Chapter 18

 

 

 

 

New York Times, March 20: Double Treat at the Fletcher Gallery Tonight

Castaways Tell Their Story in Words and Art

 

Donovan McNair’s debut memoir, Castaways, hit the stands this week. Already number six on the New York Times non-fiction bestseller list, it’s a riveting account of two young men’s efforts to survive their four weeks stranded together on a tiny, uncharted Caribbean island after the infamous King Cruise Line shipwreck.

 

The beautiful illustration on the cover was painted by none other than Sam Jamison, McNair’s co-survivor from the shipwreck. Jamison is an artist whose second solo show opens tonight at 8:00 PM at the Fletcher Gallery in Chelsea. The show will feature paintings in both oils and watercolors, inspired by their harrowing adventure. Jamison will share the limelight with McNair, who will be on hand to sign copies of his book.

 

Donovan was still reeling from the unexpected success of his book. Inspired by Sam’s full-out giving of himself to his creative process, Donovan had tried to do the same with his writing, pulling everything he had from inside himself in his efforts to create a compelling and honest story. The process hadn’t been easy, and he couldn’t have done it without Marisol’s enormous talent, patience and encouragement as his editor. Carlos had done an amazing job with the marketing of the book, even getting Donovan a phone interview on NPR on its release day.

Donovan hadn’t wanted to take away any of the focus from Sam during his gallery opening. But when Carlos had suggested the idea of a book sale and signing in conjunction with the gallery on opening night, both Tim and Sam had been enthusiastic.

“You’d actually be helping Sam,” Tim had said. “People who come in to get their book signed will also take a look around. Who knows, they might buy a painting. By the same token, people who come in for the art might enjoy buying a copy of the book that relates to their new work of art and tells your shared story. It’s a win-win.”

Now Donovan looked over at his best friend and lover, his heart swelled with pride. Sam looked incredible tonight in the Givenchy jacket and tailored shirt Donovan had given him for his birthday the week before, his streaked blond hair curling down his neck, his beard perfectly trimmed, his eyes shining with happiness. At the same time, he was bouncing lightly on his feet, as if he were in his usual sneakers instead of the nice Italian loafers that completed the outfit, nervous energy radiating from him like a forcefield.

“What if no one but family comes?” Sam glanced anxiously toward the double glass doors at the front of the gallery.

“This is New York,” Donovan reminded him. “Everyone likes to be fashionably late. And anyway, it’s only seven forty. I predict this place will be packed and all your paintings will be sold by the end of the evening.”

Sam’s work had gotten better and better, and Donovan couldn’t have been prouder of his partner. Most of the paintings for tonight’s show were of the island and the ocean beyond. He’d done a brilliant job capturing the play of light against the water, the vivid colors of the tropical foliage and the silvery blue tumble of the waterfall. There were several large canvases that depicted a man with dark hair, blue eyes and Donovan’s build in various poses on the beach and by the waterfall. Though the work was impressionistic, anyone who knew them or had read Donovan’s book would know who it was.

Donovan felt possessive of all the pieces, and wished they could just set up a huge space to keep them all in, and never part with any of them. Sam had kept Donovan’s favorite oil painting, a large canvas that he’d painted of the two of them sitting on the beach, blond head leaning into dark as they stared out at the vast, endless ocean. Sam also had the early charcoal drawings and watercolors that he’d painted of Donovan back when Donovan was still coming to terms with himself. He kept them on the wall of his studio. “They remind me never to take you for granted, Donovan. The fact that we’re together is a gift I cherish every day.”

Donovan, truly happy and at peace with himself for the first time in his life, knew Sam was the reason. Sam had given him the courage and the safe place to find himself. He was a constant source of inspiration. Over the past months when Donovan needed a break from his writing, he had loved to watch Sam at work. It still astonished him the way Sam would splash color on the canvas, working it with his brushes and a rag until a picture began to emerge, an image that thrust Donovan back to their private paradise.

The front doors pushed open suddenly, pulling Donovan from his reverie. Sam’s little brother burst into the room. “Slow down, Harry,” Al Jamison said as Sam’s parents entered the gallery behind him.

Harry spied Sam and hurtled toward him, throwing himself into Sam’s arms. “Hi, brother. Hi, hi, hi. We love New York City. Mom and Pop took me to FAO Schwarz. Holy cow, you never saw so many cool toys. I picked out a new Legos Star Wars robot but I’m saving it till we get back home. Wow, is all this stuff yours? Do you think I can have an art show one day? I’ve painted like sixty gazillion pictures. Mom says they’re fantastic. I want to live in New York City. We got hotdogs right on the street. I got chili on mine. Pop had sauerkraut on his, gross, right? Mom got a great big pretzel. We had dinner at a deli with these crazy huge sandwiches and I ate three pickles, too.”

“Wow, you’ve had a busy day, huh?” Sam said, his arm still around his little brother’s shoulders.

Sam’s family had arrived that morning. Sam had booked them a suite at a very nice hotel, and he’d met them there for breakfast. Donovan, who had spent the morning talking with Carlos and Marisol about his next book, had been unable to join them.

“Hey there, Harry,” Donovan said. “Remember me?”

“Of course I remember you, silly,” Harry cried, turning toward Donovan with a broad grin. “You came at Christmas and brought me presents. You’re my brother from another mother.”

“That’s right,” Donovan agreed, laughing. “Good to see you, bro. And nice to see you both,” he added, shaking Al’s hand and giving Becca a hug.

“Sorry we’re early,” Al said apologetically. “I know you’re probably busy with last minute stuff, but Harry couldn’t wait another second.”

“No problem, Pop,” Sam said. “Everything’s all done. And it’s good you got here now, in case it gets too crowded for Harry later.

“That’s what we were thinking,” Becca agreed. Sam had told Donovan that Harry sometimes got overwhelmed in large crowds. Becca turned to Harry. “Let’s go see all the pretty pictures that Sam painted.”

The door opened again, and this time Raymond entered. To Donovan’s surprise, he was with a petit, attractive woman with dark eyes and short silver hair. They were dressed as if they’d just come from or were going to a nice dinner. 

Donovan had continued to reach out to his father since Raymond had come to the loft that first time. They’d gotten together for the occasional dinner or game of golf at Raymond’s country club. Though he still didn’t seem to be especially comfortable with what he referred to as Donovan’s lifestyle, Raymond had come to accept Sam as a part of Donovan’s life.

Donovan had been both eager and anxious when he’d brought a signed advance copy of his book to his father. To his pleased surprise, Raymond had accepted the book enthusiastically, promising to read it from cover to cover. “I’m proud of you, son,” he’d said, tears in his eyes. “This is a real accomplishment. Your mom would have been over the moon. Good job.”

“Hey, Dad,” Donovan said now, moving to greet his father with a smile. “I’m glad you could make it tonight, and I’m pleased you’ve brought a guest.” Could it be his dad was finally dating again?

“Yes, well,” Raymond said, looking slightly embarrassed. “Gwen and I have a concert to attend at nine, but we thought we’d stop by beforehand.” He turned to her, his face breaking into a genuine smile. “Gwen, this is my son, Donovan, the bestselling author.”

“For a few minutes, anyway,” Donovan said with a laugh. He took the woman’s offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Your dad lent me your book. I couldn’t put it down. What an adventure you boys had,” she exclaimed. “I felt I was right there with you.”

“Thank you,” Donovan said, both pleased and surprised his father had shared the book. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Raymond patted Donovan on the shoulder. “I’m glad you’ve found your calling. You’re a gifted writer.”

“Thanks, Dad,” Donovan said, warmth moving from his cheeks all the way down to his toes at his father’s rare praise. “That means a lot.”

Sam, who had stepped away with the Jamisons, now returned to Donovan’s side. “Hi, Raymond. I’m so glad you could make it,” he said.

“Sam. Nice to see you,” Raymond said. “This is my friend, Gwen Hartford.” To Gwen he said, “This is Sam Jamison. Donovan’s, uh, partner.”

“So, you’re the artist,” Gwen said warmly, taking Sam’s hand. She looked around the gallery, where Sam’s work had been artfully displayed and lit, the price tags more than double what Tim had charged for Sam’s first show. “Your work is breathtaking.”

“Thank you,” Sam said, smiling. “You’re very kind.”

Gwen looked up at Raymond. “Ray, honey, let’s look around. Wouldn’t one of these canvases be perfect over the piano in my living room?”

As they walked away, Sam said under his breath, “Ray, honey?”

“Right?” Donovan chuckled, shaking his head. “Things must be pretty serious between them. The only person he ever let call him by that nickname was my mom.”

“That’s good, right? Your dad deserves to be happy.”

“Absolutely,” Donovan agreed, watching the couple move toward the back of the gallery, where hors d’oeuvres and complimentary glasses of wine were on offer.

More people were starting to come into the gallery and the place was rapidly filling up. Tim appeared a moment later. “Sam! Look over there.” He waved with his wine glass. “O-M-G, do you know who that is? I can’t believe he’s here and the doors only just opened.”

Sam and Donovan both looked toward the man in question, a tall, slender older gentleman with a gray goatee, his cell phone in his hand. “Is that Leonard Kipling, the Times art critic?” Sam asked, his eyes wide. He swayed slightly, and Donovan put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“None other,” Tim agreed with a broad smile.

“Whoa,” Sam breathed. “What if he hates my stuff?”

“No way he could hate your stuff,” Donovan asserted.

“Hate or love. It doesn’t matter,” Tim said. “He’s here at my gallery for your show. He’s noticed you. That’s fucking awesome.” He grinned at Sam. “Come on, Sam. You look like you could use a glass of wine.” Putting his arm around Sam, he led him away.

Marisol had come up beside Donovan. “And you need to get to work, young man. Your fans are waiting.”

Donovan glanced toward the table near the entrance where a dozen or so copies of his book were stacked. To his surprise, a number of people were already standing in a line, some with their own copies of his book in hand.

Donovan took his seat behind the table. The woman at the head of the line put down her book in front of him. “I loved your book, Donovan,” she gushed. “Can I call you Donovan? I feel like I know you already. You and that wonderful Sam.” She opened her book to the dark gray title page. “Can you sign it, with love to Louise?”

“Sure,” Donovan said, grinning. “I’m glad you liked the book.” He picked up his silver Sharpie, thoughtfully provided by Marisol, and wrote the inscription as Louise had requested.

When he was done she hugged the book to her chest. “My girlfriends are going to die with jealousy. Thank you so much.”

As Louise stepped away, another person, this one an older man, placed his book before Donovan. “Just your signature please,” he said. “Worth more that way.”

“Sure thing.”

Donovan signed books and exchanged a few words with each of the next several fans, still not quite believing in his success. When he looked up at the next person in line, it took him a moment to adjust his brain to who he was seeing.

Grant Patterson, of all people, stood smirking down at him. “Hello, McNair,” he said, a sneer in his tone.

“Well, hey there,” Donovan replied with a smile. It felt wonderful to realize he no longer gave a shit about this guy. “You’re the last person I expected to see tonight. Did you get lost or something?”

Grant snorted. “I decided to slum it. Everyone’s buzzing about your book back at the office. I admit, I was curious, so I listened to your NPR interview online. I’m pretty astute when it comes to reading between the lines. All that hinting about your strong bond with this Jamison dude and the intense connection you forged. Ha,” He barked a nasty laugh. “I had no idea you were queer. You kept that hidden pretty well back before Klett sacked you.”

Donovan touched Sam’s braided gold ring and smiled up at his old nemesis. “Sam and I don’t bother with labels,” he said with a calm smile. “As to what you think about anything at all, I really couldn’t give a flying fuck.” Donovan reached for his Sharpie. “Unless you’re here for an autograph, you’ll need to move along. You’re holding up the line.”

~*~

It was after midnight when they finally closed the doors of the gallery. Tim appeared from his back office with a bottle of chilled champagne. He popped the cork and distributed glasses to Sam, Donovan, Carlos and Marisol. He held up his glass and said, “To success all around, and more to come.”

They clinked glasses and sipped the dry, bubbly wine. Sam was still reeling from the heady excitement of the evening. He was both exhilarated and exhausted. He couldn’t wait to go home, unwind and fall asleep in Donovan’s arms.

“I told you we’d do it,” Tim continued. “We sold out the collection the first night.”

“Yes,” Carlos said enthusiastically. “And your book has popped up to number one in its genre on Amazon, Donovan. Felicidades to you both. I can’t wait for the next book.”

Sam turned to Donovan. He’d been so busy and distracted all day that he had forgotten to ask how the meeting had gone that morning. “What did you guys come up with?” he asked now.

“We all agreed I should try my hand at fiction,” Donovan said. “For this first novel, I’m going to stick with what I know. I’m going to write about a guy who goes on this cruise, there’s a shipwreck and he’s stranded on a tiny island with this super hot guy. He’s kind of been in denial his whole life about who he really is and what he wants out of life. As the pair struggle to survive, they connect in a way he never dreamed. My working title is Island of Temptation.”

“I think it sounds amazing,” Sam said with a grin. “I hope it’s a romance.”

“Without question,” Donovan said with an answering smile.

“I like it,” Tim exclaimed. “It’ll keep you busy while Sam gets to work on his next show.”

“Slave driver,” Sam exclaimed. “Don’t I get a break?”

“Sure,” Tim agreed. “Take the weekend off.”

“Sorry, Tim, but if I have my way, they’ll be taking more time than that,” Carlos interjected. He turned his attention to Donovan and Sam. “I’ve arranged for a little something for the two of you. A break from all the insanity of the past few months. I’ve been in touch with the Caribbean authorities about that little uncharted island where you ended up. It’s too small for them to sell commercially, but they’ve agreed to let me rent the island for the first two weeks in April. And I, in turn, would like to send you two for a vacation where this all began. I promise the island will be equipped a little more luxuriously than you were used to during your last stay.”

Donovan and Sam stood dumbfounded for several seconds. Sam was the first to find his voice. “That sounds amazing,” Sam had often thought how wonderful it would be to return to the place where he and Donovan had first connected. They’d even talked about it from time to time, though only as a passing fantasy. He turned to Donovan. “What do you think?”

Donovan’s eyes were shining. “Two weeks back in our private paradise? It sounds awesome.” He turned to Carlos. “Are you serious, Carlos? Is this for real?”

Carlos laughed. “Absolutely. My pilot will pick you up at the Teterboro Airport. You’ll fly into Aruba and be taken by seaplane to the island. The plane will stop by every few days to bring fresh provisions and make sure you have everything you need.”

“They say money can’t buy you happiness,” Tim said with a laugh. “But it sure as hell can buy a whole lot of fun.”

~*~

They reclined side by side under a huge umbrella, waves gently lapping the white sand near their feet. Donovan took a long pull on the bottle of cold beer Sam had just retrieved from the nearby industrial-sized cooler that was filled with cold juices, sparkling water, beer and miniature bottles of wine and champagne. Though it was early evening, they still had several hours of sunlight left.

“Man, this is the life, huh?” he said, smiling at Sam.

“Paradise,” Sam replied. “I can’t believe this setup. It’s like our own private resort. That Carlos is something else.”

“That he is,” Donovan agreed. “I could totally get used to this.”

They’d arrived on the island only an hour before, after a long day of travel. A guide had met them at the airport in Aruba and taken them to the seaplane dock. She’d come along on the brief trip to the island, deplaning to show them their amazing accommodations and to make sure they had everything they needed. “Use this cell phone to call or text with anything you need. There’s a portable charger in the tent.” She handed Donovan an iPhone. “We’ll be back in a few days with fresh provisions,” she added as she climbed back aboard the waiting plane. “Enjoy your stay.”

Every detail had been thought of. There was enough food for an army, including a second cooler packed with fresh fruit, sliced deli meats, cheese, various condiments and even a large box of luxury chocolates. A plastic storage bin had been filled with crackers, cookies, bread, rolls and breakfast pastries. Yet another cooler contained steaks, hotdogs, chicken kabobs, fish and fresh vegetables to grill on the charcoal barbeque that sat near their original fire pit.

Enough kindling and cut wood for a month had been neatly stacked nearby. In place of the pup tent they’d slept in when stranded on the island, a tent easily four times its size had been erected. It was furnished with an actual bed complete with sheets and plump pillows. A battery-operated lantern hung from the ceiling of the tent. There was even room for a chest of drawers with a mirror and a portable cabinet stacked with towels and toiletries.

“Hey, let’s go for a swim in our pool before we make dinner,” Sam suggested.

“Great idea.”

Grabbing a couple of beach towels from the tent, they made their way inland, moving along the familiar path they’d created when stranded on the island. The surroundings were so familiar, but felt totally different.

No. Donovan was the one who was different. Gone was the confused, angst-ridden man he had once been. With Sam’s help and love, he’d been able to peel through the protective layers he’d built around himself and discover the true man within. He was, for the first time in his life, fully comfortable in his own skin.

The waterfall was just as breathtaking as the first time they’d encountered it. They climbed up onto the rocks that surrounded the fresh-water pool. They smiled at one another, no words necessary. Then Sam stepped out of his flipflops and slipped off his white shorts. Naked and graceful as a seal, he dove into the water. He appeared a moment later in the center of the pool, shaking back his hair from his face with a laugh. “It’s fabulous. Come on in.”

Donovan shucked his shorts and leaped into the water feet first, landing near Sam with a resounding splash. “Hey,” Sam cried, though he was grinning. He pushed his cupped hands through the water, splashing Donovan in return. Donovan reached for him, catching him in a wrestling hold. Sam twisted away from him and sank beneath the water, swimming around Donovan’s legs and knocking him off balance.

Spluttering and laughing, they wrestled and played like children. Donovan remembered the first time they’d been naked in the water, and how aroused and terrified he’d been. Now there was only joy as they swam, whooped and laughed. Finally, breathless and pleasantly exhausted, they stood face to face, panting and grinning, both of them sporting huge erections.

They climbed out of the water and lay together on the spread towels as they caught their breath. Sam reached for Donovan’s cock, catching it in his hand and stroking it as their lips met. Donovan found Sam’s hard shaft and gripped it, pumping it as they pressed their bodies close. They both came quickly, aroused from their play and the sheer pleasure of being naked and happy together, completely in the moment.

Donovan drifted for a while in the pleasure fog of orgasm. After a while, he lifted himself on his elbow to look at Sam. Sam’s eyes were closed, a small, contented smile on his handsome face. Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, Donovan went to his discarded shorts and took out the small box he’d secreted there.

He returned to the towel and sat down beside Sam. A large white heron flapped suddenly into the air from behind the waterfall, reminding Donovan of the eggs he’d found there. He’d been like those chicks, pecking out of his shell, uncertain and terrified about what the world beyond his nest held. Sam had been there for him, encouraging him, nurturing him and creating a safe place to test out his wings and ultimately to fly.

“I love you,” he whispered softly.

Sam opened his eyes. “Hey,” he said with a sleepy smile.

“Hey,” Donovan said back, grinning. “I have something for you.” He showed Sam the velvet ring box, his heart rate kicking up a notch.

Sam lifted himself on an elbow. “Yeah?

“Yeah.” He opened the box, showing Sam what lay inside. It was an exact replica of the braided gold band Sam had given him.

Sam looked at Donovan, his eyes shining. “Donovan,” he breathed. “It’s perfect.”

Donovan plucked the ring from its velvet cushion and reached for Sam’s hand. “You gave me your good luck ring, and taught me that I can make my own luck. Right now, I feel like the luckiest man in the world, and that’s because of you. I want to spend my life with you. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Sam said softly, his eyes filling with tears. “I will.”

His heart aching with joy, Donovan slid the ring onto Sam’s ring finger.

It fit perfectly.