Not So Model Home

CHAPTER 14


What Does A Scotsman Have Hidden Under His Kilt?

“Well, Toviah broke the code of ethics for models—he smiled on the runway. Everyone knows you’re supposed to be devoid of emotion, thought, and feeling during a show. I mean, no wonder he can’t find work. He did it to himself,” David warned.

We were all seated around Ian’s cavernous living room, cameras rolling while we waited for Aleksei to arrive. In the beginning, Jeremy insisted that everyone be present when we began shooting, but two things changed his mind. Having people show up naturally was, well, more real. Plus, these were gay men. Correction, these were gay men who were models—they rarely showed up on time. When Aleksei finally did enter the room, something was out of place about him: He was wearing a hat instead of sporting a new hair color or style.

“What’s with the hat?” Ian asked.

Without saying a word, Aleksei removed his cap to reveal a bald scalp that looked like it had been scrubbed with a steel wool pad. His scalp was an angry red.

“Someone put depilatory in my shampoo. I felt it when I was shampooing—the burning—but by the time I figured out what was happening, it was too late.”

“That’s too bad, Aleksei. Maybe it was just cheap shampoo,” David replied with just a hint of a smile on his face.

“And maybe it was just someone cheap who put that hair remover into my shampoo?” Aleksei fired back.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Aleksei. I have no reason to sabotage you or anyone on this show. I will win this thing fair and square. I don’t need to resort to childish tricks. Why don’t you wear your wigs, then?”

“Someone cut those up as well.”

Just then, Gilles joined us in the living room. Naked. Yes, he was huge. I mean, huge. And second, he was definitely European. Now I understood Ian’s attraction to Gilles.

“Well, someone act like a child,” Gilles joined in. He held up a pair of pants to reveal a large, ragged hole in the seat area. All my pants, ze swim suits, zhorts . . . all zeese holes!” He sat down dejectedly on a white cotton duck sofa. “I need to look good for the camera.”

I made a mental note not to sit on that sofa again.

“Gilles,” I started, “in case you hadn’t noticed, we’re filming here. I know you might live in the Marais in Paris, but here in Palm Springs, we wear clothes . . . sometimes. Or at least underwear. Some of us . . . especially when we’re in front of cameras.”

I knew perfectly clear why Gilles had come into the filming naked. Partly, he was French. But mainly, he was showing off his assets—something that Ian didn’t fail to notice. Nor I. I had to hand it to him, he had a huge cock. Low-hanging balls. Pubic hair that needed a trim, but other than that . . . I understood that women weren’t supposed to think about such things, let alone talk about them, but there was something about dicks being so primal. The undeniable masculinity of a man. And yes, I was horny. Ken was still caring for his mother and I hadn’t gotten laid in weeks. Believe me, nothing else about Gilles turned me on, but his dick was reminding me that I needed to get laid. And soon.

“I think someone is trying to send a message,” I added.

“I agree,” David chipped in. “You could drive a Cadillac Escalade through that hole.”

Gilles agreed. “Zhoost look at zeese hole,” he said, holding up the violated pair of pants again.

“I wasn’t talking about that hole, Gilles.”

Gilles threw the pair of pants on the floor in disgust. “I don’t know why you must attack Gilles so much.”

“Because you throw the blood in the water yourself. A shark can’t say no.”

“I just don’t know why they don’t finish this contest seeze day and declare me zee winner. If I don’t win soon, I will have to zell my body on the street.”

“Gilles, you can’t sell from an empty pushcart,” I said, lobbing in a zinger that was thankfully caught on film. I don’t know why I said that. It was like some comic persona inside of me had taken control of my tongue and made me say it. Normally, I would just stay out of conflicts of any sort. An argument between a store manger and a customer: I’d leave the store. Between two drivers over a parking space? I’d hit the gas and peel out of there. I guess my growing fame was making me fearless. Or, it was making me crave attention. I wasn’t sure if this was a good thing. Maybe I was just getting in touch with my inner a*shole.

No matter how you looked at it, the gloves were off early today.

“I have something to say,” Keith announced with great importance, like he was going to drop a bomb, but considering all the manufactured drama on this show, I was skeptical. “I am Ian’s son.”

Okay, it was a bomb. A big one.

No one knew what to say for the longest time, but I could guess the two main thoughts that were going through everyone’s head: I just lost out on $350 million, and Ian screwed his own son. Ewwwww!

Ian sat silently, looking like a deer caught in the headlights of a Winnebago. No one immediately challenged Keith as to the truth to his story, so he launched an explanation of his own. Me, I was just interested. The guys, however, wanted to know if it was true. After all, it might give Keith a claim to Ian’s fortune in some twisted way or, even worse, Ian might get all touchy-feely over the prospect of a son and give him a big piece of the action out of deference to a bloodline.

Keith took a big breath, then commenced with his story. “My mother, Ena, was married to Ian a long time ago in Scotland. They both started a small hair salon in Glasgow that became somewhat successful. Ena and Ian had no children for a long time. As time went on, my mother was unable to control her drinking, and Ian eventually forced her out of the business, which Ian eventually sold before he divorced Ena and moved to America. What my father”—he pointed to Ian as if it was an accepted fact—“didn’t know was that my mother was pregnant with me at about the time Ian left her. Ena, fearing the stigma of being a single mother, kept the truth about me quiet as long as she could. By the time I was born, Ian had left the country for Los Angeles. For years, my mother struggled with her addiction and tried to earn a living in a hair salon, but eventually she succumbed to liver cancer and died when I was eight years old. I then went to live with relatives of my mother until I was eighteen. All the time, my mother had drilled into my head her various plans for revenge on my father for abandoning the two of us. I grew up being taught how to use people, manipulate them, and how to find Ian and get close to him. Well, I made my way to the U.S. and wormed my way into Ian’s life by working on my body and buffing up, showing up at clubs Ian was likely to visit, and the plan worked. But there, I changed direction from the plans that my mother laid. Instead of killing him or trying to ruin him, I fell in love with him. So here I am. I confess.”

“I must disagree wiss that story,” Gilles chimed in.

“How so?” Keith countered.

“You said you work on the body. Buffing up. That is where I disagree. To me, you are a sack of rocks.”

“Salope.”

I was impressed. Keith knew French.

Aurora, feeling the need to referee a bit, stepped in.

“Ian, is Keith telling the truth?”

“It could be. Oh, what’s the big deal? I barely touched him.”

Aurora again, “You were married?”

“Yes, to Ena. What Keith is saying is true. That was a long time ago.”

“About how long ago?”

“Twenty . . . um,” Ian said, stopping himself once the numbers added up. Yes, Keith is probably my son.”

“But wait a minute,” I said, jumping in, not wanting to be out of the limelight too much. After all, I wanted to stay on the show . . . I had bills to pay. “You don’t have the same surnames.”

“My last name was Forbes. I had it changed before I left for America so that Ian wouldn’t suspect anything as I courted him. And I have the paperwork to prove it.”

“Well, that blows a hole in my objection,” I conceded.


I recapped what happened on the show that day to Alex over dinner at my house.

“So Ian doesn’t really care that he slept with his son?”

“Not really. He said he’s done worse.”

“How can you do worse than that?”

“Ian had twins as lovers once.”

“Ugh!”

“Fraternal. That’s why Ian said it didn’t bother him.”

“That was his answer?” Alex answered, flabbergasted.

“Well, he also pointed out that he’s dying. He doesn’t really care.”

“Amanda, this development is really going to throw a monkey wrench into the whole works. This might make the show unnecessary. Ian might have his heartstrings pulled by Keith because of the family connection and leave everything to him. What is Jeremy thinking about all of this?”

“Jeremy? He’s loving it. Now, in addition to bitching, treachery, greed, and hatred, he has incest and a huge target for the rest of the guys to aim at. Keith might as well just wear a T-shirt with a huge bull’s-eye on it.”

“From what you’ve told me, Amanda, when it comes to snide comments, their aim is pretty good.”

“It’s not the comments I’m worried about. They don’t leave a hole like a bullet can.”