like a male version of the British actress Charlotte Rampling. It wasn’t just the freckles that made me think of Charlotte; it was the waiflike, yet seductive innocence that dragged you in, hypnotized you. He could toy with you and not have you suspect a thing.
“Gentlemen, I’m Darryn Novolo,” he said in a deep, but smooth, silky voice that just completed the picture of perfection. “Some of you are aware of me from the modeling world. I’m here to be a member of the cast, and I consider it a great honor to be allowed to be here with you on this show. And, Ian . . .” he said with the kind of sincerity lacking in this crowd and with an intonation that would make you thank him for killing your mother. “I offer my sincere condolences on the loss of your son.” This guy was the definition of suave. Of refinement. He stuck out like a sore thumb in this tribe.
Darryn was going to be trouble. He was in the room for less than a minute and already it seemed that the contest was over. The guys were so disturbed by Darryn’s addition to the show that they didn’t seem to know what to do, how to react, or how to handle him. What disturbed me wasn’t Darryn, since I didn’t have a thing to lose to him, it was the fact that Jeremy added Darryn deliberately, sadistically. It’s not as if the shit pot needed any more stirring. This pot was ready to boil over.
As I was musing this, another thought struck me: A few minutes ago, the future of the show was in jeopardy. So why was Darryn invited to fly across the country to be in a television program that might be canceled?
Ian commanded Drake to fetch a seat for Darryn. Drake found one and inserted it in between David and Gilles, a few people down from Ian. But Ian had other plans.
“Drake, would you be a good boy and put the chair here?” he said, pointing to a space between his chair and Gilles. The slight was glaring. Even Gilles, who was protected by inches of narcissistic armor, seemed shaken to his foundation. Darryn sat down innocent of the power play he had just been thrown into.
“So, Darryn,” Ian inquired, staring through his tented fingers. “So you’re the hottest male model in the world right now?”
Ian was up to his usual cat-and-mouse tactics.
“Thank you for the compliment, Ian, but I wouldn’t say I’m the hottest male model in the world. I’m just popular right now. That could pass. I just finished several shows in Milan and four in Paris. Armani, Gucci, Prada, Dolce & Gabbana, and Versace. And here I am.”
Gilles fired the first shot.
“So you are here. I see that. My question ees whyyyyyyy?” he sneered.
Darryn looked perplexed. “Because I was asked to join the cast of this show.”
“But who ask you?”
“Jeremy, of course. He’s the producer of this show.”
“So, Darryn, he say you must come on the show, and you just come?” Gilles sniffed.
“I thought about it first, but I said yes.”
“So you come on zeese program after all the hard work we have done joost to geeet your hands on Ian’s money?”
Everyone waited to see if Darryn would take Gilles’s toxic bait and fire back.
“I was invited to be on the show under the same circumstances that you were, Gilles.”
It was an innocuous answer, but it was the right one. If it were me, I would have answered, in this order: “The only hard work you’ve done has involved working hard on Ian’s cock.” “And why, exactly, are you here, Gilles?” And finally, “I think that money would be much better in my hands than yours, that way it would end up going for tasteful, stylish things and not for the disposable Eurotrash clothing and items you plow through every day.” But Darryn was not going to wear his ego on his sleeve. He had good looks and he was smart. I liked him. A lot. I was slipping into my old pattern of falling for gay men.
Drake, never one to dive into battle with any of the other guys, spoke up, “Darryn, I’d like to welcome you to the show. If there’s anything you need, feel free to ask me.”
“Well, thank you, Drake,” Darryn replied, showing 105 of the whitest teeth I had ever seen.
“So, Darryn, I’m sure that Jeremy’s request that you be on the show must have come