by Lynn VanDorn
“Where's your boyfriend?” None of your business.
“Are you two fighting? Not in the way you think. He and Josh did seem to bicker a fair amount, but Tyler enjoyed it. It was practically foreplay for him. He thought Josh liked it too, at least a little, based on how his favorite way of shutting Tyler up was to kiss him.
“Is it true you had an affair with Chris Steward?” Christ, no. He’s straight and we're friends. I'm allowed to have male friends and not fuck them. “How has he taken the news that you’re with someone new?” Where do they come up with this garbage?
“Do you think you'll be replaced with another actor for The Golden Key?” The Silver Arrow hasn't even gone through the final edits. I think you're counting your casting replacements before they're hatched. At least I hope so.
“Any comment on your injury? Is it true that you tried to commit suicide?” It's a good thing I'm not suicidal because I swear to Christ you assholes would be enough to tip anyone over the edge.
It was nothing but flashing lights and shouted questions until the TSA finally stopped sitting on their thumbs and ushered him through security. Bastards.
Tyler already missed Josh being close by, squeezing his hand or thigh when he tensed up, getting him to relax and pretend that everything was fine. Just being there and being himself. At least Tyler had had the script to distract him while waiting in the airport and on the long flight itself. He’d reread it compulsively and easily memorized the section they wanted him to read through tomorrow with the actors already cast, but he wanted more than to just know the lines. He wanted to own them, for them to come out of his mouth like natural speech.
Tyler was making good progress, and he thought tomorrow would be fine, but he couldn't help but feel the whole thing would've been easier if he'd had Josh next to him. If nothing else, he could have practiced the lines out loud and not just inside his head. Having a hand to hold would have been a nice bonus. Maybe he should’ve asked Josh to take a few more days of vacation.
Or maybe I could stop being a whiny little bitch and stand on my own two beautifully shod feet.
Tyler looked down at his gray suede boots. They really were fantastic footwear, but far too distinct.
What he needed to make it past the gauntlet no doubt waiting in arrivals was not so much a disguise as camouflage. It took a few different airport shops and kiosks, but he put together an outfit of oversized shorts and t-shirt, flip flops, cheap sunglasses, and the pièce de résistance, a Dodger ball cap. He shoved his stupid blue hair under it, put on the outfit in a bathroom stall, then slipped on a pair of sunglasses and went out through the security checkpoint and into the baggage area where Purvi had agreed to meet him.
She was easy to spot, her long, dark hair with its cherry-red streaks piled loosely on top of her head. Her skin was a few shades darker than its normal warm brown, meaning she’d been sunbathing without sunblock again, despite all his warnings about premature aging and ending up looking like luggage by age thirty. Maybe he could get Josh to put the fear of God and melanoma into her, since the fear of wrinkles wasn't working.
She didn't recognize him until he’d snagged her arm and brought her in for a hug. She smelled like sun and coconut and home. He gave her a tight squeeze. God, he'd missed her.
“Get me out of here,” Tyler hissed, keeping his voice low.
“Holy Christ, what the fuck are you wearing?”
“Can we get the hell out of here, Purvi?”
“Sure thing, white boy. You know I live to serve. Kevin’s bringing around the Tesla since you won't let me drive it, which I still say is unfair. I'm your best friend, but you’ll only let my boyfriend drive your precious baby.”
“That’s because Kevin is a responsible adult who hasn't wrecked three cars in four years, P.”
“Whatever.”
Kevin pulled up to the curb and Purvi attempted to get in the passenger seat. “Oh, no.” Tyler handed her his bag. “It's my car, I get shotgun.”
“Hey, Ty,” Kevin said. “Nice outfit. You want to drive? Purvi can take the front and I'll sit in the back.”
Tyler reached over and chucked Kevin under the chin. “You are wasted on heterosexuality, sweetheart. Such a gentleman. But, no, I'm too tired to drive and Purvi will live.”
“Paws off my man,” Purvi said as she got in the back and shut her door.
“Speaking of which, I need to let Josh know I got here safe. He is a fretter.” Tyler sent him a quick text. He frowned when Josh said not to call him, that he'd be having an early night. It made sense, but he still felt… what? Disappointed? Thwarted? Maybe Josh needed some space. Or maybe… a dozen scenarios flitted through Tyler’s head to explain why Josh didn't want a phone call. Most were ridiculous, but there was one that could almost be plausible.
Tyler: I got home safe.
Ryan: OK.
Tyler: So… what are you up to?
Ryan: I'm busy.
Tyler: With what?
Tyler: Just so.
Tyler: You know.
Tyler: I can keep.
Tyler: This up.
Tyler: All day.
Tyler: If I must.
Ryan: Go away. I said I was busy.
Tyler: You're getting your dick sucked, aren't you?
Ryan: I'm going to block you.
Ryan was probably just working late. Possibly he was working late on Tyler’s behalf. He and Patrick both.
Then Tyler remembered Ryan speculating how easily he could win back Josh. He’d said it just to fuck with Tyler, he was fairly sure about that. Ryan wouldn't really make a play for Josh after all these years. Not with a fiancée in one hand and a legal secretary in the other. And even if Ryan did, Josh wouldn't go for it.
Except Josh might, if given the right encouragement. It probably wouldn't even take much. Ryan was what Josh had always wanted. He wouldn't even be disloyal to Tyler because there was nothing between him and Josh but one week of no-strings sex and a non-binding verbal commitment. How could that compete with a six-year relationship and fifteen years of longing?
Tyler: Are you with the boy toy?
Tyler: Or someone else?
Ryan: I'm going to kill you if you don't stop texting me. I will let Patrick help. Go away.
Reading that was like having a weight lifted from his chest. Feeling much better, Tyler slipped his phone back into his pocket. His pleasure had zero to do with Ryan apparently still getting off with Patrick and leaving his doctor alone. Nope. Nothing at all.
“Before my audition tomorrow I need to lose the blue hair.”
“Goodbye hipster elf,” Kevin said.
“The sooner the better,” agreed Tyler.
“I'll see what Sydney can arrange,” Purvi said from the back seat. “Leave it to me.”
“P, you are a lifesaver. What would I do without you?”
Purvi snorted. “Be sad. Without me, your life would be tragic.”
No argument there.
–—
Monday, September 26th, 1:22 p.m.
Tyler’s very quiet house
Burbank, CA
Tyler came home after his reading to an empty house, which shouldn't have come as a surprise. Purvi had gone back to her own apartment to do whatever it was she did there during the day when she wasn't working. She practically lived in his nicest guest room, but she did maintain a separate residence for “sanity and fucking in privacy.”
Tyler felt at loose ends. The read had gone well, or so he hoped. The lines had felt natural when he’d said them and everyone had seemed to respond very positively to him, but none of the other actors who were there reading had an anchor in the shape of a teenaged sex video tied to their ankles.
Tyler ran a hand over his newly cropped hair. Sydney had come through for him, as always. She'd arrived at the house early that morning, hours before the audition, to pick out an outfit for him, then taken him to get his hair cut. Sydney always knew the best people for everything and the guy she’d taken him
to had been no exception. He’d done a fantastic job, cutting all the blue off and making Tyler’s hair look elegant and classic, if very short, rather than leaving him resembling a newly shorn sheep.
His new hairstyle was far more appropriate for the role he'd read for today, that of a painfully shy and awkward college student, than his hipster elf hair would have been. Tyler smiled a little, thinking that if he got this part he'd get to at last play a character that wasn't jailbait. Well, unless you counted Druindar, who was quite old, but also immortal and forever young, so in Tyler’s book that didn't count.
Tyler wandered through his house, looking for something to hold his attention and keep him from obsessing about his audition or thinking about a man who was two thousand miles away. Then he gave up and texted Josh, knowing he was still at work and unlikely to respond right away.
Tyler: Just got back from the read through with the casting agent
I miss you.
Tyler: I think it went okay.
I miss you.
Tyler: I know you're at work
I miss you.
Tyler: Talk to you later. Tonight.
It was pathetic. Tyler put his phone down and went to his room to get a swimsuit. He found his tiniest pair of swim briefs, the ones that were neon pink and only just this side of indecent, a gag gift he'd received from Ethan ages ago. He never wore them in public—he barely wore them at all—but today he put them on, along with a gallon of sunblock, and thought about his dermatologist as he rubbed it on his skin. He wondered if Josh would prefer watching the physical gyrations required to get his back covered adequately, or if he'd want to rub it into Tyler’s skin himself.
He stood in front of his mirror, his pale skin gleaming wetly, and took a picture to send to Josh. He could say something like: “Look what a good boy I was today. I didn't forget to put on sunblock.”
Tyler scowled at his reflection. “You are a huge hopeless idiot,” he said to the man looking back at him. The scowling man agreed. Yeah, we are all kinds of fucked, aren't we?
Tyler turned his back on the mirror and went to the pool, determined to swim laps until his arms and legs were jelly and his brain turned off for a while.
Instead of counting the laps, as he normally did, Tyler’s brain substituted I’m fine and I don't need him for the even and odd numbers. Tyler had no idea how long he swam or how many laps he managed, but he didn't stop until he'd exhausted himself, then he arched his back and floated on the surface of the water, letting his racing heart slow. Dusk had come and the water was cool but he didn't care. All the swimming in the world wasn't going to fix this problem. He had no idea what to do.
Purvi came out and stood by the edge of the pool. “You planning on getting out any time this century, Aquaman?”
“Maybe.”
Purvi sat down and dangled her feet in the water. “What are you planning to do about this whole Josh situation?”
“Not talk about it,” Tyler said. “You told me to go off and have gay babies. You are exempt from giving advice now.”
“I was drunk. Allowances should be made. So, what's your long-term goal, here? Keep him, or play with him for a while then cut him loose?” Purvi was no good at taking a hint.
Tyler gave in and swam over to her. “I don't know. I'm not even sure he wants to be kept. Or if he does, I don't think he'd want to follow me out here. He doesn't like California much, and he's got his whole life in Illinois. I don't see him giving all that up just to be able to tap my ass on a regular basis. Besides, it's too soon for any of this shit. There's no point discussing it.”
Purvi tipped her head to the side. “Of course, it's worth discussing. We always dish about the boys we're fucking. How is this any different?”
Because it's Josh, was Tyler’s immediate, unhelpful thought. “It's all fake,” he said.
“Is it?” she asked.
Tyler shrugged.
“Okay. Let's cut to the chase. Pretend I'm your fairy godmother and when I wave my wand you get what you want. What do you ask for?”
I want my happily ever after. How dumb is that?
“Him,” Tyler said with a sigh. “I know it's fucking stupid, P, but I want him. I just don't know how to get from point a to point b, or if it's even possible.”
Purvi tucked a hank of hair behind her ear. “All things are possible. My job is figuring out how to do it. I need to meet him first, though. When can I come out to Chicago? Probably sometime after the wedding, I'm thinking. That'll give me time to wrap up shit here.”
“Wrap up what shit? I thought you were on vacation.”
Purvi gave him a scornful look. “A PA is never on vacation. Luckily for you I can maintain your online presence while still working on my tan.”
“About your tan—”
“I don't want to hear it. I look fabulous.” Purvi consulted her phone. “How does Monday the third sound? I can get a flight that arrives late morning, then I can meet this Josh person and see what can be done. You think you can muddle through without me until then?”
“Fuck you. I can manage my own life, thank you so very much.”
“Right.” She looked unconvinced.
“You're my PA, not my fairy godmother. Bibbity bobbity boo is not going to cut it. I don't even know how he feels about me.”
“I thought you said you were pretty sure he was in love with you. Or well on his way in that direction.”
“I don't know. Sometimes he'll look at me or say something and I'm just sure. Then the next minute, I'm not. I've lost any sense of objectivity. I was hoping you could talk me down, but so far, you're doing a lousy job. You are, in fact, doing the exact opposite. Thanks for nothing.”
“Talking you down is not my job. That's Ryan’s gig. My job to make sure your life runs like a well-oiled machine. Let me work my magic.”
“Whatever.” Tyler had no idea what she thought she could accomplish, but clearly being on vacation wasn't good for her because now she was looking for things to do. A bored Purvi was dangerous. He hoisted himself out of the pool, sat beside her, and laid his head on her shoulder.
“Ugh, you're all wet and cold. Get off me.”
Tyler ignored her. “I need ice cream.”
Purvi rubbed his shoulder. “What you need is to dry off and eat dinner.”
“I don't want dinner.”
Purvi sighed. “Fine. I think there's Chunky Monkey in the freezer.”
Tyler kissed her cheek. “You’re the literal best, P.”
“And don't you forget it.”
–—
Tuesday, September 27th, 7:45 a.m.
Tyler’s very vandalized house
Burbank, CA
Tyler had slept poorly the night before and was up at dawn with nothing to do for the day but pack what he wanted to take back with him to Chicago. He ate breakfast with Purvi, who had stayed the night. She left to run errands, saying Tyler could come with her if he wanted, but he wasn't in the mood to deal with people, so instead he decided to go for a swim. He hadn't gone more than the length of the pool and back, though, before Purvi was at the side of the pool trying to get his attention.
“Get out and put some clothes on. You need to see something.” The tone of Purvi’s voice put Tyler back in that little boat, balanced high on the edge of a wave that would crash and pull him under. His stomach turned over uneasily. Something was very wrong.
“What is it? And I'm wearing a suit. What more do you want?” Tyler climbed the ladder out of the pool and snagged his towel.
“You need to see this,” was all she'd say. “Put something on you won't mind being photographed in. The vultures are outside.”
“Then maybe you should tell me instead of showing me.”
“Someone vandalized the front wall. We need photos and you need to actually see it. I'll try and stand between you and the assholes, though.”
“Is it bad?”
Purvi looked uncharacteristically grim. “It's not good.”
; “Great, just what I needed,” Tyler said, then went to get dressed.
Tyler’s house was a corner lot surrounded by a tall stuccoed wall. The wall and the gorgeous pool had sold him on the property when he'd bought it several years ago. The only ways in or out were through the main gate and a small security door off to the side that was usually kept locked. Tyler went out his front door and headed toward the side security door, Purvi right behind him. He locked the door behind them and dropped the keys back in his pocket.
“Okay. What am I looking for?”
“It's out front,” she said, and led the way.
In bright arterial-red paint, someone had written ‘die faggot’ in huge letters on one wall to the side of his front gate and ‘die cocksucker’ on the other. Tyler thought he heard something and turned toward the street. There were photographers taking pictures. Fuck.
“Is this it, or is there more?” Tyler asked. He took out his phone and took pictures of the graffiti.
“I think this is it. Come on. Let's go back in and you can call the cops. Your insurance company, too.”
“It's just paint,” Tyler said.
“It's not just paint,” Purvi said. “That’s malice and a threat. We are calling the fucking police, Tyler. We need to get the home phone number changed, too.” She told him about the hang-ups she'd been experiencing over the past week.
“And you waited to tell me this why?”