek. “Pleasant dreams.” Laughing riotously at her own joke, she left, closing the door behind her.
The stack of papers shook in his hand. Carefully he locked the door. He set the photos on the coffee table, facedown, went into the bedroom, and changed into his silk pajama pants, leaving his chest bare. He gazed in the mirror. If he’d been on that beach with Gray, would the man have noticed him? He turned sideways. Not a bad chest, really. Slender, but all those years of passionate weight lifting had paid off. He still had nice pecs and a six-pack—not that he ever showed them to anyone.
In the bathroom, he peed and washed. Nice and comfy, he strolled into the kitchen like he had all the time on earth and didn’t already have half a boner. He poured a glass of chardonnay and approached the coffee table like it held the original of the Mona Lisa. Sitting carefully in front of the stack, he shoved a cushion behind him, took a deep breath, and turned over the first photo. It was the one Mrs. O had showed him—Gray on a beach, nude, with several men in the background. Jesus, look at that schlong. Ru let out a long, slow breath and forced his eyes to the other men. Two guys sat on beach chairs, both apparently also nude, but that far back the photo quality was so bad it was hard to tell. He could see that one leaned over toward the other. Maybe had a hand on the guy’s arm. Behind them stood another figure. Definitely a man, because he seemed to have a protuberance standing out in front of him and maybe, just maybe, he had his own hand on said protuberance. Hell, probably just a jackoff party. You don’t have to be gay to masturbate.
Carefully he turned over the next photo and laughed. Some enthusiastic fan had blown up the most notable part of the previous photo. This picture could have been a baseball bat for all Ru could tell. But shit, Mrs. O had a point. The man redefined “hung.”
What’s next? A captivating shot of one rock-solid buttock, definitely belonging to Gray, in the foreground of a photo of several men standing around drinking. One guy’s arm almost certainly encircled the neck of another. Ru stared lovingly at the Anson ass, then flipped the page. Well, okay. A nude man, in this case not Gray, stood with his back to the camera, arms apparently crossed over his chest and legs sturdily planted. Beyond him, some guy’s bare butt stuck up in the air as he kneeled on a chaise. It didn’t take much imagination to guess that the owner of the bare ass was in the process of sucking somebody off, but the nude back blocked the view. Reminded Ru of the old Cruise movie, Eyes Wide Shut, where the director had inserted guys in black robes into the scene to cover up the image of women fellating men. Except no women here, baby. Of course, it could just be his dirty mind. Or wishful thinking.
He sat back, still holding the picture. Really? Do you really hope Gray is gay? You’d wish that on a guy who has so much to protect?
He sighed. It’s always hard to wish the best for people when it doesn’t include you.
He picked up the last photo. Holy mother. This picture came from a different camera at a different time. Someone had caught a color close-up of Gray in an unguarded moment—the perfect profile against a sunset, his famous smoky eyes on the horizon. Not a hint of the cocky, self-assured, king-of-the-universe Gray Anson appeared in this photo. Just a sad, lonely young man gazing into some distant, unpromising future. Where had Mrs. O gotten this photo? Why did she give it to me?