This prairie is anything but lonely!
Jonny Xero is Hollywood’s number one young screen heart throb and he’s signed on the dotted line to make his first western. Jonny’s noted for his off-screen antics where he’s the most obnoxious demanding movie diva of the era although nobody dares stand up to him because his movies rake in billions for his studio and his hangers on. But the western movie’s director has other ideas and packs Jonny off to a secluded ranch to learn to ride, hoping the grizzly old rancher might break in Hollywood’s troubled bad boy.
Series: Tagtime Cowboy Joe
Ebook ID: 5112_1178
lyd Category: Men-4-Men
Length: 44 pdf Pages / 6146 words
Formats Available: pdf, prc, lit, zipped html,
lrf, epub, RB,
Ebook Cover Price: $1.99
At the moment though, I’m untouchable. Not that there’s quite a few out there who wouldn’t like to see me in the gutter. Of course my career won’t last forever. I’m not stupid. There’s a whole new string of young actors out there just waiting to step into my Ruby Reds.
I gritted my teeth, my face hardening like a tray of ice cubes in the freezer. Frank must have recognized the look because he immediately dropped the ‘babe’ and the ‘baby’, went a strange shade of puce, and began searching through the stack of papers on his desk which I’d always thought of as props to make him look important.
He dragged some sheets from the bottom of the pile, toppling it in his haste so that it spread across his desk like a tsunami of paper. He was decidedly nervous now. He cleared his throat. He flicked through the pages as if to remind himself of its content before tossing it across the desk to me.
“Weird shit. Not sure about it. New young director making a name for himself in the cult world. No money. Could be big, could be the end of your career. Could go either way. Can’t possibly afford your asking price or your demands. Only western in the pipeline. Not much of a call for westerns. Box office poison. Like musicals.”
I leaned in to pick up the script. That’s when I noticed a yellow Post It note attached with the words Trent Storm? scribbled across it.
“The kid didn’t like it?” I sneered.
The kid in question was an ambitious young actor who bailed me up in a bar in front of my friends at a wrap party, drunkenly poking me in the chest with his finger while protesting, “I’m gonna be a bigger fuckin’ star than you’ll ever be, dude. One day, you’ll be kissing my ass.”
I laughed. What else was I to do? Here was this drunken bit player who I’d gunned down in an alleyway in the pic we were celebrating. Cocksure little bastard with so much attitude you could have shoveled it.
Sure he was good looking, about nineteen at the time, and he had a certain charisma but I was only six years older, with no intention of relinquishing my number one spot at the box office just yet. I reckoned without his steely determination. That and his propensity to sleep with anyone of note in the industry if they could help him toward his goal. He could also sniff out bullshit at a hundred paces.
“He’s thinking it over. Him the director can afford.”
I shrugged. “I’ll give it a read, let you know.”
Barry Lowe’s dreams of winning the Nobel Prize for Literature faded about thirty years ago when he realised what he wrote best was about the wild, whacky, wonderful world of sex and that his vocabulary would never rival Patrick White’s or even Evelyn Waugh’s. Since then he’s been happily churning out the odd gay sex comedy for stage as well as a mountain of newspaper columns and an avalanche of erotica for print and eBooks. He is also the author of Atomic Blonde, a biography of 1950s sex goddess, Mamie Van Doren. He lives in Sydney, Australia, with his long-term partner, Wally.
Check out his website at www.barrylowe.net.