I'm Your Man by Timothy James Beck Page A

appear at his apartment at odd hours, often interrupting our dinners, videos, and more intimate moments.
    I complained, and the river of needy friends slowed to a trickle. When I finally realized that Daniel had seriously curtailed his social life, he confessed that a few of the people at his show’s network had advised him to keep what they called an LGP—Low Gay Profile. Apparently soap viewers had a tendency to overidentify actors with the roles they played. Angus Remington was written as a lady-killer, and although the executives hadn’t asked Daniel to step back into the closet from which he’d emerged well over a decade before, they did encourage his discretion.
    It didn’t really bother me. I’d never been one for trumpeting my sexual orientation to the world, especially since my family was clueless. So it was probably unattractive of me to enjoy taking an occasional shot at Daniel for his new discretion. I considered it payback for the times that he’d jokingly told people how he had to drag me kicking and screaming from the closet after Sydney and I separated. Maybe Daniel felt he had it coming, too, because he tolerated my verbal bullets.
    Looking back, I could see what a toll the situation must have taken on him. He’d always lived his life with an honesty that I admired, and he was struggling with his new boundaries. Us magazine gave him a cover, dubbing him “Soap’s Sexiest Snake,” and his fans were clamoring for information about him. The press was willing to play his game as long as they had something to hook their stories on. Sheila’s rising celebrity provided exactly that.
    It came to a head the night Sheila and I got back from our publicity junket in Europe. In spite of the excitement we’d felt about our trip, we’d both been homesick. She missed Josh, and I missed Daniel. It was the longest he and I had ever been separated. I’d wanted to make a celebration of our return, so I asked Daniel to hire a limo and meet us at the airport with champagne and Josh. What I didn’t know was that Lillith, delighted by the attention Sheila had garnered, wanted to keep the momentum going. She’d arranged for us to be met at the airport, too. By a team of reporters and photographers.
    I was used to stepping away from Sheila when the media focused on her. The only thing I wanted was to feel Daniel’s arms around me. But when I walked toward him, he took a step back and looked nervous. When I stopped, confused and hurt, Sheila spotted him and rushed to hug him. While the flashbulbs exploded, I met Josh’s eyes. He shrugged, as if to remind me that it was all part of the game. Unfortunately, I didn’t feel as resigned as he did.
    This incident added to the Maddie Awards caused bad feelings to simmer between Daniel and me for days. It might have been resolved eventually, and at least half forgotten, but it was still too fresh when I found out by accident that Mrs. Lazenby was dead. In fact, had been dead for several weeks.
    â€œDid that hurt?” Gavin asked, jolting me back to the present.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    â€œYou made a noise. I thought I hurt you.”
    â€œNo. It feels great. Sorry.”
    â€œI’m ready for you to turn over,” he said.
    I did, and he started working from my feet up into my quads, while I brooded about the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back. I’d just stepped out of bodyWorks, my Chelsea gym, when I heard someone call my name. I turned and saw Daniel’s friend Martin Blount and our artist friend Blythe Mayfield walking down the sidewalk, their arms loaded with bags from Bed Bath & Beyond. I stopped to talk to them, awed that Blythe’s hair, usually magenta, was now brilliant purple with an occasional red streak. It took me a few minutes to comprehend what they were excited about.
    â€œ. . . and it was Daniel who suggested it as the perfect solution,” Blythe was