EXCERPT:
And so they talked about acting. They talked about television. They talked about movie stars of old, and about how many of them you’d see if you watched The Love Boat on DVD.
“I mean, it wasn’t just Ted Knight and Charo on every episode,” Felix said. “I’m talking about Oscar winners. Olivia DeHavilland and Joan Fontaine, for Heaven’s sake! One day you’re in Gone With the Wind, the next you’re playing Captain Stubing’s Great Aunt Fanny? I wish they’d reboot that show. I’d have someplace to go when I’m yesterday’s news. I could find love with the lounge act, surprise them all: Grampa’s still got it!”
Shep laughed. “Maybe you could spearhead a revival. It can’t be that hard. All you need is a stowaway, a jewel thief, and a case of mistaken identity for each episode.”
“Sounds like you know your Love Boat,” Felix said admiringly. “Maybe that can be your Hollywood dream.”
“Okay, you really want to know my Hollywood dream?” Shep asked.
“I do.”
“More champagne, that’s my Hollywood dream.” He signaled their waiter, and just like that, it came true.
They cracked each other up brainstorming through ever-more elaborate Love Boat plots:
“Naturally, her father doesn’t approve because he’s not the right sort....”
“What he doesn’t approve of is how short his shorts are....”
“I see Raven-Symone as the former Broadway star whose agent books her on the cruise but forgets to tell her it’s unpaid.”
“So she has to cocktail to pay her fare, and Isaac falls in love with her.”
“This shit writes itself.”
Eventually they fell quiet, although they continued to gaze, tittering, into each other’s eyes. Felix reached across the table and took Shep’s hand. “I had a great time last night, Sheppy.”
“Me too,” Shep said with a laugh. He’d lost the battle where the sobriquet ‘Sheppy’ was concerned, although it had eventually been made clear to the rest of The Boyz (and Frieda) at the Clarion that it would only be tolerated when it issued from Felix, and then only with an unwavering eye roll.
“I think I might kinda like you.”
“Forget The New Love Boat,” Shep said. “Your true calling is obviously epic love poetry. Or at least romantic greeting cards.”
“Don’t mock me when I’ve had mimosas.”
“I mean, it wasn’t just Ted Knight and Charo on every episode,” Felix said. “I’m talking about Oscar winners. Olivia DeHavilland and Joan Fontaine, for Heaven’s sake! One day you’re in Gone With the Wind, the next you’re playing Captain Stubing’s Great Aunt Fanny? I wish they’d reboot that show. I’d have someplace to go when I’m yesterday’s news. I could find love with the lounge act, surprise them all: Grampa’s still got it!”
Shep laughed. “Maybe you could spearhead a revival. It can’t be that hard. All you need is a stowaway, a jewel thief, and a case of mistaken identity for each episode.”
“Sounds like you know your Love Boat,” Felix said admiringly. “Maybe that can be your Hollywood dream.”
“Okay, you really want to know my Hollywood dream?” Shep asked.
“I do.”
“More champagne, that’s my Hollywood dream.” He signaled their waiter, and just like that, it came true.
They cracked each other up brainstorming through ever-more elaborate Love Boat plots:
“Naturally, her father doesn’t approve because he’s not the right sort....”
“What he doesn’t approve of is how short his shorts are....”
“I see Raven-Symone as the former Broadway star whose agent books her on the cruise but forgets to tell her it’s unpaid.”
“So she has to cocktail to pay her fare, and Isaac falls in love with her.”
“This shit writes itself.”
Eventually they fell quiet, although they continued to gaze, tittering, into each other’s eyes. Felix reached across the table and took Shep’s hand. “I had a great time last night, Sheppy.”
“Me too,” Shep said with a laugh. He’d lost the battle where the sobriquet ‘Sheppy’ was concerned, although it had eventually been made clear to the rest of The Boyz (and Frieda) at the Clarion that it would only be tolerated when it issued from Felix, and then only with an unwavering eye roll.
“I think I might kinda like you.”
“Forget The New Love Boat,” Shep said. “Your true calling is obviously epic love poetry. Or at least romantic greeting cards.”
“Don’t mock me when I’ve had mimosas.”
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Michael P. Thomas is a flight attendant whose writing is continually inspired by his work with the flying public, who flatly refuse to be boring. The author of three novel-length gay romances and a number of romantic and erotic shorts, he writes gay fiction because when he was coming out he sure was glad to have it to read. After misspending his youth in San Francisco, he now lives in his native Colorado with his husband.
Website: http://
Twitter: https://twitter.com/
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