It happened in three stages.

Working backwards --

It was easy to find a magazine with an ad looking for photos. I toyed with sending them to a straight magazine for added venom. Sending these photographs. This ultimate deception, photographs of my lover in the nude. I decided to send them instead to a very popular gay porn magazine.

After all, I wanted coverage. I wanted exposure. I wanted national exposure. The anger I felt when I had them developed at the quik-stop nearby was only matched by the satisfaction I felt as I licked the envelope and dropped it in the corner mail box.

I shook with satisfaction, shook with rage. It was done. Soon, maybe a month, maybe longer, the guy on the phone had said. But soon, Andrew McKinley was gonna be famous -- a "star in the making", the guy said when I faxed him a shot of his body -- his flawless, blond body in my guest house, and Greg Shamus the photographer.

"You must have a lot of trust in your relationship", the guy smirked over the phone as he gazed at the fax of my naked lover, Andrew.

I just shook with rage. With satisfaction.

But before that...

*****

Standing in the kitchen of the guest house, I saw it. The place, maybe the one place I didn't search the other night when I made up my mind to come out here. At least this time, Greg had put the alarm on. This time I had had to punch in the code to turn off the security system. This time I wasn't afraid, this time somehow I knew I wouldn't be surprised by someone's entrance, I knew Greg and Andrew were off to the gym for a workout.

Some earthen jar from his childhood, from Greg's grandmother or old Aunt. The earthen jar that cheerfully read, "Cookies" on the side. Or maybe Greg had made it himself in some ceramics class, maybe in high school from the craftsmanship -- or lack of. Either way -- there it was.

"Cookies".

Perhaps it should have read, "Betrayal".

I took seven steps across the kitchen floor. I'll always remember that it took seven steps to get to it. I opened the jar and pulled out some bills, ones, fives, tens -- some old quarters worth only that -- quarters. And a small roll of film. 36 Exposures. Yeah, exposure. I would take the lead and make sure there was plenty of that -- exposure.

I took the money.

I took the quarters.

I took the film and left.

But before that...

*****

"Hey, Hugo -- give me a de-caf cap. No foam."

I couldn't take much more of this ridiculousness between Andrew and Greg. Good God, why didn't Greg just admit that he would always side with Drew, no matter what Drew said. "I'm a billionaire," Drew might say and Greg would grunt, "yeah, he is."

Hugo handed me the cap. I stirred in some sugar and dawdled at the counter if only to avoid a moment of those two... Andrew and his pipe dream. Opening his own catering company... yeah, it's a great idea, Andrew. If you're independently wealthy -- which you're not."

Then I begin to tune in to their conversation. I heard something about photos -- and I instantly knew they were talking about that scene I witnessed. Greg shooting photos of Andrew in the nude...

Then I heard it. The thing I'd been waiting for, the information I had needed when I searched Greg's the other night.

"Cookie jar." And how Greg thought he'd be able to fool anyone by putting it in an obvious place. He was right too. I hadn't looked there.

But I would....

I gulped down the scalding hot coffee, not noticing that it burnt my throat. Not noticing I'd spilled some on my shirt. I said my good-byes... and left.