Episode 8, Season One

Nick needed a break. Ben was actually driving him out of his mind. He actually wondered if giving he and Ben another try was actually a mistake, as they both seemed more distant lately. Nick could only account for himself, but there was something not there whenever he and Ben were together - especially when they were having sex, which seemed more frequently than ever. Trying to keep Ben satisfied was also interfering with Nick's writer's block. Maybe he could write an essay about the life of the partner of a sex addict.
Nick sighed as he sat at his desk starting at the blank screen of his laptop. He wondered if he should call Ben and apologize. Their argument over the phone last night showcased utter contempt over the relationship. However, Nick thought better of calling Ben as he felt they both needed something of a break. Maybe he's just unwilling to tell himself the truth that trying to have a monogamous relationship with a sex addict just isn't possible. Nick wondered what Matt was doing, and, just as quickly, pushed the question out of his head. He wondered if two sex addicts will be able to carry a relationship?? The thought lingered for a moment before Nick looked back at the blank screen on his computer and began to type.



Ben looked at himself in the mirror. An expression of dispair looking back at him. He'd did it again. No one would be surprised if they ever found out; but, yet again, he failed Nick. It would have been simple if he could have found something else to occupy his mind, something else to focus all of his energy on. Instead, feeling miffed at Nick's rejection of him last night, he took off for a bar and ended up in the alley smoking a joint with some guy before getting a half-assed blow job behind the dempster dumpsters, which, of course, led to the hiring of a guy and girl from an old madam from years ago. One wild and fucked up night because he had no self-control.
Okay, it happened. Now what? Does he confess everything to Nick? Does he take this opportunity to get some help? Or will he brush it all off as he did in the past, leaving nothing but scars and skid marks over those that cared the most about him?
Ben left the bathroom, walking into his bedroom and picking up the phone. He dialed his office.
"Marsha, I'm going to be working from home today. Can you messenger over the Lennigan project and tell Sybil to look into Jed Langton's boyfriend's project. Oh, and one more thing, hold all my calls and see if you can rearrange tomorrow's meeting with those government jerks."
After hanging up the phone, Ben went to his home office and turned on his computer. He needed to focus on some work in order to think through his cheating on Nick and why his libido is completely whacked right now. Maybe a little help is what he needed. He felt terrified to attend an SA meeting. If it makes any sense to anyone they were basically meeting places for nymphomaniacs. When one gets a roomful of sex addicts talking about how often, how much, how and where then there is nothing but sexual energy emmanting through the room with an orgy just waiting to happen.
Maybe he and Nick should have waited awhile before another go at their relationship. Maybe Ben should have just given himself more leeway in terms of understanding himself. He couldn't do this again to Nick or himself. He would seek out the help of a psychologist...yeah, someone whom he could talk to and not feel so much pressure; so trapped. But once Ben's computer was on, he found himself tapping into the numberous porn sites on his favorites list. And, suddenly, he nearly gasped at a photograph that came across his screen. A photograph that was only one of a series of photographs that both shocked and excited him...



Matt left the television station needing something more than a drink, he needed to bust that shithead of a director a new opening in his skull. How in the fuck is he supposed to know about film journalism after only having come from a newspaper? Matt felt confident as both an editor and a producer, but just because this was an editing gig he took because the original editor was reassigned a new gig doesn't mean that the director - who probably got daddy to pay his way into the position - knows much more about putting together a compelling piece of story.
Just before Matt gave in and bit his lower lip to keep from smashing his fist into the jerk's face, he got a call on his cell phone. It was Damien with an invitation for drinks at Nexus. A drink was just what he needed.
Matt walked into Nexus with his anger nearly gone. He found Damien sitting in one of the booths, concentrated on something on the screen of his cell phone. Just as Matt approached the booth, Damien looked up and smiled.

"Hey there handsome guy," he said.

Matt slid into the booth. "How's it going, Damien?"

"Not bad. Not bad at all. So, how's work over at the television station?"

"I will tell you later. Right now all I need is a couple of shots of whiskey."

"Fear not, I pre-ordered for you and I think your wish is about to be fulfilled."

The bartender brought over a couple of shots for Matt and sat them down. Both Damien and Matt thanked him as he returned to his position behind the bar. Matt took the first shot and gulped it down. A slight grimace crossed his face as the liquor ticked his throat.

"You know, you should do a movie about rich kids that grow up and are forced into the limelight," Damien said.

"Would this be about Paris Hilton or someone like, uh, you?"

Damien laughed. "That's good. Cheap, but good. No, well, maybe I can contribute something but I know a lot of kids who were born into rich families but who would like to just live a more simpler life. And, I know a lot of people that you can call to invest."

"Thanks, Damien, but I'm a lone wolf when it comes to the conception and producing of my projects. I have a crew of people I know to hire to get the job done and know who to work for me. And, to be quite honest, that is one of the lamest ideas for a documentary I've ever heard of."

Matt spoke with the comfort that only a good friend would administer, so Damien tried not to take critisism of his idea to heart.

"Okay, hot shot, why not make it a narrative then. Why not give features a shot, you just might have a hidden talent in there that you don't know about."

"What are you getting at?"

Damien took a deep breath. "Nothing. You seem a little upset working at the television station and I'm trying to be a friend and give you alternatives."

Matt looked over at Damien. "You know, you're right. I'm sorry, Damien," he said, taking Damien's hand into his.

Damien's eyes lit up a bit. He looked over at Matt, who was staring him in the eye. "Its okay," Damien said. "You can make it up to me by accepting a dinner invitation."





Jed sat in his office staring at the hard copy of the first issue of Blade Magazine. There it was. Everything he had dreamed of staring him right back in the face! He was about to send it off to the printers where he would later watch to first printing. Of course, he would have to have his mother present. After all, she had encouraged him to follow his dreams and to be himself, no matter what the stakes were.
He should give her a call to make sure that she has the date and time of the printing solid on her schedule. Jed could almost detect a pre-occupation concerning his mother these days; always as if her mind were drifting somewhere. It all started the night he took Steve over for dinner...
Could it be that she doesn't like Steve and, therefore, only puts on an act for his sake? That would sound so unlike her that it's just not possible to even think about. When he came out to his mother she had always been receptive of his dates in the past. Oh there was maybe one that she had something to say about and that was only because the guy did come across as a social climber. Funny how she picked that up.
Jed took out his cell phone and began to dial. Normally if there were anything wrong then they would just talk about it. Maybe Jed was too paranoid.
"Hello, Frank. Jed Langton here. Listen, I referred someone to you fairly recently and I wanted to know if they've contacted you yet?"

"Uh...okay, what's the name?"

"Mrs. Theodora Raines."

"Nope. No one by that name has called into here."

"That's odd."

"Maybe whatever they needed got solved on its own."

"Yeah, you're probably right. Thanks, Frank. I will keep in touch."





Helene Langton-Marshall was a simple woman, even when she married a wealthy man, she retained her simple outlook on life with a certain class that one usually ends up in desperation in any attempt of imitation. At first frowned upon not only because she was a poor farmer's daughter who married well but because she nailed one of the most handsome and eligible bachelors in the country. Soon enough, though, Helene had eased herself into her position as mistress of the Langton household but as a much respected member of the community.
It was her understanding that people usually do not understand the depths of human complexity. Her graces and demands made her respected and, therefore, taught her how to listen to the lives and the secrets of her peers. Helene had learned that not only should she maintain an image but to protect her and her family from any - and she means any - attempt to bring disgrace to her beloved dead first husband or her devoted son and her new husband.
In her private office inside of her home, Helene sat reviewing her her social schedule for the upcoming week. The mobile phone on her desk rang. She looked at the display screen and discovered who was trying to contact her.

"Hello,"

"Mrs. Langton-Marshall? You know who this is?"

"Yes, Mr. Evans. Do you have anything?"

"Not yet, but I do want to warn you that your son is beginning to ask questions..."





"Damien, that's was good! Really good!" Matt said, sitting back in the chair, stuffed and relaxed.

"I'm glad you liked it. I told you that restaurant had excellent chicken caccitore."

"If only you knew how to cook."

"Why, when there are hundreds of restaurants right here in Port Wayne to cater to whatever I want whenever I want it?"

"You are a spoiled fucking brat!" Matt said in jest.

"So, you want to finish that off with a nightcap?"

"Sure! Whattaya got?"

"Your favourite bourbon. How's that?"

"Excellent!"

"Let's go into the den."

Once they reached the den, Matt settled in on the sofa while Damien put some jazz on the stereo and poured a glass of bourbon for Matt and a brandy for himself. He settled onto the sofa next to Matt.

"Thanks!" Matt said, taking the glass from Damien. He took a sip and leaned back into the sofa, a lazyiness drifting through his body.

Damien took a sip of his brandy and set the snifter down on the table. He looked over at Matt, who's eyes were half closed as he looked over at Damien. Matt smiled and reached up to grab Damien's shoulder, which he gave a rough squeeze.

"Thank you for being a good friend," Matt said, his hand now rubbing Damien's shoulder.

Damien's body shuddered. Matt had closed his eyes, his hand paused and resting on Damien's shoulder. Damien leaned down towards Matt until their lips touched and Damien began to kiss Matt.

"What the..." Matt opened his eyes and swiftly pushed Damien away from him. "what're you doing?"

"I...I mean...I was kissing you."

"Why?"

"I thought because we were getting along so well together that, well, we were heading...wait a minute! You're telling me that you thought of us as friends the whole time?"

"What fucking else could I think of us as? Look, Damien, you're a cool guy and everything but I don't have that kind of attraction towards you. I'm sorry, but I thought we were just friends."

Damien sat. His eyes moved from Matt to the glass door that lead to his patio. "Matt, I do apologize. I think you should go now."

"Yeah, I think that would be wise."