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someone who was going to become a very good friend.
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    Chapter Four
    Marco and Yves went to a small cafe in the Village that was dark and quiet. It was one of those long narrow places, where the tables were slightly hidden with potted palms and statues. The owner knew Marco as a regular customer, and he always gave him the most private table in the house. It was next to the kitchen where no one else wanted to sit, nestled into a dark little alcove so his back faced everyone else. When Marco wasn't working, he preferred to remain as anonymous as possible.
    He wore a simple black leather jacket, with faded jeans and a black V-neck sweater. He'd learned early how to dress if he wanted to blend in with the crowd. If he kept his hands in his pockets and stared at the sidewalk, he could almost pass as a civilian. That's what he called people who weren't models or entertainers. They were all civilians, and sometimes it felt as if they all wanted a piece of him.
    Marco's private car dropped them off in front of the restaurant. It wasn't a long stretch limo or a big white pretentious affair. Marco's car was a dark Lincoln Town Car that looked like all the other airport limos in the city, which only helped his anonymity. They entered the restaurant without any problems, but as a waiter led them to their table someone at the bar recognized Marco and asked for his autograph. The middle-aged guy stood up and grabbed Marco's sleeve so fast the zipper on Marco's jacket opened. Marco smiled and signed a cocktail napkin. He never turned down fans, no matter how tired he was or how rude they were.
    But when tried to walk away, this particular fan didn't let go of his sleeve. He continued to ask Marco annoying questions about the TV show, until Yves stepped between them and said, “Mr. Denny has to go back to his table now. He's had a long day and he hasn't eaten.” Then Yves reached for the man's hand and pulled it away from Marco's sleeve.
    Marco's head went back and his eyebrows arched.
    The fan stopped talking and looked up at Yves. Yves was tall and solid. His voice was deep and he spoke as if he were giving commands to recruits in basic training. When the fan saw the serious expression on Yves's face, he stepped back, thanked Marco for the autograph, and went back to his bar stool.
    When they were seated, Marco smiled and said, “Well done, Yves. I thought I'd have to stand there the rest of the night and talk to that guy."
    Yves placed his napkin on his lap. “He was very rude, Mr. Denny. And you're too nice. People like that will take what they can and leave you drained."
    Marco shrugged. “Trust me,” he said. “That was nothing. I've experienced much worse, I promise. At least there weren't any photographers or tabloid reporters following us tonight. You never know when they're going to show up."
    After that, they ordered dinner and talked about Yves. Marco was curious about him. He seemed so strong and capable, yet there was something missing. A nice-looking young man his age should have been concentrating on his own career instead of following Marco around. He should have been with his own friends, working on his own life, instead of sitting in a dark restaurant with an aging male model who was already in a monogamous relationship with another man.
    Yves gave all his questions with quick, simple answers. Yves looked Marco in the eye and he didn't waver or hesitate once. Marco was amazed at how uncomplicated he was. Yves didn't bother with his family at all, he was still too new in town to have established any real friendships, and he wasn't sure what he wanted to do with his life yet. The poor guy hadn't even rented a real apartment. He was living in a small rundown hotel in the East Village, trying to save up enough money to make the initial down payment on a one-room studio.
    Marco admired his tenacity and his courage. The more Yves talked, the more Marco liked him. In the strangest way, Marco