I.
Sam Caplan didn't try to be the black sheep of his Alabama family. He just was. Nothing he did was right. He was the baby of a very religious and successful family. His oldest brother Shane was a surgeon. His sister Sandy was a school teacher who married a lawyer. His twin older brothers Sean and Stephen were Merchant Marines. Sam, on the other hand, was a wash-out.
Sam wasn't a ten in the looks department, but if he wasn't celibate, he would have easily gotten tail. He had bouncy, shaggy dirty blond hair and freckled nose, coffee brown eyes like a puppy and body like that of a farmer's. He wasn't a big fitness buff, but he ran a lot and lifted weights a couple times a week (if just to not feel so inadequate next to his Marine brothers). He had an infectious smile that melted the heart of many girls, but Sam was usually just their best friend.
Sam had been a French major in college who had no interest in school at all. He partied, he slept through most of his classes, and he daydreamed. He'd always been carefree, but some of his nonchalant attitude was because he was in love with his girlfriend Amy, whom he'd met when he was twelve. He was convinced he would marry her...someday, whenever that was. It was because of Amy that he became pre-law, and tried to cram four years of schooling into one semester. He took the LSATS once during his senior year, and twice after that. Each time, he bombed them.
Sam tried to be chipper, but when his father basically ordered him to work in his ministry after a year off from graduating college, Sam's heart began to sink. Reality was crashing down on him. Adding to a job he disliked more than anything, his family was pressuring him to marry Amy. Sam wanted to- he really did- but every time he wanted to ask her, he got cold feet. He worried that the weight of being married would be a hundred times worse than working for his dad, and he worried he'd be a bad husband. Amy, after all, was the daughter of a real estate tycoon. Was he even good enough for her?
Things came to a head one afternoon as Sam took his father's Camaro out for a joyride. Sam put the pedal to the floor and turned up the music. He was twenty-three now, and his dad still wouldn't let him borrow the Camaro without a hassle. He sang with the radio as loud as he could while speeding down a dusty road. His father aggravated him. Just because Sam worked for him, it gave his dad license to make him feel like crap. Notwithstanding, he was beginning to doubt his religion. It was a small voice of doubt that started growing bigger when his high school sweetheart Amy suddenly told him she "needed space". He couldn't wait to quit his father's ministry and finally live his life the way he wanted. He shifted gears and went faster.
"Born on the Bayou!" he sang.
Sam looked away from the road for a split second to check his phone. Amy still hadn't gotten back to him. What was the deal with that girl, anyway? He truly loved her. Unfortunately, he also truly loved God, and not being a proponent of premarital sex, he had no way in which to determine if Amy still loved him back after all this time. Space? Doesn't that mean "I'm bored with you"? A deer jumped in front of him. Sam looked up just in time to slam on the breaks.
Crash.
He went through the windshield. The next thing he remembered was his body coming to a dead stop on the pavement.
"Ow! Fuck..."
Sam looked straight up and didn't move. His labored, panicked breath was the only sound for a while. The deer was amazingly not dead. In fact, it walked over to Sam and stared. For a brief moment, Sam and the deer were on the same wavelength. Sam was in awe of the beautiful creature, completely unaware of the seriousness of his accident. She blinked, shook her head, and trotted off. Sam put his hand down to his side and tried to push himself up. He cut his palm on the shattered glass and yelped. It was then that he remembered what had happened.
"Oh shit. I crashed the car."
He wiped his forehead and sighed. He suddenly realized just how far he'd been thrown from the car. A good twenty feet. He got up, brushed himself off, and examined his injuries. A cut on his hand, slightly sore right side...otherwise, he was completely fine.
"Praise Jesus, I'm okay."
He was still out of breath, but was more aware than before. He looked off into the brush. The deer was there, eyes piercing into Sam's consciousness.
"What? What just happened?"
But the deer was gone, and Sam collapsed onto the road. Later at the hospital, Sam excitedly shared his experience with his family.
"Dad, Dad, Dad- I saw God!" Sam had proclaimed from his hospital bed.
His family was gathered around his bedside, shocked and yet humored by the fact that he'd managed to walk away from his stupid accident virtually unharmed. The doctors were just as stumped. One said that the impact should have killed him. Although this seemed quite run-of-the-mill to his family, Sam was convinced his life had been changed forever.
"I'm serious! I saw God!"
"Good." His father, the minster with a gruff presence said. "Did he tell you I was gonna kick your ass for taking my Camaro on a joyride and smashing it up?"
"Dad, I mean it. Please, for once, take me seriously! I had an amazing religious experience!"
"You got thrown from a car at 60 miles an hour and lived. I'd say you got your head rung." Stephen said.
"Heck, maybe his head's been knocked back to normal now," Sean joked.
"Maybe he's got a point," Sandy said. "He did get shot out some twenty feet, and not only lived, but walked away with almost nothing."
"That's just dumb luck." His father growled.
"C'mon, guys. I mean it. I had a real epiphany. I was looking face-to-face with this majestic animal I'd hit and... it talked telepathically to me."
The twins laughed.
"Shut up, it's not funny! It really did! It told me that someone, this person, was missing from my life...And, if I wanted to make my life right, I had to go find-"
"That's absurd." His father told him. "Sam, you did not have an epiphany. You smacked your head on the road after driving too fast and not putting on a seat belt. Now I've had it with your antics. It is time for you to grow up."
Sam's face grew long. His father stormed out of the room. His siblings shrugged, as if to say "He'll get over it" and left too.
"I believe you, son." His mom said, touching his hand.
"You do?"
"Yes. I know you don't mean it, Honey, but sometimes you..."
She sighed. Sam knew what she was going to say, and it made him ache. Something to the effect of, "Sometimes you disappoint us".
"Your father and I would really like it if you gave your LSATS another shot. It'd be good for you to get into a career. To get focused. Maybe then, Amy will want to settle down with you."
"Yes, Mom."
As she left, he mumbled, "But I don't want to be a lawyer."
It was then that he realized why he was so unhappy. Even though he'd always put God and family first, he felt so incomplete. Nobody in his family understood him, and God seemed to have more important things to do and people to help. He closed his eyes and prayed.
"Dear God, I know I haven't asked you this since I was a little boy, and I know the Lord helps those who help themselves, but...if you could find the time, could you...send me a friend? Thanks, God. Amen."
That night, Sam's sleep was restless. He dreamed that he was at a rave, and random people were trying to rub up against him- girls, guys, it didn't matter. At first he was freaked out. Then, he began to feel quite receptive to it. He felt almost liberated. One in particular, a shadowy figure (he could not tell if it was a guy or girl), came right up to him and grabbed his package. It sent a jolt throughout his body. But before he could say or do anything, he woke up.
II.
Sam didn't know it yet, but he was about to get his wish granted by the most unlikely of people. If you'd asked Sam at this point, he probably couldn't name one gay person he'd actually known. He probably could tell you the name of a foreign person either. Such was his upbringing. This person was about to change everything Sam thought was true.
"Look, don't take this the wrong way," the casting director said with a false tone of kindness, "You're great, you really are. But you're just too...oh, LeVon, what's the word?"
"Gorgeous." His assistant suggested from behind the camera.
"Yes, that's it. Gorgeous."
James de Casas (Jimmy to his friends), a bare-chested and easily irritated twenty-three year old model from the tiny European country of Andorra, looked at him, cross and confused. Jimmy was tall and muscular, though a bit on the small side. He took very good hair of his looks which, thanks to his Spanish heritage, were dark and mysterious-looking. Jimmy has a characteristically bad temper, and he could feel himself about to burst once again at this latest casting.
He'd spent two hours to see this supposed genius of fashion, and cancelled a far less prestigious booking just to be there. Jimmy had been an in-demand model since he was five- recruited right off the street, starting with the basic catalogs and working up to runway. He'd been doing high fashion for almost five years now, but the well was drying up fast. Jimmy was well-aware of this.
"Gorgeous? I'm too gorgeous? What the fuck does that mean?"
"It means, Honey, that you're hot, but you're just too hot. We need a little scruff, a little- oh, what's the word, Levon?"
"Manliness."
He swooned.
"Oh, yes- manliness. This shoot calls for a man a little less refined than you."
"That's the dumbest shit I've ever heard. You told my agent, 'Tall, dark, handsome underwear model- accent a plus,' and I'm a tall and handsome Andorran with an edgy black haircut. What more do you want?"
"Yeah, that haircut is so last season. Buzz is in, now." The assistant said, not looking up from his camera's display.
"Look, I don't want you to be angry with me, Jimmy. You've always been one of my favorite models. But times are changing. People want accessibility, they want that 'hey, he kinda looks like me' kinda thing. Pretty just isn't in right now. You need to just wait this trend out."
"Wait? Wait for what? I haven't had a booking in months! I need to fucking eat, too!"
"Sorry, honey."
Jimmy took that as his cue to leave and put his shirt back on. He wanted to punch out the two gaywads as hard as he could, and he would have, if he didn't agree with them. Every casting call he'd been on in Miami for weeks ended up the same. "You're good, but not what we're looking for." As he left the studio and strolled down the dumpy stairway, he was keenly aware that he'd been spending every day since he was five preparing for high fashion, only to be obsolete. He was twenty three now. Next year, he might be too old. Then what was he going to do?
He hit the club that night and scouted for someone to take home. He sported very tight dark denim jeans and a fitted black tee. His eyes were rimmed with eyeliner and he'd gelled his hair up into a bit of a faux-hawk. Jimmy hardly needed to spruce up. He was naturally beautiful and attracted both sexes quite easily (which was quite fortunately, considering he was bi). Even though Jimmy was a bit of a player, he preferred still to take men home.
