Rhodes - My Summer

T om watched the young man with envy in his heart. He moved with grace and efficiency animating every movement. He executed all of Hanks requests with attention to perfection.

Tom let his eyes sweep over the young mans body. He had a shock of stylishly cut blonde hair on the top of his head, and his slim, smooth body was fit with sleek muscle sculpted in the gym.

Hank said, Im confident that he wont mind when I mention that Sam was little more than a gutter rat when I found him on one of my late night Duval Street excursions.

Resting quietly on his knees, Sam lowered his head and nodded in agreement with his Masters words.

His family abandoned him when he developed a nasty drug habit. Sam was only 18, and he was facing a life dependent on the kindness of tourists for mere sustenance. I saw something in his eyes.

Tom asked, Did you know that he could be something better?

I took him for a meal. He was jittery from the drugs, and he ate with the ravenous appetite of a man whod missed a week of meals, but he didnt ask for money. He only wanted the food and a moment of sympathy. I knew that I could help.

Sam looked up and beamed at his Master. Tom asked, And its been a great thing for both of you?

Hank nodded. There is no greater possession in my life. Im a man of wealth with expensive art and a priceless home in one of the worlds foremost slices of paradise. Yet, none of that can touch Sam in value.

Tom said, Ill admit it. I envy you, Hank. Maybe someday

H e offered me a firm handshake when I desperately wanted a hug. I needed something to calm my frayed nerves. Id nearly dumped a plastic glass filled with soda over the front of my seat partner on the plane when I failed to stop the nervous hand tremor that started as soon as the plane took off. Now I stood face to face with one of the worlds bestselling authors having agreed to work for him as a personal assistant for the summer. My knees were close to buckling.

A million-dollar smile spread across his face as he spoke in a slightly husky voice. You must be Joel.

At this precise moment, the fact that Im Joel means Im the luckiest bastard in the world. I said, Yeah, thats me, and youre Thomas? I hoped to hell that he wasnt the writers driver. The man standing in front of me looked like the photo on the book jacket. In fact, he was more handsome in person. No wonder my knees were weak.

He poked at my chest. Smart man. You know the art of deduction. Fortunately, no one else here recognized me. Its happening more often now, and when they shove a book in my face to sign, I want to break out in a rash.

I rolled my shoulders forward and managed a soft laugh. Once my suitcase comes out here on the carousel, Im ready to go. I packed fairly light.

I ran the words on a tape loop in my head and cringed. It was my opportunity to say something heartfelt and profound to generate a positive first impression, and all that I came up with was a useless comment on the mechanics of the baggage claim.

My gut flipped when he said, Its the tropics. You dont need much to wear. I couldnt stop myself from imagining Thomas peeling off his shirt, and I clenched my jaw to try and prevent a blush from coloring my cheeks.

Thomas Albertson was a noted author. You might have heard of him. His literary career exploded three years ago with Together In the End, a series of novels about life in a post-discriminatory world. He wrote about a time in which most vestiges of racism, homophobia, and sexism disappeared amid desperate efforts to save a world turned on end by climate change.

The three novels were an eye opener for many people who needed a shock to make them understand the planets increasingly desperate future. For some, Thomas became an instant hero by optimistically pointing toward a future within reach. For others, it was only a string of exciting adventures rushing toward a breathless climax. Either way, he made a boatload of cash. The world looked forward to the premiere of the first movie adaptation of his books a year in the future. It was likely to be the catalyst for selling even more truckloads of books.

Thomas waited for me in the baggage claim area of Miami International Airport dressed in a crisp purple polo, khaki walking shorts, and matching purple flip-flops. He gripped a handwritten sign that read "Joel Buckley."

Thomas was young for such a successful author. He was only 33. With royalties from book sales, film options, and personal appearances, he was already worth millions. One day he will be mentioned in the same breath with the likes of J.K. Rowling, Stephen King, and Stephenie Meyer. His creativity showed no signs of waning.

Seeing him in person as I stepped forward, with his sharp facial features, buzzed dark hair and deeply tanned skin, I thought he would look equally as comfortable on the cover of GQ magazine as he did on a book cover. He stood with his legs shoulder-width apart firmly planted on the ground. Thomas thoroughly owned his personal space with grace and ease. He drew attention from everyone nearby, and I was shocked that no one else recognized the celebrity in their midst.

Joel, please excuse me for not being more effusive in my welcome. I was up late last night making final preparations for your arrival. Let me back up a step and say welcome to Florida, the sunshine state!" His words were loud enough that those standing nearby turned out of curiosity about the source.

Greeting number two included what I wanted most. Thomas threw both arms around me for a massive hug. His grip was solid and muscular. The light stubble on his cheek scratched against my smooth face. I couldn't hold back an enormous grin. I shuddered nervously at the same time.

After an uncomfortably awkward pause, I pointed at the carousel, Theres my bag. I tugged a generic black suitcase toward me and said, We can go. I hope I dont sound too ridiculous. I know that we talked online, but in person is a different animal. I cant believe that Im here.

* * *

I give partial credit for my good fortune to my best friend, Stephen. He is as outgoing as I am shy. Almost two months ago, outside the offices of our graduate school department, he found me staring intently at Thomas' advertisement on the placement bulletin board.