Yep, it’s yet another fagola Blind tale
. Get used to it, is all I have say—this town’s friggin’ filled to the brim with boy-lovin’ boys who don’t exactly want the world to know that’s how they swing. Except perhaps when their sexuality supposedly prevents them from employment. Take the case with Cress Finesse, one of those hybrid dudes who does it all at one of the studios, including directing films known for their mucho classy ambition.
Howev, Cress’ deal (C.F. has other gigs elsewhere, to be sure) was not picked up at that par-tick place of employment. Understandably, this did not please Cress. In fact, Cress, a handsome enough guy who knows his way around fine-tuning his appearance, felt especially uglied by the unfortunate sitch. So much so that Mr. F went to the powers that be who dismissed him and threatened legal action—sexual-orientation discrimination, to be exact—for not picking up the big entertainment deal at hand.
Cress’ employers were more than taken aback. They claimed they just wanted to start moving in a “different direction” than the type of work Cress was famous for. But both parties knew the score: C.F.’s frolicking—and sometimes messy—bedroom habits did play a part in the end. It remained a fella fact the studio higher-ups just weren’t too kosher with, such fools. And even though the reticent execs never thought C.F. would follow through suitwise, they did settle.
Which pleased Cress enormously. So would he have sued? Prolly. After all, Cress is getting on a bit. He’s growing tired of the facade. Gosh, must be the only homo in town who is.