“How come you’ve got an American accent?” Rayne asked him finally, taking another drag. The cigarette was pure tobacco. He had contemplated adding a pinch… but no, that would just be greedy. Mahmoudi had warned him to be careful.
“I do a lot of work in New York.”
He pronounced it Noo Yoik. Rayne smiled a little at that but only said; “Movies?”
“Yeah. It’s big bucks out there. The studios get their actors tested every couple’a months.” Aldo spread himself out to catch every last ray of the sun that he could.
“You’ll get skin cancer,” Rayne pointed out sagely, gesturing skyward with his roll up.
“I’m Italian, we’re born tanned,” Aldo retaliated, puffing out his bronzed chest.
“Twat!” Rayne said, but he had a smile on his face. Aldo nudged him in the ribs.
“You’re just jealous.”
“Yeah, right! I’ve always wanted to be a brainless stud-muffin with leather skin!” He was grinning broadly now.
“You’re in a good mood this morning,” Aldo commented, sitting up and ruffling his hair. “Not so sore now?”
“Only my arse,” Rayne flashed back archly.
“Did Mahmoudi try to grope you?” Aldo had a twinkle in his dark eyes as he said it.
For a moment the younger man seemed to flounder then he drew on the dwindling roll up one last time and flicked the ashes overboard casually. Tilting his head back he blew a perfect ring of smoke up into the dome of the parasol.
“He did until I sucked him off,” he breathed. “That settled him down all right.”
Aldo gagged. “You sucked his cock? Aaggghhh!”
“Pussy!” The English boy turned his head to grin at him playfully. “You suck dick for a living and that’s too much for you?”
“I get ‘paid’ to suck dick,” Aldo reminded him.
“Who says I did it for nothing?” Rayne drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. His smile was almost vicious. “He fucked me as well. And it was ‘so’ worth it.”
“I do not get your sense of humour sometimes,” Aldo rolled onto his side to look enquiringly at his co-star. “Are all English guys like you?”
“I doubt it.” Rayne Wilde said with a shake of his head.
They sat in companionable silence for a little while, enjoying the sun and the play of the waves around the boat. Aldo turned and lay on his stomach, perfecting the bronzed curves of his backside and Rayne eased his slim legs over the side and rested his chin on his folded arms over the low guard-rail, closing his eyes. It was turning into a searingly hot day, his mood was mellow, and he decided it would be quite nice to do nothing at all.
Their peace was disturbed by the return to the boat of the two young men whom Rayne vaguely recalled from the previous evening. They both wore shades and matching silver stetsons this morning. Although they were not quite as toned or as tanned as Aldo, they ‘were’ identical, right down to their behaviour – which this morning seemed to have been programmed to ‘childish’ mode.
“We-ell, lookee here!” one of them whooped. “Looks like the laydeez have bagged all the sun deck for them-selves!”
“Which is a terr-ible waste, seeing as one doesn’t need the sun and the other doesn’t even know what to do with it!” the twin barked.
They rolled around together on the lower deck, obviously finding this observation too hysterical for words. Rayne surveyed them impassively through his shades. Aldo sighed wearily.
“What the fuck has the cat dragged in?” the English boy asked, just loud enough to carry.
“Craig and Neil Dupont,” Aldo said by way of introduction. “Famous for their thirty minute mutual jerk-off scene in ‘Brothers Are Doin’ It For Themselves’.”
“Oh,” Rayne said with a little nod. “The Terrible Tosser Twins! God help us!”
Aldo snickered at this.
“Well hark at Laydee High and Mighty!” one of the twins crooned, pushing back his stetson to scowl at Rayne. “Little Miss ‘I got double-ended five fuckin’ years ago and never worked again’!”
“Mine was catchier,” Rayne told him, without moving from his post on the guard-rail. “Are you Crepe or Nellie? Not that I can be bothered telling you apart!”
“Gawd, you’re such a hoot!” the other twin jeered up at him. “And I just lu-urve your candy stripes, laydee!”
“And I just ‘lurve’ the fact that you both fanny on in spastic cowboy mode when you’re plainly a pair of skinny little twats from Essex!” Rayne Wilde pushed himself up from the rail and hopped to his feet, staring down on them defiantly. “Go an’ hotwire a Ford Escort or something!”
“Get Her!” the second twin laughed, shaking his tush vigorously.
“‘Aah’d you know we’re from Essex?” the first demanded indignantly, dropping his fake Texan camp like a hot brick.
*
The twins were a little more subdued below deck with Dan’s beady eye on them. Rayne quickly ascertained that the elderly pornographer was no keener on Crepe and Nellie than Aldo or himself had been. In fact, most of the boys he worked with seemed to be a trial to Daniel Leland. Aldo poured a glass of juice and spring water from one of the tall, chilled jugs set around the day room and settled on the futon glowering darkly at the two teenage boys. Rayne took the adjacent corner of the bed, between his new friend and Ant who was sitting in an armchair looking decidedly uneasy.
Arturo, who seemed to be in charge of both the Twins and Aldo, had been talking to Daniel when they came back down and now one of the younger boys asked; “When’s Paddy getting here, Arty?”
“This afternoon,” the elder Italian responded. His accent was thicker than Aldo’s but his English was still very good. “No doubt there will be a party this evening.”
“I’m sure,” Daniel said dryly. “We have a booking at La Fenix.”
“Paddy’s parties are cool!” the other Twin enthused.
“He’ll shut Princess Candy-Stripes up tonight, that’s for sure,” the first giggled nastily.
“Or make her scream her cunting head off!” Number Two sniggered into his hands like a child.
Rayne said; “Will someone gag those two Chelmsford fuckwits before I kill them both!”
Twin One opened his mouth but a look from Dan Leland was enough to make him shut it again without uttering so much as a squeak. Rayne’s smile bordered on malevolent.
“I’m going for a shower,” he said, pushing himself to his feet.
Aldo moved to follow but Ant was faster.
“I’ll come with you,” he said gravely. “We need to talk.”
UNDER THE SPRAY:
“Who’s Paddy?” Rayne asked once he and Ant were in the shower room together and the cool water was taking some of the heat from his face.
His older lover soaped his back and bottom gently, then moved in closer so that his wet body curved around Rayne’s. “Patrick McNamara,” he elaborated in the boy’s ear. “Only one of the biggest names in the movie game. Are you telling me seriously you’ve never heard of him?”
“Nope,” Rayne said cheerfully, leaning back into his arms. “Should I have?”
“Since you’re going to work with him, I guess so,” Ant told him. “They call him the Irish National Stud. He’s an actor, backer, producer, director; you name it he’s done it.”
“Sounds impressive,” Rayne admitted, lifting his hands and looping his arms around Ant’s neck, locking his fingers together there. “This boat’s getting pretty crowded though.”