The Sins of the Seven 04 Temperance: Alex & Richard
A Kiss, A Lie, A Lifeline
Enjoy the fourth chapter of Rhodes Ave. Press’ novel, The Sins of the Seven.
Chapter 4,
Temperance: Alex & Richard
The Firehouse, West Hollywood, March 1993
Alex Russo cut through the throngs of patrons jamming the entrance at The Firehouse, one of West Hollywood’s most exclusive nightclubs of the moment.
The Firehouse was located in an old brick building that once housed a boxing gym in the heart of West Hollywood’s ‘boystown.’ The building had been recently transformed into a mish-mash of kitschy aesthetics such as a long mirrored bar that ran the length of the club’s main floor, an upper level that featured a lounge area and a fireman’s pole that dancers would dance against while descending onto the club’s main floor where they would writhe amongst the patrons while being showered by club employees with hoses of champagne. The locals described The Firehouse as Studio 54 meets a Firehouse doubling as a bathhouse.
Alex preferred to frequent The Firehouse because it was stumbling distance from his quaint little bungalow apartment and more importantly it was dark making him hard to be spotted. The Firehouse also was notorious for being a hotbed of clandestine meetings for its fiercely closeted patrons from all walks of life.
Alex leveraged this fact in that the club was positively stacked and buffered with mutually assured destruction.
And, in the larger Hollywood sphere, on account of the various comings and goings on at the Firehouse, many PR firms had paid off the major paparazzi agencies to simply ignore the club altogether making The Firehouse one of the few truly safe spots in town where one could come and go mostly unseen and while Alex was there, he was truly free. It was also in this very club that Alex himself was spotted by a handsome agent trolling the bar who would later pass on Alex’s headshot to the casting team at Breakers.
But on this night, even under the oppressive red light that bathed the bar area in its crimson glow, Alex could see the tall, handsome man in the expertly made suit eyeing him from the end of the bar. As the man began moving closer to Alex, he could see his face come into view - a dramatically angular but strong-looking jaw, a proud nose, pert lips and wavy hair that was brushed behind his ears.
“Can I?” The man asked as Alex trained his gaze on the man who continued, “Can I buy you a drink?”
Alex smiled answering, “A vodka soda, please and thank you.”
Alex felt a small thrill in the man’s confident smile—a brief respite in a place where anonymity was as precious as freedom.
The man retrieved the vodka soda from the bar and handing it to Alex said, “Here you are, handsome, what’s your name?”
“Alex, you?” Alex responded.
“Ian,” he said reaching out to shake Alex’s hand confidently as Haddaway’s What Is Love blares from the DJ booth, the deep, thudding bass making the club’s floor vibrate with every beat.
Before their conversation could deepen, a shrill alarm and the unexpected spectacle of a dancer sliding down a fireman’s pole shattered the intimate moment, drawing laughter and chaos from the crowd.
“You’re going to want to move out of the way,” Alex shouted over the music to Ian grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him away from the pole further out onto the dance floor as the bartender pulled out a hose and pulled the nozzle letting out a stream of champagne that doused the dancer as he thrust his pelvis against the pole and on the floor of the club while the patrons around him cheered.
“Wow,” Ian exclaimed to Alex asking, “What do you call this?”
“Oh this? This is just a Tuesday,” Alex replied comically.
As Alex stood facing Ian, Ian pulled him in closer towards him and under the club lights, Alex could see Ian’s eyes which he could make out were green and even in the dark, Alex could tell they were kind eyes.
Ian stood looking into Alex’s eyes before reaching out to put his hand on Alex’s cheek.
“You’re so handsome,” Ian said.
“Right back atcha,” Alex replied.
As Ian sipped the last sips of his drink, he looked down noticing Alex’s drink was empty.
“Can I get you another?” Ian asked.
“What do you say we get out of here?” Ian asked.
“Sure,” Alex responded, “My place is right around the corner.”
“Oh,” Ian replied, “I was thinking my hotel down the street.”
Alex felt a stone forming in his throat knowing that a hotel was not an option being that anything outside of The Firehouse’s safety radius meant risking exposure.
“I’d love to,” Alex said stuttering, “But, I got to go feed my cat,” adding, “Sorry, I promise I’m not some kind of a crazy cat guy, I swear.”
Ian chuckled as Alex added, “Would you mind coming with me to feed Phoebe and then we can go to your hotel?”
“Phoebe?” Ian asked as Alex smiled in return.
“I’d love to meet her,” Ian responded.
9033 Elevado Ave, West Hollywood, March 1993
A few days after his night out at The Firehouse with Ian, Alex was returning to his duplex with his morning coffee and could already hear his phone ringing incessantly before he had even turned his key in the door.
Alex’s mind still danced with the blurred images of neon lights and clandestine kisses as he fumbled for his keys—a remnant of a night that was both liberating and disconcerting. By the time Alex was able to get to the phone, he breathlessly answered, “Hello?”
“Alex,” the voice on the other end said, “Dee.”
Dee Winters was Alex’s publicist and the fact she was calling on hiatus was alarming enough but not as much as what she told him next,
“We have a problem, Alex,” Dee said.
“Shoot,” Alex said bracing for what was to come.
“There is a magazine out there that was sold a story about you,” Dee said as the suspense heightened, “And apparently, it’s a lurid kiss and tell about you meeting someone at The Firehouse.”
Alex knew where this was leading and protested, “No one can prove anything.”
“Well,” Dee continued, “The story this guy sold has photos, of you. Very revealing photos I might add.”
“But you don’t have to worry,” Dee said, “I’m already drafting a standard denial before they run the story.”
“Christ, Dee,” Alex said, “No one actually believes those anyways. My career is over.”
“Says who?” Dee asked, “If every closeted actor’s career was over, all we’d have left in this town would be a handful of extras and a couple of theater geeks.”
“Besides,” Dee said, “We’re not totally out of options yet. Maybe we can fix you up with one of the girls from the show? I think Brad or Kylie could be really good for you.”
“Dee,” Alex interjected, “Save your breath, I’m not doing one of those sham relationships. Not going to happen.”
“Kid,” Dee said, “I got a call coming in on the other line, call you back.” The phone clicked as Alex was left in silence, the silence on the other end of the phone and the deafening silence of his life closing in around him.
Alex laid in bed staring at the ceiling trying to will away the nightmare reel of events from that night playing on endless repeat in his head.
Alex deduced that Ian was the person selling the story in question on account of the fact that Alex had not gone out or met up with any strangers from The Firehouse in some time preferring to spend his evenings at home running lines for his final batch of Season 1 episodes.
Alex knew that bringing home Ian was a huge mistake on his part but he just couldn’t help himself, as soon as he knew he was returning for Season 2, his first instinct was to go out and celebrate. Bringing Ian home with him was just an unexpected turn of events.
As Ian and Alex walked to Alex’s place that night, Ian told Alex he was in town on business and was deeply in the closet back at home.
Alex felt a deep sense of sadness and sympathy for Ian for Alex too was always living on the razors edge of being outed. While the entertainment industry was full of gays and lesbians, much of it was obscured from sight behind lavender marriages, blackmail and just plain ignorance.
To be out in Hollywood was simply not an option - sure, the lifestyle was “accepted” by others in the industry but so long as it was kept from the eyes or consciousness of the public at large who needed to be sold the fantasy of straight men being with straight women.
It was maybe this sense of sadness or the three vodka sodas that made Alex drop his guard enough to tell Ian his real name and profession and the real reason Alex wasn’t able to go to Ian’s hotel.
It was also in this lowering of inhibitions that Alex succumbed to Ian’s request to take a few photos of him with a small point and shoot camera Ian had inside his coat. “To remember the night,” Ian said smoothly holding the camera near his heart.
Alex, flattered at the attention willfully gave in and let Ian snap photos of him in various manners of undress.
Sure, Alex had been in front of professional cameras plenty, but there was something about the taboo clandestine nature of this rendezvous that caused him to be truly uninhibited.
The next morning around 6AM by Alex’s recollection, Alex could feel Ian sliding out of the sheets and retrieving his blazer from the hook on the back of the door in Alex’s bedroom.
Alex saw the bathroom light down the hall flick on under the door of the bathroom as he heard Ian getting dressed - the last he saw of Ian was Ian’s back as he walked out the front door of Alex’s duplex.
And now, here was Alex laying in the same bed lambasting himself for being so fucking stupid. The thought of the photos made him wretch. Alex rolled over in bed and pulled his sheets up around his chest swaddling himself into his bed desperately seeking comfort.
Alex spent almost all day in bed until he finally dragged himself to the kitchen to microwave dinner to settle his ferociously growling stomach while Alex downed a beer watching some inane program on TV.
Somewhere in the evening, Alex must’ve fallen asleep because he was awoken by a shaft of sunlight piercing through the curtains directly into his eyes. Alex sat up on the sofa and began stretching his arms and legs letting out a hearty groan.
The silence of the morning was interrupted by the sound of knocking.
Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep, Adam was trying to figure out what could possibly be going on at this early hour on a Saturday. The clock in Alex’s living room read 7:15 AM.
Alex opened his lock and threw open his door shocked to see Richard standing before him holding two to-go coffees.
“Jesus, Richard,” Alex exclaimed somewhat startled. “What are you doing here?”
“Why are you so surprised to see me?” Richard asked.
“You’re just the last person I expected to see on my doorstep is all,” Alex said as Richard handed a coffee towards him.
“I got you that latte you like,” Richard said. Alex took the coffee from him happy to have caffeine in hand and also absolutely shocked that Richard would ever remember such a detail.
“Won’t you come in?” Alex asked stepping aside to greet Richard in.
Richard came in and scanned Alex’s modest living room. Richard and Alex sat on the sofa as Alex’s face probed Richard in an attempt to figure out what Richard was doing here.
“So, kid,” Richard started, “I heard from my publicist that you got yourself into a little bit of trouble.”
Alex recoiled a bit trying to not imagine the thought of people talking about him behind closed doors.
“So, look,” Richard said, “I wanted to tell you in person before your publicist tells you, I got the story killed for you.”
Alex was totally taken aback asking, “Wait, what? How?”
Alex then added, “And also, holy shit thank you.”
“Well you know,” Richard said, “It’s no secret I kind of fucked things up with everyone. And, the producers are making me go to rehab - maybe the third time will do the trick?” Richard asked jokingly as Alex was trying to piece this all together.
“So,” Richard said, “instead of just slithering off to rehab, I had my publicist set up an exclusive with a magazine to give them all the juicy details about my trip to rehab — the same magazine that bought that story about you.”
Alex looked on a bit bewildered as Richard said, “The only catch was, I’d only give them the exclusive if they dropped the story they wanted to run about you. I just have to smile while I walk in and let their photographers snap a few photos of TV’s Bad Boy heading off to rehab.”
“You did that?” Alex asked, “For me?”
“I did,” Richard said proudly.
Alex’s stomach churned as Richard’s words cut through the calm—every syllable a reminder that fame’s price was higher than he’d ever imagined.
“After the way I treated you, I had to make it up to you somehow,” Richard replied adding, “Plus,” he said as he playfully tapped his knuckles into Alex’s chin, “You got one hell of a right hook, slugger. It takes a real man like that to stand up for the girls especially against an asshole like me. And I’m sorry I ever said otherwise.”
“Wow, Richard,” Alex responded unsure of how to respond, “I really appreciate it, thank you.”
“Of course,” Richard replied, “After all, we’re The Seven, we went into this together and we go forward together no matter what.”
Alex smiled as Richard stood and turned to leave stopping by the front door to turn and make a finger gun gesture towards Alex saying, “See ya around, slugger.”
As Richard left, Alex was left alone with the heavy silence of his own thoughts—each word echoing the cost of living in the shadows of The Seven.
Next time on The Sins of the Seven:
The Seven hit the beach—but behind the beauty shots and bottled water lies tension, transformation, and a fight for image control. As Season 2 promo plans unravel, Brad hits a breaking point, Paige takes the lens, and Richard surprises everyone.
THE SINS OF THE SEVEN
WEDNESDAYS ON Rhodes Ave Press