FOR LOVE AND MONEY
G.A. HAUSER
FOR LOVE AND MONEY
Copyright © G.A. HAUSER, 2007
Cover design by Stephanie Vaughan
Edited by Stacey Rhodes
ISBN Trade paperback: 978-1449-5929-4-3
The G.A. Hauser Collection
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Second The G.A. Hauser Collection publication: September 2010
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Chapter One
Dr. Jason Phillips sat with his mouth hanging open as he gaped at the picture on the television screen. A Hollywood premiere, his ex-lover walking up the red carpet with the Italian model ‘Vincienzo’ on his arm, it was all too much to take in. How had he made it? How had he succeeded in a career that had been the ruin of many a young man?
Sitting in the lounge of his stately manor in Carlisle, England, over five thousand miles away from the lovely Ewan Gallagher, he wondered if he would ever get the answer to that question.
When a shadow passed the room entrance, Jason cringed. That woman. That ‘thing’ he married. Priscilla Farnesworth Prescott. All in the name of money. Once he had thought he had sold his soul to that lovely male actor; now he was quite certain it had been to his late Aunt Margerie Witcomb. He had made a deal with the devil. This sham marriage for over five million pounds in property and assets and a fat corgi named Willie.
As he gazed around the sterile room, untouched since his aunt’s hands had lived, the old mongrel snoring under his chair, he knew it had not been worth it.
Wiping his eyes again as the water filled them, Jason wondered two things: how he had missed the plane that day, and why Ewan had climbed on board without him?
Fate. Fate and blind ambition drove both decisions.
Priscilla stuck her mousy nose into the room. “Should I at least get Charles to make you some tea?”
“No.” He rose up, shut off the television with the remote and passed her in the hall.
Scuffing his feet along the expensive tapestries that lined the upper floor, Jason closed himself into the study attached to his private bedroom and locked the door. Moving as if he were already dead inside, like he had been ever since that lovely man left his life, he approached a shelf with tiny ceramics on it. When he had quit his job at the hospital, he had his collection of mice relocated to his home from his office.
Reaching for one out in front of the rest, he lifted a miniature brown mouse on a green leaf. At the touch of the delicate item, he almost felt Ewan’s presence. It had been a gift from Ewan during their weekend away in Windermere. Ewan still had a cast on his left leg from breaking it. Hit by a car one wet winter night so long ago, it was what brought him to the emergency room in the first place. Where fate decided they should meet.
Sitting in front of the computer, setting the mouse down beside its electronic counterpart and pad, Jason booted up the hard drive.
“Vincienzo?’ Jason scoffed out loud the name of the young runway model Ewan had had on his arm. “Where the hell did he find him from?” It angered him. Ewan was so damn comfortable being out. Openly gay. There he was walking with a gorgeous Italian stud on his arm right in front of the world. If only Jason had the same guts.
Ewan had accused him of being weak. He was so damn right.
When the screen lit up with lists of fan sites from entering that Ewan’s name, Jason opened his mouth in awe. “Bloody hell.” The amount of movie chat rooms, galleries of photos, posters, and biography descriptions were beyond belief.
One by one, Jason entered them. When he found a site containing information about Ewan’s current film, ‘Murphy’s Hero’, he read the fine print.
“…April 27th, the London premiere of Murphy’s Hero will be shown in Leicester Square…”
Jason checked his watch for the date. It was one week away.
After almost three hours of reading everything there was to read about the famous Mr. Gallagher, Jason shut down the computer and stood to stretch his back. Checking the time, seeing how late it had become, he assumed Priscilla was in bed, and shrugged, knowing he didn’t care.
Finding his file cabinet, he unlocked it, leafing through the documents. Aunt Margerie’s will was in a separate folder. Taking it out, sitting with it on his bed, he read it again, the fine print, the conditions. If he violated them, only his parents would be left to fight the battle to get his inheritance back. If he left Pricilla, divorced her, then by the contract of his old Aunt Margerie, he would lose everything she left to him. When they found out he was gay, they had blackmailed him into a bad arranged marriage. Would they bother?
Shoving the paperwork to the floor where it scattered like feathers across the polished wood, Jason clenched his fists and snarled, “Go ahead and fight me,” he challenged his parents, “I’m sick of this charade. I want my lover back.”
Then, with the reality of his situation beginning to grip him like a strangling hand around his throat, he wondered, would Ewan even want me back?
Chapter Two
The ending credits moving up the screen, Ewan ran his hand through his long hair and felt the exhaustion creeping up on him.
As people stood, clapped, and began chatting about the wonderful storyline, Vincienzo leaned against Ewan’s shoulder and said in his ear, “We go back to hotel? Yes?”
Rising up as several fellow actors came to shake his hand, Ewan only glanced back in distraction as his lover pouted, wanting his reassurances.
“Brilliant.” Dennis Foreman clasped his hand enthusiastically. “I’ll have my man call yours. I’ve some ideas for a new script I want you a part of.”
“Aye, right. Cheers.” Ewan smiled at this popular movie producer, nodding, trying to hide the empty hole in his heart.
The bodyguards had formed a line to usher them into their waiting limousines. Vincienzo held Ewan around the waist as the screaming of the fans covered even the loudest motor engine.
Hearing his name being cried as he bent low to climb inside the car, Ewan waved quickly as he was shoved from behind. The door shut and the vehicle jolted into motion. Through the tinted glass he tried to wave, but had no idea if anyone could see through it.
“Why you no talk to me?” Vincienzo nuzzled closer.
Growing weary, Ewan set him back. “I’m shattered, love. Yeah? I need some sleep.”
“You no love me. You no call me love-.” He crossed his arms and pouted.
“I don’t want you coming back to my room tonight, Vee. Please. Let me ring you tomorrow.”
“Que cosa?” he said, “Why you do this? We make love tonight.”
“No. We don’t.” Ewan leaned to the driver to say, “I don’t care where you take him, just please, don’t drop him off with me.”
“Right, sir.”
Hearing every word, Vincienzo went into a string of Italian expletives, furious with the terrible treatment.
When his hotel appeared, Ewan gave his lover one last comment, “Bear with me.”
“No. You go bear yourself. I’m finished.” He waved his hands dramatically.
“Suit yourself.” Ewan climbed out when the doorman opened the back of the car.
A few employees rushed to attend him. Ewan was shown to his room, his door opened for him. He was handed the key.
“Would you like anything, sir?”
“Yes, some ale. Cheers.” He closed the door on the bellboy’s nod of understanding, and loosened his tie.
He knew there were hundreds of parties to attend and he would get flack for not showing up. Especially the one for the cast and producer, but, he was too tired. He just wanted some peace.
Before he had stripped down, a soft knock was heard. He opened the door to a tray of ice cold beer.
“Lovely, cheers.” He waited as the man set it down, paused for any further instructions, received none, then left.
Locking the door behind him, Ewan took off the rest of his clothing and poured the bottle into the frosty mug. Moving to the window, he gazed out at this lonely city filled with light, and felt sick to his stomach. The cure for his ache? Thousands of miles away on a tiny isle called Britain.
Chapter Three
“What do you mean ‘going out of town’?” Priscilla crossed her arms anxiously. “Where? For what reason?”
Packing his small suitcase, Jason restrained the urge to scream—It’s none of your business.— and lock her out. But she was his damned wife, after all. “Just for the weekend. I want to go to London for a convention.”
“Convention?”
“Yes. A doctor’s convention.” He avoided her and moved to his dresser for some more clothing.
“Why is this the first I’ve heard of it? Did you know before today?”
“I just forgot to mention it. An oversight on my part.”
“Can’t I come? I’d enjoy a trip to London. I’ve never been there.”
His back becoming rigid at the idea, he didn’t meet her eyes when he said, “No. Not this time. It’s for men only.”
“Men only?” she gasped. “How amazing. Only men doctors?”
“Yes. I’ll take you to the next one. Next year.” Going to his en suite bath, he began gathering his toiletries.
As she watched him get ready, she appeared a forlorn little girl and waited for him to come back to the bed where the suitcase was lying.
After he had dropped his things in it, she ran her hands up his arm, feeling his powerful muscles under his cotton shirt. At the touch, he froze.
“Jason,” she said, “Maybe we could try again, when you get back?”
Closing his eyes as the revulsion surfaced, Jason’s mouth formed a tight line. Catching her left hand as it moved down to his pelvis, Jason shook his head. “It’s no use, Priscilla. I can’t make love to you.”
“How do you know? Maybe if I dress up, role play—”
Trying to find a little tenderness for her, Jason turned his body and held her arms in both his hands. “Dear,” he whispered, “I appreciated you trying, honestly. But, it’s dead. I’ve tried myself to bring it to life, and it’s useless.”
“Can we just lie naked together?” She leaned against him, craning her neck up to his height. “A year we’ve been married and I’ve seen you naked only a handful of times. Mostly in the shower—”
“Cilla…” he sighed, “Please.”
“But—you’re my husband, Jason. If I can’t hold you, who can I hold?”
Pushing the suitcase over to make room, Jason sat with her on the bed. “If you want to find a man who—”
“No. Jason, I would never.” she gasped in shock.
“Listen to me, lovely… You go and get what you need. I won’t stop you, nor will I be angry. You’re a young healthy woman. You should have your urges satisfied.”
“No. Jason. How can you say that?”
Cupping her face gently, trying not to see her as repugnant, Jason whispered, “But, you must. If you want children, you must find a suitable man to have a physical relationship with.”
Biting her lip, she whispered, “Are you telling me you will never be able—”
“Never. It’s broken, my love. I cannot get an erection. Now, let me pack, get myself on the road, and then I’ll be back home again soon. All right?”
She closed her eyes and leaned forward. Swallowing down the black water in his throat, he kissed her quickly, not wanting anything to do with her tongue.
After that kiss, she sat back and smiled sweetly, reassured. “Will you call me? When you arrive?”
“Absolutely.” He stood and closed the case, snapping the locks.
She followed him down the stairs to Charles who was waiting with his jacket. “You know, Jason, Willie’s taken poorly. I think I need to get him to the vet.”
“He’s so bloody old and in agony. Just have him put down.” Jason took his coat from the valet.
“Oh. Jason. No. Not unless he can’t be helped. He’s a good little boy.”
“Whatever, you decide.”
“I’ll miss you…” She pouted.
“Now, you remember what I told you.” Jason slid his leather jacket on and made eye contact with his wife. “You get busy on what we discussed.”
“Jason.” She looked over at Charles.
Peering at him slyly, Jason added, “Maybe Charles knows someone suitable.”
As the old man tilted his head curiously, Jason laughed to himself, leaving the two of them in awkward silence behind him.
He didn’t remember how long of a drive it was. Three hundred and fifty miles and seven excruciating hours later, he was pulling in front of the five star hotel near Regent’s Park. Immediately assisted with his luggage and car, Jason was very glad to be able to afford the luxuries of the upper class, and not deal with the abusive self-service motor lodges.
“Thank you.” He attempted a smile, though all he could think of was sleep.
“Certainly, sir. This way, sir.”
He followed a red-coated man inside the crystal and brass lobby. Approaching the desk, he removed his wallet and thanked the concierge for his help.
“I’ve a reservation. Dr. Jason Phillips.”
“Yes, sir.” The conservatively dressed gentleman searched for his paperwork. “Here we are, sir. Four nights?”
“Yes.” Jason handed him his credit card.
“Just for one, sir?”
Raising his light eyes to this older gent, he whispered, “Yes.”
“Very good, sir.” The man nodded to the bellboy again and handed him the key. “Enjoy your stay, sir.”
“Thank you.” Hardly creating any sort of amiable expression on his face, too tired and anxious about this insanity to feel kind, Jason followed the red-coat to his room.
It was more than adequate, with a large queen sized bed, a sitting area, a balcony, an enormous bathroom and shower. He handed the man a tip and then stood still, trying to gather his thoughts.
As he opened his jacket and kicked off his shoes, he moved to the window, gazing out at the madness of the twisted lanes of London. Unbelievably, he’d not been back here since his medical school days, when he was attending college in Cambridge. And then only a handful of times did he venture into the heart of the city.
Intimidated, yet certain he could manage, knowing a little about the underground, he tossed his clothing on a chair and prepared to nap. He was completely exhausted.
Ewan hadn’t been on a plane for over a year. Seated in fist class on a British Airways flight, he sipped a beer and tried to relax for the long crossing over the Atlantic. He was anxious to get back on English soil. Though the year had gone better than he could have imagined, he missed the UK, his mother, and his mates.
Disturbing him from his thoughts, the hostess asked him if he would like another beer. “No, ta. But another pillow would be lovely.”
She removed one in the overhead compartment and smiled invitingly into his handsome face. Ewan thanked her, ignored the obvious flirt, and nestled in to try and sleep.
He sighed deeply. The things he had sacrificed to get to Hollywood frightened him. Oh, Jason…he moaned silently. My love, my baby…a lump came to his throat. I should get me arse up to Carlisle. See you and Mum. Trying to think of when and how to do it with the noose of a tight schedule around his neck, Ewan dabbed at a tear threatening to roll down his cheek. “Aye, you’d not want to see me,” he mumbled, “You and your new wife, yeah. You should have come with me, love,” Ewan groaned. Me—you—in LA in me big house. Oh, why did it have to be this way?
When a full blown shiver of a sob washed over him, he brought the blanket up to his chin, knowing he would die of embarrassment if anyone spotted him weeping.
He had cried so many nights, he should be finished with the tears. But every time he imagined that incredible man, he welled up and burst into sobs. What was it about him?
And if they did meet again? Would it be cold, distant, horrible?