Part III
Jackson
Beacon Hills, California
May 14th 2012
"Hey, I'm home." Jackson grumbled to Allison, her voice crackling on the other line
"I'm so glad you're home! Tell me all about it later, but I'm at school, I'm losing cell reception. Talk later!" And she was gone, two low beeps signalling the call had failed. Jackson groaned; he'd have never lost cell reception in New York, schools had their own freaking antennas to make sure the kids could stay in touch with their parents.
"This is so reductive." Lydia said quietly, peering out from behind her enormous sunglasses as the town car sped through streets that were getting slowly but surely more tree lined, more twisty and turny, houses set further back from the roads.
Jackson turned to Lydia and nodded his agreement, "Where are your parents living now?" Jackson vaguely remembered visiting Lydia's house when he came for his fathers fifty fourth birthday a few years back, but it looked like they were headed in the opposite direction.
"My dad got a promotion last year. I live like two streets from you." Lydia shot him what he imaged was a glare, unable to see through the tinted glass covering her eyes.
"Right." Jackson nodded as if it had just slipped his mind, turning his eyes back to the streets beyond the air conditioned safety of the car. He hadn't lived in Beacon Hills for long before he left to attend his first boarding school at seven. He had but one friend here, a family who he could barely stand to be in the same room with, and a nagging desire to be back in New York. Right now he could be downing vodkas in the West Village, or talking a stroll around Central Park. Instead he was headed for the one place he did not want to be; his house.
Actually, he supposed with a shrug, he had two homes here; his mothers and his fathers. His parents had divorced on his twelfth birthday, marring the day forever more. Every year when he expected a cake and balloons it was instead a screaming match between the two, till eventually he had just stopped celebrating with them. It was only when he was living in New York, no longer having to spend his birthday with the family, that he could enjoy it. He groaned at the thought of the screaming matches he was in for, there was bound to be residual damage from the anniversary of their divorce; yesterday.
The car stopped for a moment at the gate on the edge of his community, the guard writing down their names and waving them through, a wary look on his face when he noticed Jackson's shiner and the very pungent smell of booze that was seeping from his pores.
His mother lived on the south side of the small, exclusive community, in the houses that were usually inhabited by friendlier residents, while his father lived in the high, rolling hills at the north end, his house staring down at all the others from the highest peak, like a giant, cold manifestation of his fathers soul. Manicured lawns and white picket fences were abundant in his mothers area, which the car was slowly making its way through. It looked like all the rest of Beacon Hills, just at ten times the size. Every house was detached, with multiple outbuildings all clad in white woodwork to house cars, indoor pools, ponies and horses, artist studios, saunas, gyms, and all manner of unneeded extras; it was a trend, whoever had the most outbuildings was the most envied.
The home of Mr. Argent and Mrs. Whittemore-Argent was without a doubt the winner of the outbuilding contest, the gardening contest, and the luxury contest.
The façade of the house was classic suburbia, double storied and clad in the requisite white wood, blue sash windows with an array of flowers peering out from behind the glass seemed to go on and on in either direction of the massive front door, a mammoth, single blue expanse of wood with a golden lions head for a knocker, surrounded by impeccable Georgian stonework which framed a semi circle of patterned glass to flood the foyer with light. Beyond rows of hedges that made the house seem a decent and almost non-decadent size the house grew wild without anyone able to judge its square footage, spreading out in a maze of hallways and endless unused rooms, the east and west wings jutting out to frame the main garden, a flat, manicured surface of green which spread into the trees further back.
Twisting paths full of light and the smell of flowers led to yet more gardens; wild expanses of forest, hedge mazes with no end, bristling fir trees which fringed unused childs play areas, patios used for garden parties, secret lawns beyond endless foliage and yew trees that only the dogs used, all littered with secluded guest houses, hidden pools, studios for art and music and dancing, professionally equipped gyms, tennis courts basked in sunlight, and stables where thoroughbred horses frolicked in fields ringed with high, white fences. All of it was protected by a massive, moss ridden wall topped with security cameras and laser sensors that were monitored night and day from the security centre in one of the seemingly harmless white clad outhouses hidden among the gardens.
Deep green manicured lawns spread out before the house, protected from the stomping boots of pedestrians by white picket fences, ringed with an invisible electric fence to keep the dogs in. A wide gravel driveway was hidden from view by a row of shrubs dotted with ficus trees, leading around to the back of the house to where two separate buildings held enough space for eight cars, with parking for several more if you were willing to leave them on the gravel, exposed to the elements.
Jackson hopped out of the car at that very section of the house, gazing up to look at the second story of the garages, where guests could stay in privacy with their own bedroom, kitchen, living room, den, several bathrooms, and even a small gym. He prayed to god his mother would let him stay there, away from the hustle and bustle of the main house.
Think of the devil and she doth appear, Jackson thought to himself with a grin as his mother emerged, framed in the garden door, as it was known among his family. "Mother!" He ran forward to embrace her, spinning her around as the gravel crunched beneath his feet.
"What on earth happened to your face?" She asked as he deposited her back on the ground, pushing him away and angling his face to catch the light so she could inspect his wounds. "Rosie, call doctor Phillips immediately." An unseen helper, a very pretty girl with her blonde hair drawn back into a tight bun, dressed in form fitting black pant suit, appeared from nowhere with a pad in one hand and a BlackBerry in the other, immediately writing a note down.
"It's fine, mom, really." Jackson tried to protest, knowing that it was really no good.
She turned her attention to Lydia instead, "Oh, Lydia. So good to see you!" Her heels got stuck in the gravel and threatened to send her flying as she crossed to a very self-assured looking Lydia, "How have you been? You look just darling, such a city girl, but you really should freshen up, we all like to look our best now don't we."
"Way to give a backhanded insult mom." Jackson laughed, turning to the trunk of the car to grab his and Lydia's suitcases and finding them gone, a tall, unsmiling man coughing to alert Jackson to his presence.
"I will take your bags." He was just another name of Jackson's mothers endless roster of staff.
"Take them up to his old bedroom, won't you?"
Jackson gave her a glare, "I'm staying in the guest house. The Pavilion, if that's okay." He couldn't help but add the last three words. His mother could be scary.
She thought for a moment, everyone stood waiting for her reply, "I suppose so, you are a grown man now." Jackson breathed a sigh of relief as she relented.
"Now," She began, taking his arm and leading him through a wrought iron gate set in a long redbrick wall that separated the garage area from the garden, walking by his side down a long ante-garden, as Jackson had always called it, where a small fountain made the air sing and the smell of roses and lavender was overpowering, "tell me all about this break up. We could sue for domestic violence but I understand you hit him first." There was a pang of pride in her voice as she spoke, an unspoken message that she was happy her only son was no pushover. It had been hard on her when he first told her he had a boyfriend, expecting show tunes and pink clothes, but she had came to accept that her son hadn't changed an inch, though she still loved it when he told her he had a girlfriend over a boyfriend. Jackson didn't really believe in sexuality, he just went for who he liked.
"He just told me he found someone else. Out of the blue." Jackson mumbled quietly, looking away from his mother so she didn't see the sadness in his eyes, looking around the main garden that they were emerging onto instead, another wrought iron gate left behind them.
This was where the garden parties were thrown, and was sufficiently massive to accommodate her endless friends and acquaintances, green lawns after green lawns, with trees ringed with striking delphiniums and lusty red roses punctuating the grass every few hundred feet. He had spent his childhood kicking balls around out there, setting up lacrosse nets with his best friend Danny, who he hadn't spoken to in years, and playing until he was a star athlete.
Lydia walked a step behind him, while the blonde assistant Rosie and the man who was carrying his bags walked a respectful five paces behind her, everyone stopping and starting whenever Jackson and his mother paused to admire a new water feature or gaze out to the pool in the distance. It was a five minute walk through the lawn area, onto the thicker trees at the back of the house where gardeners were spraying plants with endless streams of water despite the fact it had rained last night, and out to the back of the garden (which, Jackson reflected, should probably be called the grounds) where the pavilion stood.
The Pavilion was the most luxurious of all the guest houses, surrounded on two sides by thick trees that led onto a fifteen foot wall to keep out the neighbours, while one side faced the impeccable winter garden, a name which had came from god only knows were, which always won the Beacon Hills flower contest. The other side, just beyond a shaded patio surrounded by white columns with an overgrown trellis covered in ivy and ringed with grapes which you could pick off and eat acting as a makeshift roof, was 'the small pool', one of three the house had. Currently full of leaves and little dead flies, the pool was seldom used, most guests heading for the 'the pool', an Olympic sized blue expanse of water just next to the cabana, which was heated all year round and had a jacuzzi with unparalleled water pressure attached.
"Well, here we are." His mother told Jackson with a smile, stopping her endless monologue about how glad she was to have her son home, how much time they would spend together, and the party she would throw in his honour.
Jackson gave her a quick peck on the cheek, "Thanks. I'll see you later, I'm beat." He took his case from the unknown carrier and quickly headed up to the house, pulling the key from under the mat and letting himself in. Only once he was safely inside did he breath a sigh of relief, leaning back against the panelled door and closing his eyes.
He thought of Jack. Jack and his muscles and his pale skin and his beautiful smile, his tall, wide frame and his shaggy black hair and his dick.
"Fuck." Jackson grunted, moving to the living room and pulling his docking station and iPod out, flooding the light, airy room with music to try and block out any thoughts. He wanted to sleep, but Jack would invade his thoughts, would make him upset. He hadn't cried, and he was determined not too. He did crunches, squats, and push ups, swam in the cold pool and got leaves all over him, jogged around the pavilion in just his underwear to try and block out Jack.
He attempted to jog around the garden, but eyes were all over him, gardeners and party planners and men carrying huge bunches of flowers, guards and dog walkers and interior decorators who eyed him hungrily. Running as fast as his feet would carry him back to the pavilion, he slipped into a grey t-shirt and some jogging bottoms and ran through the gardens to the 'rear gate', an unused, wrought iron door in an arch, overgrown with ivy. With much difficulty he managed to escape, jogging down the unused dirt road that ran down the narrow pass shaded by high walls of his neighbours, turning at the bottom to see a scowling guard closing the gate behind him.
A community guard snapped his picture, complete with shiner and a thin coating of sweat, at the edge of the gated neighbourhood, so that the guards would know to let him in, and he set off, headphones plugged into his phone to give him a soundtrack, jogging through endless twisting streets till they started to straighten out and he was in Beacon Hills proper.
His feet took him past smiling mothers loading groceries out of SUV's and clichéd looking fathers in their suits and ties, past the school where he could see kids smiling and grinning, his eyes peeled for Allison or Danny or anyone who even set off a glimmer of recognition in him. He wanted to talk to someone who didn't know about the breakup, someone who didn't know he was a model and immediately assumed he was dumb. He headed for a track he had visited a few times on his sparse visits home, a twisting park that was always full of runners at this time of morning.
He struck up conversation with a sweating woman in a velour tracksuit, but she was more interested in getting away from the smell of sweat and booze and the frightening bruise on his eye and left him in the dust. With a groan he flopped down on the grass, looking over himself and realising his light grey shirt had turned completely dark under the arms and down his chest, sweat running through his hair and down his back.
Even a five minute respite sent thoughts of Jack back into his head. Jack sucking his dick, Jack thrusting inside of him, Jack arching his back as Jackson ground his hips on top of him and made him whimper.
"Fuck off!" Jackson screamed at his thoughts, thrashing a little on the grass.
A voice jolted him from the fight with the floor, "You okay?" Jackson looked up, a little startled, to see a guy - probably around his age - in a navy t-shirt and shorts, panting a little from his jog.
"Um – no." Jackson grinned, speaking truthfully.
"I was expecting a yeah then I could be on my way." The guy laughed, taking a few steps towards him. "What's up?" Jackson noted that he seemed genuinely interested, ignoring the phone that was vibrating in his hand after he took a quick glance at the screen.
"Break up." Jackson said with a shrug, trying to seem like he cared less than he did. A blush spread across his cheeks when he realised that was a little hard to do, the guy had found him thrashing around on the ground and telling a ghost to fuck off.
"Imagining the grass is their face?" He said, pointing to the tufts of grass clenched between Jackson's knuckles. The fact that he didn't assume Jack was a 'she' wasn't lost on Jackson, who perked up instantly.
Jackson let out a laugh, "I wish it was, he deserves it. He just ended it out of nowhere, you know?" Trepidation flashed across his face for a second, hoping this guy didn't think he was a complete weirdo for venting. He checked him out, not really meaning to, but he was on the rebound after all. The guy was no Jack, but there was something about the cropped hair, the long, lean body, the pink lips with a moist tongue darting out to wet the dry skin, and the sparse moles on his face that got Jackson's blood pumping. He'd definitely bang him.
"Believe me, I know about things coming out of the blue." Sadness crossed his face for a second before it was replaced with an easy smile. His phone started vibrating again.
"Yeah? I didn't understand why, still don't actually." Jackson grinned up at him, hoping his cheeks weren't bright red from the jog, "Sorry for keeping you. I should let you get that." His phone was vibrating constantly, the guy clicking it into submission over and over.
"Probably. See you around?" Jackson knew it was a question.
He threw him a massive grin as he got up from the ruined grass. "Definitely."