Never Enough

by Alexandra Caluen

  The first week back was mostly okay. Molly was delighted to have both her humans. Jonathan and Loretta – especially Loretta – were attentive and kind. Andy came to the set some days, went out on the lakes some days, stayed in the room sometimes to follow up with various people and various projects. Victor made time for them to practice their two routines for the Underground Cabaret. They did some more brainstorming about the Shakespeare project. They had slightly careful sex. Andy let Victor take the lead, grateful for the kisses and touches. He wasn’t feeling quite himself and didn’t want to deal with whatever wasn’t right. He got an interesting email from his ‘Tempest’ photo subjects Niall and Geoffrey, and didn’t even mention it to Victor. The level of tension was sufficient that he thought it might set something off. Andy couldn’t summon the energy to have a fight.

  He never liked to fight, always avoided it if he possibly could, but he was starting to think they were about to. About to have their first fight now, of all times, when he was tired and sad and only even where he was because he wanted to be with Victor.

  Then the production moved to the Poconos, and the lid came off. Victor had a few long hard days. He was tired and cranky and very much aware that he was the problem. That made him defensive and snappy. At dinner, when they were both in their bedroom and Molly was in the room next door, Andy said, “Mom sent a picture of her new place. Alonzo helped her get moved in last weekend. Do you want to see?”

  Victor set down his wineglass a little too fast, hitting the edge of his plate. He managed to catch it before it spilled, but that second of gracelessness set him off. “Could you not talk about him like he’s part of the family?”

  Andy’s breath went out as if he’d been punched. He sat back, slowly

  refilling his lungs, eyes narrowed. That hurt, he thought almost calmly, and why did you say it. “He is part of the family. Mom’s known him for as long as I have. He was my boyfriend. My lover. You knew I had lovers before you. I was forty-six fucking years old, Victor, when you showed up and said you wanted me.” After you landed in my life like a falling star and tore me open because you couldn’t be honest with me or the world or yourself.

  “I did want you.”

  Oh, past tense now. Andy breathed through his mouth for a few seconds.

  “What exactly are you saying, Victor.”

  Victor pushed his chair back and stood up. “I’m saying don’t rub it in my face. I didn’t get your life. I didn’t get to fuck whoever I wanted, whenever I wanted, as long as I wanted.” He turned away sharply. He couldn’t look at Andy. Not at that face, pale under the tan, eyes wide and wet. He couldn’t believe he’d said those things. Had never recognized that resentment. He gave me a fucking year, it’s my own fucking fault, Jesus Christ what have I done.

  Andy studied Victor, standing with his back turned, vibrating with some powerful emotion. He was too angry himself to go on with this. Nothing was likely to help right now, except maybe space. “I am going next door,” he said quietly. He couldn’t quite keep the bite out of his tone. “Don’t come in.”

  Victor didn’t say anything. He thought if he tried, he’d break down. He heard Andy stand up, the soft clink of tableware as the chair was pushed aside. Heard him cross to the door and go out. Heard him speak to the security guy outside. Then the door to the adjoining room opened, and closed.

  Andy spoke to Molly. Victor remained standing, tears streaming, trying not to scream.

  Andy curled up on the bed with Molly. She was doing that telepathic dog thing, as if she knew something was wrong. He was pretty sure he knew what set Victor off, and very sure if he’d tried to talk it through it would have turned into a genuine fight. Got out, yay me.

  At the same time he was congratulating himself, he was wondering if this had been inevitable. He and Victor hadn’t dug deep into the history. Maybe they should have, but there was never time. Or there was time, but it would have been taken away from one of the ten thousand things they wanted to do together that there already wasn’t time for. They’d skated around it, for more

  than six years now. Would it help Victor to hear about Andy’s past? About the long string of lovers, casual and not-so-casual? About the guy who beat him up twice in high school before Andy managed to turn that around, the guy who was still enough of a friend that he’d come to the memorial? Would it help him to know about the long stretches of being alone, when being alone had seemed preferable to trying again? Maybe it would, Andy realized. He might have played that down. Might have thought it would make Victor feel like Andy wanted him so that he wouldn’t be alone, not for himself.

  Maybe Victor didn’t realize that Andy had that same thought occasionally. He always dismissed it, because there was no chance Victor would be alone unless he chose to be. But because of the way they’d met, because of that first wonderful night and the disastrous morning after, because of putting Victor through that year of ‘no’ – even though it really meant ‘not yet’ – maybe Victor felt he was still being tested. As though his long-delayed coming-out made him untrustworthy. “Why are humans so complicated,” Andy said to Molly. She licked his face. “Yes, we should be like dogs. I couldn’t agree more. Thank you for being a huggable size.”

  He didn’t expect to sleep, and he didn’t. He lay there with his arm around Molly and his face against the top of her head, hoping he and Victor could fix this. He wished they had two dogs because he knew that guy needed something to hug right now, but it couldn’t be Andy. Not till they were really ready to talk.

  Somehow Victor got through that night without actually screaming.

  Without banging on the door begging Andy to let him in. He had his own key, of course. He wasn’t going to use it until – unless - he was invited to. He didn’t know what Andy had said to the security guy, didn’t want to admit they’d had a fight. That wasn’t a fight. He was thinking of the morning after their first night, when he’d told Andy they couldn’t see each other again.

  When he’d lied about why. Not even realizing until much later that he’d prayed Andy would take charge the way he had in the night, make him talk, make him tell the truth, make him stay.

  He couldn’t tell Jonathan. Couldn’t tell Loretta. No-one else there was a friend, not that kind of friend. All their friends were back in Los Angeles. He couldn’t get to sleep, had to somehow, he had a six o’clock call for another heavy day of filming and they had no time to spare now, because of his trip to

  Miami. Thank God I went, he thought, even though that trip had precipitated all this.

  Eventually he turned off the room lights and got down on the floor in the dark, stretching, breathing. If he couldn’t sleep, at least he could stay loose.

  The makeup people could fix his face in the morning. Tomorrow’s work wasn’t action. If he was slow it wouldn’t matter. When the knock came it was still much too early to try to reach anyone in L.A., but if he sent a text now, maybe he’d hear back when he had a break. So he wrote to Dana: Help, I’ve fucked up in a big way, tell me what to do

  There was no return text when Victor checked at noon. None at three, or at six. Finally, at nine o’clock, when they wrapped for the day, he was exhausted and hungry and dreading going back to the hotel, a message: Four women here think you need to be kicked in the balls for about an hour He was in the trailer, letting the makeup person clean him up. What did Andy tell you

  Something about blaming him for having a life before he knew you existed. Trying to think if your timing could have been ANY FUCKING

  WORSE

  I know, I’m totally in the wrong, he did not do anything wrong and he never has. Jealous asshole was jealous. How can I fix it?

  Four messages in quick succession, all from Dana’s phone. The first: This is Rory. Fuck you. You need to grovel a fuck of a lot. Then: This is Vicky. Do not even think of trying to excuse your behavior. Apologize. Next: This is Sharon. Talk to your counselor and figure out why the fuck you did that. Then apologize again. And grovel some more
you prick. Finally Dana again: Whatever you do, DO NOT LET HIM LEAVE until you sort this out.

  Have you talked to him at all today?

  I texted him six times saying I’m sorry. He didn’t answer and now I’m terrified. I’ve been working for fifteen hours haven’t slept what if he left while I was stuck out here. He was hyperventilating a little.

  “Mr. Garcia, are you all right?”

  “Could you please have someone call the hotel and make sure Andy’s there?”

  She looked like she thought he was losing his mind, but she poked her

  head out of the trailer and spoke to someone. Victor sat there clutching his phone. After another minute the makeup person – her name is Melissa, say thank you – finished up. “I’ll go see if they’ve heard anything.”

  “Thanks Melissa.” Victor closed his eyes, waiting, wondering if his whole life, his whole world, was falling apart.

  “Mr. Garcia?” Victor looked at the door. Melissa was there. “Mr. Martin left a message saying he’d have dinner ready for you.”

  “Does that mean he’s there?”

  “Oh. Yes, he’s there, he’s waiting for you.”

  Victor almost cried. He blinked, swallowed, sucked in a breath. “Thank you. I’ll be out of here in a minute.” First the text to Andy: I’m so sorry sweetheart, please forgive me, I’ll figure my shit out. I never meant to or want to hurt you. Please stay. Please don’t leave me. I love you so much.

  Then a text to Dana: Thank God he’s still here, I’ll see him in about a half hour. Thank you and the girls for advice, I will follow all of it OXO

  Andy read the last text and thought What. He called Dana, who he knew was standing by. “Why does Victor think I might leave him?”

  “Well, you haven’t talked to him all day and he hasn’t seen you for twenty-four hours and that’s what you do.”

  “The fuck?” He had no idea what she meant.

  “Andy, remember back at the beginning when you cut him loose because he’d never had a real relationship before? Your husband is well aware you have a history of leaving. You would not have been single otherwise.” Dana was Andy’s number one fan, and she was squarely on his side in this. That didn’t mean he was perfect. For full disclosure, she added, “Also I may have said don’t let him leave. Meaning don’t let you leave.”

  Andy didn’t say anything for half a minute. He was flashing back to the night he’d asked Victor to marry him. Victor had said, later, that he would have asked Andy himself except … . He thought, or was afraid, that I’d get bored. As if that were possible. “Goddammit.”

  “How angry are you?”

  “Right now? Not very.”

  “Good. I don’t think Victor’s angry at all. I think he’s very afraid.”

  “Well yeah, if you said that, he probably immediately went to me

  packing my bags.” Andy was a little annoyed about that. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. But fair was fair. Dana had mostly seen him in the ‘failing at love’ stage of life before Victor. He hadn’t, as a rule, talked about those failures seriously. It was so much less painful that way. He sighed. “Do you and Rory ever get into it?”

  “Once in a while. Usually about trivial shit, and then somebody makes a joke and we get over it.”

  “And then what do you do?”

  “Get jiggy.” Andy laughed, as she knew he would. “Is this actually the first time you’ve had a fight?” He made a sound of assent. Dana thought, overdue, but still. Victor’s lack of experience was no excuse for being an asshole. “Look, it’s up to you how to handle it. But if you know what the trigger was, and you know it’s something you can deal with later, maybe skip straight to getting jiggy.”

  “I know what the trigger was.”

  “Can you deal with it later?”

  “How much of a beating did you girls give him?” As soon as he heard all four of them were in the room, Andy had started feeling a little sorry for Victor.

  “We kicked him around pretty hard.”

  “Then I’ll deal with it later. I’d rather get jiggy.” She snorted. “Thanks for everything chica. Hugs all around.”

  “Let us know how it goes.”

  “I will.” Andy disconnected. There was time to take Molly for a walk before the caravan returned.

  He was set up in their main room when Victor came in. He looked exhausted, hollow-eyed and afraid. “Catnip,” Andy said, “come and hug me now.”

  “Oh God.” Victor sort of collapsed into Andy’s arms. “Thank you for staying.”

  “I was not going to leave you. Never crossed my mind. The only reason I walked out last night was because you weren’t rational and I was furious.

  One of us was going to say something unforgivable.”

  “I thought I already did.”

  “No, not quite. I mean, some of it was true. You didn’t get my life.”

  Andy did not point out that Victor got shot because somebody else didn’t get Andy’s life.

  Victor heard it anyway. He’d heard it all night. The thought that the same darkness could have festered in his own heart was sickening. “You don’t rub it in my face. I shouldn’t have gotten bent about Al. I’m so sorry.”

  “I forgive you.” Andy felt the quick intake of breath. He stood back a little, enough to get his hands on Victor’s face and make eye contact. “I do. I love you. If you’ll talk to our counselor about this, we don’t ever have to talk about it again.”

  Victor’s whole body sagged with relief. “I will. I promise.”

  “I think we should talk about it, mind you.” He had to say that. “But not right now. Have something to eat, for Christ’s sake, you look like you’re about to faint.” It was a cold meal, because it had been a hot day. Andy cut Victor off at two glasses of white wine, and only had one himself. He sent Victor in for a shower while he pushed the room-service cart into the hall and went to check on Molly. The security guy said he would take her for a walk after his relief came. Andy thanked him and opened the door to their room.

  “Oh.” The security guy made an inquiring face. “It might get a little loud in here.” A stifled laugh. Andy went in and double-locked the door.

  He was sitting up against the headboard, naked, when Victor came out of the bathroom. The robe was over a chair a second later, and Victor was on the bed with his arms around Andy’s waist and his head on a thigh. Andy dug a hand into his damp hair and tugged gently. Victor looked up. Andy said,

  “Don’t you ever look at me that way again.”

  “What way?”

  “Like you think I’m going to hit you.”

  “Is that how I looked?” Victor wriggled closer and sat up. Andy’s hand slid to his neck, tracing around where that chain should be. Where it would be again as soon as they were done filming. “Maybe I thought you should hit me.”

  Andy made an annoyed sound. “What possible good could that do? Plus I’d have messed up your pretty face, and the producers would have put me in a cage, and the tabloids would have gotten hold of it. What a fucking mess that would be. And besides, I probably would have broken my hand because what do I know about hitting people.”

  “Have you ever?”

  “No. When I was getting beat up I was like this.” Andy did a cowering thing with his arms protecting his face.

  “What’s the worst you ever got hurt.” It wasn’t quite a question. Victor barely knew why he asked. He still had his arms around Andy; now his face was against his husband’s chest. An arm came around his ribs. Every little extra bit of skin-to-skin contact felt so good.

  “You’ve taken a lot more damage,” Andy said softly. “The guys who beat me up in New York cracked a rib. I went right back out on stage the next night, black eye and all.”

  “The show must go on.”

  “Yes it fucking must. So.” He got his free hand on Victor’s side, pushing him up and over. Victor looked up at him, surprised. Andy leaned over, planting his hands on the bed on either side of Victo
r’s head. “You didn’t sleep last night, did you.”

  “Couldn’t.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t good next door either. I had all day to nap, though.

  Molly thought I finally turned into a real dog.” Victor smiled. “I’m going to wear you out now. You’re going to sleep.”

  “I’m not called till ten.”

  “Yes, I know.” Andy lowered his head and rubbed his face against Victor’s. Didn’t kiss him, not yet, not on the mouth. Everywhere else, though. Hands and mouth all over that glorious pliant body, turning him, moving his arms and legs to get access to every inch of skin. Victor tried to get his hands on Andy a few times, but kept failing. Finally stopped trying to do that, and started trying not to come until Andy kissed him. He was dying for a kiss. Andy knew it. When at length he spoke again, it was to say, “How do you want me now.”

  “Any fucking way,” Victor said. “Only kiss me.”

  “Are you going to come when I kiss you?”

  Oh Jesus. “Uh,” Victor managed. Andy laughed against his skin. Then he had Victor flat on his back again, lube in his hand, slickening himself and pushing between Victor’s thighs. Stretching out on top of him with his mouth against the necklace tattoo at the base of Victor’s throat. Victor felt teeth, strained against him, clutching at him. “God, Andy, please.” They moved

  together. Andy was making the same kind of noises Victor was. Victor was past thinking, beyond a sort of hazy surprise that he hadn’t gone over yet.

  Then Andy’s rhythm changed, he made a harsh sound, and finally, finally, he was kissing Victor. He uttered something, not really a word, absorbing Victor’s spasm and the breathless cry.

  Then he let himself go, saying “Love you” against Victor’s mouth. Cock throbbing, mind blank for a moment. He’d gone harder than intended. He wasn’t going to apologize. At least he wasn’t inside. He pushed up a little, felt Victor’s rib cage expand, saw the tracks of tears running down from his closed eyes. Fuck. Andy moved, detached himself, slid off to the side. Still with a hand on Victor, still with their faces close together. “Sweetheart. Did I hurt you?”