"John…John, we should stop…"
Kenya wasn't sure she'd heard that quite right. That voice almost sounded like…Chas, though since it was through a door she couldn't be sure. She stopped under the pretence of kneeling down and fixing the strap on her shoe, listening carefully.
A short gasp, a shift. "You've got five minutes before they need you," a husky voice said, one that Kenya recognized from a man whom she'd seen with Chas a lot since he came to LA. Constantine, was that his name? Chas talked about him all the time.
"Ferguson's gonna kill me…if I come out there with another hickey…"
Definitely Chas. But that couldn't be right- John was a friend of Chas's, but twice his age. They couldn't be…
But there it was, a soft gasp, a moan, distinctly Chas's.
She suddenly heard a voice down the hallway say something about getting extra chairs from the storage closet, and she stood up and looked at the tag on the door- storage closet. If she didn't act, Chas would likely be caught in a not-so-flattering situation.
She opened the door and walked right in, shutting the door behind her before anyone could see in. And despite what she'd heard, the sight that greeted her was a shock.
Chas was sitting on the edge of a prop table, his legs wrapped around John's waist, John standing in front of him. There wasn't any room between them, and Chas's head was tilted back and his eyes shut as John nipped and kissed at his neck.
"Break it up, you guys, someone's coming," Kenya hissed, and Chas jumped so suddenly that his shoulder hit John's nose. John stumbled back, his hands flying up to his face, and Chas looked at Kenya with a panicked, desperate look.
"Kenya…I-I…"
"Shut up," Kenya said, walking over to Chas and adjusting his tie and collar, and then smoothing down his hair a bit. "Calm down for a sec."
The door opened and a stagehand walked in, giving the trio a clueless smile as he grabbed a couple of chairs. Within moments he was gone, shutting the door behind him, and Kenya turned to John.
"Are you alright?"
John rubbed his nose and frowned. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."
Chas still seemed to be in a mental panic. "Listen, Kenya, I can explain-"
"Chas," Kenya cut him off, tugging on his tie playfully. "You don't need to explain, alright? We have a show to do," she continued with a smile, and she could practically feel the relief coming off him in waves.
"A show. Right. Okay."
"At least you won't have to worry about lipstick stains," she added with a smirk and a wink, and John snorted.
The show went on as planned, giving out the Film Festival awards with a good pace and energy. Kenya and Chas were so used to working together that they could play off each other like brother and sister.
Afterward, Kenya pulled Chas aside, away from the crowd.
"So that was your deep, dark secret?" She asked with a smile.
"Well…I just…I didn't…"
Kenya almost laughed. "I don't mind. Really. It doesn't bother me one bit. I love you too much for that to matter."
"And you won't tell anybody?"
"Chas…eventually, someone's going to find out. Of course I won't tell anybody, but you know you can't keep this a secret forever."
Chas looked down at the floor, swallowing hard. "I know. But…I don't think I could handle it, you know? If people started harassing him because of me. Because of who I am."
Kenya hugged Chas, just letting the silence sink in for a few moments before speaking.
"Whatever you decide, Chas, I'll be here for you."
"I know, Ken-doll. I know."
"…You know I hate that, right?"
Chas grinned and looked down at her. "That's why I do it."
"Chas! Chas!"
The hug was abruptly cut off by Ferguson rushing up to them as if chased by a rabid dog. He paused for a moment, trying to catch his breath.
"Ferguson? You alright?" Chas asked, looking over Ferguson's shoulder at John, who simply shrugged.
"I just talked to the editor of Time Magazine, Chas. The editor of Time," Ferguson said excitedly. Chas raised an eyebrow.
"Congratulations…"
"No, Chas, no! He said tomorrow they're releasing the list of the top five nominees for Man of the Year Award…Chas, you're on it. You're on it."
Chas blinked a few times, and Kenya's grin widened.
"I am?" Chas repeated, and Ferguson nodded emphatically.
"You are. You made it, kid. The awards ceremony is the week before the Masters. This could mean major endorsements, kid, and just maybe enough leverage to design and open that golf course like you've been wanting to."
Kenya felt a surge of pride. Chas always talked about that little fantasy of his, to have enough sponsorship to design his own golf course and own his own club. For a professional golfer, owning a successful golf course was a ticket to a life of not having to worry about money again, even if your skills deteriorated with age. Kenya had heard endless musings about Chas buying a tract of land close to LA, building a club, and living in the city he called home.
Chas had a look on his face that Kenya rarely saw; that dreamy far-off look, that look that he usually only got in the middle of a round of golf.
"Wow…I, uh…I don't know what to say…"
Ferguson smirked and slapped Chas on the shoulder. "Right now, kid, you don't have to say much of anything. Just keep playin' golf the way you do and that award's in your hands for sure."
"Well, I wouldn't go as far as to say that…"
"I would. You're a gem, Chas, a real gem. And with Kenya around, it just makes you look even better. Hey, I've gotta go talk to the Callaway representative, see if I can push the deal a bit."
Quick as that, Ferguson was gone, leaving Chas in a sort of daze. John slowly strolled over, taking a sip of champagne.
"What was all that about?" He asked, and a hint of a smile began to appear on Chas's formerly dazed and shocked expression.
"I'm in the final five for Time Magazine's Man of the Year award," he said, his voice dreamlike.
John stepped back, studied him from head to toe, and then smirked.
"You sure that's not boy of the year?"
Chas shot him a look, and Kenya snickered. But about that time, Kenya was whisked away by a few friends, and soon John got an emergency call for an exorcism, leaving Chas to fend for himself.
Chas did well on his own at parties now. It was a strange social structure to get used to, but he'd become accustomed to the ways people talked. It still wasn't comfortable, per say, but he could handle himself effectively and impress the right folks. And that was exactly what he was trying to do when a voice from behind distracted him.
"Well, if it isn't the local hero, Mr. Kramer."
Chas stiffened, and slowly turned away from the people he'd been debating with. Standing there behind him was William Dextera, wine in hand, a smug look on his face.
"Mr. Dextera, what a pleasure," Chas said, extending a hand for a handshake, attempting to be civil. Dextera looked at his hand and snorted, leaving it hanging in empty air.
"Don't try and play up your innocent act with me, boy."
Chas pulled his hand back in, his body tensing more. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."
"What I mean is that I'm not going to go easy on you simply because you're the favorite pick, kid."
Chas smirked. So you wanna play it that way, huh?
"I don't think you'll need to go easy on me, Mr. Dextera. I'd hate for you to finish out of the money."
Dextera bristled; Chas had obviously hit a nerve with that one.
"Don't think you'll have it so easy this time, Kramer. In fact, don't be thinking you'll have it at all. This year's Master's is someone else's to claim."
"What makes you so sure?"
Dextera's smirk widened. "Only the good die young, Mr. Kramer. Does the name Icarus ring a bell?"
Chas's eyes narrowed. "Was that a threat?"
"Of course not. I'm merely pointing out what everyone else has been afraid to say," Dextera said, stepping closer to make sure no one else could hear. "You've reached the top, kid, and there's nowhere to go but down. And when you hit rock bottom, I'll still be right here, wearing the expensive suits and drinking wine. You started out as nothing but a poor kid wearing rags, and that's how you'll end up."
Chas's eyes sparkled with mischief. "For your information, I don't buy three thousand dollar suits even now. It's a waste of money. And for another thing…"
Chas pretended to stumble, knocking Dextera's glass of champagne against him, leaving a red stain all the way down Dextera's white silk tie. He spent quite a few moments acting flustered, apologizing loudly, making sure everyone had noticed the 'mishap'.
"Wine isn't always a luxury. I can throw my tie in the washer with my other rags. You can't," he whispered. "Have fun dry cleaning that thing."
With that Chas walked around Dextera to go seek out Ferguson, leaving the half breed absolutely vibrating with rage.
Somehow, Chas knew he might've just made a big mistake…but it was worth it to see the look on Dextera's face.