Then he kissed Andy’s shoulder, disengaged and stepped off the bed, staggering to the bathroom. He was back a minute later to tidy them both up.
“You okay, baby? That all right?”
“That was perfect.” Andy was face down in a pillow. “I love it when you talk dirty to me.” Victor lay down beside him and patted his ass, then stretched his arm across Andy’s back to his shoulder. Caressing lightly with his thumb, waiting. They were both quiet for a while. Then Andy said,
“What’s that shit in the shot glasses.”
“Taste it and find out.”
Andy made a muffled, amused sound into the pillow, raised his head, looked over at Victor’s smiling face. Rearranged himself and reached for the glasses. “Here.” He handed one to Victor, then sipped, squinted, sipped again. “This is gin.”
“Yes it is.” Victor scooted up so he could sit against the headboard, beside Andy, still keeping their bodies in contact as much as possible. He sipped his own. It wasn’t as icy cold as he liked it, but under the circumstances it was fine.
“Very good gin.”
“Yes.”
“I thought it was going to be some heinous schnapps and I was wondering why such a thing would be in our house. Why is it blue?”
Victor snickered. “Something about flowers. Infusion, I think they called it.” They sat there quietly. Victor noticed that Andy had his eyes closed now.
He kept sipping the gin, kept not saying anything. They heard Molly’s toenails clicking up the stairs. “Hey Molly, come on in.” She came through the doorway, sat down, and cocked her head. “Come on up.” Victor patted the bed. She trotted over and hopped up on the bed, curling up by his feet.
“Good girl.”
“She’s the best girl. Did Consuelo leave us something for dinner?”
“Yeah, she did. Do you want to talk first?”
“Or we could keep drinking.” Andy opened his eyes and set down his empty glass with a sigh. “Okay, I’ll be a grown-up. So Pop had an angiogram. They said, you need a quadruple bypass or you’re not going to make it to next Christmas. He said no surgery. Mom was there.”
“When was this?” Victor was wondering about that ‘next Christmas’ bit.
He had an idea but he didn’t like it.
Andy confirmed it. “Before the first stroke.”
“Fuck! And they just now told you?”
“I know.”
“Why?” No answer for a few seconds. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. Because of me.”
“Because somebody shot you,” Andy corrected. “Not because of you.
You know they think the sun shines out of your ass.” Victor huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “Anyway long story short he’s refused surgery, he’s signed a DNR, and he’s not expected to live out this year. And now that’s all out on the table, we can start planning what to do with Mom.”
“Baby, I’m so sorry.”
“I am so grateful for you.” Andy turned to look at him. “There may be
times in the next few months when I don’t act the way I should or I don’t say the things I should. But I always love you.”
“I know you do.” Victor swallowed the last of his gin and set the glass down, patted Andy’s thigh, and leaned over for the kiss they’d both been waiting for. “Mmm. So when are you talking to Pop Quiz?”
“Oh Christ, that’s right. Day after tomorrow. I’m going to make a pitch for a dance partner.”
“No kidding? You have a project in mind?”
“Yes, I was thinking about it in the hotel. The only reason I haven’t said catnip would you do this with me is I don’t know if I can even do it myself.
It’s ballet. It’s modern, but it’s ballet. I haven’t done anything remotely like it for thirty years. It is extremely unlikely that anyone will take me up on this.”
All of these qualifiers were making Victor very curious. “Well, what the hell is it? Have I ever seen it?”
“It’s from Matthew Bourne’s ‘Swan Lake.’ Did you ever see that?”
Andy could tell from the blank expression that Victor hadn’t. He smiled. It felt good. “God, I love you. You are so fucking cute.”
“I’m forty-two, I can’t be cute.”
“You’re cute if I say you’re cute.” Andy leaned over for another kiss.
“You want to see it? It’s on YouTube. We can watch after dinner.”
Victor shook his head. “Tomorrow. Tonight you sleep. You’re going to take one of those pills whether you want to or not.” He could tell Andy was about to say something about the vodka and the gin. The OTC sleep aids weren’t potent enough to worry him. “Purple haze, remember?”
Andy regarded him for a few seconds. Those were often enough to mute the monkey brain. And probably a better choice than another drink. “Okay.
Let’s go eat.”
A little less than two weeks later, Andy had a letter in his hand. “I am buggin’ out,” he told Victor. “I’m sorry, you’re barely through the door. I’m so freaked.”
“Why? What happened?” Victor could tell Andy wasn’t freaked in a bad way. “What is that?” Andy handed over the letter. Victor scanned it quickly, then read it more slowly. He was smiling when he looked up. “You’ve got a prince.”
“Should I call him?”
“Have you looked him up?”
“This is, like, brand new. Dmitri brought it over after dropping Simka at Grandma’s.” Vicky and Sharon’s daughter was also Dmitri’s daughter. “He told me how he got it, but I get the idea he hasn’t worked with this guy himself.”
“Okay. Dinner, then we look him up.” They found a ton of good stuff, including an Underground Cabaret routine the potential prince (a guy named Zach) had done with their very own Rory and that they had forgotten all about because it happened right when preproduction got rolling on Tanith’s movie. He’d done two other things with the Cabaret. The manager of the West L.A. studio where he taught was a fan. Rory was a fan. Alison Jarvet, director of the summer pro shows, was a fan. Victor couldn’t think of a single reason why Andy shouldn’t jump on this prince, and said so. Andy said he’d think about it, and then he distracted Victor by starting something that didn’t require much thinking.
Chapter 5
April 2019
Two days later, Andy still hadn’t called Zach, he was still dithering about the whole thing, and Victor said, “Will you call the guy for fuck’s sake? Before I leave for this stupid meeting, so I can make sure you do it?”
“Gaahh, yes, okay!” Andy got his phone. Found the letter. Dialed the number, halfway hoping nobody would answer. Then he heard ‘Zach Tyler Dance’ in what was indisputably a live voice and not a voicemail invitation.
If Victor hadn’t been standing right there he might have chickened out.
Instead he put the call on speaker and said, “So I got this letter. It was handed to me by Dmitri Vasko, who got it from his husband Patrick, who got it from his colleague Paul, who got it from his husband Kevin, who works with a young lady named Karen Scott. Any of that sound familiar?”
They both heard Zach say, “Karen’s my girlfriend.” He sounded stunned.
“She snatched that off my desk and said what’s wrong with you and then left. I had no idea. Is this Mr. Martin?”
“Call me Andy. Tell me why this has come to me via such a circuitous route. Did you not really want to do it?”
“No, I did. I saw that piece on Pop Quiz and I wrote that, and then I was afraid to send it. Karen saw it on my desk and asked me if that was a copy, if I’d sent it.”
“Am I to conclude that you have a problem with follow-through?” Andy saw Victor’s face, which said ‘ He has a problem?’ and gave him a middle finger.
Zach said, “No sir. I really don’t. I just have a problem with believing people want to work with me. I can’t believe you called me.”
“Well, imagine how I felt,” Andy said, amused. “I throw my little pity party for Sherry, it goes live, and a w
eek later I hear from someone saying I’ll be your prince? It was either going to be the most fun I’ve had since Berlin, or calling in the anti-stalker brigade again. We looked you up. That was Karen you were dancing with, last May?”
“Yes sir.”
“And you danced in ‘Democracy.’” Andy’s voice grew brisk. “I checked with Alison Jarvet about that, and the studio head where you work. They say
good things about you. Our friend Rory approves of you. I was talking to Victor, waving this letter around, and he said will you call the guy for fuck’s sake. So, what do you want to do?”
“I want to dance with you,” Zach said. “I never thought I’d get a chance to do that piece. If you’re serious, I want to do it.”
“Even though I am almost twenty years older than you and probably in need of serious remediation?”
“Only sixteen.” Andy laughed. “I mean, yes sir.”
“Willing to work at my home studio?”
“Yes sir.”
“I will text you my email address. Send me your schedule.” Andy disconnected. “I wonder if he has any idea where the home studio is. We could be in fucking Pasadena for all he knows.”
Victor had been trying not to laugh for most of the conversation. “Sir.”
“Oh my God I know.” They both cracked up. “Okay, well, are you satisfied?”
“I’ll be satisfied if you put that smart mouth to work on me before I go.”
Andy, phone still in hand, got the other around the back of Victor’s neck and pulled him in for a hard kiss.
“Two minutes,” he said. He sent that text with his email address. Then he sent a text to his lawyer: Need license to perform prince & swan pas de deux from Matthew Bourne’s Swan Lake. Then he set the phone down on the nearest surface and unbuttoned Victor’s pants.
Andy was checking in with his mother daily by email, and occasionally by phone. That was mostly so she could put his father on the line, and they all knew it. He told them about the Swan Dive. “Yeah, so this guy saw my interview thing and said he’d like to do it with me. He said he never thought he’d get to dance the prince. And of course I never thought I’d get to dance the swan. So thanks again for dumping me in dance class all those years ago.”
“We had to,” said Ronnie. “You on a sports field was a tragedy.”
Andy tried not to laugh, tried to sound offended. “If I’d had more than one week of soccer things might have developed differently.” God forbid, he thought. “So I know you can’t fly out here when we do it on stage, but I’ll
make sure you get the video, okay?” They talked a little more about that project. “I’m going to Michigan in June for the ‘Countdown 3’ thing. As soon as we’re done shooting my cameo I’m going to fly down to see you guys again for a few days.”
“You’re leaving Molly with Victor?” Eva sounded like she knew the answer. She’d been delighted when Andy and Victor adopted the dog, who had predictably fallen in love with her on the one occasion Andy’s parents visited them in Los Angeles.
“Yeah, she hates to fly. I thought seriously about driving up to Michigan now that I’ve got my new hot wheels. But road trips solo aren’t as much fun as road trips with Victor. Hey Pop.”
“What?”
“I was thinking we could drive down to Key West while I’m there. Your old buddy still runs that fishing charter out of there, right?” And I will make it worth his while to cancel anything else, Andy thought. He was completely prepared to play the fame-and-money card in this situation.
“Yeah, he does. Yeah, that would be great.”
“Okay then. Anything you need, Mom?”
“No, honey, I’m good.”
Andy knew the real answer was ‘the rest of my life with this stubborn old man, please.’ They were telling the whole truth in their emails these days.
“All right. I’m going to let you go. Ping me whenever, for whatever, okay?”
“We will. Love you honey.”
“Love you too. Love you, Pop.”
“Yeah, I know.” He almost never said it, but this time he did. “I love you too.”
Andy put down the phone. His father sounded wrong. Not for the first time, Andy considered abandoning the Swan Dive, abandoning the movie, dropping everything. He could simply go to Miami and stay there until the end. But there was nothing he could really do, and his father would be furious, and he didn’t know if he could stand being away from Victor for however long it might be. So, not for the first time, he did some deep breathing to settle himself down, and went to find something else to do.
Halfway through April, Victor was done with his local job and Andy was
getting physical therapy. “Ow.”
“Sorry, Andy.”
“Don’t apologize, I know it’s supposed to hurt.” Maybe not that much, he thought, feeling sorry for himself, and then got over it. “Carry on.” The therapist did, and it kept hurting, but when it was over Andy had full range of motion back in his ankle. He walked the therapist out and sent her on her way with a word of thanks, then turned back toward the house. Victor was lying on one of the loungers, wearing nothing but shorts and that silver chain.
Molly was in the shade behind him. The scar was less noticeable now, or it would have been without the irregular border of what used to be a rainbow-colored stag’s head tattoo. “That’s a nice tan you’re getting.”
“Thanks. Want to work on yours?”
“I think that’s a fine idea.” Andy went to the table behind the loungers, with a quick detour to pet Molly. Vodka and orange juice were set out next to a bucket of ice. There was a clean glass. Andy assembled his drink. “How many of these have you had?” Victor snorted and held up a single finger. The middle one. Andy stifled a giggle. “Enjoying your mini vacay?”
“So much. Is Zach back tomorrow?”
Andy set his glass down on a side table, pulled off his tee shirt, and stretched out on the other lounger. “Every other day till we do this thing. Can you believe he had the audacity to say if we don’t do it that often he doesn’t trust me to keep doing the work?” He picked up the glass again for a well-earned drink.
Victor didn’t answer that directly. Of course he could believe it. Andy was having to work out more at the gym, and eat a lot more than he wanted, and even though Victor knew he was loving this project he was bitching nonstop. “He doesn’t want you to drop him.”
“I’m not going to drop him!” Andy set his glass down with an exasperated click. “I can’t fucking drop him, he’s literally hanging on my fucking neck.” Victor laughed. “Shut up. I know it was my own fucking idea.
What the hell is wrong with me.” He was laughing now too.
“Nothing’s wrong with you. Anybody looking at you would think you’re twenty years younger than you are.”
“If I dyed my hair again.” Andy accepted the flattery otherwise. The gym was a pain in the ass but he couldn’t object to the results. They were quiet for
a while, enjoying the sun and the sounds of progress from the renovation contractors working next door. The last time Andy checked, they were almost done with the flooring. Today’s soundtrack sounded like maybe baseboards and casings. He swallowed the last of his drink, at least until the ice finished melting. “So did you read another play for me?”
“I’m working on the Henry plays. I don’t know if any of those are going to be fun for this purpose. We might want to stick with the fiction plays.”
“God knows there are plenty of those. I read ‘King Lear’ after reading that novel ‘If We Were Villains.’ Great book, you’d love it. And that play is definitely one of the better ones.”
“Had an idea for that?”
“Dmitri and Patrick. As Kent and Lear. Do you remember?”
Victor turned his head, making eye contact but only half focusing.
Trying to remember the National Theatre Live screening they’d been to the previous year. He’d been convalescent, and it was a long night. He could
n’t swear he’d stayed awake through the whole thing, even though it was Sir Ian McKellen. “Kent is the good guy, right?”
“The hero, I’d say. The one trying to keep the whole shitshow from falling apart.”
“Okay.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, both thinking. “So if that’s a slash pairing, it needs to pre-date the story.” Andy smiled, and Victor knew he was on track. “Before Lear loses his mind. Before he’s a toxic asshole.” Andy laughed. “Because Patrick would have words for us if he thought you really saw him as a toxic asshole.”
“Yeah. The image would have to show why Kent tries so hard. The love they had before. Kind of elegiac.”
“Is there a line for that?”
“‘My life I never held but as a pawn to wage against thine enemies.’ It’s not a statement of love the way a lot of them are, but it’s this deep loyalty.”
Andy swirled the ice cubes around in his glass, tempted to get a refill. Do not turn into an alcoholic. “And then there’s a line after Kent is in disguise, to get back on the inside, right? And Lear says ‘Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.’”
“Oh man.” Victor winced. “That’s like a knife in the gut, isn’t it? Kent is doing this all for love, and the old bastard doesn’t even recognize him, but he
says he’ll love him. Jeez, Andy.”
“I know! I’m a sick son of a bitch!” Andy swirled the ice around again.
“I know Dmitri can give me the perfect look. Wounded pride, broken heart.
Maybe with Patrick turned a quarter upstage, hand on Dmitri’s shoulder, this kind of dismissive, oblivious ‘good boy’ thing.” Victor made a sound of approval. “I will owe Patrick an apology. It’s really about his look, you know? That amazing hair of his.” Dmitri’s husband Patrick had a full head of silver-gray hair. “It’ll be sexy as fuck in the first one, and then we can make it all rumpused and raggedy for the second one. Maria will have a fit when she sees him.” The makeup artist he’d hired for the Tempest shoot had already said she’d love to work on any more like that.
“Put it that way and you won’t have to apologize. You should let him know far enough out so he can let it get long.” Andy giggled. “So, two images. Telling the whole story. Wow.” Victor emptied his glass. “Have you ever gotten Patrick in front of the camera before?”
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