During the day when he wasn’t sleeping he would sit in front of his computer and look for ways to make his dismal situation better. He read about employment opportunities on Craigslist, getting college degrees from online universities, and reading websites authored by life coaches. This intense online reading was how he became cyber-friends with Cooper Boon, the man who had recused him on that dark day when Harlan had left him wandering naked at Lake Mead. After Treston had returned the sweatsuit to the ranger’s station, Cooper Boon had tried to get in touch with him a few times. But Treston had no interest in getting involved with anyone, not even the man who had rescued him. But when Cooper insisted on getting to know him better, Treston persuaded him to join Facebook and he said they could keep in touch this way for a while. So they wound up reading mundane status updates and communicating through private messages three or four times a week. Cooper seemed to understand and he didn’t push Treston too hard. He told Treston he didn’t mind at all and he liked the idea of getting to know him better through social media. He also laughed and said they were doing it the opposite way most men did it nowadays.
Cooper Boon’s laid-back attitude and his patience both impressed and terrified Treston in a way he couldn’t quite figure out. On the one hand it made him feel hopeful there were a few decent men left in the world. Cooper didn’t seem to want to use him, and he didn’t have ulterior motives. When Treston explained his past to Cooper without going into explicit detail, Cooper said it didn’t bother him in the least that he was a stripper or that he’d been with a lot of other men. On the other hand, Treston was cautious, as if Cooper were too good to be true. Treston had reached the point in life where he’d stopped trusting his own instincts. Harlan Rocks had taught him more than he’d ever wanted to know about men. He realized now he wasn’t getting any younger and it might be wiser for him to look for an older, established man who would take good care of him, instead of looking for love and passion.
On his way to work one quiet Thursday night in the early spring, he spotted one of those long black SUV limousines in front of Chickey’s club. Although it wasn’t unusual to see long black limos like this in Vegas, they didn’t usually pull up to Chickey’s place on a weeknight.
As he approached the entrance, before he made the turn to head down the side alley where he usually entered through the stage door, he heard a couple of men arguing. He stopped walking and glanced at the bouncer who stood at the entrance on Thursday nights, a big burly guy everyone called Mickey J. When Mickey J. saw Treston, he shrugged and smiled. It was evident Mickey J. was enjoying the argument between the two men.
Treston hadn’t had much entertainment in his life since Harlan had left, so he turned toward the entrance to see what the guys were arguing about. As he approached the back of a tall man wearing a formal tuxedo, he heard the handsome young blond man standing in front of him say, “Get your fucking hands off me. I’m going home. I will never forgive you for what you did.”
Than man in the tuxedo seemed nonplussed; he didn’t raise his voice or make any exaggerated gestures with his hands. “I’ll make it up to you, sweetheart. I swear, whatever I did, I’m sorry I did it.” He gestured to the limo and reached for the young blond guy’s arms. “Just get into the car and calm down. You’re making a scene.”
A taxi pulled up behind the limo and the young blond man jerked his arm away from the man in the tuxedo. “Here’s my cab. Fuck you, Chad. You think because you’re so rich and famous you can get away with anything. Well, you’re not getting away with that shit with me.”
Mickey J. folded his arms across his chest and smiled.
The blond man pushed the man in the tuxedo out of his way and ran to the taxi.
When the man in the tuxedo turned to follow him, Treston placed his palm to his throat and gaped at him. The guy in the tuxedo was the Chad Pratt, famous movie star-turned-entrepreneur and professional poker player/gambler, now worth billions of dollars. While Chad been working his way up the Hollywood social ladder, he’d been in the closet and he’d married and divorced two famous women. From what Treston had read in tabloid magazines, the first wife had been one of those snotty bleached blondes, famous for one hit sitcom, and the other had been a slut with dark hair who had stolen him away from the snotty bleached blonde. After Chad Pratt divorced the dark-haired actress, he started investing money in Vegas casinos and all those ticky-tacky subdivisions that now surrounded Vegas. He’d also become a professional poker player and when he gambled on anything, he rarely lost. He’d come out of the closet and told the world he was openly gay in his early forties. Although he didn’t look a day over thirty-five, Treston figured Chad had to be in his late forties now. He was known around Vegas as “The Shark,” because he went through young men and money like other men went through six-packs.
Though Chad had become Vegas legend, this was the first time Treston had ever seen him up close and in person. He ran over to Mickey J. and said, “Did you see who that is? It’s Chad Pratt. I’ve seen all of his movies. Isn’t he the most gorgeous man you’ve ever seen?”
Mickey J. lifted his huge arm and his bicep moved. He twirled his finger and said, “I’m just filled with warm melty tingles all over,” in a deadpan tone.
Even though Mickey J. wasn’t impressed, Treston felt lightheaded and a surge of energy rushed through his entire body. After all he’d read about Chad, and all the movies he’d seen with Chad, he couldn’t believe he was finally getting a chance to see him in person.
The young blond guy climbed into the backseat of the taxi and slammed the door in Chad’s face. When the taxi pulled away, Chad stepped back with both arms in the air and called out the blond guy’s name. Treston wasn’t sure about the name. It sounded like “Dare,” and he wondered who on Earth would name a person “Dare.” Maybe it was a suitable name for a horse or some other farm animal. But never a person.
As the taxi disappeared from view, Chad Pratt stomped toward the limo with tight lips and both fists in front of his stomach. Oh, Treston had never seen a more attractive man in his life. It was true what everyone in Vegas said about Chad. He was better looking in person than on the screen, and this was something not many people in films could claim. He had sandy blond hair that had begun to turn silver at the temples, a tall thin body that moved with grace, and a nose so small and elegant it almost looked feminine. But there was nothing feminine about him.