Also Want to Thank

By Habu

Rising heartthrob movie actor Dillon Drake is told that he would have to kiss a lot of frogs if he wanted to rise in the movie business in Hollywood, which he’s also told in no uncertain terms is a very gay town under the surface. Dillon plays the game and he does rise in the business, but the questions are where is the edge of what he can take and what would the fallout be of going over the edge? How big a splash does he have to make to escape the frogs and where and how will he make the break?

• Language: English
• Publisher: BarbarianSpy
• Release date: Jan 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781925568035

Habu

Habu is one of the pen names of a former supersonic spy jet pilot, intelligence agent, male model, movie actor, and diplomat. A wild youth in South East Asia was spent enjoying whatever sexual opportunities came his way, and much of his gay male writing is about recalling incidents from those days and inventing ones he’d perhaps have liked to experience. He now leads a very quiet and ordinary life.Check out our blog and get free stories. Feedback and reviews are always appreciated.

Book preview

Chapter One: The Award Goes To

What did you say? Keys? Dillon Drake turned a half-glassy stare at the man sitting behind him at the awards ceremony, Art Marshall, the movie producer. Something that just happened on stage had produced enough applause and cat calls to drown out what Marshall, who was sitting there, dangling a set of keys on a Chrysler key ring in front of Dillon’s face, was trying to say to him. Or Dillon was blaming the failure to hear the man on the noise in the hall rather than on the buzzing in his ears caused by him being buzzed.

Keys, Marshall repeated. I wanted you to be happy either way, no matter how this turned out. I know you like the Crossfire sports convertible Chrysler made for a few years. I found you one.

How is it with impacts on steel light poles? Dillon asked.

Excuse me? Marshall clearly was perplexed.

Never mind, I’m sure it’s going to be a very meaningful part of my life and memory.

Dillon, enough, I think. A hand came over from Dillon’s other side and fell on Dillon’s forearm. Dillon’s friend—some would say keeper—Scott Black, who, in fact, was black and very good looking, as young as Dillon’s mid twenties, gave Dillon a little frown.

All of you here? Everyone here to suck my blood some more? Or, would you rather, for this little bauble you’re giving me that I sucked your— His face had turned back to Marshall.

I think you may have had enough for tonight, Marshall said, turning a meaningful look at Black, who moved Dillon’s drink out of his reach. The others at the table, Dillon’s agent, Walt Whalen; the aging acting couple, Delores Mendez and her English husband, Malcolm Strange; and the money man, Craig Townsend, were looking everywhere but at Dillon, with practiced, cold smiles on their faces. When they saw someone they knew in the audience, they warmed the smile and gave a little wave. One chair at the table was empty, at Dillon’s insistence, although it was marked with a large place card with the name of Fletcher Falwell on it, the guiding light and leading man of the movie, Fire Down the Valley. Fire was the movie Dillon had been nominated for, thus justifying having received his own table at the ceremony to fill with those closest to him.

Dillon was about to disagree on whether he’d had enough to drink and stand up and throw himself on the table to reach his glass of booze when the music stopped and the MC appeared at the microphone on stage again.

Now it’s time for the awarding of the Golden Globe for best supporting actor in a feature film. Dillon perked up a bit when the MC rolled through his name while reading off the list of nominees.

"And the winner is, for Fire Down the Valley, Dillon Drake."

The spotlight picked Dillon out at his table, he gave a sloppy grin, and Black and Marshall helped him rise. Black helped him all the way to the stairs up to the stage and then up onto the stage as well. The young movie star staggered through the last twenty feet of level stage on his own, made three grabs at the statuette before snagging it, and then swung around to take the microphone.

Bet cha’all didn’t know I could act too, he snorted into the mike. This was met with a smattering of nervous laughter.

"Well, I think this is great, just great. Thank you. Even if the studio couldn’t believe it could happen. But I want to thank the studio and all of those who screwed—excuse me—supported me on the way up. As always, my agent,