Chapter 16 "The Mask"
Baz:
I knew the pictures of Simon would turn out great; I could hardly wait to go back to my office to pour over them. Even though I had dressed him up, posed him and shot the pictures myself, I wasn't sure what I would end up with… I never am. There's always an intention or original inspiration whenever I start a photo shoot, but the end result is different. I can try to manipulate it to conform during the photo editing process, but there's always a "wild" element there. In the end I can only see where the art is headed and tweak it somewhat. It's never entirely under my control.
That's what makes it real.
So it's exciting to engage in this process with Simon's image. I intended these first few photos with him to have a kind of sexy energy, which they do... but as I look them over, I also see something that feels wistful and fleeting. He wasn't fully cooperating with me that day, was he? There was something guarded and defiant, there. He was a beautiful boy who would not smile for me; I had to settle with a scowl. And so I see in these photos an independent man-child who may very well run into the woods or fly away into the sky… evading me. He's a wild thing and I don't quite have him yet.
Will I ever "have" him? Do I really want to have him in the sense that he becomes always compliant with me, always predictable? That's not what I want… not really.
I want his wildness. That's why I let him scowl during the photos… didn't make him smile.
I flip through the photos quickly, marking the ones I like best. I love editing, but it needs to be done with a light touch or the raw beauty of the images is spoiled. So I start by simply photoshopping the wing straps away, so it looks like they actually sprout from his back. I adjust the lighting and the shadows and the background. I play with adding layers of fairy tale elements… fir trees and an ax… nope. I remove them. Perhaps a smiling cat in a tree? No. But a bear's head poking out from behind a cottage? That fits. That's a wild element… something that's unexpected and perhaps frightening, but also classic… it reminds me of Goldielocks and the three bears… the house of chairs and beds and porridge that don't quite fit or taste right, but are better than nothing. And so I leave it and continue, and when I'm done I'm satisfied that Simon looks truly enchanted.
But I don't stop there. Simon doesn't want to be recognized. With that in mind, I change the color of his eyes to a tawny brown. I add golden highlights to his hair and stretch the curls longer. But I will not alter his beautiful body shape… it would be an abomination to mess with the contour of his leg muscles or the slope of his shoulders or the sweep of his neck. All that is perfect, just as it is, and I will not tamper with it.
When I post the pictures to my website, there is almost an immediate response. People seem to agree with me; Simon is gorgeous.
Agatha:
I'm flipping through my phone one day when I see a new art post from Baz. It takes me less than ten seconds to realize that the winged boy in the forest is Simon. His appearance is altered slightly, but it's not hard to figure out who he is if you know both of them. Especially since I know it was Baz's intention to photograph Simon.
The photos look good. I feel a little tinge of regret that nothing ever came of that first electric meeting with Simon at the book shop, when he was performing. He really seemed taken with me. We went to coffee once, I helped bring about a RECORD DEAL for him… and I've been friend-zoned.
I think it over. Maybe I never had a chance, once Baz took a fancy to Simon. And that seems to be without question… they met the same day Simon and I met, but look how often Baz sees Simon. Besides the weekly gig at the book shop, there's been meetings for business advice, and now this photography. I suspect there's been a little socialization… maybe a lot. Simon hasn't led me on in any way; he's kept me at arm's distance. But he's never made an honest statement to me about him and Baz. And Baz has never said anything directly, either.
It kind of sucks.
I suppose they're being secretive because of the recording deal. I suggested to my uncle that I put a clause in there pertaining to Simon's public image. And I may have pointed that line out to him, specifically, at one time. I suppose I did that because I was glad he was single and wanted him to stay that way. I'd hoped to date him myself, at one point. But if he's already involved with Baz, that may be unlikely.
Still. I don't think I should consider Simon off-limits, yet. He hasn't said anything to anybody about a relationship; he's not wearing a ring. He has his own place and he works a lot. It may simply be that he doesn't have time for anything or anyone else, right now. But once he goes on tour and doesn't have that bakery job to distract him, and I'm tagging along helping the band make it to their first bookings, he and I will have a lot more time together. Who knows what will happen? Baz won't be around to interfere and things may end up being very different.
Baz:
Simon spent Friday morning at the recording studio, but he met me for lunch. Afterwards I talk him into doing a little impromptu clothes-shopping, so he has "something to wear for the concert tonight." He'll be doing his weekly gig at the book shop.
He isn't in his comfort zone clothes shopping, but that's okay… I am. I immediately take him to a little boutique that I've had in mind for him, for awhile. He looks around nervously, but I guide him over to a rack of shirts and hold one up to his chest. "This blue would look great with your eyes." We find a few more shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans. I wait outside the dressing room while he tries things on.
"Do you want to see it, Baz?" he calls out.
"Of course."
He pushes the curtain aside and steps out of the dressing room. I cock an eyebrow and nod appreciatively when I see him. He blushes. The blue shirt and jeans look great together. "Should I tuck it in?" he asks.
"Definitely not." He leaves the shirt untucked, and spins around.
"That's a 'yes'," I say.
I'm ready for them to ring things up at the register, and start to pull out my wallet. "You're not buying my damn clothes, Baz," Simon says stubbornly, chin jutting out. "Why not?" I ask. "It was my idea."
"Because I'm my own person."
"Of course you are. But can't I buy my boyfriend a gift?"
"Maybe when it's my birthday. Or Christmas. Or something."
"Okay, Simon; fine." I say that, but I don't like it. It feels like a barrier Simon has put up between us: my clothes, me vs. "your clothes", you.
The secrecy of our relationship is enough of a barrier. We don't need more of it. But I say nothing because I don't want to make more out of a revealing little detail than there needs to be.
I resolve to keep some secrets and independence, too.
It takes long enough to get through the checkout line for me to let the dark thoughts go and come back to the moment. We walk back out onto the street. The apartment's just a few blocks away. "Let's go home for awhile, shall we?" I ask, with perhaps a particular thought in mind. He catches my expression and grins.
"Let's."
Once we're home and safely locked inside the apartment, Simon drops the clothes bag to the floor and shrugs out of his jacket. I run my hands up his chest and tug him closer. We kiss, and as always, one kiss turns into more kisses. I end up pulling him by the hand into the bedroom, and he doesn't resist at all.
We sit on the edge of the bed and take our shoes off. I lay back on the pillows and Simon climbs over the top of me, straddling my waist and doing that lovely thing where he makes me reach up for his kisses.
Simon:
I look down at Baz. His dark hair is spilled over the pillow and his grey eyes are looking up at me through half-closed lids. He looks relaxed and luxuriant; there's a small smile tugging at the edges of his lips.
We've been together a few months now, but I still can't believe this… I still can't quite believe that I get to have HIM. He's so sexy and so wonderful. I love his looks and the way he smells and his voice and all of his touches. I love his long hands and the way he says my name and that bedroom look he gives me. I love his sighs and his moans and his laughs and when he cocks an eyebrow at me. I love his humor and his moods and the way he peers at me when he's wearing glasses.
I love all of it.
But somehow it doesn't seem quite real. That's probably because we're still a secret. He's never met Ebb and he's not there on my movie nights with Penny. He doesn't come to my band practices as a regular thing and we don't even hold hands when we're walking out on the street. These restrictions on our behavior are all because of ME, but sometimes I have trouble remembering why I'm putting us through all that. Why the limitation? Why can't I let us be a real couple?
Then it's like I have to remind myself. I lecture myself. Because I want this recording deal. Because I want to be popular with fans. Because I don't want to disappoint anyone.
The longer it goes on, this secrecy, the more I determine that it can only be temporary. At some point I want a real relationship with Baz — one that doesn't have any limitations or lies. One that's open and public and healthy.
Sometimes I feel a kernel of fear, about that. But it isn't so much fear over what will happen if fans hate it and reject me in the end. The fear is that I won't give Baz a real relationship soon enough, and he'll leave me.
Baz:
When Simon takes the stage that night, he's wearing the blue shirt and jeans we bought together. Well… that HE bought for himself. Stubborn git. And my heart does a little flutter, because he has the shirt untucked, just like we talked about, and it's tight enough to hug his hips a little and stretch nicely over the shoulders. His hair is still damp from the shower, which he had to take after we shagged. His eyes are flashing under the lights and I hear his husky laugh as he and the guys figure out their set.
He leans against the bar stool up on stage and scans the audience until his eyes lock on mine. He smiles and my heart does another little "thump thump." But then he looks away. Because he has to.
I wish he didn't have to.
Simon:
I like having Baz in the audience. When I sing it gets so emotional… there's all these ups and downs, and having Baz here grounds me. Plus I have a surprise for him tonight. Well, not really a surprise… he's the one who suggested I do this song. The guys and I have been working on "Jealous Guy", and I'm finally ready to perform it on stage. (It's the song that led to our first love confession to each other).
I wish I could look at him during the whole length of the song, but Agatha's here so I better not.
She's coming with us for the first three weeks of our tour. She'll help us figure out how to get places and how we should interact with the different people we'll meet along the way — the sound crews, the venue owners, the fans. She'll even ride with us on the tour bus and stay in the same motels.
Definitely Baz won't be able to come visit me during those first three weeks. It'll be hard to hide our feelings for each other with Agatha around that much. I don't want to put Baz through that. Our extended periods of alone-time are probably the only thing that keeps us sane.
Agatha. Not sure how to feel about her… friend or foe? She's the one who told me about that clause in our contract… the one where I'm supposed to stay single for my public image. Is she trying to control me? On the other hand, she's helped me so much. She's the one who told her uncle to come hear us play, and now we have a recording deal and the chance of a lifetime. I look over at her; she's smiling at me.
I ALMOST give her a wink before I remember… Baz... and so simply start the chords for "Jealous Guy".
It's a beautiful song. I hope Baz remembers how I told them he doesn't need to be a jealous guy, because I love him. I hope he remembers all the "I love you's" and gentle kisses we gave each other that night… that we give each other every night. He's everything to me. Almost right from the start I made him promise not to see other people… how can he think I would ever ask him that without giving the same devotion in return? It makes my eyes sting, to think of him doubting me for one second.
But I'm wearing my public closet door, so to speak. I'm on stage and the girls are gazing up at me, in tender devotion, including Agatha. So I don't look at Baz while I sing it. I sing the words like I might be singing to anyone… maybe a special girl. But I'm thinking of him the whole time. What he means to me and what we mean to each other. How horrible it would be to lose him to someone else... or to lose him to jealousy. I pack all of that emotion into the song, and I know my voice carries it, rough and cracking in all the right places, showing my vulnerability.
But nevermind. Someday he'll have all of me.
When that day comes I'll be able to invite him up onto stage with me. We'll be the kind of couple who are together so much people kind of say our name as one word... "SimonandBaz". We'll be invited to all the same parties and have all the same friends. I won't have to keep that separate apartment. Everything will be "ours", rather than "his" or "mine".
But we're not there yet. And so it is that I don't look at him at all during the song, even though I'm thinking of him the whole time. And when I do look over at him, during another song, he's not looking at me. He's looking away. I think he's disappointed.
"I'm sorry, Baz," I think to myself
Baz:
I want him to look at me as he sings it. I look at him and just will him to look at me. There's so much longing in my heart over this song… he must feel it. But he never looks. Not once, not a peek.
I'm being silly, because of course he can't "feel" my feelings when he's not even looking at me. But I still experience it as a bitter disappointment. My heart sits in my throat and I can hardly swallow past it.
"Oh, Simon," I think.
I have got to do what I can to put some separation between the two of us. I've let him and these thoughts surrounding him take over my whole world. It's not healthy and it's not sustainable. He's going to leave on tour and then I'll be left with just… me. And somehow I will have to carry on.
Best to get used to it now.
By the time Simon's done with his two hour set, my "moment" has passed. I act as if nothing is wrong, but I don't think Simon's buying it. He's looking at me closely and trying to quietly touch my hand, even while we're still at the book shop.
But he gets no piece of my inner thoughts and fears that night. I've decided those are mine to keep. My secret.
It's our second photo shoot, and Simon's wearing the custom-made suit I ordered for him. I hired a theatrical costume designer for the actual tailoring, as the design is 18th century and I want him to look authentic. He's wearing a white shirt with ruffled sleeves and ruffles at the neck, a light blue satin vest, and a gray silk suit coat and breeches. His stockings are white and his shoes have heels and buckles, so when we stand side by side we are now almost the same height. Actually, he's taller — if you count the tricorn hat- which he's wearing over a white powdered wig. His "hair" is fastened back with a bow, and an elaborate silver masquerade mask covers the top half of his face.
I feel an odd sort of trepidation, setting up the photo shoot for this version of Simon. This time he's virtually unrecognizable, his identity concealed by the mask and all the layers he's wearing. He's a stranger… a compelling stranger. In the dark or on the street, I could pass him without knowing who he is. He could be holding hands with someone else, and it wouldn't be significant to me because I wouldn't know it was him.
This is going to be a hard series of photos for me to take. I know he'll look beautiful… that's not the problem.
The problem is the mask. I'm really starting to hate the mask that hides his face from me, just as I hate the mask we wear while in public and no one can know we're together.
But I need to take these photos this way, because THIS is our reality. And I will acknowledge that and make it into art. It's the way I deal with things.
"Baz?" he asks. "You ready to photograph? I'm getting hot and this wig is itchy."
"Yes, love," I say, gallantly grabbing his hand and leaning over to kiss it, like an 18th century gentleman might kiss the gloved hand of his lady love.
Simon smiles but he looks at me like I'm a sphynx. He doesn't understand me at all.
