Here's a heaty
thanks to all the great people
who took the recent opportunity to get a copy of my queer/thriller/erotic vamp novel, Running Dry - I hope you enjoy it!
A special part of the my thanks, though, has to go to the very great Renaissance E Books/Sizzler editions who made it all possible.
If you are still interested in the adventures (now expanded and complete) of Doud
you can, of course, still get a copy ... but, in the meanwhile, here's a tease of the opening novel:
“They say the seas are going to dry up. Blow away.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“The
moon, too. It’s going to leave, sail off into the sky. Leave us
behind,” Sergio said, swinging his feet off the edge. First the left,
then the right, dancing with the heights. “Do you think we’ll see
that?”
“We
could,” Doud said, arm around Sergio’s shoulders. To reassure him, and
to remind himself that this was real, firm, and solid, he tugged him
closer.
Mahogany
eyes directed at him, Sergio said, “Everyone will get old, turn to
dust. But we’ll still be here, won’t we? The earth will be like the
desert. No oceans, no water, no one will be alive. But we’ll still be
here.” His legs stopped swinging.
“Maybe.
Other things could happen, too. You never know for sure. Time
changes too much.” Sitting on the toes of rearing elephants, they
looked down on the gleaming architecture of Babylon, a plaster movie set
brilliantly white from a still-neighborly moon.
Despite
their height, Doud wasn't afraid. Not of falling, at least. He knew
the elephants Sergio had made for Mr. Griffith, believed in his lover’s
craftsmanship, and so implicitly trusted them to carry their weight. He
hoped he knew Sergio as well, but he was still quietly grateful for the
simple strength of his sculpture. Men were too complex, too
unpredictable. Apparent solidity and dependability all too often hid
deep flaws. The elephants of Intolerance, though, were wood and plaster.
Dependable wood, trustworthy plaster.
“Ever
been to the desert?" Sergio asked unexpectedly. "I went there, with
some friends, just after I came here. Hot, like a stove. But I didn’t
think of cooking, the kitchen, or food, only that it was like a line
across a page, like the start of a drawing. Now, I think of it like the
way the world will be. All boiled away -- just hot air and that line.”
Drawing his hand across the horizon, he underlined distant Hollywood.
“Too hot and dry for me. But we can go sometime. Both of us.” He didn’t need to say we have lots of time.
“They say the war will end soon. The War to End All Wars -- but that’s not true, eh? We’ll find out, I guess.”
“It’ll
end. They always do.” Doud tried to catch his attention again, but
the other man refused to look away from the bright lights of the distant
city.
“Even our Babylon will be gone. Mr. Griffith’s film is over. They’ll break up my elephants.”
“There’ll be other pictures. You’ll see.”
After a moment of tense silence Sergio's eyes swung back to Doud. “You’ll be there, won’t you?”
“I will,” Doud replied, gently stammering, delicately hesitant. I will. Not a promise, just desire. With it, abrupt reality on the toes of great white elephants: please, let this one work out. I don't want to kill him.
“Kiss me,” Sergio said, closing those dark marble eyes.
And Doud did, a simple kiss on the edge of a Hollywood eternity.
