A Star is Born (2 page)

We were both a bit startled by this sudden development, but giving it thirty seconds of thought as we threw a few things into our backpacks, neither of us saw a problem with Derrick’s plan. We’d had a good time at his place in Hawaii before, and he was right that if we stayed here, I would be guilted into going to work. I was such a pushover for people calling me when someone else couldn’t work.

Ten minutes later, we were as packed as we were going to be. Derrick put us into his car, even though we didn’t fit especially well since he drove a trendy little sports car. With a quick stop at the ATM, where he got some cash which he handed to us—I protested loudly and forcefully, but it did little good—Derrick drove us directly to LAX.

Traffic at the world-famous airport was always busy. An advantage of traveling with a VIP or on arrangements made by said VIP was that we got to bypass all of the main lobby chaos. Derrick drove us instead to a separate gated entrance where his face was instantly recognized, his name was checked on a computer, and we were readily admitted.

He couldn’t leave his car, so we said good-bye in the parking lot and were escorted inside the building by someone who was waiting for our arrival. We waved to Derrick and saw him drive away. Check-in, for us, was painless. Our boarding passes were printed and handed to us, and we were escorted to and through a separate security checkpoint.

After we easily passed through security, we were escorted to a separate lounge area that was apparently designed for VIPs who wanted to remain out of the spotlight as much as possible while traveling. After spending some time with a celebrity over the last nine months, I could seriously understand why they would want to remain as private as possible. The life of a celebrity was not necessarily easy when they were in public.

We were offered a drink, which we passed up, instead opting for bottled water to try to head off the inevitable dehydration that came with flying long distances. Before it seemed possible, we were notified that our flight was ready for boarding. Our ever-present escort guided us to our plane, again using hallways that the average traveler never saw. We walked up the stairs outside of the gate and were greeted at the door of the plane by a very pleasant flight attendant, who guided us to our seats at the front of the plane. Seriously, I could get used to this treatment.

While others came on board the plane, we got settled in and started reading. We had both carefully managed to pack only noneducational reading material so that this trip wouldn’t be connected with school for me in any conceivable way.

We ate, we talked, we read, and we napped. And then there was still another hour to go, so we talked some more, read some more, and ate some more. Finally, though, our flight was on final approach into Kahului Airport on the island of Maui. At that end of the trip, we didn’t have the same VIP treatment that we had received at LAX.

After being trapped in our seats for so long, it felt good to be up moving around, so we were not rushing but were leisurely walking. As we were walking from our gate toward the main baggage claim area we both noticed a man walking fairly close behind us. When I turned once to look at him, I noticed that he was staring intently at us. It was a little freaky.

We stopped to use the restroom before hitting the road, which was a good thing because what happened next would have scared it out of me if I hadn’t just taken care of business. With no warning whatsoever, the man who had been behaving so strangely earlier came rushing up to us and started to shout, “Sodomite! Devil! Spawn of Satan! You will burn in the everlasting fires of Hell!” and other equally insulting and confusing things, all of course in the loudest voice possible.

Absolutely everyone anywhere near us stopped to look our way, trying to figure out who we were and what was happening. We were both mortified to be the subject of this crazy man’s vitriolic harangue. Almost immediately, airport police came running and descended upon the guy and escorted him away. Even as he was being led away, we could still hear him shouting about how he’d seen Bill lying with man as with woman and how he was going to burn in the everlasting fires of hell and damnation.

We were both simply stunned. “Well, it appears that they have a new way of greeting guests from when we were here last,” I said, not knowing what else to say.

But Bill didn’t respond. He was more freaked out by the encounter with the crazy person than I had initially thought. When he didn’t speak, I said, “Come on, let’s get out of here.” He remained silent but did walk along with me.

Our driver was waiting outside of the security zone, right where we expected. We immediately piled into the car and left the airport to head to Derrick’s house.

Stalker

S
INCE
we had stayed in the house once before, we already knew our way around the building and the grounds. Bill remained quiet while we unpacked what few things we had brought with us. Given his mood, I thought it better to keep him moving, to keep him occupied, rather than let him sit and stew in his own juices, so I suggested that we go out for a walk on the beach.

That particular stretch of beach was relatively quiet that day, so I was able to take Bill’s hand in mine as we walked. After about twenty minutes of walking, he finally seemed to relax a little bit. However, all too soon, that relaxation was wiped away. As we approached the house to settle in, lie in the sun, or something equally decadent, our peace was disrupted.

Before we even reached the house we could hear someone shouting. We couldn’t tell what they were shouting, but their voice was very loud and sounded very angry. Curious, we went around to the front of the house to investigate. And, oh, crap. The same angry little man who had shouted at us at the airport was standing in front of Derrick’s house, holding a book and preaching and screeching up a storm about the horrors of the homosexual menace and the blight visited upon mankind by the homosexuals. Hey, that was me he was talking about! And he certainly wasn’t endearing himself to me, that was for sure.

Bill’s relaxed attitude vanished in a heartbeat. I immediately grabbed the telephone and called the police to report a crazy man ranting in front of our house. While someone who lives in a big city might be accustomed to dealing with homeless people wandering around them, in Hawaii it was more unusual. In Hawaii there were lots of places back in the hills to hide out, to live off the land in ways that one couldn’t somewhere like New York City or Los Angeles.

The police arrived on the scene very quickly. I told Bill to remain inside the house while I went out front to talk to the police and figure out what was going on with this guy who was stalking us. Much to my surprise, he did as I asked and stayed exactly where he was, simply watching out the window with his arms crossed over his chest.

I went out and talked to the cop about chasing our stalker away. The guy was apparently well known to the local PD. It seemed that he hung out at the airport, watching for recognizable people to arrive so that he could harangue them about some violation or other to some biblical code that hadn’t mattered for several thousand years.

The cops chased him away, but warned me that the guy would most likely be back. Now that he had found us, he was not likely to simply go away and stay away.

“Guys, what do you recommend I do? I’m getting a little scared now. What do I do if this nutcase comes back? What if he comes onto the grounds? Or chases us on the beach? Or breaks into the house? It sounds like he’s a few bricks shy of a full load.”

“If you can, the best thing to do would be to hire private security that would be here on the grounds with you 24/7.”

“Can’t afford that. I don’t live here. A friend just loaned us use of his house for a couple of days, since we really needed a break.”

“Who owns the house?” one of the cops asked.

“Derrick St. James.”

“Oh, yeah.” Speaking to his partner, he said, “Remember all those pictures of him in the paper a month or so ago?”

“I do.”

Before this conversation could go any further, I stopped it dead in its tracks. “All of those photos were fakes. I should know—I read the forensics report. And the innocent victim of that whole mess is in the house right now and is absolutely a basket case because of this nut job. Now, I can’t afford to hire a private security service. What are my alternatives?”

His radio crackled to life. He gave his partner a shout, dashed back to his car, and they took off before he could answer my question.

Getting Bill to Unwind

R
ETURNING
to the house, I found Bill exactly where he was when I left—standing at a front window looking out with his arms crossed over his chest.

“All taken care of,” I said, attempting to calm his fears, not to mention my own. “They know the nutcase who’s been stalking us. He’s a local. He hangs out at the airport looking for famous people and then harasses them. He’s some crazy fundie.”

“Well, we’ve dealt with them before.”

“Unfortunately. I hadn’t given them much thought since we left New York.”

“They’re everywhere. The world is full of people like that.”

Not quite ready to be as bummed out as Bill, I said, “Enough of this. Let’s go sit by the pool and get some sun.” While Bill retrieved his and my books, I made us some iced tea in the kitchen. We walked out to the pool together and got settled down with our books for a few hours of quiet relaxation.

It took quite a while, but Bill finally started to unwind a little bit. I can’t say that he completely unwound, because he didn’t. Every few minutes I would look over at him and see him staring into the distance, and I knew he was thinking about our earlier visitor.

“You’re not going to change it by obsessing about it,” I said as casually as possible when I caught him once.

“I’m not obsessing.”

“Yes, you are.”

“How do you know what I’m thinking?”

“I know you.”

“You can’t know what’s going on inside my brain.”

“Too late. I can and I do,” I said without looking up from my book.

“You know, sometimes you really piss me off,” he said without much enthusiasm.

Looking over at him, I smiled and said, “But ya love me anyway, don’t ya?”

“I hate you,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and trying to look pissed. He gave up trying when he saw that it wasn’t working.

“What are we going to do about dinner?” Bill asked.

“You hungry?”

“I asked my question first.”

“And I was just trying to gather more information, like do we need to deal with it right this minute or five minutes from now or an hour from now.”

“Quit being so damned logical,” Bill complained jokingly. “And yes, I’m hungry. Remember the three hours of time change. I always underestimate how much impact it has on me the first few days here.”

We decided upon a place that was within walking distance and went inside to change for dinner. It was Hawaii, so one didn’t really have to dress up for dinner. In our case it meant putting on some shoes, a clean shirt, and shorts that were dry.

Ten minutes later we were headed out the front door for the short ten-minute walk to one of Derrick’s favorite places. We had never eaten there, but Derrick had certainly raved about the place so we thought it was worth a shot. Since it was still early, the place was basically deserted—that is, except for those others like us whose body clocks were totally screwed up.

We had been seated at a table upstairs on an open balcony, which gave us a lovely view of the ocean. And since we were eating early, there was still daylight—plenty of daylight.

Between the view, the warm weather, the cloud-free sky, and the eventual setting sun, we both relaxed and had a wonderful meal. The fish was so fresh I’m surprised we hadn’t seen someone walking in with it from the ocean just before it appeared at our table. Spectacular fish done simply. Topped off with a dessert that was absolutely incredible.

On our walk back to the house, we were both much more relaxed than we had been earlier in the day. We slept peacefully that night. Before climbing into bed, I had made double sure that all of the windows were closed and locked and that the doors were all locked. Satisfied, I set the alarm and then joined Bill in bed. While I had been assuring myself that the house was as safe as possible, Bill had fallen asleep. I stood by the bed and stared at him for a moment. There was something about watching a sleeping man that was so incredibly erotic, especially this man, the man that I loved so very much.