Fic: Down and Dirty, 1/1 (Entourage/Dirt, R, Vince/Other, Eric/Vince)
Title: Down and Dirty
Part: 1/1
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage and Dirt
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage. I don't own Dirt either.
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Rating: R
Spoilers: Spoilers for everything.
Word Count: 9,170 words
Betas and helpers: justabi and ms_soma.
Authors Notes: This is a Dirt/Entourage crossover. If you dont know Dirt, dont worry about it. Pretend they're just OCs. For pictures of Lucy Spiller andDon Konkey, Willa McPherson, and Farber Kauffman click the links.
Summary: There are scandals and then there are stories. Vincent Chase is a story.
The guy Willa knows at the Factory, the straight one who bartends there because he makes about six times more in tips than he could anywhere else in the city, calls her at one in the morning. It’s one of the rare those rare nights when she actually got to sleep early-ish. She gropes for it in the dark.
“McPherson.”
“Willa, it’s Kyle. Get down here.”
“Where are you?”
“Work. Come now, and bring cash. I’ve got a story for you. Hurry.”
“How much?”
“For this? Ten grand.”
“Ten? I can’t do ten. I can do two now if it’s good. If it’s a cover you can get maybe another five during normal business hours.”
“Fine. Just hurry.”
Kyle hangs up and Willa barely has time to pull her hair up and get dressed into something presentable. She fumbles with her keys and she runs a red light. She barely remembers to stop and get the money from a couple of the banks the magazine has petty cash accounts with, and Lucy doesn’t pick up when Will calls her cell. But she’ll call back, Willa knows.
When she arrives, Willa tosses her keys to the valet and goes around to the back. Kyle is waiting for her, all six and a half rippling, golden feet of him. He looks at her like he wants to see the black Chanel slip dress she’s wearing on his floor. She’s taken that ride before and he’s good, but this isn’t about pleasure. This is all business. At least until she has her story.
“What’ve you got for me?”
He grins at her. “You’re gonna like this. Come on.” He puts his hand on her the base of her back and guides her inside.
It’s been a while since Willa’s been in a gay bar, but they’re all the same. It’s full of beautiful boys with glistening chests, pulsing lights, floor-shaking dance music. But Kyle leads her around the edges to the bathrooms.
She gets a couple of raised eyebrows as she follows him in, and what she sees make her wish Lucy had picked up. The stalls are all full, two, three, sometimes four pairs of feet under each one.
What Kyle wanted to show her is pressed up against the tile between the first of the stalls and the urinals. She recognizes his black curls, crazy blue eyes and cheekbones that even she’s jealous of. Her breath catches for a moment as his famous face tilts back and up to the fluorescent lights under the attention of unpainted lips on his neck.
Don Konkey should be here with his camera because this is gorgeous and it’s a cover if she’s ever seen one. She won’t be able to do it justice.
All the same, she pulls out the digital camera she hid in her purse, turns off the flash, and snaps half a dozen pictures of the homoeroticism laid out against the tile wall in front of her. She checks the pictures quickly and quietly before placing it back into her purse and sighs contentedly. Kyle wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her back into him.
“How’d I do?” he asks, lips brushing her earlobe.
“You did so fucking good,” she sighs, fishing out the bill fold. She pushes into his front pocket, her fingers grazing his package as she does so. “Gold star shit, Kyle.”
Three tweaking crystal queens emerge from one of the stalls, and to show her appreciation and because it’s been awhile, she fucks Kyle quick and dirty in the empty stall. After all, she wouldn’t want the blatant act of heterosexuality to offend the clientele.
They finish, and when she steps out of the stall and adjusts her dress, her story has left. She has her cell phone out and is dialing Lucy. She picks up on the third ring and Willa isn’t even tired anymore.
~*~*~
Lucy spends the night thinking about it, and in the end calls Shauna out of courtesy. The pictures Willa got are good. If she gives Don twenty-four hours with the digital images or a week on his own to go off on assignment, he could make them cover material, she’s got no doubt.
But Shauna’s done good by her over the years. They knew each other back when both of them were at the bottom of the barrel and their careers have risen pretty much at the same pace. She’s always at the top of Shauna’s call sheet and she figures that not only is fair fair, but that she’d rather not lose such unfettered access to the host of other celebs under Shauna’s wing.
So she flips through the pictures and dials.
“Shauna, it’s Lucy Spiller at DirtNow.”
“Lucy, what can I do you for?”
“I’ve got some rather interesting information about one of your clients that I think you need to know about.”
“What kind of information?”
“The kind where you, Vincent Chase and his management all need to come down to my office as soon as possible.”
There’s a pause and she can hear Shauna breathing. “How deep is Vince in it?”
“He’s under, Shauna. You should hurry.”
“I’ll be there.” There’s another long pause. “Thanks for not fucking my boy on this one, Lucy.”
“You’re welcome. Two hours?”
“Better make it three if you can.”
“I can.”
They don’t say good-bye, and Lucy looks back down at the pictures and wonders if maybe some of Don’s newly found sanity isn’t rubbing off on her.
Vince Chase has a beautiful face, she thinks as she calls Don. She wedges her cell between her shoulder and ear as he picks up.
“Hi, Lucy.”
“Don, can you come back by the office around noon?”
“Yeah, I can do that. Got a story?”
She changes the order of the pictures so that the one with Vince’s eyes open is first and the one with him biting his lower lip is last. “Yeah and it’s a big one.”
He sighs heavily and she feels a little less guilty than she used to back when his medication wasn’t really doing it for him. Don doesn’t like hurting people, and she gets that, but she’s not looking to ruin Vincent Chase. He puts out good movies and when it comes to the press he’s one of the more understanding celebrities she’s dealt with over the years. She loves the chase, but sometimes it’s nice to have it easy.
She makes phone calls about the latest Branjelina scandal, adjusts the order on the Lindsey Lohan hospital stay copy, and she tears Farber a new asshole, because there is no way she can let him get away with witnessing the Katie Holmes fender-bender and not managing to get at least a few pictures, or a good sound bite of her cursing up a storm in front of her little alien baby.
Don shows up at eleven-thirty with sandwiches and pictures of Claire Leland that gives them direction but nothing serious, and that pretty much fills her morning until Kenny raps on her doorframe.
“Vincent Chase is here to see you?” It’s more a question than a statement.
“Send him in.”
Don’s sitting on her desk when Vince and his little entourage file in. There are three of them, Vince, Shauna and a short redheaded man named Murphy whose first name escapes her. She recognizes him though, from the fight.
“Hello Vince,” Lucy says, smiling at him.
He smiles right back and yeah, he’s got it. One in a million confidence to go with the insane good looks. “Hey.”
“You want to tell us what this is about?” Murphy asks. He’s her height, shorter when she's in her heels. But he’s all Hollywood power under a thick New York accent.
She glances over at Kenny. “That’ll be all Kenny. Shut the door behind you.”
He nods and disappears lightening quick, skittish and nervous, his skin pale and pasty. He’s a good assistant and amusing but he’s just not cut out for this.
“So what’s this about, Lucy?” Shauna asks. Vince has dropped his long frame into one of her chairs and he looks at home there.
She looks at Vince, into eyes that are the same color as pools of water in the Caribbean and asks “Vince, what were you doing at the Factory last night?”
Murphy looks sharply at Vince, who shifts uncomfortably. “What’ve you got?” Vince asks, and Murphy’s mouth actually drops for a second before he snaps it shut and clenches his jaw.
“I’ve got eight by tens of you and some cute bleach-blond twink doing the bad thing in the bathroom.” She pushes the photos his way. “Funny thing, I don’t remember that being in Aquaman.”
Murphy snatches the pictures from her hand and draws in a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ Vince, you’re lying to me now?”
“I said I was going out last night. I didn’t say where.”
“This is the sort of thing you’re supposed to fucking tell me about - as your manager if not as your best goddamn friend.”
“Enough boys,” Shauna bites out. Lucy can see lines of tension in her face. “What do you want, Lucy? What’ve we got to do for you to sit on this?”
“I don’t know? It’s a pretty juicy story.”
“Vince’s movie just came out,” Murphy says. “And it’s Oscar season. If this story breaks you’ll ruin him.”
“Should’ve been more careful,” Lucy says and Don shifts uncomfortably. He gets off the desk and moves to stand by the wall, hands twitching. She knows he hates this part. “But I saw And So We Fall and you were good. Word is that you’re a shoe-in for best leading actor and I want an exclusive. I want the full story from Vince’s mouth - after he wins the Oscar. I want it unscripted and unedited, but it is a chance for you to come out your own way. And I want Don to have unfettered access to you leading up to the Oscars for pictures and anything we might need afterwards.”
“Done,” Vince says and Shauna slaps him on the back of the head.
“Shut up, Vincent.”
“You might want to let Vince decide for himself. Vince, this is the only offer you’re going to get. Exclusivity agreement with DirtNow will make this whole thing go away until you’re ready to control it, and I’m being generous. These pictures are worth millions and I think you know that.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Murphy snaps and Lucy smirks.
“I did actually.”
“Is he someone special?” Don asks, jarring them all out of the loop they’re caught in. Four pairs of eyes turn to him. He adjusts his hat on his balding head and looks Vince in the eye. “The man in the picture, is he special?”
It’s a leading question, an important one, and Lucy turns sharply so she can watch Vince’s reaction. The cool countenance he’s had since he walked in the door falters some, falls. He shakes his head.
“No. Him… he’s nobody.”
Don tilts his head and this, Lucy thinks, is why she keeps hiring him. Not because they’re best friends, not because she loves him more than her own brother, and not because sometimes - hell, a lot of the time - he needs someone to take care of him. No, he’s damn fucking good at his job and he can get inside people like no one she’s ever seen.
“But there is somebody, then,” Don muses. “A man.”
“Don’t answer that Vince,” Murphy orders.
Vince turns to look at him and Lucy knows. She knows right then and there exactly where her story is.
“I’ll do your interview,” he says. Then he looks at Don. “And you can have your pictures.”
Lucy grins. “Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Murphy mutters, pushing out of her office. Vince watches him go and sighs.
“I’d better…” he trails off and follows him.
“You’re a stone cold cunt, Spiller,” Shauna says. But she holds out a hand. “But I know you didn’t have to do this.”
“I wasn’t kidding,” Lucy says. “It is a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Call me before you send your pet paparazzi over, okay?”
“Unfettered means unfettered.”
“I know. It’ll just make organizing easier. Don’t be a fucking bitch about this, all right?”
“Too late.”
When Shauna leaves, Don slumps in one of the chairs across from her, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.
“So what do you think?”
“I think he’s in love with his manager. I think that he’s not comfortable with his sexuality and I think he’s scared.”
“You saw it too.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of sad.” Don looked up at her. “Lucy, this isn’t going to be a bad one is it?”
“I don’t know, Don. I think that really depends on Vince, don’t you?”
Don sighs and slides down a little. But he nods and frowns and she knows that he’ll do it.
Don floats around the edge of Vince’s life, his mansion, and his friends on and off for all of February, and what Lucy ends up with is a series of photos that would make a really great human interest piece in Time or a profile in Elle Magazine. It’s not exactly DirtNow material though.
“Go back, and get me something else.” She says. “Get me an actual story. He’s going to win the Oscar, Don; it needs to be something solid.”
“It’s in there, Lucy.” He insists. “It’s just not a scandal.”
Vince thanks Ari Gold when he wins his Oscar for best actor in a leading role. He thanks his mother and his brother, Johnny. He thanks the director, and he thanks his friend Turtle and when he thanks Eric Murphy he sort of stumbles, stutters. Lucy sits with her fingers pressed together, eyes glued to her plasma as he says “This is for you, E” and walks down.
She calls Shauna between his win and the award for best director. She picks up on the first ring.
“He’s a golden boy, our Vincent.”
“Can he meet tomorrow for that interview?”
“Not until evening. Dinner?” Shauna offers.
“Spago?”
“I’ll take care of it. He’ll meet you there at nine.”
“I don’t want his manager there.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“You can or the pictures will hit the website tomorrow night.” Shauna sighs loudly in her ear. Lucy smirks. “The table is under Spiller. I’ll see the big winner at nine.”
Vince is waiting for her when she gets there. He’s got a glass of wine in one hand and is leaning back in his chair. They’re in the back, one of the private rooms that are meant to seat twelve. The bottle he’s picked is about thirty years older than he is, a red that gleams in the low light.
“Well, if it isn’t the Wicked Witch of the West,” he says, toasting her. “Bout time you got here. You’re late.”
She slides into the seat cross from him. She hangs her purse on the back of an adjacent chair and fishes out a mini-recorder. She tosses it on the table between them. “You’re drunk.”
He shrugs. “I’m lubricated. I thought you wanted me to talk. You didn’t say anything about my blood alcohol content.” He holds up the bottle. “Want some?”
“Maybe after the interview.”
“If there’s any left,” Vince says. He adds a little more wine to his glass. It pours out red like blood. “So you wanted to ask me questions. Shoot.”
“How do you think this is going to happen?”
“I think you’re going to grill me and I’m going to try not to lie.” He gave her a plastic smile. “Hence the cabernet. You sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m sure. Let’s talk about your speech.”
“Which one?”
“Your Oscar speech.”
“You don’t want to talk about the guy from the Factory?”
“We can talk about him if you want. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Are we on the record?”
“Not yet. Do you want to be?”
“Not really.” She watches him shift in his seat and look her in the eyes. They’re so blue. “Look, Lucy, you’re hot and you don’t seem to have a conscience so why don’t you just tell me what it is you want from me?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I want the truth.”
He shakes his head and some of his curls fall into his eyes. “Well off the record, the truth’s boring, Lucy. The truth is that I live a reasonably quiet life with my friends and my dog. Sometimes I like to fuck guys just to mix things up.”
“Well off the record, that’s bullshit. You really don’t expect me to buy that do you?”
“I expect you to do what you want with whatever I tell you. You’ve got pictures of me and a guy and that’s all you need. You could have just made shit up. So what do you want from me?”
“I already told you.”
“Right. The truth.” He jerked his head at her. “Tell me what you think that truth is.”
Lucy pursed her lips and hit record on the recorder. “Let’s talk about your acceptance speech.”
“What about it?”
He looks genuinely confused and that’s fantastic. She likes Vince. She likes him a lot, but it’s been a long time since she’s had to make someone dig inside themselves. Usually she has to do all the damn digging.
“It was an interesting speech.”
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t really think about it before hand. I didn’t think I’d win. E, my manager Eric, he said I should write something down but I’ve never been a planner.”
“Eric thought you’d win?”
“Yeah. He tried to make me brainstorm in the limo on the way to the Kodak, but I was kind of buzzing on stress and nerves and didn’t listen.” He grinned and twisted the glass in his hands. It’s a nervous gesture and if they were playing poker, she’d know he had nothing in his hand. “And then you get up there and it’s all bright lights and adrenaline and thinking doesn’t really factor in. I guess that’s why he wanted me to make notes in advance.” He chuckles, mostly to himself. “Did I say anything stupid?”
“You keep talking about Eric Murphy. You dedicated your Oscar to him. I thought that was strange.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “He’s my manager.”
“Yeah. But he’s not your father or your brother or your boyfriend. Most people dedicate awards to family.”
He leans toward her, face grim. “He is family. He’s been my best friend since we’re six years old and there is not another person on this planet who knows me better than he does.”
“But he didn’t know you were…what, gay? Bisexual?”
“This interview isn’t about him.”
“No, it’s about you and your life. And isn’t Eric Murphy a big part of it?”
“I’m not going to let you turn him into a story.”
She tilts her head. “Is he?”
“No.”
“Because if you’re in love with him, that’s a story.”
Vince pushes back from the table. His glass of wine was mostly empty but the move sends it toppling over and spills over the pristine white table cloth in a pink stain. “Fuck you.”
“Sit down.”
“Post your fucking pictures, lady. Just leave me alone.”
“Vince, sit down. We can talk about this.”
He wraps his arms around himself and glares at her. His eyes are two chips of blue glass in his face, and she’s glad that looks can’t cut or she’d be bleeding. Of course, if she were, it’d be worth it.
“Take a deep breath and we can talk this out.”
He doesn’t sit. “There is no ‘this’ to talk about.”
“Well, clearly there is or you wouldn’t have freaked out like your hair just caught fire. So why don’t you talk to me about it?”
He doesn’t answer her. His face is a mask but that’s actors for you. They live by their ability to hide behind other personalities. His eyes can’t hide though. He’s terrified. She reaches out and hits stop on the recorder.
“Off the record - are you in love with your manager?”
“E’s my best friend,” Vince says, his voice soft and steady. “He’s been my best friend my whole fucking life. More than twenty-five years it’s been me and him against the whole fucking world. Do you have a friend like that?”
She nods. “I do.”
“What’s their name?”
“Don.”
“Don Konkey? The little photographer guy that’s been hanging around?” She nods and he laughs. “Weird. You two are like, the original odd couple. So, are you in love with him?”
Her face tightens as she remembers college. There was a year or so there, right before Don got sick, before the world fell down around them, when she’d thought she might be. But then he’d started talking to his cat and the walls of his apartment started bleeding and he tried to kill himself, and anything she might have thought was there wasn’t anymore. Not like it could’ve been.
“No, but I can pretty much promise you that the situation isn’t the same at all.”
“Why?”
“Because your manager probably isn’t severely mentally ill.”
“It wouldn’t change things if he was.”
Lucy says nothing at that because honestly, Vince has no idea. No one does until they live it.
“It’s okay if you are in love with him, you know. I wouldn’t write that story to make it look cheap or invalid. My brother’s gay, Vince. And I don’t disrespect him because of that. I disrespect him because he’s a flake.”
“I’m a flake.”
“Flakes don’t live with friends they’ve had since they were children,” Lucy counters. “Flakes don’t work their asses off on Oscar-winning movies. Flakes don’t love someone they’ve known for twenty-five years.”
He starts to pace as she speaks but he comes to a halt when her words stop.
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
She sighs and runs a hand through the long black fall of her hair. She’s suddenly wishing she took him up on that drink. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Fine. Then tell me the truth. That’s all I want Vince. I want to know the story.”
“Off the record?”
“Vince, all of this is supposed to be on the record. That was the deal, remember? That I’ve gone off the record at all is a courtesy, not a requirement.”
“There is no story.”
“I thought you said you’d try not to lie to me?”
He throws himself almost violently into his chair. It shakes the whole table, but Lucy wasn’t really expecting it and she has to force herself not to flinch at the sudden move.
“That I’ve had the hots for my best friend since I was fourteen isn’t news, Lucy. It’s boring to everyone but E who’s going to stop repping me and stop speaking to me if he ever finds out. And then I’ll be out a manager and a best friend, but hey, you’ll have a boring, shitty-ass blurb. So it’s worth it, right?”
“Maybe.” She says, pushing the record button back down.
He scrubs his face with his hands. His palms pull his bangs tightly back from his forehead as he speaks. “Look, just publish the fucking pictures of me and that guy, okay? Call me a huge queen; say that I’ve got a secret life, whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t bring up E in your goddamn article.”
That’s interesting. Because Shauna would make her spin the unrequited love thing in Vince’s favor. It was all very tragic in a Brokeback Mountain kind of way, and that’s been big since Heath Ledger’s death. But the pictures? They’re just tawdry - like Hugh Grant with that whore.
“You’d really rather fuck up your career than risk your friendship with Eric?”
“I would rather jump off the roof of the U.S. Bank Tower.”
He says it flatly. There’s no fear or hesitation and she doesn’t doubt him at all. She’s also convinced of what her story is, really. She wonders if Don knew it when he gave her his series of photos.
“Because you’re in love with him.”
“You’re not going to make me say it on your fucking recording.”
“That’s as good as right there.”
“No, it’s not. Stop trying to make me.”
“I just want the truth.”
Vince rights his wine glass and picks up the bottle of cabernet. He pours himself half a glass, downs it in one go, then looks at her through the sticky-wet glass. “I like both girls and guys. I like making movies. I like LA. I like my life. That’s the truth.”
“That’s part of the truth, yeah. It’s not the whole truth.”
“You’re not a cop and I’m not under oath.”
“No, and it’s not a crime for you to want to fuck your roommate. But you just won an Oscar so that does make it a point of interest to my readers. ”
“None of your readers even know who the hell E is.”
“They don’t have to. They know who you are.” She says and she can actually see his shoulders sag. It feels like a conquest. “Tell me about your first time.”
“Thirteen, Eric’s cousin Sheryl in his basement, she was two years older than me and she thought I was pretty so she let me go all the way. Sixteen, Jimmy Leery blew me backstage during a dress rehearsal of the King and I.” He pours himself more wine. “I’m not much of a top, with men or women. Anything else you want to know? Favorite position? Number of partners? Preferred condom company?”
Lucy can’t help but grin at that. He’s good. She’s better. “I like Magnum.”
“Me too. Astroglide or Wet?”
“Wet.”
“You’re such a girl.”
“I’ve heard a rumor about that somewhere. So Astroglide then?”
“I don’t really like the water-based stuff.”
“It’s always worked for me,” Lucy counters then changes track fast, hoping to jar an answer from him. “How’ve you managed to keep your friends and family from finding out up until now if you’ve been with men in addition to women since you were sixteen?”
“I’m from Queens.” Vince says into his drink. “You don’t talk about shit like that where I grew up. If you like guys you’re not bi, or even gay. You’re a faggot. A fucking pansy queer. And the guys who you thought were your friends are the ones knocking your teeth into your throat.”
“Some friends. Are you speaking from experience?” She asks, leaning in to him.
“I still have my friends, so obviously I’m not.” Vince shrugs and pours himself yet another glass. She knows that he’s not a big drinker normally but there’s only half a bottle left. “How do you think I did it?”
She sighs and takes the bottle from him. This is going to take a while, she can tell. She pours herself a glass - just one. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
“I screwed bellmen in service elevators and blew waiters in bathrooms. I snuck around. I lied. Mostly I lied. Habit I guess.”
“Is habit why you never told Eric you were in love with him? Because you were afraid he’d turn into just another guy from the neighborhood and punch your teeth in?”
Vince shook his head. “E wouldn’t hit me unless I deserved it.”
“And what constitutes deserving it?”
“Fucking his girlfriend or his sister, Maggie, probably. Anything else and I don’t think he’d throw the first punch.”
“But he would hit back?”
“Your magazine covered his fight with Billy Walsh a few years ago.”
She smiled around the rim of the glass. That hadn’t been a cover, neither Murphy nor Walsh were big enough to warrant it, but it had been a great two-page spread on page twelve. “We did.”
“Then you know the answer to that already.”
“Do you regret not being able to be out? Choosing the business over your personal life.”
It’s Vince’s turn to lift a brow. “It’s not like I’ve got a boyfriend tucked away somewhere. I don’t have a girlfriend either. I don’t really do monogamy, so it’s not like the sacrifice was that big.”
She swirls the liquid around in her glass. “Don’t do or haven’t done?”
He looks at her with wide, slightly glassy eyes. “There’s a difference?”
“Pretty big one.”
“I’ll take your word on that. ”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“With Mandy Moore?”
“Yeah. She was…” He laughs. “She was actually kind of a bitch. I think your word is flake. But I was nuts about her. Really.”
He sighs and rubs at one of his eyebrows. Then he looks into her eyes again. Over the course of this interview, she’s come to realize that it’s something he does when he wants her to know that he’s not kidding around. It says to her, this is me speaking, not my people or my career, just me.
“Mandy’s a big reason why I don’t really like it when the word ‘gay’ gets thrown around. If I were gay, I wouldn’t have wanted her as bad as I did. I wouldn’t have wanted a tenth of the women I want the way I do. But my world’s just not so small that women’re the only ones I want, and I’m okay with that. If the industry and the neighborhood didn’t care, I wouldn’t care.”
She smiles. That’s one hell of a sound bite right there. “Okay. Have you ever been in love with a man?”
Vince takes a drink and it’s an incredibly telling non-answer.
“Have you?”
“Yeah.”
“With who?”
He looks down at the stained tablecloth. “It really doesn’t matter who. You got your answer.”
“Right. I thought so.”
“Listen, they’re going to close in like…” he pulls out his cell phone, “twenty minutes, do you have any more questions?”
“Not this time. I think you should think about what I’ve asked you, Vince. Make some choices before our next interview.”
Vince blinks at her. “Next interview?”
“Yeah.” She smiles at him. “I’m thinking this is an ongoing story, don’t you? Tonight, we talked mostly about the Oscars. Next time, we’ll talk about something else.”
Vince stares at her silently as she collects her bag. She finishes her glass of wine and sets the empty glass down on the table.
“I’ll send Don by your place in the next few weeks for some pictures for the next piece.”
He’s still staring as she rises to her feet and walks confidently out of the room.
~*~*~
It’s been a long time since Don’s done a long assignment like this. The Sharlee Cates thing doesn’t count. Dr. Shalba says that he shouldn’t consider something he got so personally involved in as a job. It’s part of building boundaries.
But hanging around Vincent Chase’s house isn’t exactly the same. There’s a little less chaos, but the four people that make up this family unit are orbiting each other out of sync and he’s been feeling it since they first met.
Eric Murphy’s shorter than he is, but he’s big stuff in this group. His personality takes up more space than anyone else and his anger’s practically a physical thing. It makes Don want to be anywhere else.
It’s not too bad though. Johnny Drama Chase meets him at the door the first day looking tired but welcoming. He doesn’t comment on how it’s a little weird that the guy answering the door is the only one of the group who doesn’t live in the house.
“You the photographer?”
“I’m Don Konkey. You’re Johnny Drama. You’re currently in a supporting role on Five Towns, but your role as the bookie in Queens Boulevard was probably your strongest role to date. Viking Quest was good too though. Travold had a lot of emotional range, even though it didn’t get a second season. You were good on Melrose place too.”
“You know my work,” Johnny preens. He’s got self-esteem deficits, Don notices. But he seems like a pretty good guy.
“I’m a fan.”
Don’s a fan of most actors. He likes actors. He likes movies and TV. They’re detached from reality and so is he. Was he. He gets confused sometimes. But Johnny doesn’t care, he’s just happy that Don likes his work.
There’s a lot of white in the house. It comes off as sterile and kind of cold, but lived in - in a transitional sort of way. It’s not the kind of place that any of them seem like they belong in but he doesn’t say anything.
For the first couple days, he mostly sits quietly on their couch with his camera in his lap and watches them, listens to their conversations. It’s all pretty shallow. Johnny keeps flipping channels and stopping to ask Vince who he thinks is attractive.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know, Drama.”
“You have to have an opinion.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all sexual beings, Vince. Come on, on a scale of one to ten. Aesthetically, he’s at least five.”
“Nobody wants to hear this shit, Drama,” Turtle cuts in. “Leave him be and just let us watch the fucking movie, okay?”
“Just because you’re uncomfortable with Vince’s sexuality-“
“I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t wanna hear about it when I’m trying to watch Bruce Willis blow shit up.”
The conversation is one that gets repeated in several variations. It’s a coping mechanism. Johnny Drama isn’t really comfortable and this is his way of showing his brother that he doesn’t mind, really, even if he does.
He can tell that Turtle knew before the pictures got taken. His apathy is genuine, even if it is tinged with a little discomfort, and Don doesn’t push him. He doesn’t push any of them. They’re all pushed pretty far as it is.
Vince is mostly quiet. He wears clothes that are a collegiate equivalent to Don’s shabby wardrobe. He doesn’t usually go out when Turtle or Johnny offer. He listens to music on his headphones and he sits out on the patio and stares down at the city below.
Don knows that he’s mildly depressed. He’s been on medication that’s given him severe depression, so he knows what it looks like. Also, he read somewhere that coming out later in life can be traumatic, and given the way Eric Murphy’s been avoiding Vince, Don’s not surprised.
It’s not obvious, but Eric sticks to the edge of the room as far from Vince as possible when they’re all together. He sits at opposite ends of tables or couches. They don’t make eye contact, and every time they don’t, Vince’s face falls and Turtle shifts uncomfortably.
“So what do you think?” Turtle asks. He’s taking pictures of Vince sleeping on a chaise and he almost drops the camera.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“Bullshit. You think I don’t see you watchin’? That’s what you get paid for.”
“I just take pictures.”
“Yeah, but you’re taking pictures of my boy Vin. So what do you see?”
He fiddles with the focus of his camera. “I see an actor and person. What do you see?”
“It don’t matter. What matters is that you’re here ‘cause of the gay thing.”
“I think the term he prefers is bisexual.”
“Whatever. You’re here because Vince likes to fuck guys.”
“I’m here because Lucy wants pictures to go with her story.”
“And the story is that Vince’s all Queer as Folk and shit.” Turtle sighs and fishes something out of his pocket. It’s a joint. He lights it and offers it to Don. Don shakes his head.
“I can’t. It interferes with my medication.”
“Medication?”
“I’m a paranoid schizophrenic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Turtle takes a puff and shakes his head. “And I thought we had problems.”
“It’s not so bad.” Don says, and it’s true. There are actually things he misses about being actively delusional, like long conversations with Tristan Jr.
“Still. Puts shit in perspective. At least Vince ain’t schizo.”
“He’s not happy though.”
“No,” Turtle mutters. “Nobody’s fucking happy right now, which is fucked up because Vince just won a goddamn Oscar. It should be a twenty-four hour party around here, instead it’s like somebody died.”
“I’ve heard that coming out late in life is a trauma equivalent with losing a child.”
“He’s been out to me for the last seven years, and he’s known who he is since we were kids. This shit ain’t news, you know? E’s what’s fucking everything up.”
“Vince’s carelessness caused the inciting incident,” Don counters. “How’s that Eric’s fault?”
“It’s Eric’s fault for freaking out like a little bitch about the whole thing. So Vince likes cock. Big fucking deal. It’s not like he’d ever make a move on one of us.”
Maybe that’s the problem, Don thinks. “Rationality doesn’t always win out in situations like this.”
“Yeah, well, E needs to pull his head out of his ass. Vince isn’t listening to me.”
Don has nothing to say to that. He doesn’t know how to fix his own life - his brother, and his ethical issues with his job. He certainly doesn’t know how to fix a movie star’s.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Tell him what you see.”
“You think he’ll actually listen to me?”
“I don’t know.”
Turtle nods then holds out the joint again. “You sure you don’t want some.”
“I’m sure.”
Turtle nods and they sit quietly while Turtle finishes it off. Then he rises and heads into the back of the house. Don takes a picture of him as he goes, catches the solemnity in his profile the second that it’s actually visible.
Eric pins him down two days later. It’s a Saturday and Don had come over early at Vince’s invitation. They guys were all supposed to go out that evening and Vince suggested that Don come with, get a look at them in their natural habitat. He’d smiled as he said it but it didn’t go all the way to his eyes.
“What’d you say to Turtle?” Is Eric’s question. He sits on one of the love seats, bent over with his elbows on his knee and his hands clasped together. The watch he’s wearing is expensive but not frivolous, and he’s got on a long-sleeve tailored shirt despite the fact that it’s Los Angeles and almost never gets cooler than 70 degrees. It’s the same color blue as Vince’s eyes. Don wonders if that’s intentional and doubts it.
The house is mostly empty. Turtle is out with Vince running some kind of errand, and Johnny Drama is at work. It’s just him and the dog Arnold until Eric arrives. He’s glad he’s there. He’s not particularly comfortable with dogs, especially not big ones like Arnold. He’s more of a cat person.
“I don’t know. When?”
“When you told him to come talk to me. What did you say?”
Don rubs his balding head. The roughness of what little hair he has left is grounding. He wishes there was no rule about wearing hats inside. His head’s a little cold and he wants to put his hat back on. “About what?”
“About Vince.”
Eric’s voice is a warning. He cares a lot but he’s scared. There’s a lot of fear in his voice. Don’s real familiar with fear and how it makes you stupid and angry.
“I told him that I didn’t think that Vince was happy,” Don says honestly.
Eric’s wound pretty tight. And he remembers when Lucy did the spread on his fight with Billy Walsh. Walsh has a few inches and about thirty pounds on Don, and Eric still took him down, no problem. He’s not looking to get hit today. It’s that risk aversion thing he’s been developing since the medication started working. It makes him want to avoid confrontations, especially physical ones.
Eric just looks at him, surprised and a little hurt. “Your boss didn’t out him. He’s got his pick of movies. He just won an Oscar, for god’s sake. Of course he’s happy.”
“I just think he’d be happier if you didn’t avoid him,” Don says without thinking. It’s the truth but that doesn’t make it a smart thing to say.
“I’m not avoiding him.”
“Are you going out with him and Turtle and Johnny tonight?”
“I have work.”
Don nods. Of course he does. “Okay.”
Eric sits back and shakes his head. It’s not directed at Don, more at the universe in general. He rises abruptly to his feet. “Tell Vince we’ve got Ari tomorrow at eight if you see him before I do.” Eric says. Then before Don can answer adds, “Thanks.”
Vince and Eric pass each other coming and going. Eric is on his way out, Vince is on his way in and it is awkward. Don watches from the hallway and it’s one of the most uncomfortable interactions he’s seen in a long time. Eric mentions Ari and the time they need to go tomorrow, then breezes out without much more said, back straight and shoulders tense. He doesn’t meet Vince’s eyes once.
It surprises nobody that Vince drinks a lot that night. Turtle and Johnny try to keep him in check but eventually they give up. Don doesn’t drink because of his medication so after a while, they leave Vince with him.
“Just for a half hour,” Johnny assures him. “I just need a breather.”
“Sure,” Don says, nodding. Turtle and Johnny both look insanely relieved and scurry off quickly, leaving him alone with Vince.
They’re in a quiet back corner of the club, and Vince’s fingers are tapping on his thighs in time to the pulsing techno-hip hop remix. His eyes are closed and he could almost be sleeping if it weren’t for the rhythmic movement, and the fact that his lips are moving.
“Are you okay?” Don asks and Vince cracks an eye.
“Yeah. I’m peachy. I’m just fucking awesome, Donny. How’re you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you. I like to show my guests a good time.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. After all, it’s nice to be with someone who’s not treating me like I don’t exist or I’m going to shatter. I’m not going to break, you know. I’m not. I’m a fucking Academy Award winning actor, Don. I made it. I’m not going to break over this shit.”
“You sound angry,” Don says, adjusting his hat on his head. He doesn’t really like to see people vulnerable. He doesn’t know why they feel the need to show him that.
“Well, I’m starting to miss being bullied, Don, and that makes me angry.”
“I’m sorry.” Don scratches the side of his neck.
“It’s fine. It was just better than indifference.”
“No one wants to be ignored,” Don agrees. He’s been marginalized before. People tend to stop listening to you when you start hearing voices and African tribal masks come to life and talk to you.
“At least Dom gave a big enough shit to take the time and energy to actually bully me, you know? He was the first one to find out, back in New York. He caught me with this guy from the drama club when I was, like, seventeen. And once he knew, he’d called me at 3am for bail money or to help him pull in pussy. And he knew I’d hop to it because if I didn’t he’d tell E. Well now E knows, and I’m wondering if I can get that money back.” He laughs and it’s forced and hollow. “Not that I need it.
“Because he knew you were in love with Eric?”
Vince shrugs and lets his head fall back. “It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?”
“I don’t know. I guess it could.”
“It doesn’t because he’s pretty much gone, Don. Which is the whole fucking reason I didn’t tell him in the first place.”
“Him, Eric?”
“No, him Dom. Yeah, him Eric. I went from being best friends with him Eric to being persona non fucking grata, and I don’t fucking like it. So you can tell Lucy that if she asks. Tell her it wasn’t fucking worth it.”
Don is not the person Vince should be saying this to. But it’s not his place to say so. It’s really not. In fact, it’s not really even his place to hear this stuff. He has no idea who this Dom guy is or how he fits into the Vince-centric planetary system. He just cares that he’s neck deep in a group of people that are hurting, and he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He has enough hurt of his own to cope with.
“Okay.”
Vince rolls his eyes at him and fumbles for his drink. He toasts Don with it then takes a long slug. “Okay then.”
He has to help Turtle and Johnny carry him out of the club.
“He don’t drink like this normally,” Johnny Drama says, like he feels the need to explain. Don suspects there’s alcoholism in the Chase family because of the way Johnny’s eyes shadow as he speaks, but he doesn’t comment. He just nods and helps the two of them get Vince onto the couch before heading to his own home.
~*~*~
Lucy’s picked him to do the profile on Eric Murphy and Vincent Chase. Farber’s not exactly sure why. After all, this was Willa’s find. But she sends him out with a recorder and a camera and tells him that she wants the back story on the Murphy/Chase partnership.
She’s still sitting on the gay pictures of Vince. He hasn’t seen them but he’s heard about them. He doesn’t fuck her anymore but Willa still talks to him. Or rather, she gloats.
But he figures the only reason he’s supposed to interview both of them together is because, well, they’re together. And that’s cool. He kind of wants to do something positive for the gay community after what happened with Willa fucking over Mitch Stanton. So the least he can do is make these guys look good.
Don comes with him, camera slung over his shoulder, looking quiet and uncomfortable. Farber doesn’t know what to make of Don, but he’s an okay guy and Vince seems to know him. Like him. He actually talks to Don, friendly and familiar where he’s cool and distant to Farber.
“So where’s Eric?” Farber asks. “He’s supposed to be there for this, isn’t he?”
“Is he?” Vince asks. His face looks strained and Farber wonders if they’re fighting or something.
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be a profile of both of you. Together. I mean, from what I understand you two are pretty much a package deal.”
“Then I guess he’s coming down. I mean, I can go upstairs and get him.”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” Farber says. Don makes a small noise in the back of his throat and shifts uneasily on the ottoman on which he’s perched.
Vince nods and rises. He leaves, and Farber has to contend himself with looking around the living room because Don isn’t talking. There’s a bong in the corner, a nice one, not some homemade dorm-room job. There’s a PS3, an Xbox, and a Wii by the TV. The stack of DVD’s is about five feet high. But there are no pictures, nothing feminine about the place at all. It kind of reminds him of his old frat house actually.
Vince comes back with a short redhead at his heels and really, that’s not what Farber was expecting. He’s straight but Vince Chase is kind of like Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt - everyone can admit that he’s gorgeous. It doesn’t compromise your sexuality to concede that point.
He was just expecting Vince’s guy to be an Angelina Jolie. The guy isn’t ugly or anything but he’s pretty average. And most superstars don’t really go for average. The fact that Vince does makes Farber like him more.
He holds out his hand to Eric. “I’m Farber Kauffman.”
Eric’s shake is short but firm. “Eric Murphy. You had some questions?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to get a profile of you two for DirtNow, so I’m kind of curious about your background, where you guys come from, how you know each other, that kind of thing.”
They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Farber notices. He wonders if that’s because they’re not technically out or if he was right before and they’ve been fighting.
Vince sprawls out, relaxed and confident. He opens a hand to Farber. “Shoot.”
“So, how’d you two meet?”
“We grew up together, went to the same elementary school,” Eric says.
“P.S. 154 in Queens,” Vince adds. “And we lived like two blocks away from each other. We’ve been best friends since we were six.”
“And you’ve managed to sustain a friendship over twenty-five years,” Farber says, more than a little surprised. He can’t remember anyone he knew when he was six. “That’s impressive.”
Vince looks at Eric and there’s pain in his eyes. Want. It makes Farber uncomfortable but he says nothing. Vince is the one who speaks instead. “Yeah, I think so. He’s always been there for me. He’s always had my back. ”
“And I take it you’ve had his?”
“Of course. Always.”
“How about you, Eric?”
Eric’s arms are folded over his chest. “What about me?”
“Your relationship with Vince. Tell me about your side.”
Eric shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s always been me and Vince. It just worked I guess.” He looked right at Farber, not even glancing over at Vince. “We’ve always been close. It just hasn’t always been easy.”
“I can’t imagine it has been, still, it’s pretty cool that you’ve been in love since you were kids. Most people don’t find their soulmates when they’re in first grade. I guess it’s only fair that some of it was tough if you got to find each other so young.” His audio recorder is in his pocket and he’s not really taking notes. Mostly he’s just curious, interested in how a couple like this could work. “How old were you when you realized it?”
Don actually groans and before Farber can blink Eric is on his feet. His shoes thud loudly on the tile floor and Vince’s face is a mask of horror.
“What?” Farber asks. “What’d I say?”
“Stay here.” Vince bites out and leaps to his own feet. Then he’s off, half running after Eric. “E!”
Farber, of course, doesn’t stay. Staying is the antithesis of his job. He toes off his shoes and hurries off quietly after Vince and Eric, Don on his heels. He finds them in a hallway, Eric’s smaller frame backing Vince into the wall space between two doors.
"Have I been what?" Vince asks, looking down at Eric, replying to a question they obviously missed.
"Have you been in love with me since we were kids?" Eric demands and Farber’s stomach drops like he’s just done a loop on a rollercoaster.
Vince’s eyes drop and Farber hears Don’s shutter click. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Kind of?” Eric snaps. “You can’t kind of be in love with someone, Vince. You are or you aren’t.”
Vince plants both of his hands on Eric’s chest and pushes. Don’s shutter clicks again just as Eric stumbles back two steps before catching himself. “I've spent the last twenty years working on not being in love with you so, yeah. I have to say kind of."
"Fuck you, Vince," Eric hisses, his eyes narrowed. “I’m your best friend and I was the last fucking person to know this about you! I’m supposed to know you better than anyone.”
Vince points sharply at him. "No fuck you, E. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Eric’s arms cross over his chest in what Farber is starting to realize is less angry and more defensive. He’s protecting himself. “You could have told me.”
"When?” Vince demands. “In high school when you were hot for Sarah Lum? After we graduated when you were with Sarah McCauley for two years? Here in LA when you hooked up with Kristen, like, ten minutes after landing in California? When was I supposed to tell you, E?'
"Any time in the last twenty years would've been good, Vince."
"There's a good time to lose my best friend? Really? When's that?" Vince asks his voice full of fake cheer and bitter sarcasm.
"I’m your best friend, you wouldn’t have lost me," Eric protests.
"I already have!" Vince cries then snaps his mouth shut.
Farber’s hands are clenched and this is better than TV. He’d lay ten to one odds on this ending in violence, five to one on it ending in sex - if he were a gambling man. Which he’s not. Not anymore.
“E,” Vince says, and the word sounds torn from his throat, “you even can’t look me in the eye anymore.”
Eric takes a step forward and Vince takes a step back, his shoulders hitting the wall. “Look, Vince-“
Vince squeezes his eyes closed. Even if he could hear Don’s camera, he couldn’t see it now. “Shut up, E. Just shut up.”
“Vince,” Eric sighs, moving forward until he and Vince are close enough to touch. Farber wonders why they don’t. “I wish you had just come to me.”
“And said what?” Vince asks, his voice sounding so young and scared. “‘I think about you in the shower. I think about you naked. I think about you all the time and I have since forever.’ What would you have done?”
“Maybe I’d have done this,” Eric says.
Then he takes Vince’s face in his hand and kisses him. Click. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the camera is loud in Farber’s ears and so is his own breathing and theirs. It’s not a violent kiss or a sloppy one or even particularly passionate.
What it is, is gentle, warm and very much a cover shot. It’s love. And Farber will never admit it to Lucy or Willa, but he gets a little misty at the sight of the hope in Vince’s eyes when they finally open.
“E, you can’t just-“
Eric shakes his head. “Trust me, Vince.”
Vince stares at him for a long moment. Then he nods and Eric kisses him again. This one is all heat, enough that it feels like they shouldn’t be watching. Really.
Farber looks at Don. “I think we’ve got our story,” he whispers as Eric tugs on Vince’s black curls.
“Yeah,” Don agrees. “I’ve got enough shots to work with. Lucy’ll be happy.”
“Okay. Let’s go then.”
They move quickly and quietly back to the front of the house. Farber hits stop on the recorder in his pocket and slides his shoes back on with a smile. He feels good about this story. Really good.
(end)
Part: 1/1
Status: Complete
Fandom: Entourage and Dirt
Disclaimer: I don't own Entourage. I don't own Dirt either.
Pairing: Vince/Eric
Rating: R
Spoilers: Spoilers for everything.
Word Count: 9,170 words
Betas and helpers: justabi and ms_soma.
Authors Notes: This is a Dirt/Entourage crossover. If you dont know Dirt, dont worry about it. Pretend they're just OCs. For pictures of Lucy Spiller andDon Konkey, Willa McPherson, and Farber Kauffman click the links.
Summary: There are scandals and then there are stories. Vincent Chase is a story.
The guy Willa knows at the Factory, the straight one who bartends there because he makes about six times more in tips than he could anywhere else in the city, calls her at one in the morning. It’s one of the rare those rare nights when she actually got to sleep early-ish. She gropes for it in the dark.
“McPherson.”
“Willa, it’s Kyle. Get down here.”
“Where are you?”
“Work. Come now, and bring cash. I’ve got a story for you. Hurry.”
“How much?”
“For this? Ten grand.”
“Ten? I can’t do ten. I can do two now if it’s good. If it’s a cover you can get maybe another five during normal business hours.”
“Fine. Just hurry.”
Kyle hangs up and Willa barely has time to pull her hair up and get dressed into something presentable. She fumbles with her keys and she runs a red light. She barely remembers to stop and get the money from a couple of the banks the magazine has petty cash accounts with, and Lucy doesn’t pick up when Will calls her cell. But she’ll call back, Willa knows.
When she arrives, Willa tosses her keys to the valet and goes around to the back. Kyle is waiting for her, all six and a half rippling, golden feet of him. He looks at her like he wants to see the black Chanel slip dress she’s wearing on his floor. She’s taken that ride before and he’s good, but this isn’t about pleasure. This is all business. At least until she has her story.
“What’ve you got for me?”
He grins at her. “You’re gonna like this. Come on.” He puts his hand on her the base of her back and guides her inside.
It’s been a while since Willa’s been in a gay bar, but they’re all the same. It’s full of beautiful boys with glistening chests, pulsing lights, floor-shaking dance music. But Kyle leads her around the edges to the bathrooms.
She gets a couple of raised eyebrows as she follows him in, and what she sees make her wish Lucy had picked up. The stalls are all full, two, three, sometimes four pairs of feet under each one.
What Kyle wanted to show her is pressed up against the tile between the first of the stalls and the urinals. She recognizes his black curls, crazy blue eyes and cheekbones that even she’s jealous of. Her breath catches for a moment as his famous face tilts back and up to the fluorescent lights under the attention of unpainted lips on his neck.
Don Konkey should be here with his camera because this is gorgeous and it’s a cover if she’s ever seen one. She won’t be able to do it justice.
All the same, she pulls out the digital camera she hid in her purse, turns off the flash, and snaps half a dozen pictures of the homoeroticism laid out against the tile wall in front of her. She checks the pictures quickly and quietly before placing it back into her purse and sighs contentedly. Kyle wraps his arm around her waist and tugs her back into him.
“How’d I do?” he asks, lips brushing her earlobe.
“You did so fucking good,” she sighs, fishing out the bill fold. She pushes into his front pocket, her fingers grazing his package as she does so. “Gold star shit, Kyle.”
Three tweaking crystal queens emerge from one of the stalls, and to show her appreciation and because it’s been awhile, she fucks Kyle quick and dirty in the empty stall. After all, she wouldn’t want the blatant act of heterosexuality to offend the clientele.
They finish, and when she steps out of the stall and adjusts her dress, her story has left. She has her cell phone out and is dialing Lucy. She picks up on the third ring and Willa isn’t even tired anymore.
~*~*~
Lucy spends the night thinking about it, and in the end calls Shauna out of courtesy. The pictures Willa got are good. If she gives Don twenty-four hours with the digital images or a week on his own to go off on assignment, he could make them cover material, she’s got no doubt.
But Shauna’s done good by her over the years. They knew each other back when both of them were at the bottom of the barrel and their careers have risen pretty much at the same pace. She’s always at the top of Shauna’s call sheet and she figures that not only is fair fair, but that she’d rather not lose such unfettered access to the host of other celebs under Shauna’s wing.
So she flips through the pictures and dials.
“Shauna, it’s Lucy Spiller at DirtNow.”
“Lucy, what can I do you for?”
“I’ve got some rather interesting information about one of your clients that I think you need to know about.”
“What kind of information?”
“The kind where you, Vincent Chase and his management all need to come down to my office as soon as possible.”
There’s a pause and she can hear Shauna breathing. “How deep is Vince in it?”
“He’s under, Shauna. You should hurry.”
“I’ll be there.” There’s another long pause. “Thanks for not fucking my boy on this one, Lucy.”
“You’re welcome. Two hours?”
“Better make it three if you can.”
“I can.”
They don’t say good-bye, and Lucy looks back down at the pictures and wonders if maybe some of Don’s newly found sanity isn’t rubbing off on her.
Vince Chase has a beautiful face, she thinks as she calls Don. She wedges her cell between her shoulder and ear as he picks up.
“Hi, Lucy.”
“Don, can you come back by the office around noon?”
“Yeah, I can do that. Got a story?”
She changes the order of the pictures so that the one with Vince’s eyes open is first and the one with him biting his lower lip is last. “Yeah and it’s a big one.”
He sighs heavily and she feels a little less guilty than she used to back when his medication wasn’t really doing it for him. Don doesn’t like hurting people, and she gets that, but she’s not looking to ruin Vincent Chase. He puts out good movies and when it comes to the press he’s one of the more understanding celebrities she’s dealt with over the years. She loves the chase, but sometimes it’s nice to have it easy.
She makes phone calls about the latest Branjelina scandal, adjusts the order on the Lindsey Lohan hospital stay copy, and she tears Farber a new asshole, because there is no way she can let him get away with witnessing the Katie Holmes fender-bender and not managing to get at least a few pictures, or a good sound bite of her cursing up a storm in front of her little alien baby.
Don shows up at eleven-thirty with sandwiches and pictures of Claire Leland that gives them direction but nothing serious, and that pretty much fills her morning until Kenny raps on her doorframe.
“Vincent Chase is here to see you?” It’s more a question than a statement.
“Send him in.”
Don’s sitting on her desk when Vince and his little entourage file in. There are three of them, Vince, Shauna and a short redheaded man named Murphy whose first name escapes her. She recognizes him though, from the fight.
“Hello Vince,” Lucy says, smiling at him.
He smiles right back and yeah, he’s got it. One in a million confidence to go with the insane good looks. “Hey.”
“You want to tell us what this is about?” Murphy asks. He’s her height, shorter when she's in her heels. But he’s all Hollywood power under a thick New York accent.
She glances over at Kenny. “That’ll be all Kenny. Shut the door behind you.”
He nods and disappears lightening quick, skittish and nervous, his skin pale and pasty. He’s a good assistant and amusing but he’s just not cut out for this.
“So what’s this about, Lucy?” Shauna asks. Vince has dropped his long frame into one of her chairs and he looks at home there.
She looks at Vince, into eyes that are the same color as pools of water in the Caribbean and asks “Vince, what were you doing at the Factory last night?”
Murphy looks sharply at Vince, who shifts uncomfortably. “What’ve you got?” Vince asks, and Murphy’s mouth actually drops for a second before he snaps it shut and clenches his jaw.
“I’ve got eight by tens of you and some cute bleach-blond twink doing the bad thing in the bathroom.” She pushes the photos his way. “Funny thing, I don’t remember that being in Aquaman.”
Murphy snatches the pictures from her hand and draws in a sharp breath. “Jesus Christ Vince, you’re lying to me now?”
“I said I was going out last night. I didn’t say where.”
“This is the sort of thing you’re supposed to fucking tell me about - as your manager if not as your best goddamn friend.”
“Enough boys,” Shauna bites out. Lucy can see lines of tension in her face. “What do you want, Lucy? What’ve we got to do for you to sit on this?”
“I don’t know? It’s a pretty juicy story.”
“Vince’s movie just came out,” Murphy says. “And it’s Oscar season. If this story breaks you’ll ruin him.”
“Should’ve been more careful,” Lucy says and Don shifts uncomfortably. He gets off the desk and moves to stand by the wall, hands twitching. She knows he hates this part. “But I saw And So We Fall and you were good. Word is that you’re a shoe-in for best leading actor and I want an exclusive. I want the full story from Vince’s mouth - after he wins the Oscar. I want it unscripted and unedited, but it is a chance for you to come out your own way. And I want Don to have unfettered access to you leading up to the Oscars for pictures and anything we might need afterwards.”
“Done,” Vince says and Shauna slaps him on the back of the head.
“Shut up, Vincent.”
“You might want to let Vince decide for himself. Vince, this is the only offer you’re going to get. Exclusivity agreement with DirtNow will make this whole thing go away until you’re ready to control it, and I’m being generous. These pictures are worth millions and I think you know that.”
“You’re a real bitch, you know that?” Murphy snaps and Lucy smirks.
“I did actually.”
“Is he someone special?” Don asks, jarring them all out of the loop they’re caught in. Four pairs of eyes turn to him. He adjusts his hat on his balding head and looks Vince in the eye. “The man in the picture, is he special?”
It’s a leading question, an important one, and Lucy turns sharply so she can watch Vince’s reaction. The cool countenance he’s had since he walked in the door falters some, falls. He shakes his head.
“No. Him… he’s nobody.”
Don tilts his head and this, Lucy thinks, is why she keeps hiring him. Not because they’re best friends, not because she loves him more than her own brother, and not because sometimes - hell, a lot of the time - he needs someone to take care of him. No, he’s damn fucking good at his job and he can get inside people like no one she’s ever seen.
“But there is somebody, then,” Don muses. “A man.”
“Don’t answer that Vince,” Murphy orders.
Vince turns to look at him and Lucy knows. She knows right then and there exactly where her story is.
“I’ll do your interview,” he says. Then he looks at Don. “And you can have your pictures.”
Lucy grins. “Excellent. Pleasure doing business with you.”
“Go fuck yourself,” Murphy mutters, pushing out of her office. Vince watches him go and sighs.
“I’d better…” he trails off and follows him.
“You’re a stone cold cunt, Spiller,” Shauna says. But she holds out a hand. “But I know you didn’t have to do this.”
“I wasn’t kidding,” Lucy says. “It is a pleasure doing business with you.”
“Yeah, yeah. Call me before you send your pet paparazzi over, okay?”
“Unfettered means unfettered.”
“I know. It’ll just make organizing easier. Don’t be a fucking bitch about this, all right?”
“Too late.”
When Shauna leaves, Don slumps in one of the chairs across from her, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.
“So what do you think?”
“I think he’s in love with his manager. I think that he’s not comfortable with his sexuality and I think he’s scared.”
“You saw it too.”
“Yeah. It’s kind of sad.” Don looked up at her. “Lucy, this isn’t going to be a bad one is it?”
“I don’t know, Don. I think that really depends on Vince, don’t you?”
Don sighs and slides down a little. But he nods and frowns and she knows that he’ll do it.
Don floats around the edge of Vince’s life, his mansion, and his friends on and off for all of February, and what Lucy ends up with is a series of photos that would make a really great human interest piece in Time or a profile in Elle Magazine. It’s not exactly DirtNow material though.
“Go back, and get me something else.” She says. “Get me an actual story. He’s going to win the Oscar, Don; it needs to be something solid.”
“It’s in there, Lucy.” He insists. “It’s just not a scandal.”
Vince thanks Ari Gold when he wins his Oscar for best actor in a leading role. He thanks his mother and his brother, Johnny. He thanks the director, and he thanks his friend Turtle and when he thanks Eric Murphy he sort of stumbles, stutters. Lucy sits with her fingers pressed together, eyes glued to her plasma as he says “This is for you, E” and walks down.
She calls Shauna between his win and the award for best director. She picks up on the first ring.
“He’s a golden boy, our Vincent.”
“Can he meet tomorrow for that interview?”
“Not until evening. Dinner?” Shauna offers.
“Spago?”
“I’ll take care of it. He’ll meet you there at nine.”
“I don’t want his manager there.”
“I can’t promise you that.”
“You can or the pictures will hit the website tomorrow night.” Shauna sighs loudly in her ear. Lucy smirks. “The table is under Spiller. I’ll see the big winner at nine.”
Vince is waiting for her when she gets there. He’s got a glass of wine in one hand and is leaning back in his chair. They’re in the back, one of the private rooms that are meant to seat twelve. The bottle he’s picked is about thirty years older than he is, a red that gleams in the low light.
“Well, if it isn’t the Wicked Witch of the West,” he says, toasting her. “Bout time you got here. You’re late.”
She slides into the seat cross from him. She hangs her purse on the back of an adjacent chair and fishes out a mini-recorder. She tosses it on the table between them. “You’re drunk.”
He shrugs. “I’m lubricated. I thought you wanted me to talk. You didn’t say anything about my blood alcohol content.” He holds up the bottle. “Want some?”
“Maybe after the interview.”
“If there’s any left,” Vince says. He adds a little more wine to his glass. It pours out red like blood. “So you wanted to ask me questions. Shoot.”
“How do you think this is going to happen?”
“I think you’re going to grill me and I’m going to try not to lie.” He gave her a plastic smile. “Hence the cabernet. You sure you don’t want any?”
“I’m sure. Let’s talk about your speech.”
“Which one?”
“Your Oscar speech.”
“You don’t want to talk about the guy from the Factory?”
“We can talk about him if you want. What’s his name?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Are we on the record?”
“Not yet. Do you want to be?”
“Not really.” She watches him shift in his seat and look her in the eyes. They’re so blue. “Look, Lucy, you’re hot and you don’t seem to have a conscience so why don’t you just tell me what it is you want from me?”
She lifts an eyebrow. “I want the truth.”
He shakes his head and some of his curls fall into his eyes. “Well off the record, the truth’s boring, Lucy. The truth is that I live a reasonably quiet life with my friends and my dog. Sometimes I like to fuck guys just to mix things up.”
“Well off the record, that’s bullshit. You really don’t expect me to buy that do you?”
“I expect you to do what you want with whatever I tell you. You’ve got pictures of me and a guy and that’s all you need. You could have just made shit up. So what do you want from me?”
“I already told you.”
“Right. The truth.” He jerked his head at her. “Tell me what you think that truth is.”
Lucy pursed her lips and hit record on the recorder. “Let’s talk about your acceptance speech.”
“What about it?”
He looks genuinely confused and that’s fantastic. She likes Vince. She likes him a lot, but it’s been a long time since she’s had to make someone dig inside themselves. Usually she has to do all the damn digging.
“It was an interesting speech.”
“Yeah. Well, I didn’t really think about it before hand. I didn’t think I’d win. E, my manager Eric, he said I should write something down but I’ve never been a planner.”
“Eric thought you’d win?”
“Yeah. He tried to make me brainstorm in the limo on the way to the Kodak, but I was kind of buzzing on stress and nerves and didn’t listen.” He grinned and twisted the glass in his hands. It’s a nervous gesture and if they were playing poker, she’d know he had nothing in his hand. “And then you get up there and it’s all bright lights and adrenaline and thinking doesn’t really factor in. I guess that’s why he wanted me to make notes in advance.” He chuckles, mostly to himself. “Did I say anything stupid?”
“You keep talking about Eric Murphy. You dedicated your Oscar to him. I thought that was strange.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “He’s my manager.”
“Yeah. But he’s not your father or your brother or your boyfriend. Most people dedicate awards to family.”
He leans toward her, face grim. “He is family. He’s been my best friend since we’re six years old and there is not another person on this planet who knows me better than he does.”
“But he didn’t know you were…what, gay? Bisexual?”
“This interview isn’t about him.”
“No, it’s about you and your life. And isn’t Eric Murphy a big part of it?”
“I’m not going to let you turn him into a story.”
She tilts her head. “Is he?”
“No.”
“Because if you’re in love with him, that’s a story.”
Vince pushes back from the table. His glass of wine was mostly empty but the move sends it toppling over and spills over the pristine white table cloth in a pink stain. “Fuck you.”
“Sit down.”
“Post your fucking pictures, lady. Just leave me alone.”
“Vince, sit down. We can talk about this.”
He wraps his arms around himself and glares at her. His eyes are two chips of blue glass in his face, and she’s glad that looks can’t cut or she’d be bleeding. Of course, if she were, it’d be worth it.
“Take a deep breath and we can talk this out.”
He doesn’t sit. “There is no ‘this’ to talk about.”
“Well, clearly there is or you wouldn’t have freaked out like your hair just caught fire. So why don’t you talk to me about it?”
He doesn’t answer her. His face is a mask but that’s actors for you. They live by their ability to hide behind other personalities. His eyes can’t hide though. He’s terrified. She reaches out and hits stop on the recorder.
“Off the record - are you in love with your manager?”
“E’s my best friend,” Vince says, his voice soft and steady. “He’s been my best friend my whole fucking life. More than twenty-five years it’s been me and him against the whole fucking world. Do you have a friend like that?”
She nods. “I do.”
“What’s their name?”
“Don.”
“Don Konkey? The little photographer guy that’s been hanging around?” She nods and he laughs. “Weird. You two are like, the original odd couple. So, are you in love with him?”
Her face tightens as she remembers college. There was a year or so there, right before Don got sick, before the world fell down around them, when she’d thought she might be. But then he’d started talking to his cat and the walls of his apartment started bleeding and he tried to kill himself, and anything she might have thought was there wasn’t anymore. Not like it could’ve been.
“No, but I can pretty much promise you that the situation isn’t the same at all.”
“Why?”
“Because your manager probably isn’t severely mentally ill.”
“It wouldn’t change things if he was.”
Lucy says nothing at that because honestly, Vince has no idea. No one does until they live it.
“It’s okay if you are in love with him, you know. I wouldn’t write that story to make it look cheap or invalid. My brother’s gay, Vince. And I don’t disrespect him because of that. I disrespect him because he’s a flake.”
“I’m a flake.”
“Flakes don’t live with friends they’ve had since they were children,” Lucy counters. “Flakes don’t work their asses off on Oscar-winning movies. Flakes don’t love someone they’ve known for twenty-five years.”
He starts to pace as she speaks but he comes to a halt when her words stop.
“Don’t put words in my mouth.”
She sighs and runs a hand through the long black fall of her hair. She’s suddenly wishing she took him up on that drink. “I’m not.”
“You are.”
“Fine. Then tell me the truth. That’s all I want Vince. I want to know the story.”
“Off the record?”
“Vince, all of this is supposed to be on the record. That was the deal, remember? That I’ve gone off the record at all is a courtesy, not a requirement.”
“There is no story.”
“I thought you said you’d try not to lie to me?”
He throws himself almost violently into his chair. It shakes the whole table, but Lucy wasn’t really expecting it and she has to force herself not to flinch at the sudden move.
“That I’ve had the hots for my best friend since I was fourteen isn’t news, Lucy. It’s boring to everyone but E who’s going to stop repping me and stop speaking to me if he ever finds out. And then I’ll be out a manager and a best friend, but hey, you’ll have a boring, shitty-ass blurb. So it’s worth it, right?”
“Maybe.” She says, pushing the record button back down.
He scrubs his face with his hands. His palms pull his bangs tightly back from his forehead as he speaks. “Look, just publish the fucking pictures of me and that guy, okay? Call me a huge queen; say that I’ve got a secret life, whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t bring up E in your goddamn article.”
That’s interesting. Because Shauna would make her spin the unrequited love thing in Vince’s favor. It was all very tragic in a Brokeback Mountain kind of way, and that’s been big since Heath Ledger’s death. But the pictures? They’re just tawdry - like Hugh Grant with that whore.
“You’d really rather fuck up your career than risk your friendship with Eric?”
“I would rather jump off the roof of the U.S. Bank Tower.”
He says it flatly. There’s no fear or hesitation and she doesn’t doubt him at all. She’s also convinced of what her story is, really. She wonders if Don knew it when he gave her his series of photos.
“Because you’re in love with him.”
“You’re not going to make me say it on your fucking recording.”
“That’s as good as right there.”
“No, it’s not. Stop trying to make me.”
“I just want the truth.”
Vince rights his wine glass and picks up the bottle of cabernet. He pours himself half a glass, downs it in one go, then looks at her through the sticky-wet glass. “I like both girls and guys. I like making movies. I like LA. I like my life. That’s the truth.”
“That’s part of the truth, yeah. It’s not the whole truth.”
“You’re not a cop and I’m not under oath.”
“No, and it’s not a crime for you to want to fuck your roommate. But you just won an Oscar so that does make it a point of interest to my readers. ”
“None of your readers even know who the hell E is.”
“They don’t have to. They know who you are.” She says and she can actually see his shoulders sag. It feels like a conquest. “Tell me about your first time.”
“Thirteen, Eric’s cousin Sheryl in his basement, she was two years older than me and she thought I was pretty so she let me go all the way. Sixteen, Jimmy Leery blew me backstage during a dress rehearsal of the King and I.” He pours himself more wine. “I’m not much of a top, with men or women. Anything else you want to know? Favorite position? Number of partners? Preferred condom company?”
Lucy can’t help but grin at that. He’s good. She’s better. “I like Magnum.”
“Me too. Astroglide or Wet?”
“Wet.”
“You’re such a girl.”
“I’ve heard a rumor about that somewhere. So Astroglide then?”
“I don’t really like the water-based stuff.”
“It’s always worked for me,” Lucy counters then changes track fast, hoping to jar an answer from him. “How’ve you managed to keep your friends and family from finding out up until now if you’ve been with men in addition to women since you were sixteen?”
“I’m from Queens.” Vince says into his drink. “You don’t talk about shit like that where I grew up. If you like guys you’re not bi, or even gay. You’re a faggot. A fucking pansy queer. And the guys who you thought were your friends are the ones knocking your teeth into your throat.”
“Some friends. Are you speaking from experience?” She asks, leaning in to him.
“I still have my friends, so obviously I’m not.” Vince shrugs and pours himself yet another glass. She knows that he’s not a big drinker normally but there’s only half a bottle left. “How do you think I did it?”
She sighs and takes the bottle from him. This is going to take a while, she can tell. She pours herself a glass - just one. “I don’t know. That’s why I asked.”
“I screwed bellmen in service elevators and blew waiters in bathrooms. I snuck around. I lied. Mostly I lied. Habit I guess.”
“Is habit why you never told Eric you were in love with him? Because you were afraid he’d turn into just another guy from the neighborhood and punch your teeth in?”
Vince shook his head. “E wouldn’t hit me unless I deserved it.”
“And what constitutes deserving it?”
“Fucking his girlfriend or his sister, Maggie, probably. Anything else and I don’t think he’d throw the first punch.”
“But he would hit back?”
“Your magazine covered his fight with Billy Walsh a few years ago.”
She smiled around the rim of the glass. That hadn’t been a cover, neither Murphy nor Walsh were big enough to warrant it, but it had been a great two-page spread on page twelve. “We did.”
“Then you know the answer to that already.”
“Do you regret not being able to be out? Choosing the business over your personal life.”
It’s Vince’s turn to lift a brow. “It’s not like I’ve got a boyfriend tucked away somewhere. I don’t have a girlfriend either. I don’t really do monogamy, so it’s not like the sacrifice was that big.”
She swirls the liquid around in her glass. “Don’t do or haven’t done?”
He looks at her with wide, slightly glassy eyes. “There’s a difference?”
“Pretty big one.”
“I’ll take your word on that. ”
“Have you ever been in love?”
“Yes.”
“With Mandy Moore?”
“Yeah. She was…” He laughs. “She was actually kind of a bitch. I think your word is flake. But I was nuts about her. Really.”
He sighs and rubs at one of his eyebrows. Then he looks into her eyes again. Over the course of this interview, she’s come to realize that it’s something he does when he wants her to know that he’s not kidding around. It says to her, this is me speaking, not my people or my career, just me.
“Mandy’s a big reason why I don’t really like it when the word ‘gay’ gets thrown around. If I were gay, I wouldn’t have wanted her as bad as I did. I wouldn’t have wanted a tenth of the women I want the way I do. But my world’s just not so small that women’re the only ones I want, and I’m okay with that. If the industry and the neighborhood didn’t care, I wouldn’t care.”
She smiles. That’s one hell of a sound bite right there. “Okay. Have you ever been in love with a man?”
Vince takes a drink and it’s an incredibly telling non-answer.
“Have you?”
“Yeah.”
“With who?”
He looks down at the stained tablecloth. “It really doesn’t matter who. You got your answer.”
“Right. I thought so.”
“Listen, they’re going to close in like…” he pulls out his cell phone, “twenty minutes, do you have any more questions?”
“Not this time. I think you should think about what I’ve asked you, Vince. Make some choices before our next interview.”
Vince blinks at her. “Next interview?”
“Yeah.” She smiles at him. “I’m thinking this is an ongoing story, don’t you? Tonight, we talked mostly about the Oscars. Next time, we’ll talk about something else.”
Vince stares at her silently as she collects her bag. She finishes her glass of wine and sets the empty glass down on the table.
“I’ll send Don by your place in the next few weeks for some pictures for the next piece.”
He’s still staring as she rises to her feet and walks confidently out of the room.
~*~*~
It’s been a long time since Don’s done a long assignment like this. The Sharlee Cates thing doesn’t count. Dr. Shalba says that he shouldn’t consider something he got so personally involved in as a job. It’s part of building boundaries.
But hanging around Vincent Chase’s house isn’t exactly the same. There’s a little less chaos, but the four people that make up this family unit are orbiting each other out of sync and he’s been feeling it since they first met.
Eric Murphy’s shorter than he is, but he’s big stuff in this group. His personality takes up more space than anyone else and his anger’s practically a physical thing. It makes Don want to be anywhere else.
It’s not too bad though. Johnny Drama Chase meets him at the door the first day looking tired but welcoming. He doesn’t comment on how it’s a little weird that the guy answering the door is the only one of the group who doesn’t live in the house.
“You the photographer?”
“I’m Don Konkey. You’re Johnny Drama. You’re currently in a supporting role on Five Towns, but your role as the bookie in Queens Boulevard was probably your strongest role to date. Viking Quest was good too though. Travold had a lot of emotional range, even though it didn’t get a second season. You were good on Melrose place too.”
“You know my work,” Johnny preens. He’s got self-esteem deficits, Don notices. But he seems like a pretty good guy.
“I’m a fan.”
Don’s a fan of most actors. He likes actors. He likes movies and TV. They’re detached from reality and so is he. Was he. He gets confused sometimes. But Johnny doesn’t care, he’s just happy that Don likes his work.
There’s a lot of white in the house. It comes off as sterile and kind of cold, but lived in - in a transitional sort of way. It’s not the kind of place that any of them seem like they belong in but he doesn’t say anything.
For the first couple days, he mostly sits quietly on their couch with his camera in his lap and watches them, listens to their conversations. It’s all pretty shallow. Johnny keeps flipping channels and stopping to ask Vince who he thinks is attractive.
“What about him?”
“I don’t know, Drama.”
“You have to have an opinion.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re all sexual beings, Vince. Come on, on a scale of one to ten. Aesthetically, he’s at least five.”
“Nobody wants to hear this shit, Drama,” Turtle cuts in. “Leave him be and just let us watch the fucking movie, okay?”
“Just because you’re uncomfortable with Vince’s sexuality-“
“I’m not uncomfortable. I just don’t wanna hear about it when I’m trying to watch Bruce Willis blow shit up.”
The conversation is one that gets repeated in several variations. It’s a coping mechanism. Johnny Drama isn’t really comfortable and this is his way of showing his brother that he doesn’t mind, really, even if he does.
He can tell that Turtle knew before the pictures got taken. His apathy is genuine, even if it is tinged with a little discomfort, and Don doesn’t push him. He doesn’t push any of them. They’re all pushed pretty far as it is.
Vince is mostly quiet. He wears clothes that are a collegiate equivalent to Don’s shabby wardrobe. He doesn’t usually go out when Turtle or Johnny offer. He listens to music on his headphones and he sits out on the patio and stares down at the city below.
Don knows that he’s mildly depressed. He’s been on medication that’s given him severe depression, so he knows what it looks like. Also, he read somewhere that coming out later in life can be traumatic, and given the way Eric Murphy’s been avoiding Vince, Don’s not surprised.
It’s not obvious, but Eric sticks to the edge of the room as far from Vince as possible when they’re all together. He sits at opposite ends of tables or couches. They don’t make eye contact, and every time they don’t, Vince’s face falls and Turtle shifts uncomfortably.
“So what do you think?” Turtle asks. He’s taking pictures of Vince sleeping on a chaise and he almost drops the camera.
“I’m not thinking anything.”
“Bullshit. You think I don’t see you watchin’? That’s what you get paid for.”
“I just take pictures.”
“Yeah, but you’re taking pictures of my boy Vin. So what do you see?”
He fiddles with the focus of his camera. “I see an actor and person. What do you see?”
“It don’t matter. What matters is that you’re here ‘cause of the gay thing.”
“I think the term he prefers is bisexual.”
“Whatever. You’re here because Vince likes to fuck guys.”
“I’m here because Lucy wants pictures to go with her story.”
“And the story is that Vince’s all Queer as Folk and shit.” Turtle sighs and fishes something out of his pocket. It’s a joint. He lights it and offers it to Don. Don shakes his head.
“I can’t. It interferes with my medication.”
“Medication?”
“I’m a paranoid schizophrenic.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
Turtle takes a puff and shakes his head. “And I thought we had problems.”
“It’s not so bad.” Don says, and it’s true. There are actually things he misses about being actively delusional, like long conversations with Tristan Jr.
“Still. Puts shit in perspective. At least Vince ain’t schizo.”
“He’s not happy though.”
“No,” Turtle mutters. “Nobody’s fucking happy right now, which is fucked up because Vince just won a goddamn Oscar. It should be a twenty-four hour party around here, instead it’s like somebody died.”
“I’ve heard that coming out late in life is a trauma equivalent with losing a child.”
“He’s been out to me for the last seven years, and he’s known who he is since we were kids. This shit ain’t news, you know? E’s what’s fucking everything up.”
“Vince’s carelessness caused the inciting incident,” Don counters. “How’s that Eric’s fault?”
“It’s Eric’s fault for freaking out like a little bitch about the whole thing. So Vince likes cock. Big fucking deal. It’s not like he’d ever make a move on one of us.”
Maybe that’s the problem, Don thinks. “Rationality doesn’t always win out in situations like this.”
“Yeah, well, E needs to pull his head out of his ass. Vince isn’t listening to me.”
Don has nothing to say to that. He doesn’t know how to fix his own life - his brother, and his ethical issues with his job. He certainly doesn’t know how to fix a movie star’s.
“Maybe you should talk to him. Tell him what you see.”
“You think he’ll actually listen to me?”
“I don’t know.”
Turtle nods then holds out the joint again. “You sure you don’t want some.”
“I’m sure.”
Turtle nods and they sit quietly while Turtle finishes it off. Then he rises and heads into the back of the house. Don takes a picture of him as he goes, catches the solemnity in his profile the second that it’s actually visible.
Eric pins him down two days later. It’s a Saturday and Don had come over early at Vince’s invitation. They guys were all supposed to go out that evening and Vince suggested that Don come with, get a look at them in their natural habitat. He’d smiled as he said it but it didn’t go all the way to his eyes.
“What’d you say to Turtle?” Is Eric’s question. He sits on one of the love seats, bent over with his elbows on his knee and his hands clasped together. The watch he’s wearing is expensive but not frivolous, and he’s got on a long-sleeve tailored shirt despite the fact that it’s Los Angeles and almost never gets cooler than 70 degrees. It’s the same color blue as Vince’s eyes. Don wonders if that’s intentional and doubts it.
The house is mostly empty. Turtle is out with Vince running some kind of errand, and Johnny Drama is at work. It’s just him and the dog Arnold until Eric arrives. He’s glad he’s there. He’s not particularly comfortable with dogs, especially not big ones like Arnold. He’s more of a cat person.
“I don’t know. When?”
“When you told him to come talk to me. What did you say?”
Don rubs his balding head. The roughness of what little hair he has left is grounding. He wishes there was no rule about wearing hats inside. His head’s a little cold and he wants to put his hat back on. “About what?”
“About Vince.”
Eric’s voice is a warning. He cares a lot but he’s scared. There’s a lot of fear in his voice. Don’s real familiar with fear and how it makes you stupid and angry.
“I told him that I didn’t think that Vince was happy,” Don says honestly.
Eric’s wound pretty tight. And he remembers when Lucy did the spread on his fight with Billy Walsh. Walsh has a few inches and about thirty pounds on Don, and Eric still took him down, no problem. He’s not looking to get hit today. It’s that risk aversion thing he’s been developing since the medication started working. It makes him want to avoid confrontations, especially physical ones.
Eric just looks at him, surprised and a little hurt. “Your boss didn’t out him. He’s got his pick of movies. He just won an Oscar, for god’s sake. Of course he’s happy.”
“I just think he’d be happier if you didn’t avoid him,” Don says without thinking. It’s the truth but that doesn’t make it a smart thing to say.
“I’m not avoiding him.”
“Are you going out with him and Turtle and Johnny tonight?”
“I have work.”
Don nods. Of course he does. “Okay.”
Eric sits back and shakes his head. It’s not directed at Don, more at the universe in general. He rises abruptly to his feet. “Tell Vince we’ve got Ari tomorrow at eight if you see him before I do.” Eric says. Then before Don can answer adds, “Thanks.”
Vince and Eric pass each other coming and going. Eric is on his way out, Vince is on his way in and it is awkward. Don watches from the hallway and it’s one of the most uncomfortable interactions he’s seen in a long time. Eric mentions Ari and the time they need to go tomorrow, then breezes out without much more said, back straight and shoulders tense. He doesn’t meet Vince’s eyes once.
It surprises nobody that Vince drinks a lot that night. Turtle and Johnny try to keep him in check but eventually they give up. Don doesn’t drink because of his medication so after a while, they leave Vince with him.
“Just for a half hour,” Johnny assures him. “I just need a breather.”
“Sure,” Don says, nodding. Turtle and Johnny both look insanely relieved and scurry off quickly, leaving him alone with Vince.
They’re in a quiet back corner of the club, and Vince’s fingers are tapping on his thighs in time to the pulsing techno-hip hop remix. His eyes are closed and he could almost be sleeping if it weren’t for the rhythmic movement, and the fact that his lips are moving.
“Are you okay?” Don asks and Vince cracks an eye.
“Yeah. I’m peachy. I’m just fucking awesome, Donny. How’re you?”
“I’m okay.”
“Good. Wouldn’t want to disappoint you. I like to show my guests a good time.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want to. After all, it’s nice to be with someone who’s not treating me like I don’t exist or I’m going to shatter. I’m not going to break, you know. I’m not. I’m a fucking Academy Award winning actor, Don. I made it. I’m not going to break over this shit.”
“You sound angry,” Don says, adjusting his hat on his head. He doesn’t really like to see people vulnerable. He doesn’t know why they feel the need to show him that.
“Well, I’m starting to miss being bullied, Don, and that makes me angry.”
“I’m sorry.” Don scratches the side of his neck.
“It’s fine. It was just better than indifference.”
“No one wants to be ignored,” Don agrees. He’s been marginalized before. People tend to stop listening to you when you start hearing voices and African tribal masks come to life and talk to you.
“At least Dom gave a big enough shit to take the time and energy to actually bully me, you know? He was the first one to find out, back in New York. He caught me with this guy from the drama club when I was, like, seventeen. And once he knew, he’d called me at 3am for bail money or to help him pull in pussy. And he knew I’d hop to it because if I didn’t he’d tell E. Well now E knows, and I’m wondering if I can get that money back.” He laughs and it’s forced and hollow. “Not that I need it.
“Because he knew you were in love with Eric?”
Vince shrugs and lets his head fall back. “It doesn’t really matter at this point, does it?”
“I don’t know. I guess it could.”
“It doesn’t because he’s pretty much gone, Don. Which is the whole fucking reason I didn’t tell him in the first place.”
“Him, Eric?”
“No, him Dom. Yeah, him Eric. I went from being best friends with him Eric to being persona non fucking grata, and I don’t fucking like it. So you can tell Lucy that if she asks. Tell her it wasn’t fucking worth it.”
Don is not the person Vince should be saying this to. But it’s not his place to say so. It’s really not. In fact, it’s not really even his place to hear this stuff. He has no idea who this Dom guy is or how he fits into the Vince-centric planetary system. He just cares that he’s neck deep in a group of people that are hurting, and he doesn’t want to be there anymore. He has enough hurt of his own to cope with.
“Okay.”
Vince rolls his eyes at him and fumbles for his drink. He toasts Don with it then takes a long slug. “Okay then.”
He has to help Turtle and Johnny carry him out of the club.
“He don’t drink like this normally,” Johnny Drama says, like he feels the need to explain. Don suspects there’s alcoholism in the Chase family because of the way Johnny’s eyes shadow as he speaks, but he doesn’t comment. He just nods and helps the two of them get Vince onto the couch before heading to his own home.
~*~*~
Lucy’s picked him to do the profile on Eric Murphy and Vincent Chase. Farber’s not exactly sure why. After all, this was Willa’s find. But she sends him out with a recorder and a camera and tells him that she wants the back story on the Murphy/Chase partnership.
She’s still sitting on the gay pictures of Vince. He hasn’t seen them but he’s heard about them. He doesn’t fuck her anymore but Willa still talks to him. Or rather, she gloats.
But he figures the only reason he’s supposed to interview both of them together is because, well, they’re together. And that’s cool. He kind of wants to do something positive for the gay community after what happened with Willa fucking over Mitch Stanton. So the least he can do is make these guys look good.
Don comes with him, camera slung over his shoulder, looking quiet and uncomfortable. Farber doesn’t know what to make of Don, but he’s an okay guy and Vince seems to know him. Like him. He actually talks to Don, friendly and familiar where he’s cool and distant to Farber.
“So where’s Eric?” Farber asks. “He’s supposed to be there for this, isn’t he?”
“Is he?” Vince asks. His face looks strained and Farber wonders if they’re fighting or something.
“Yeah. It’s supposed to be a profile of both of you. Together. I mean, from what I understand you two are pretty much a package deal.”
“Then I guess he’s coming down. I mean, I can go upstairs and get him.”
“Yeah, that’d be good.” Farber says. Don makes a small noise in the back of his throat and shifts uneasily on the ottoman on which he’s perched.
Vince nods and rises. He leaves, and Farber has to contend himself with looking around the living room because Don isn’t talking. There’s a bong in the corner, a nice one, not some homemade dorm-room job. There’s a PS3, an Xbox, and a Wii by the TV. The stack of DVD’s is about five feet high. But there are no pictures, nothing feminine about the place at all. It kind of reminds him of his old frat house actually.
Vince comes back with a short redhead at his heels and really, that’s not what Farber was expecting. He’s straight but Vince Chase is kind of like Johnny Depp or Brad Pitt - everyone can admit that he’s gorgeous. It doesn’t compromise your sexuality to concede that point.
He was just expecting Vince’s guy to be an Angelina Jolie. The guy isn’t ugly or anything but he’s pretty average. And most superstars don’t really go for average. The fact that Vince does makes Farber like him more.
He holds out his hand to Eric. “I’m Farber Kauffman.”
Eric’s shake is short but firm. “Eric Murphy. You had some questions?”
“Yeah. I’m supposed to get a profile of you two for DirtNow, so I’m kind of curious about your background, where you guys come from, how you know each other, that kind of thing.”
They’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, Farber notices. He wonders if that’s because they’re not technically out or if he was right before and they’ve been fighting.
Vince sprawls out, relaxed and confident. He opens a hand to Farber. “Shoot.”
“So, how’d you two meet?”
“We grew up together, went to the same elementary school,” Eric says.
“P.S. 154 in Queens,” Vince adds. “And we lived like two blocks away from each other. We’ve been best friends since we were six.”
“And you’ve managed to sustain a friendship over twenty-five years,” Farber says, more than a little surprised. He can’t remember anyone he knew when he was six. “That’s impressive.”
Vince looks at Eric and there’s pain in his eyes. Want. It makes Farber uncomfortable but he says nothing. Vince is the one who speaks instead. “Yeah, I think so. He’s always been there for me. He’s always had my back. ”
“And I take it you’ve had his?”
“Of course. Always.”
“How about you, Eric?”
Eric’s arms are folded over his chest. “What about me?”
“Your relationship with Vince. Tell me about your side.”
Eric shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s always been me and Vince. It just worked I guess.” He looked right at Farber, not even glancing over at Vince. “We’ve always been close. It just hasn’t always been easy.”
“I can’t imagine it has been, still, it’s pretty cool that you’ve been in love since you were kids. Most people don’t find their soulmates when they’re in first grade. I guess it’s only fair that some of it was tough if you got to find each other so young.” His audio recorder is in his pocket and he’s not really taking notes. Mostly he’s just curious, interested in how a couple like this could work. “How old were you when you realized it?”
Don actually groans and before Farber can blink Eric is on his feet. His shoes thud loudly on the tile floor and Vince’s face is a mask of horror.
“What?” Farber asks. “What’d I say?”
“Stay here.” Vince bites out and leaps to his own feet. Then he’s off, half running after Eric. “E!”
Farber, of course, doesn’t stay. Staying is the antithesis of his job. He toes off his shoes and hurries off quietly after Vince and Eric, Don on his heels. He finds them in a hallway, Eric’s smaller frame backing Vince into the wall space between two doors.
"Have I been what?" Vince asks, looking down at Eric, replying to a question they obviously missed.
"Have you been in love with me since we were kids?" Eric demands and Farber’s stomach drops like he’s just done a loop on a rollercoaster.
Vince’s eyes drop and Farber hears Don’s shutter click. "Yeah. Kind of."
"Kind of?” Eric snaps. “You can’t kind of be in love with someone, Vince. You are or you aren’t.”
Vince plants both of his hands on Eric’s chest and pushes. Don’s shutter clicks again just as Eric stumbles back two steps before catching himself. “I've spent the last twenty years working on not being in love with you so, yeah. I have to say kind of."
"Fuck you, Vince," Eric hisses, his eyes narrowed. “I’m your best friend and I was the last fucking person to know this about you! I’m supposed to know you better than anyone.”
Vince points sharply at him. "No fuck you, E. I didn’t do anything wrong.”
Eric’s arms cross over his chest in what Farber is starting to realize is less angry and more defensive. He’s protecting himself. “You could have told me.”
"When?” Vince demands. “In high school when you were hot for Sarah Lum? After we graduated when you were with Sarah McCauley for two years? Here in LA when you hooked up with Kristen, like, ten minutes after landing in California? When was I supposed to tell you, E?'
"Any time in the last twenty years would've been good, Vince."
"There's a good time to lose my best friend? Really? When's that?" Vince asks his voice full of fake cheer and bitter sarcasm.
"I’m your best friend, you wouldn’t have lost me," Eric protests.
"I already have!" Vince cries then snaps his mouth shut.
Farber’s hands are clenched and this is better than TV. He’d lay ten to one odds on this ending in violence, five to one on it ending in sex - if he were a gambling man. Which he’s not. Not anymore.
“E,” Vince says, and the word sounds torn from his throat, “you even can’t look me in the eye anymore.”
Eric takes a step forward and Vince takes a step back, his shoulders hitting the wall. “Look, Vince-“
Vince squeezes his eyes closed. Even if he could hear Don’s camera, he couldn’t see it now. “Shut up, E. Just shut up.”
“Vince,” Eric sighs, moving forward until he and Vince are close enough to touch. Farber wonders why they don’t. “I wish you had just come to me.”
“And said what?” Vince asks, his voice sounding so young and scared. “‘I think about you in the shower. I think about you naked. I think about you all the time and I have since forever.’ What would you have done?”
“Maybe I’d have done this,” Eric says.
Then he takes Vince’s face in his hand and kisses him. Click. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the camera is loud in Farber’s ears and so is his own breathing and theirs. It’s not a violent kiss or a sloppy one or even particularly passionate.
What it is, is gentle, warm and very much a cover shot. It’s love. And Farber will never admit it to Lucy or Willa, but he gets a little misty at the sight of the hope in Vince’s eyes when they finally open.
“E, you can’t just-“
Eric shakes his head. “Trust me, Vince.”
Vince stares at him for a long moment. Then he nods and Eric kisses him again. This one is all heat, enough that it feels like they shouldn’t be watching. Really.
Farber looks at Don. “I think we’ve got our story,” he whispers as Eric tugs on Vince’s black curls.
“Yeah,” Don agrees. “I’ve got enough shots to work with. Lucy’ll be happy.”
“Okay. Let’s go then.”
They move quickly and quietly back to the front of the house. Farber hits stop on the recorder in his pocket and slides his shoes back on with a smile. He feels good about this story. Really good.
(end)