Never Enough

by Alexandra Caluen

  Andy brushed a hand through his husband’s hair. Kissed him, and said,

  “Thank you.”

  The next day they were back in Hollywood at Molest Shoes, and Victor was cracking up. “Oh my fuck,” he said. “How does anybody walk in this shit? Dude, help.”

  “Call me Rowena. Get your weight back over your heels, sweetness,”

  said the salesdiva. “Hips forward, shoulder blades in your back pocket. Oh honey yes.”

  “Mercy me,” Andy said, somewhat faintly. “I could die happy if I saw you in the lace-up thigh-highs. You have no idea what those are doing for your ass.”

  “He really doesn’t,” Rowena agreed.

  “Shut up!” Victor couldn’t keep a straight face. He walked around a little, paying attention to his alignment, trying to ignore the yummy noises.

  After a few minutes he started to get the hang of it.

  “Get him those ankle boots, please? The ones with the buckles.” Andy was truly enjoying this.

  So was Rowena, who knew exactly who they were. “Is this for a purpose

  other than fun?”

  “Yes it is.” They were alone in the store, so Andy told him. “A dance thing. I’m in drag and he’s not, but we want to minimize the height difference because it’s not a comedy routine.”

  “Not that it would be funny,” Rowena said gently, with a face that said

  ‘except it totally would be.’ Andy managed not to crack up. “The ankle boots. Coming right up.” He gave those words a special emphasis, and shot Andy a speaking look. “Do not even go near those,” he warned, seeing Victor heading toward something that appeared more stable and also more Frankenstein. “You are not permitted to wear those. Oh no honey. Walk away. Yes, walk that way.”

  Andy giggled along with Rowena, watching Victor move. He was actually handling the seven-inch heels really well, considering. “Come over here, baby.” Uh-huh, he thought, when he saw Victor’s eyes widen at the fact that he was now looking down at Andy. “How do you like that?”

  “Uh.” Victor was not sure if he should be honest here. Then he realized Andy was shaking with silent laughter, and said, “Yes, okay, I like it. I like being taller than you. The shoes themselves are a nightmare. I can already feel the cramp I’m going to have. Is there any possible way I can dance in these fucking things.”

  “Give it a try.” So they did a little bit of tango around the store, and it went better than Victor expected. Andy had to help him out once or twice, when a direction change got hung up due to the heel-management situation.

  Andy had his hand around the back of Victor’s neck. He played fair and didn’t let his wedding ring rasp against the chain. “You are so sexy,” he said softly. “You always are. You’re such a good sport. You’re so much fun. How much do you hate those shoes.”

  “I hate them a lot less when you’re telling me how great I am.” Victor turned his head a few degrees for a kiss. “What do you think.”

  “I think we get this style, because walking in these will be good practice.

  But with the chrome platforms, because those are bomb. And we also try on those boots with the buckles. Those aren’t as high.”

  “I won’t be as tall.”

  “Your calf muscles might thank you.”

  Victor couldn’t argue with that, so he went over to a chair and carefully

  lowered himself into it. “Jesus, my knees. How do women do this?”

  “With a lot of bitching,” said Rowena. He had the boots ready. When Victor got them on and stood up, he was surprised. The salesdiva wasn’t.

  “Not as bad, are they?”

  “Not nearly. Is that why you gave me the high ones first?”

  “Yes, honey. Take a spin around the dance floor.”

  Victor took that literally, going back to Andy and trying some more tango. “Okay,” he said after a while. “I would not call them comfortable but I think they might be manageable. How do they actually look?”

  “Wicked,” said Andy and Rowena together. Then Andy let him go, turned to the salesdiva, and said, “I really really want to try on the lace-up thigh-highs. I have no excuse on earth except you have them.” And I want to see Victor’s face when I walk out in those.

  “Do you have panties on?” Rowena said doubtfully.

  Victor was laughing his ass off as he headed for the chair. Andy managed, with a heroic effort, not to laugh too. Of course his jeans had to come off to try those on. “Yes.”

  “Okay then. What size.”

  “The right size,” Victor said, performing another careful sitting-down maneuver. He left the boots on to educate his feet while his husband did whatever craziness he was doing. He and the other guy had disappeared. A few minutes of low-voiced conversation later, there was a cackle of laughter from the dressing room. Victor got his phone out and put it on photo mode.

  He heard the heels clicking on the tile floor and looked up. “Holy shit.”

  Andy was holding his phone too. He took a picture of Victor’s expression, then struck a pose. All he had on was the boots, briefs, and a long-sleeved thermal knit shirt, barely long enough to cover his ass. “What do you think?”

  “Buy six pairs.” Victor took a picture. Andy did a slow turn. “Holy Mother of God.” Rowena cackled again. Victor took another picture.

  “Seriously. Get them in every color.” Once they were on their way home again (with both styles of boots for Victor, but only one pair of thigh-highs), he said, “I had no idea I had this kink.”

  “It’s a very harmless kink,” Andy said reasonably.

  “Did you ever really do the drag thing?”

  “That’s what’s hilarious! I never did! I learned how to dance in heels for

  ‘Chicago.’ If you hadn’t gotten so out of control over that, I might not have ever thought of doing Mein Herr the way we did.”

  “And if we hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be doing this. You are following my kink.” Victor started to giggle again. “Oh shit. Who knew. And now I’ve fucked myself because I’m going to have to dance in heels too.”

  “Give it the week,” Andy said, smiling. “It is not a requirement, no matter what faces that little diva made. You’re still going to be sexy as fuck and the man in charge if you’re five foot ten.”

  “The man in charge, huh.” Victor was regretting that he had an appointment to get to. He might have put Andy in those thigh-highs for a minute.

  Andy was also regretting that appointment. He used some of his alone time to tease Reggie. He hadn’t done that for a while. This time, he forwarded a selfie he took in the dressing room: Hi Reggie. Rowena was selling me these awesome boots. If you come to LA maybe I can introduce you

  It was late evening in London, but a reply came back immediately: Are you in fact trying to kill me

  Boots or Rowena?

  Either or both

  He likes dark-skinned men with English accents. Andy wasn’t making that up. The little diva had pin-ups of Chiwetel Ejiofor (in the ‘Kinky Boots’

  movie) and Matt Henry (in the ‘Kinky Boots’ stage musical) in the back.

  Perhaps I should hand-deliver that painting Perhaps you should. How close to done?

  Very close. It’s been a pleasure. How goes Shakespeare?

  Waiting only for Red & Mary to get their asses back to LA. Scouting a gallery here for January

  Does that mean I could preview?

  Andy knew he had Reggie now. Yes it does. V & I are going to Miami 18th December, here till then

  Will make arrangements and advise. Do take care of those smashing legs We will. Andy signed off, switched numbers, and sent a text to Red

  requesting an ETA. He was so very tempted to spill the beans to Dana and Rory about Victor’s shoes, but he didn’t want to jump the gun on that.

  They’d find out soon enough, if it worked out.

  He almost spilled it a couple of days later when he was on the phone with Dana. Her series was about to wrap – early – f
or the mid-season break; she and Rory were discussing how to use the extra time. Andy told her about the many rounds of inspections on the new old house, and about some meetings they’d had with their contractor (their neighbor/tenant Paige) and the engineers. He made a joke about never running out of things to do, and figured she would give him a little of the same old shit about failing at vacation.

  On the other end, Dana wondered which of the men was actually driving all this activity, and was afraid she knew. She was afraid she knew why, too.

  “Andy, doing every single fucking thing it occurs to you to do will not actually make you live longer. It will not give you more time. The only thing that will give you more time is doing less.”

  Andy started to say something reflexively bitchy and then stopped. “Give me a second.”

  Dana was amazed. “Are you actually thinking about that?”

  “I would be if you would shut up. I love you,” he added, knowing she already knew that. Because she did, Dana didn’t say anything. It was close to half a minute – she had her eye on the sweep second hand on her wristwatch

  – before he said, “Is that what we’ve been trying to do? Pack so much in thinking we’re buying time?”

  The ‘we’ was unexpected. That meant it was both of them, and it was a relief because it meant she was right about the why. “Haven’t you talked about this with your therapist?”

  “Not … exactly.” Edged close to it, maybe.

  “I understand, you know. You waited a long time for him, and then you almost lost him. He never had anyone before you, and then he almost died.

  You must both have moments when you think, we have to do this now because we may not have tomorrow.”

  Andy was silent for another half a minute. He could have said, you know how we are together. Could have said, we’re taking all this time off. And it

  really was both of them; Victor never stopped either. “I hear you.”

  “Remind me what you have between now and the end of the year.”

  “Only ‘Spy Games,’ and going to Miami. Oh, and the painter guy from England is coming out for a few days in between, we’re going to have a little party while he’s here. I’ll send you the info.”

  “Okay. A two-night performance, a house guest, and a trip to see your mom. Do me a favor and don’t add anything to that, would you? Because I happen to know Tanith is contracting her new movie, because we are in it, and I also know that you guys are in it, which means you’re going to be even more insanely busy starting in January.”

  “Ugh, I know. You’re right. It’s,” he stalled for a second. “It’s because everything he does is so great, and he never says no, and I wasted so much fucking time.” He’d never said that out loud, he’d even denied it, but on some level he felt every day before Victor had been wasted. He said it in a rush, speaking only for himself, even though he knew, he knew, Victor felt the same way. He didn’t dare say anything else.

  Dana heard his voice go wrong and thought oh my God do not cry. She wasn’t sure if that was aimed at her friend or herself. After a second she said,

  “Andy, you haven’t wasted a minute in your whole life. If you dropped dead right now you would have accomplished more than most people would in a hundred years. Everything you’ve done with Victor is great, yes. But just being together, it’s important. My therapist told me that. You know I never really had anyone before Rory. I didn’t have any bad habits, but I had to learn how to be with somebody. And sometimes it’s the only thing that saves a shitty day. Getting home from the set and there she is with the pack, and something smelling great in the kitchen, and a smile. We sit in that reading chair. If we were praying people, that would be what we give thanks for. It’s not for the shows we’ve done or anything like that. It’s that we’re together.

  Don’t be afraid to give yourselves those moments.”

  Andy let what she was saying sink in, promising himself he’d take it out later and think about it. For the moment he checked his breathing, decided he could speak without betraying himself, and said, “I promise I won’t start any more fires before the end of the year.”

  “All right then. I’m going to ask if Rory wants to go back to Guam to see her granny. Give Victor a kiss for us.”

  “Give the cherubim one for us. Bye chica.” Andy disconnected. Then he

  tipped his head back and blinked hard, pinched the bridge of his nose, and thought, she is right. He wasn’t sure why these words at this time had knocked him sideways. Dr. LaSalle would probably say ‘because it’s something you already knew.’

  It was something he’d have to catch over and over again. His heart believed they were forever. If his brain didn’t – quite, and for a very good reason called ‘a bullet’ – he could at least act like it did. Everyone told him he was a good actor. Maybe if he was convincing enough, Victor would begin to believe in their forever too.

  He started that night, after dinner. Victor said, “Are you going to read?

  Because if so I might work on the laptop for a while.”

  Andy wasn’t sure if reading counted as doing something, but he was fairly certain him reading while Victor worked did not count as ‘being together,’ not in the way Dana meant. So he said, “No, why don’t you put in a movie and let’s cuddle.” That never felt like wasted time.

  Victor looked surprised, and also pleased. “Okay.” Ten minutes later they were stretched out together, watching ‘Galaxy Quest’ for the umpteenth time. Molly was on the couch with them, and it was heaven.

  November 2019

  Victor spent the rest of the week in one or the other pair of heels. There was nonstop bitching. They rehearsed their ‘Spy Games’ number with his regular shoes, in his Latin shoes, in the lower heels, and in the sky-high heels.

  Andy advised on posture, kept his opinions about heel management mostly to himself, and freely shared his opinion of how the heels affected Victor’s walk. They were both in the main house on Saturday morning, sitting at the dining table catching up with messages after breakfast, when a new email came in. Victor frowned at it. “This is unexpected.”

  “What is it?”

  Victor glanced up. “Message from Tanith. She says, there is something wrong with this screenplay. Your action thing was good. Can I turn this over to you for a week, I think I’m hitting the beats but in between there is dead space.”

  “She wants you to script-doctor it? Wow, that is unexpected. But kind of gratifying.” Andy picked up his coffee mug, registered with displeasure that

  it was empty, and stood up. “Want some more caffeine?”

  “No, thanks, honey. Too much makes me jittery and then I fall over.”

  “No you don’t.” Andy brushed a hand through his husband’s hair as he went to the kitchen.

  “She attached the document. I wonder if she knows I can barely type.”

  He was gratified though. Before, Tanith had said ‘it doesn’t suck.’ Now she said ‘it was good.’ So either she really wanted his help, or she’d downplayed her assessment before, or both.

  “The girls next door could give you a lesson. They both do like a hundred words per minute.” Andy was fairly speedy himself, but he wasn’t about to touch this project. He’d be helpful when it came time to compose the shots. Till then, he was keeping it zipped. “Vicky might have thoughts on that too. Isn’t she one of the stars?”

  “Well, I guess we’re about to find out. Let me ask Tanith if it’s okay to show her.” He sent a reply text, then leaned back in his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Every time I see my feet I’m like, what the fuck.”

  Andy smiled. “Are you starting to not notice them?”

  “Actually, yeah. Except when I go to the john and then I’m like, how far down is that damned thing.” Andy giggled as Victor’s phone pinged. “She says might as well, this is all her fault anyway. Damn, we’re a little cranky over in the Valley this morning.” He stood up, noted that he hardly even had to think about h
ow, and went out the front door.

  The entry door of the B side was closed, so he knocked. He heard Vicky saying something, probably to Sharon, then as she approached heard “How many times have we told you La Provence will deliver that cake?” The last word sounded like a genuine question, because she had the door open and was staring up at him. “The fuck?”

  “Mom said it! Mom said it!”

  Victor bit his lip, trying not to laugh as he heard Sharon (also apparently trying not to laugh) start to explain (again) to Simka why grown-ups sometimes used bad words. He said from on high, “Hi Vicky. Do you have a few minutes to talk about a screenplay?”

  She recovered. “I think we need to talk about why you’re six and a half feet tall all of a sudden.” She looked him over with interest. In real life, she was only an inch shorter than Victor. Why in the hell, she wondered, and then

  thought, oh. She hid the resulting glee and said, “Sharon, do I have an hour or so to talk about a screenplay?”

  “At least. I’m going to take Miss Smarty Pants for a walk over to Grandma’s.”

  “Okay. Give Miriam my regards. Careful crossing the street. Love you honey.”

  “Always. Love you too.”

  Vicky stepped out, closing the door behind her. “Let’s talk about this screenplay. Is it Tanith’s thing? Wow, your ass is phenomenal.”

  “Isn’t it?” said Andy through the open door from the A side. “Want some coffee?”

  “Yes please.”

  Andy didn’t ask about the screenplay until Sunday night. By then, Victor and Vicky had put in about twelve hours on it. Sharon had come over to drag her wife home for dinner, and Victor was lying on the couch bitching. Not about his feet, for a change, but about his back.

  “Well, you’ve been hunched over the laptop for the better part of two days,” Andy pointed out. “Tonight you need to seriously stretch, and tomorrow we need to seriously rehearse.”