Chapter Fourteen
During the twenty or so minutes wait, Jay tried Seb’s phone twice. No more ringing and straight to answer phone.
“Oi, lazy git. I got called to somethin’. Thought you’d wanna tag along. But fuck you, I’ll catch ya laters.” He switched off just as Riley pulled up in a pristine white Range Rover. The window lowered and Jay poked his nose in.
“They let you rough nuts just loiter round here?” Riley grinned, then angled his head. “Get in. I think that’s a pap on the other side of the road.”
“Great.” Jay slipped into the passenger side, clunk-click, and they were off joining the bumper-to-bumper traffic through the Upton Park outdoor market. To say it felt weird was an understatement. Riley’s over-potent deodorant spray wafted under Jay’s nostrils and it was like being transported back in time. And with the speed Riley was driving, they weren’t far off the eighty-eight miles per hour to achieve it.
Gripping the steering wheel with one hand, Riley rolled his shirt sleeve up to reveal a scribed tattoo on his forearm. Jay tilted his neck to decipher the words.
“Carpe Diem.” Riley wriggled his arm.
“Seize the day. Nice.”
“Like tattoos, Jay?” Riley scrubbed his fingers through his light brown hair, shunting the car toward the parked bays to avoid an oncoming replacement bus service.
Tightening his hold on the door handle, Jay thought that perhaps Riley shouldn’t put his trust in tomorrow, as it might not come at all with the way he drove. “I like ’em on other people.”
Riley smiled. “By that, I’ll assume you mean your man.”
“He’s got an obsession with ’em, yeah.”
“How many he got?”
Jay glanced out of the window, attempted to count the ink on Seb’s body without recalling each time he’d licked them. “A lot.”
“He not convinced you to ruin that pasty skin of yours yet then?”
“Nah. Think he accepts me without.” Jay shrugged. “He did ask once, but I got some stupid thing about needles.”
“Ha. Why is it the tough guys always do, eh?”
“Yeah. I know. Stupid. Back at uni, the scholars all wanted to get a matching tatt. Like a camaraderie thing. I went along to the parlour down docklands, then shit myself and bailed. Did fuck all for my street cred, I can tell ya.”
Riley laughed. “I’ll bet. Probably a good thing, though. It’s a novelty now, ink-free skin. I blame that Beckham. He just can’t stop. ’Ere, you ever played him?”
“Nah. And now he’s at Real Madrid, I doubt I will. Did meet him a couple times though. Talked about how east London’s changed since he was a kid.”
“Yeah. Sure has. We’re here.”
Riley pulled into an industrial estate on the borders of Newham and Hackney, home to builder’s merchants and other businesses needing larger scale premises. Most of the warehouses were boarded up with a Land Now Occupied sign hanging on the shutters. It was just the greasy spoon shack and the building that Riley pointed up to that appeared to be open for business.
“The Olympic development.” Riley stepped out of the car and flicked his keys around his finger, heading toward the outhouse. “Don’t get me wrong, twenty-twelve is gonna rock shit and it’ll certainly do wonders for this place. But it means many of the businesses round here have had to find new premises, most out of the area and costing a helluva lot more. This setup is mostly an online retailer. So they’re coping with a warehouse, not a shop front.” He unlocked the rusty shutter, the metal crackling like thunder as he slipped it up. “They store their stock here, and it doubles up as a photo studio. I called ahead. The CEO is out at a meeting but I had the keys and said I’d give you a look-see.”
Jay wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but from the outside it hadn’t seemed all that impressive. Inside was a different story. There were railings upon railings of clothes stacked up around the walls of a wide-open-plan space with a curved grey screen in the centre that Jay guessed was where they did the photo shoots. Spot lights, umbrella shades and various props were set up around it, along with boxes upon boxes of sports equipment, from footballs to boxing gloves, to cricket bats.
Riley flicked on all the lights, illuminating the darkened space and allowing for Jay to mosey around. He stopped at a few framed posters on the wall, minor celebrities that Jay recognised but couldn’t place, showing their love for Tyrant Sports & Leisure Wear Inc through smiles and various poses.
“Told you they need to update the marketing.” Riley came up behind him. “Not sure that fella’s been in the news since the last Big Brother.”
“That’s who he is then.”
“Yeah.” Riley rocked back on his heels. “Can see why the company hired me, right? They need a better image. At least a sports personality if they selling sports clothing. And you, my old friend, could be just it.”
Jay snorted. For one, he wasn’t sure he’d consider himself an old friend of Riley’s, but still, bygones be bygones, and don’t look a gift horse in the mouth and all that. And two, he had no idea how he could be the image for an entire clothing brand, considering he lived day in, day out in what West Ham provided for him or what Ann suggested he wear. Why didn’t I bring Ann?
“Take a look at the gear. If you like it, try some on. If you don’t, then we’ll fuck all this off and just go to the pub. Either way, I win.” Riley slapped Jay’s shoulder and chuckled.
Considering he was there, he might as well take a look. Scraping back the clothes on the first rail, he thought they were decent enough. Good quality for leisure wear. Amazing he had an opinion, really. This wasn’t like when Seb made him shop, or Ann chose his clothes. This was sportswear. Plain T-shirts, work-out vests, tracksuits, hoodies…
“Go on, try something on.” Riley nudged him. “And I’ll get the camera ready.”
“Camera?”
“Yeah. Take a few snaps, show the CEO. She’s got to confirm it. If you’re not photogenic, there’d be no point signing you, right? Although, that pic in the papers this morning was all right. I quote from her, ‘nice suit, hugs him well’.”
Jay burst out a laugh and Riley scurried off to ransack a locked cabinet. That suit had hugged him well, last year. When he was at his fittest. This year, there’d been a bit of give. But he guessed no one could tell that on a stolen shot from a pap. Heaving a resigned breath, Jay yanked his top over his head and looked around for somewhere to put it.
“Just hang it up.” Riley smiled, fixing together what Jay assumed was a focus lens and flash to a Canon camera before taking a few shots at the floor. “They also do an underwear range, if you fancy a go at that first? They hug the right bits an’ all.”
“Let’s just start with the overwear, yeah?”
Riley chuckled. “All right. Grab a few bits, put ’em on, then when you’re ready, stand there.” He pointed at the plane grey backdrop. “These are just test shots. For the real thing, we’ll have you out somewhere a bit more stylish. Somewhere that screams all you.”
Nerves suddenly crept up on Jay, mostly ’cause he felt like a bit of a tit. Grabbing hold of the railing, he managed to free himself of his trainers, socks and tracksuit trousers, relieved that he’d shoved on his better boxers that morning, with only a slight wince from his aching knee.
“You all right?” Riley nodded to his leg.
“Yeah, yeah. Just certain positions, y’know?”
“Ha. I’ll bet your boyfriend ain’t pleased with that.” Riley winked and Jay wondered when all these double entendres about his sexuality were going to end. “No problem, mate. I’ll grab you a chair in a bit. And, don’t take this the wrong way, but looking at you now, I think the underwear might be top dollar. Don’t panic, though. I’m a gentleman. I’ll buy you dinner before asking you to get all your kit off.”
Jay arched an eyebrow. “Better be somewhere nice, then. I don’t take me kecks off for a cheeky Nando’s.”
“Ha. Sure.” Riley stumbled back, eyes firmly fixed on the camera.
So the guy could dish it out but not take it. Noted.
“Let’s start with the trackies.” Riley pointed toward a pair of lounge joggers draped over a railing. “Hang ’em low on your hips, show a bit of boxer and that’ll flaunt that six pack you got goin’ on. What’s that, eight hours a day in the gym?”
“Something like that.” Jay fumbled into the bottoms, adjusting them at the waist, and held out his arms in display.
“Perfect. Now stand over there.” Riley pointed toward the backdrop.
Jay took one step and his knee shot out a painful spasm. Riley grabbed his elbow, which was lucky or Jay would have made an even bigger twat of himself by collapsing to the floor. “Cheers.”
“No probs. Must be a bitch, that.” Riley steadied him up and steered him over to the marked-out position in front of the grey screen.
“Yeah, one minute it feels fine, next I’m on the floor. Crying.” Shaking himself out, Jay faced front and waited for the next instruction.
Riley hovered back and lifted the camera to look through the lens. “All right. Do something.”
“Like what?”
Riley chuckled, then peered around the camera. “Most people smile. Or not. Moody might work best with you, actually. You got that rough, tough, East End, don’t mess with me vibe going on. That’s what we should go for. Play on that image.”
“Hardly feel rough and tough with a gammy knee, right now.”
“Sure, but how did you get it? ’Cause you kicked some fella last season. And from watching the replays, mate, I reckon he deserved it.”
Jay hung his head. Maybe the bloke had, but Jay should have learned his lesson from the first time. A sudden rush of shame swarmed over him. The last time it had been Riley on the receiving end.
“Much like I did.” Riley broke the awkward silence. “Back in the day.”
Jay met with Riley’s sullen expression behind the camera.
“There. That.” Riley waggled his finger and instantly fired a few snaps. “Yeah. Definitely better moody. Look off to the side. Think about something.”
Jay turned his head. “Think about what?”
“Something that pisses you right off. Chelsea scum?”
Jay laughed and Riley lowered the camera.
“You got a nice smile, too. I’ll give you that. We’ll capture those eyes at some point as well. But for now, let’s try irritated. Angry. Imagine some geezer coming on to your fella?”
Jay didn’t have to think too hard about that as it had become a far too often occurrence since Seb’s popularity had soured.
“Good, good. Narrow the eyes. That’s it.” Click, click, click. “Face me again. Yes. Like it. Shit, you ever done this before?”
“Once, for Ann when she was doing her BTEC fashion entry coursework. I swore I’d never do it again. Yet here I am.”
“Easily persuaded.”
“Tell me about it.”
Riley dropped the camera away from his face. “Ann? Oh, Ann! That’s the girl from the bar? She’s your ex, from school?”
“Yeah.”
“And you’re still friends?”
“Yeah. She keeps me grounded, y’know? Reminds me who I was before all this.” Jay waved a hand, indicating the strange setup of him being asked to model for a clothing line simply for playing football.
Flicking through the images on his camera screen, Riley nodded. “These are pretty good. Bit of stylish touch-up on it and they’ll look a treat.” He rushed over to a chair by the wall and dragged it toward Jay. “Straddle it, drape your arms over the back and clench the biceps. Make it look like you can’t get a hand around ’em.”
Jay slipped into the seat, straightening out his bad leg while Riley adjusted the spotlights overhead and hurried back in front of him. He draped his arms over the back of the chair and balled his fists to flex his biceps.
“Still remember those punches you laid on me.” Riley’s voice was distant even if he were only a few inches away from Jay. “I’ve received a fair few whacks in my time. Being a little shit never did me any favours. But yours.” He shook his head through a laugh. “Hurt. And I’ve never seen a man so fucking angry.”
Jay didn’t know how to respond to that. He just stared, straight into Riley’s hazel eyes.
“It must have been hard.”
Jay wasn’t sure if that was a question or statement. “What must’ve been?”
“Dealing with all that shit growing up. I remember the academy days. Shit, a training session weren’t standard without some homophobic banter being thrown around.”
“Banter I can handle. Everyone has the shit taken out of them for something or other. It’s team mentality, try and sniff out the weakest. You learn to deal with it, to ignore it, to pretend you ain’t heard it. But what I can’t stand is when people think it’s a reason for you not to be on the pitch at all.”
“Yeah.” Riley shoved the camera closer to Jay and snapped. “Sorry, mate, was a perfect pose. Your natural look is pretty damn fucking perfect. You ever retire, you got a job here.” He checked through the images. “So, did it get easier once you came out? Like, did that stop all the shit?”
“A little. Took me a while to get the courage to do it though.” Jay shrugged. “To be honest, I don’t think I would have if it hadn’t been for Seb.”
Another quick snap and Jay had to blink back the yellow flashes.
Riley smiled, checking the image. “You mean you’d have stayed in the closet?”
“Probably. There weren’t no reason to tell ’em before him. As long as the gaffer knew, and maybe the club execs, then it didn’t need the big announcement that it had.”
“So why?”
Jay breathed through a laugh. “’Cause Seb ain’t one to stay locked up in a closet. It weren’t fair on him.”
“Yeah. So I see. D’you reckon if he had though, if he’d been some normal geezer, a fucking shop assistant or librarian or something, that you wouldn’t be sat here now, injured?”
Jay chewed his bottom lip. He’d been thinking that a lot himself lately. That if he hadn’t come out, that if Seb hadn’t become the big shot that he was, if he’d kept to their promise to stay out of the media, then perhaps he wouldn’t have been targeted on the pitch. No-one would know. He wouldn’t have the apprehension before every game, worry about how he acted, worry about how Seb acted. He wouldn’t have to check over his shoulder when walking down the street just in case there was someone taking his picture. He’d be playing football. The way he’d always wanted. He glanced away and wondered if, deep down, that was his real problem.
Snap.
“Sorry. Natural.” Riley grinned. “Why don’t we try on some of the other gear? Different poses. I’ll put some music on, might help you relax.”
Riley switched a large plasma screen to MTV and upped the volume. And, after a few more trial shots in various different styles of clothing and poses, Jay did loosen up. He was even allowed to smile at one point. It wasn’t half bad, just standing there, or sitting, or lying down at one point, whilst someone took his picture. No wonder Seb enjoyed doing his press shots. It was like becoming a different him. A more confident him. Through Riley’s camera lens, Jay got a smidgen of himself back and he was certain that boost would last until he got home to Seb. Just the thought made him tingle with anticipation.
“I’ll call that a wrap.” Riley switched off the spot lamps and attached the camera via a cable into an open laptop plugged into the wall. “I’m going to start uploading these and send ’em off to the boss, see what she thinks. But I’m pretty sure it’ll be a goer.”
Jay shoved his own clothes back on and made his way over to Riley. He peeped over Riley’s shoulder, expecting to cringe at the photographs. Instead, he nodded in approval. Not half bad at all. Riley had a knack for atmospheric photo taking.
“I also gotta get you to sign something. It’s printing off in the next room.”
“What is it?” Jay narrowed his eyes. “I thought this was all just a test shot?”
“It is. But we’ve now got your images on file. So, we kinda need your consent for that. It’s all legal crap. Sure your boyfriend gets it all the time, huh?”
“Yeah. I guess.” Jay bit his bottom lip, eyes darting across the words on the laptop screen. “Maybe I need him to take a look.”
“Why? He your keeper as well as your bed warmer?”
“Nah, it’s just he’s got a background in all that contract stuff. Be better for him to take a squizz.”
“He here?” Riley looked around, eyes wide. “Seriously, Jay, it’s bog standard shit. And if I was your agent I’d be telling you not to turn this down. This could be your meal ticket, to show the world who you are. And if you don’t sign this, well, these awesome snaps will go to waste and no doubt the boss’ll have me chasing some other celeb for the fifty-grand endorsement deal.” He slapped Jay’s arm and squeezed. “It’s just a signature and we could have this signed off by Friday. Make a great weekend gift for the other half, right?”
Jay knew he should say no. Seb would kill him for signing something without it being checked over. But they were only a couple of images, right? The paps took his photo all the time and shoved it all over media without his knowledge, or permission. Perhaps it was ’cause he was still on a bit of a high and eager to get home to Seb that made him nod.
“And, ha, look at that.” Riley pointed up to the television screen. The latest Drops video blasted out. “It’s like he’s looking down on ya.”
Jay snorted. Fucking typical.
“Back in a sec. I’ll just grab the contract from the printer.”
Shoving his hands in his pocket, Jay watched the video and smiled. If he hadn’t been itching to get home before, he was now. No wonder Seb had been voted Sexiest Man in Rock according to the MTV poll. As the video faded to a close, a female presenter popped up on the side of the screen with the latest in entertainment news headlines scrolling above.
“That was the latest from the Drops. And did you see the performance last night? Phew.” She fanned herself, her red lips forming an O. “Hot stuff. And speaking of which, the first photograph of Seb Saunders with West Ham’s Jay Ruttman has been all over the papers, finally confirming that they are a couple, having remained tight-lipped on their romance for over a year.”
The same image that had been plastered on every newspaper that morning shot up on the screen. Jay shook his head. He still couldn’t understand why there was so much interest in it all.
“But, then who is this?” The presenter slapped a hand over her mouth as another photograph popped up beside her. “Is our Seb playing away from his man? This was taken earlier today at the Royal hotel in London, renowned for their plush bedroom suites. Tut-tut, Sebastian.”
It was as if someone had just ripped out Jay’s heart and stamped on it with his brother’s steel toe-capped boots, then stabbed it like the dart board up in The Court Yard. A rush of blood drained from his face, and his entire body shivered. He felt sick. And angry. Really fucking angry. The photograph, blown up on the screen for the entire fucking world to see, was a little fuzzy, taken through a window pane and distorting the faces somewhat, but there was no doubt that was Seb, throwing his head back and laughing. Jay would recognise his boyfriend in silhouette.
“Right, here we go.” Riley stepped up behind him and held out a bunch of papers. “What? Now you go give me the best fucking pissed-off pose?” He glanced up to the screen. “Shit. Who’s that?”
Edging closer to the screen, Jay balled his hands into tight fists and clenched his jaw so tight that his teeth might rip back through his gums. “Stephen fucking Coles.”