FIC: Get Used to It, Entourage, V/E, NC-17, 2/6
Previous.
That weekend, they film the video on a lot at Paramount. They’re on set forever. The filming doesn’t take much costuming or make-up, at least; it’s mostly just supposed to be Vince climbing in and out of expensive cars, a flashy model in a skimpy dress on his arm, then Vince alone sitting in a dark leather booth, and then, finally, silently confronting some guy over a pool table. They film the make-out scenes - which have moved to the backseat of the limo - just before their lunch break at 9 p.m., and then Vince comes back to the trailer and sits on the floor in front of the couch, leans back against Eric’s legs. “You OK?” Eric asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vince says. Eric rubs his shoulders, because he can’t touch his hair, not while he’s filming. Vince rests his cheek on Eric’s knee, and Eric doesn’t mention that he’s messing up his makeup. Instead, he bends his own on-set rules and kisses Vince’s neck, and Vince smiles with his eyes closed.
“Pretty fucking tired, huh?”
“Mm.”
“You want me to go yell at LaDell? Get him to get you out of here faster?”
“Somehow I don’t think siccing my manager on him is gonna speed things up.”
“Yeah? What about your jealous boyfriend?”
One eye opens. “You’re jealous of LaDell?”
“I’m jealous anytime anything’s keeping you out of my bed at this time of night,” Eric says, but he smiles to let Vince know he’s just kidding. Vince’s eyes drift closed again.
They eventually get off set near 3 a.m. Vince falls asleep on the drive home, and stirs just long enough for Eric to get him into bed. He has no idea what the end product will be for the video; the scenes he watched were all too short for him to piece together, and they didn’t see any of the B-story, with Kanye being filmed. Whatever, Eric figures, sliding into bed beside Vince; it’s out of his hands, now.
Sunday morning, Eric sleeps in because he was up way too late the night before trading e-mails with Cameron’s new (non-Emily) assistant, who’s on Singapore time. They’re still talking about little editing tweaks that Cameron's making, nothing major, but Eric wants to know everything, since they won't get a chance to see the film before it premieres. It’s just got to be good.
He finds the guys in the kitchen, eating pancakes. He takes a seat next to Vince and across from Turtle, who pushes an advance copy of People across the table at him. The headline reads, Vincent Chase: In Love!
“Shauna sent that over,” Vince says.
Eric shrugs. Vince was on the cover of every entertainment magazine after the Globes. Most of them ran this same photo, of Vince hefting his Golden Globe at the end of his coming out speech, or one like it, and most of them had stupid stories drawn only from Vince’s speech and the guesses of a bunch of Hollywood psychos.
Turtle taps the corner of the magazine, and Eric realizes there’s another photo: to the side, in a heart-shaped bubble, there’s a little cut-out picture of the two them at the Cannes premiere of Medellin. It’s not a bad picture of him, really - he’s wearing a suit and his hair’s OK, and he’s smiling and standing next to Vince, not touching him. Honestly, at that moment, he probably wasn’t even thinking about touching him, because he’s pretty sure that Billy’s cut out of the photo right next to him.
“Baby’s first cover!” Turtle crows, and Vince laughs.
“It’s a stupid picture,” Eric says, shrugging. “I mean, we weren’t even together then.”
“Well it’s not like you’re giving them any new material,” Drama says.
“Just wait,” Vince says with an evil grin, and Eric rolls his eyes.
“Jesus, don’t they have other news?” He snags Vince’s orange juice and takes a sip. “I wish Britney would burn down her house or something so they’d move on.”
“Uh-huh,” Turtle says. “You know there were a dozen paparazzi outside yesterday when we left for MGA? Ten bucks says they pitch a tent outside soon.”
“Twenty says they storm the gate.”
“We could call security again,” Vince says, shrugging. That was kind of entertaining last week, siccing their poor security company on the mob outside, but it didn’t really get them anywhere. So long as the photographers are in the street and not blocking traffic, they can, apparently, do whatever they want. It pisses Eric off to no end. Vince should’ve bought a place in a gated community.
“Or we could try a different tactic, and just give them what they want,” Drama says. “All they’re asking is some pics, bro. Just walk outside and wave. I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not really what they’re after,” Vince says. He looks across at Eric. “You wanna go make out on the driveway?”
Eric flips him off and gets up to grab a bagel. While he’s messing with the toaster, Turtle says, “All I know is, now I gotta get my own place.” Eric glances over, not sure how to take this, and Turtle shrugs. “I mean, we’re cool, I’m totally cool with you guys, but being the guy living with the two gay guys isn’t exactly helping me out with the ladies, you know?”
Vince laughs. “Good point, I guess. You want to go look at places today?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Eric asks.
“What, I can’t leave the house at all now?”
Eric leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “You think it’s gonna look real great if you’re out looking for a pad with some other guy?”
“Oh, jealous E,” Drama says. “There’s a guy we haven’t seen in a while. Watch out, Turtle.”
“It’s cool, Vin,” Turtle says. “I figured I’d just look online anyway, see what I can find.”
“Or, the place next to mine is opening up,” Drama says. “That old lady kicked last month, it’s supposed to be up for sale real soon.”
“Drama, I can’t afford your building,” Turtle says.
“But I can,” Vince offers, and Eric decides not to point out the financial stupidity of buying a million-dollar condo for a friend, because he’s pretty sure arguing will make Vince want to do it more. Besides, he has to admit, he’s ready to get Turtle out of the house, too.
It’s a little amazing, really: not so long ago, not even the guys knew they were together, and now Eric’s thinking - Eric’s already planning - for a time when he and Vince will have the house to themselves, when they’ll be living together, as partners, with the whole world knowing it. Jesus, things have happened kind of fast, he thinks, and turns back to monitor his toast. His life, a year ago, looked a lot different than it does today - a year ago, he was with Vince, sure, but not out, not even thinking of being out. The only people who knew were Turtle and Drama. Not even his mother had any idea - she’d still been after him to get a girlfriend, settle down, get her some grandchildren. She’d be pretty surprised now, if she were still alive, Eric thinks. He slides his toast onto a plate, but it suddenly doesn’t look that appetizing; he offers it, instead, to Vince.
While Turtle and Vince work out some complex partial payment plan (Eric also doesn’t comment that Turtle’s salary comes completely out of Vince’s pocket anyway), Eric goes back to take a shower. After he’s cleaned up, he picks a script up from the pile sitting by his desk and pages through it. Ari sent over a pile of stuff earlier in the week, most of it crap. It’s supposed to prove to Eric that he and Vince have made a colossal mistake in getting together and coming out. Eric is determined to find a gem, if for no other reason than he really, really needs to believe that Ari is wrong about this, that Vince coming out at the Globes isn’t going to mean the end of his career, just when things were starting to go so well.
This script, however, is not the one. He puts it down about halfway through, then follows the noise of the television to the living room. Drama and Turtle are watching ESPN, rooting for Miami. He falls into an armchair and yawns, then asks where Vince is.
“Went for a walk on the beach with Arnold,” Turtle says.
“And you guys didn’t go?”
“It’s windy,” Drama says. “You know what kind of effort it takes to get sand out of this hair?”
Eric nods. He yawns again and slouches in the chair. Fuck, he’s tired. He could use a nap. “How long’s he been gone?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe,” Turtle says. “Where’ve you been, anyway? It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Whacking off to Queens Boulevard again?” Drama suggests, and Eric groans.
“What’s your deal, Drama?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah. You have some problem with me lately?”
Drama shrugs. “Only problem I have with you is Vince seems to fucked your sense of humor out.”
“You make a joke that’s actually funny instead of fucking insulting, maybe I’ll laugh,” Eric says.
“Oh come on, E. Since when are you Mr. Sensitive?”
“Since I’ve got the whole goddamned world already picking on my choice in partners. I don’t need you piling on.”
Drama rolls his eyes. “I’m not censoring myself just because you’re feeling insecure about your decisions, bro. If anything, you should be thanking me for toughening you up.”
Eric scoffs. “Sure. And it’s only me who needs toughening up, huh? That’s why all your jokes are aimed my way, not at Vince?”
“Hey, guys, cool it,” Turtle says. “You wanna go outside and beat the shit out of each other, go ahead, but in here I got a tequila headache, all right?”
Eric is tempted to stand up and tell Drama to step outside; he’s tempted to just finally have it out with him. But before he can get the energy up to really push things, the sliding door opens and Arnold bounds in, followed by Vince. “Hey, you’re back!” he says, grinning at Eric.
“Yeah.” Arnold’s licking Turtle’s cheek, his ass in Drama’s face, and that makes Eric feel better. Vince sits on the arm of his chair and rubs his neck, and Eric takes a deep breath. Drama being Drama, he tells himself, but it doesn’t really help.
Wednesday, they go back to Ari’s, just Vince and Eric. Ari still looks kind of pale, but he also looks better than the week before. “Vince, give me one second with your boy, OK?” Ari says, and Vince nods and gives Eric a quizzical look before he turns to wait in the lobby.
Ari crosses his arms. “You passed on Courier.”
“Fuck, yeah, we passed.”
“No, I mean, you passed,” Ari says, and he keeps staring until Eric shrugs. “Does he know?”
Eric shrugs again, then shakes his head. He can see Vince talking to Lloyd in the waiting area, laughing at something. “Why? You think I should have -”
“Fuck you, I want him on basic cable?” Ari shakes his head. “You tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny it like I’m Ryan Seacrest’s boyfriend, but E, I’m so fucking proud of you right now I could weep.”
“Somehow, your pride in me is more troubling than your disdain,” Eric says, but he smiles a little. “Can we let the actual movie star in, now, or do you need to give me a gold star or something?”
“By all means,” Ari says, and Eric holds open the door. “Now this is the kind of deference I like to see,” Ari says as Vince walks through. “Vinnie, you got him trained right. Maybe you can give a course to my wife.”
“I’m not touching that one,” Vince mutters, and Eric snorts.
“All right, but, seriously, I have the video,” Ari says, pulling a DVD case off his desk.
Eric sits forward, and his stomach twists. “Already?”
“It’s a rough cut, but you’ll get the idea.”
He reaches for the case and says, “How’s it look?”
“You, my friend, are going to love it. You’ll pull muscle groups you didn’t know you had watching that, E.”
“What?”
“Trust me, baby, it’s hot,” Ari says. “You’re looking at the next killer vid, there, man. I talked to LaDell’s people already, they love it, they’re going to release it next week like planned, and the buzz? It’s already making me hard.” Ari rubs his hands together, then whirls. “Don’t get jealous, E, it’s a professional hard-on.”
“I’d never worry about you,” Eric says. He turns the case over in his hands, then stands up. He sees Vince and Ari exchange some look, and that worries him, but no one says anything. Ari crows a little more about the video and tells Eric to talk to Shauna about doing some preview for it, some Internet news show, and then they leave.
In the car, Vince says, “E, it’s fine. You know it’s gonna be fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, but he keeps staring at the road, and he turns on the radio fast to stop the conversation. He just - doesn’t want to see it. Not yet. He should be curious, but it feels like, well, like everything is riding on this video. It’s probably only four minutes long, and Eric’s as nervous as if he was driving to see the first Medellin cut.
“E, seriously,” Vince says, and Eric realizes he’s been drumming his finger over the DVD case, which is resting on the console between them, for their whole trip. “Am I that fucked?”
“Seriously?” Eric shrugs. “I don’t know, Vince. I’ve never been down this road before.”
“You don’t think Nightfeeders is gonna do well?”
“I think it should do well,” Eric says as they pull into the driveway. He stops the car but keeps looking ahead. “Everything’s in place. But Ari’s right, if it doesn’t, everybody’s gonna look for someplace to land that blame.”
He doesn’t have to look over for Vince to know who he means, but he does, anyway, and Vince blinks, and Eric sees him get it, again, and he feels momentarily bad. Because of course, it’s not just his career, it’s this whole life that’s at stake - their whole life, and Turtle’s and Drama’s. If the movie flops, everyone will say it was Vince coming out, and even Cameron will be pissed, and yeah, then they probably will be fucked. Maybe the Fincher movie will get pushed back. Maybe the offers will dry up. Vince looks away and after a second he shrugs, but Eric can see through the bullshit. He’s worried, too; it’s a huge gamble, and they can’t turn back now.
Eric wants to reach over, touch Vince, reassure him somehow, but the top is down on the convertible and he can hear the paparazzi calling their names, his name, even from there. So he pockets the keys and picks up the DVD and heads inside.
Vince wanders toward the living room, and Eric follows, after a minute, the disc still in his hand. Turtle’s crashed on the couch, and he sits up as they walk in.
“What’s up, fellas?”
Vince says, “We saw Ari, just got a copy of that video.”
“Yeah? We should watch that,” Turtle says. “That model was smokin’. Where’s it at?”
Vince shrugs and looks back at him, and Eric nods. He slides the disc into the DVD player, then turns around, surprised to see Vince already stretched out on the other couch. “Shift,” he says, and Vince sits up long enough for Eric to settle in, then he rests his head on Eric’s thigh. Eric knows he’s not really tired - they haven’t even been awake that long - but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe Vince needs a little soothing, right now. Maybe he’s as nervous as Eric is. Eric lowers his hand to Vince’s hair, and Vince murmurs something appreciative.
The video is, actually, pretty hot: lots of shots of Vince in black-and-white, wearing the sharp suits they had for him, looking powerful and pretty at the same time, glowering, slamming down a stack of bills, holding out a hand for the girl to join him. Kanye makes incongruous appearances in the background. Half the video is black and white, the other half is done with heavy tints in blue and green. The chorus - which comes up three times - is Vince and the model, making out in slow-motion in the back of the limo. The last shot is Vince sitting in the back of that car, his arms spread out across the back of the seat, looking straight into the camera like, I dare you, or Come at me, or Here I am. It’s not bad; it’s also not great. It’s just a fucking music video, flashy romance for wannabe gangsters. Eric can’t really believe that Ari thinks this is going to save them.
“Jesus,” Turtle says, when the song is over. “Personal porn, E. You should send Ari a bottle of wine or something.”
Eric rolls his eyes, and Vince laughs and looks up at him. “Don’t joke, Turtle,” Vince says, “E thinks I’m gonna have to start doing porn, soon, just to keep working.”
“Is that lucrative?” Turtle asks.
“Billy thought so,” Vince says. “Hey, maybe he could direct.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Eric says, looking down. He feels a strange flare of annoyance, a little tightening in his shoulders. Even now that he’s seen it, Vince doesn’t care? Fine, Eric thinks, play dumb. He draws his hand back, doesn’t look down at Vince.
Turtle snorts. “Bet he wouldn’t stay on script.” He starts the video again, and Vince sits up next to Eric, not touching him at all. Eric doesn’t reach over, either. When it’s over, Eric stands up and gets out his phone. He makes a motion like he’s going upstairs to call someone, but really, he just wants to get away. He doesn’t want to see the video again, and not just because it’s a stupid music video. Really, there’s nothing hot about watching his boyfriend making out with some girl, and there’s definitely nothing hot about knowing that soon, thousands - maybe even millions - of people will be able to see it, too. He wants to call Ari and tell him to pull it, to axe the whole idea, to axe himself for thinking of it, but instead he takes a couple of deep breaths and sits calmly for a moment, forcing himself to relax. He’s thinking like a lover instead of a manager, and that shit has to stop. If he wants people to keep taking him seriously, then he’s got to divide his duties. Ari’s right. They need something, and this video is probably the best they can do. It’s better than sitting down with Rolling Stone or Larry King or Oprah, that’s for sure.
Eric takes another deep breath, then rests his head in his hands. The truth is, whatever he’s saying to Vince, he thinks things are only going to get worse. He thinks if Nightfeeders bombs, not only is Vince going to get the blame from the studio and Cameron, Eric’s going to get his fair share, too, for not managing Vince better about when to come out, and for being the reason he’s off track in the first place. And that’s going to be hard for them to balance, on top of all of the other shit they’re still working on and going through. It’s just gonna get harder for a while. No one in the world seems to think that they should get a happy ending, that this should work. Eric wants badly to prove them wrong, but he feels the pressure. He tells himself that eventually, things will be better, easier, things will be OK, but he can’t quite talk himself into it.
The next morning, Vince sits down with his cereal and says, “All right, so you hated the video.”
“Hated?” Eric says. He looks up from his breakfast - oatmeal - and blinks. He thought he was covering better than this. “I didn’t hate it.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Vince says.
“I thought it was fine,” he says.
“You seriously did?”
Eric nods. “The black and white was a good idea. LaDell does good work.”
Vince groans. “I’m talking about me, dickhead.”
He shrugs. “You were good, too.”
Vince stares at him. “E, is something going on?” he asks.
“What?” Eric’s got his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Vince says. “But you’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” he says, shaking his head. He’s tired, he’s frustrated, a little, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Vince keeps staring at him. “What? I’m not.”
Vince frowns. “You are,” he says, “but whatever, if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Eric sighs. “Vin, nothing’s going on,” he says. “I’m worried about the movie.”
“Uh-huh,” Vince says. Eric shrugs when Vince keeps staring at him. “If this is just about the movie, I’ll eat my spoon,” he says.
“What else would it be about?”
“I don’t know,” Vince says. His voice is infuriating: soft and knowing all at once, like he’s mocking Eric. “What would it be about?”
“Jesus Christ,” Eric says, setting down his spoon. “It’s like having a fucking girlfriend sometimes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re pissed at me because, what, I didn’t give you a standing ovation for the video?”
“I’m not pissed at anyone,” Vince says, though Eric can tell that’s not so true anymore, “but you seem kinda testy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Eric says. He picks up his bowl - it’s not even half-empty - and carries it to the sink. “I’m gonna go to the office for a while,” he says, and walks out without saying another word. He gets into the car, slides on his sunglasses, and then keeps one hand up to block the cameras as he eases the car onto the street. Christ, he wants to rev his motor, really put the car in gear, but they’re so close that he has to creep along, giving them all plenty of time to snap their photos. “Vultures,” he mutters, and finally gets clear enough to put some speed on.
He calls Turtle from the office and reminds him to pick Vince up for his appointment with the therapist that afternoon. “I thought he was done,” Turtle says, and Eric sighs. To be honest, he thought Vince was done, too, but he still goes to talk with Margot once every few weeks. He says it helps him stay centered, and Eric figures right now, anything that helps should be encouraged. So he tells Turtle to just go, and then he tries to concentrate on his full inbox for a while. He manages to pare it down to only a few dozen unanswered messages by lunch time, and though he thinks about calling Vince, he decides to just wait until he’s home to get into it all again with him. He stays at the office well into the afternoon, picks up their laundry on the way home, and is surprised when he walks into an empty house. He texts Turtle and finds out they’re at a club, and that makes him quickly, sharply angry. After all of this, Vince is just ready to go out again? Without Eric? Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks. There will be pictures all over tomorrow. He hangs up the laundry and goes to bed, and though he wakes up, he doesn’t move at all when Vince climbs in next to him at 2.
The next day over a late breakfast, Eric says, “So where’d you go last night?”
Vince shrugs. “Turtle just wanted to hang out for a while. I thought you’d call when you were done at the office.”
That’s actually a fair assumption. Eric almost always calls Vince when he’s in transit. He clears his throat. “Did you have a good time?”
Vince shrugs again. “Not really,” he says. “I mean, it was fine, but the guys both struck out.” He’s toying with his bagel. “Lots of paparazzi,” he says finally, and he sounds just discouraged and bewildered enough that Eric’s anger deflates.
Eric nods. “There were a lot out front yesterday, too.”
“Shauna says the offer price has gone up.” They’ve talked about this a few times: everyone wants a proof picture of the two of them, a hug, a kiss, something that proves they are gay and together. The few grainy shots they have with Vince’s arm around his shoulders at the donut shop downtown sold like crazy, she says. Eric doesn’t want to think what a price hike might mean.
“How was your thing yesterday?” Eric asks.
“With Margot?” Eric nods. “It was good,” Vince says. “Actually - this is sort of weird. But, she asked if maybe, if you wouldn’t mind maybe coming along next time.”
Eric narrows his eyes. “What, for therapy?”
Vince nods. “She said it might be good just to see us together.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,” Vince says. “Maybe she’s just checking to see if I’m telling the truth about stuff, you know, like are things with us like I say they are.”
“Like couple’s therapy or something?”
Vince shrugs. “I guess. Could be good. What do you say?”
“Uh, no?” Eric says, and Vince rolls his eyes. “What, you think we should?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It can’t hurt.”
“But what’s it going to help?”
Vince sighs. “You don’t really know until you get there.”
“Fifteen fucking years, man, you really think we need someone telling us how to be us?”
“She won’t tell us anything,” Vince says. “Seriously, you don’t think there’s anything that could be better between us?”
“You could listen to me more,” Eric says. “Like right now.”
“I’m serious,” Vince says, and he leans forward. “And you know what, you’re serious, too, probably, even if you don’t realize it. There’s shit going on we could work out.”
“Is this about yesterday?” Eric asks. “About breakfast? Did you tell her we were fighting?” Vince shrugs, which means yes. “Jesus, no wonder she wants to see us both.”
“You’re saying, you walked out on me yesterday morning, you don’t think that’s worth talking about?”
Eric laughs. “Yeah! Yeah, let’s talk about it. But we don’t need a fucking audience for that, OK? We’ve got enough people horning in on us now, we don’t need a fucking therapist added to the mix.”
Vince says, quietly, “Then let’s talk about it. Why’d you leave, yesterday?”
Eric wants to explain. He could just talk about the stress of all those cameras outside, talk about the downturn in the studio’s expectations for Nightfeeders, talk about his big fear, that come the end of summer, someone’s going to suggest that maybe Fincher’s movie isn’t the best fit for them after all. But more than he wants to talk, he doesn’t want to lay that all out on Vince. Not right now. So he just says, “I was having a rough morning.”
“Rough how?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t sleep so well, and then you were on me about the video, and I just - I wasn’t ready to talk about it,” he says.
“Are you ready now?”
“Sure,” Eric says. “But I don’t think there’s a lot to talk about it, not really. I mean, the video’s done, it looks great, you look great in it.”
Vince stares across the table at him, like he’s trying to read his mind. Eric concentrates on looking honest, on looking like he means this. He doesn’t really want to get into this fight again, and it can’t help anything right now for him to tell the truth. “Look, I’m just kind of stressed out,” he says, finally. He scratches his neck, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look Vince in the eye. Jesus, if this is acting, it’s fucking exhausting. “I’m not used to people wanting to take my picture, you know?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, and he nods, just once. “I know. I’m sorry, I know it’s weird, hard, whatever right now. It’ll get better. OK?”
“I know,” Eric says. He cracks a smile. “I just wish it would hurry up.”
“We just - I think we just keep doing what we’re going, right?” Vince says. “Just go on like normal.”
Eric nods, agreeing even though he’s thinking about how not normal everything is right now. But if Vince thinks they’re maintaining OK, then Eric’s not going to say anything different. One of them, at least, should be happy with how things are going.
The next night, they go out to dinner, as part of the effort to just go on like normal. When they get to the restaurant, there’s some kind of problem, someone spilled something in their booth and there’s broken glass everywhere, so they go to the bar to wait while the table’s getting cleared. Turtle and Drama get their drinks from the bar while Vince and Eric stake out a tall table in the corner. Eric’s still thinking about the paparazzi outside, wondering if he walked too close to Vince. “Vince, here’s your G and T,” Drama says, handing over a glass, and then he slides a tall glass with a mint sprig in front of Eric.
“What the fuck, Drama, I said a beer.”
He shrugs. “It’s Ladies’ Night, two dollars off mojitos.”
“That’s it,” Eric says, pushing away from the table and stepping toward Drama.
Vince flings an arm across his chest. “Yo, ease up,” he says. “Turtle, can you get him a beer?”
Drama snickers and sips his own drink, and Eric glares at him. He’s so fucking sick of this. “I don’t want a beer,” he says, shaking Vince’s arm off. Vince grips his biceps instead. “You know what, I’m not even hungry anymore.”
“Oh, come on, E, he’s sorry. Johnny,” Vince says, and Drama rolls his eyes.
“You know what, bro, actually I’m not sorry.” Drama sets his drink down on the table. “Unless we’re mourning the death of E’s sense of humor, and yeah, I’m pretty broken up about that.”
“Fuck you,” Eric says. “You aren’t being funny, Drama, you’re being a dick. Deny it all you want, but you’re doing this shit on purpose, you’re just bashing me for the hell of it.”
“I’m not doing anything I haven’t always done,” Drama says, his voice full of mock innocence and offense.
“Right,” Eric says.
Vince starts to say, “E -” but the hostess shows up then to lead them to their table. Vince keeps a tight grip on Eric’s arm, so he has to follow. It’s either that or really make a scene.
They make it through dinner, but barely. Eric sits in the corner near the wall, blocked in by Vince, and Drama sits diagonal from him. Vince and Turtle mostly keep the conversation going. Vince also keeps his hand on Eric’s leg through the whole meal, which Eric finds mildly patronizing, but somehow also necessary. Drama doesn’t make any cracks, just talks about filming and the cooking technique he guesses the chef used on his fish, but Eric still grits his teeth through half of the meal. If he were fifteen, he’d kick him under the table. Or climb under the table and drag him outside to fight.
After dinner they were supposed to all go out, something they haven’t done in forever, but Eric is totally not in the mood and Vince seems to pick up on it. He tells the other guys to go ahead, and after they’ve left they get into Eric’s car. “OK,” Vince says, “what’s going on with you and Johnny?”
Eric pauses. He wants to tell Vince everything, because he wants Vince to be on his side, but he also doesn’t want to tell him everything, because - well, it’s his brother. Vince might feel bad. Or hurt. And Eric’s pretty sure that whatever Drama’s saying, he doesn’t actually mean it; he’s just trying, for whatever reason, to get under Eric’s skin.
“He’s just been, uh, he’s been picking on me more, I guess, recently,” Eric says. It sounds lame, so he’s not surprised when Vince doesn’t look convinced.
“It was a dumb joke tonight,” he says. “But he’s right, E, that’s the kind of shit the guys have pulled for years. Hell, we’ve done stuff like that to them.”
“It’s not just tonight,” Eric says. “Look, every time I’m around him recently, he’s just been a pain in the ass for me. I shouldn’t’ve gotten so worked up tonight, OK, but - he’s got it coming, Vin.”
“You’re not seriously going to get into a fight with my brother, are you?”
“If he keeps acting like an asshole,” Eric mutters, and Vince groans.
“Christ, E. It’s Johnny. You know how he is. Sometimes he’s weird, you just have to, like, ride it out. You know this.”
Eric shake his head. “This is more than that. This is - he’s like targeting me, or something.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Vince rubs his shoulder. “You don’t think it’s possible he’s right, maybe? A little?”
“What, you think I lost my sense of humor, too?”
“No, but I think you’re stressed out, and you’re taking stuff meant to be a joke - a stupid joke, sure - a little harder than usual.”
Eric glares over at him, but it’s hard to be mad at Vince when he’s looking at him with this warm, affectionate face. “I’m not crazy,” he says.
“I know,” Vince says. “Listen, maybe let’s go to the gym tomorrow. You want to hit the bags? I can call Kerwin.”
“Maybe,” Eric says. Kerwin is Vince’s boxing trainer on the film. Eric’s been enjoying Vince’s sessions with him, and not just because it’s pretty hot to watch Vince working out. Going along tomorrow could be a good way to get rid of some of this tension. Particularly if he pictures Drama’s face on the bag. “Yeah, call him up.”
“Good,” Vince says. “Now, come on, no more of this tonight, all right? Just let it go. It’s just Johnny being Johnny, E.”
“I know,” Eric says, and he tries to pretend that he does.
Next
That weekend, they film the video on a lot at Paramount. They’re on set forever. The filming doesn’t take much costuming or make-up, at least; it’s mostly just supposed to be Vince climbing in and out of expensive cars, a flashy model in a skimpy dress on his arm, then Vince alone sitting in a dark leather booth, and then, finally, silently confronting some guy over a pool table. They film the make-out scenes - which have moved to the backseat of the limo - just before their lunch break at 9 p.m., and then Vince comes back to the trailer and sits on the floor in front of the couch, leans back against Eric’s legs. “You OK?” Eric asks.
“Yeah, yeah,” Vince says. Eric rubs his shoulders, because he can’t touch his hair, not while he’s filming. Vince rests his cheek on Eric’s knee, and Eric doesn’t mention that he’s messing up his makeup. Instead, he bends his own on-set rules and kisses Vince’s neck, and Vince smiles with his eyes closed.
“Pretty fucking tired, huh?”
“Mm.”
“You want me to go yell at LaDell? Get him to get you out of here faster?”
“Somehow I don’t think siccing my manager on him is gonna speed things up.”
“Yeah? What about your jealous boyfriend?”
One eye opens. “You’re jealous of LaDell?”
“I’m jealous anytime anything’s keeping you out of my bed at this time of night,” Eric says, but he smiles to let Vince know he’s just kidding. Vince’s eyes drift closed again.
They eventually get off set near 3 a.m. Vince falls asleep on the drive home, and stirs just long enough for Eric to get him into bed. He has no idea what the end product will be for the video; the scenes he watched were all too short for him to piece together, and they didn’t see any of the B-story, with Kanye being filmed. Whatever, Eric figures, sliding into bed beside Vince; it’s out of his hands, now.
Sunday morning, Eric sleeps in because he was up way too late the night before trading e-mails with Cameron’s new (non-Emily) assistant, who’s on Singapore time. They’re still talking about little editing tweaks that Cameron's making, nothing major, but Eric wants to know everything, since they won't get a chance to see the film before it premieres. It’s just got to be good.
He finds the guys in the kitchen, eating pancakes. He takes a seat next to Vince and across from Turtle, who pushes an advance copy of People across the table at him. The headline reads, Vincent Chase: In Love!
“Shauna sent that over,” Vince says.
Eric shrugs. Vince was on the cover of every entertainment magazine after the Globes. Most of them ran this same photo, of Vince hefting his Golden Globe at the end of his coming out speech, or one like it, and most of them had stupid stories drawn only from Vince’s speech and the guesses of a bunch of Hollywood psychos.
Turtle taps the corner of the magazine, and Eric realizes there’s another photo: to the side, in a heart-shaped bubble, there’s a little cut-out picture of the two them at the Cannes premiere of Medellin. It’s not a bad picture of him, really - he’s wearing a suit and his hair’s OK, and he’s smiling and standing next to Vince, not touching him. Honestly, at that moment, he probably wasn’t even thinking about touching him, because he’s pretty sure that Billy’s cut out of the photo right next to him.
“Baby’s first cover!” Turtle crows, and Vince laughs.
“It’s a stupid picture,” Eric says, shrugging. “I mean, we weren’t even together then.”
“Well it’s not like you’re giving them any new material,” Drama says.
“Just wait,” Vince says with an evil grin, and Eric rolls his eyes.
“Jesus, don’t they have other news?” He snags Vince’s orange juice and takes a sip. “I wish Britney would burn down her house or something so they’d move on.”
“Uh-huh,” Turtle says. “You know there were a dozen paparazzi outside yesterday when we left for MGA? Ten bucks says they pitch a tent outside soon.”
“Twenty says they storm the gate.”
“We could call security again,” Vince says, shrugging. That was kind of entertaining last week, siccing their poor security company on the mob outside, but it didn’t really get them anywhere. So long as the photographers are in the street and not blocking traffic, they can, apparently, do whatever they want. It pisses Eric off to no end. Vince should’ve bought a place in a gated community.
“Or we could try a different tactic, and just give them what they want,” Drama says. “All they’re asking is some pics, bro. Just walk outside and wave. I’ll go with you.”
“That’s not really what they’re after,” Vince says. He looks across at Eric. “You wanna go make out on the driveway?”
Eric flips him off and gets up to grab a bagel. While he’s messing with the toaster, Turtle says, “All I know is, now I gotta get my own place.” Eric glances over, not sure how to take this, and Turtle shrugs. “I mean, we’re cool, I’m totally cool with you guys, but being the guy living with the two gay guys isn’t exactly helping me out with the ladies, you know?”
Vince laughs. “Good point, I guess. You want to go look at places today?”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Eric asks.
“What, I can’t leave the house at all now?”
Eric leans back against the counter and crosses his arms. “You think it’s gonna look real great if you’re out looking for a pad with some other guy?”
“Oh, jealous E,” Drama says. “There’s a guy we haven’t seen in a while. Watch out, Turtle.”
“It’s cool, Vin,” Turtle says. “I figured I’d just look online anyway, see what I can find.”
“Or, the place next to mine is opening up,” Drama says. “That old lady kicked last month, it’s supposed to be up for sale real soon.”
“Drama, I can’t afford your building,” Turtle says.
“But I can,” Vince offers, and Eric decides not to point out the financial stupidity of buying a million-dollar condo for a friend, because he’s pretty sure arguing will make Vince want to do it more. Besides, he has to admit, he’s ready to get Turtle out of the house, too.
It’s a little amazing, really: not so long ago, not even the guys knew they were together, and now Eric’s thinking - Eric’s already planning - for a time when he and Vince will have the house to themselves, when they’ll be living together, as partners, with the whole world knowing it. Jesus, things have happened kind of fast, he thinks, and turns back to monitor his toast. His life, a year ago, looked a lot different than it does today - a year ago, he was with Vince, sure, but not out, not even thinking of being out. The only people who knew were Turtle and Drama. Not even his mother had any idea - she’d still been after him to get a girlfriend, settle down, get her some grandchildren. She’d be pretty surprised now, if she were still alive, Eric thinks. He slides his toast onto a plate, but it suddenly doesn’t look that appetizing; he offers it, instead, to Vince.
While Turtle and Vince work out some complex partial payment plan (Eric also doesn’t comment that Turtle’s salary comes completely out of Vince’s pocket anyway), Eric goes back to take a shower. After he’s cleaned up, he picks a script up from the pile sitting by his desk and pages through it. Ari sent over a pile of stuff earlier in the week, most of it crap. It’s supposed to prove to Eric that he and Vince have made a colossal mistake in getting together and coming out. Eric is determined to find a gem, if for no other reason than he really, really needs to believe that Ari is wrong about this, that Vince coming out at the Globes isn’t going to mean the end of his career, just when things were starting to go so well.
This script, however, is not the one. He puts it down about halfway through, then follows the noise of the television to the living room. Drama and Turtle are watching ESPN, rooting for Miami. He falls into an armchair and yawns, then asks where Vince is.
“Went for a walk on the beach with Arnold,” Turtle says.
“And you guys didn’t go?”
“It’s windy,” Drama says. “You know what kind of effort it takes to get sand out of this hair?”
Eric nods. He yawns again and slouches in the chair. Fuck, he’s tired. He could use a nap. “How long’s he been gone?”
“Twenty minutes, maybe,” Turtle says. “Where’ve you been, anyway? It’s almost lunchtime.”
“Whacking off to Queens Boulevard again?” Drama suggests, and Eric groans.
“What’s your deal, Drama?”
“My deal?”
“Yeah. You have some problem with me lately?”
Drama shrugs. “Only problem I have with you is Vince seems to fucked your sense of humor out.”
“You make a joke that’s actually funny instead of fucking insulting, maybe I’ll laugh,” Eric says.
“Oh come on, E. Since when are you Mr. Sensitive?”
“Since I’ve got the whole goddamned world already picking on my choice in partners. I don’t need you piling on.”
Drama rolls his eyes. “I’m not censoring myself just because you’re feeling insecure about your decisions, bro. If anything, you should be thanking me for toughening you up.”
Eric scoffs. “Sure. And it’s only me who needs toughening up, huh? That’s why all your jokes are aimed my way, not at Vince?”
“Hey, guys, cool it,” Turtle says. “You wanna go outside and beat the shit out of each other, go ahead, but in here I got a tequila headache, all right?”
Eric is tempted to stand up and tell Drama to step outside; he’s tempted to just finally have it out with him. But before he can get the energy up to really push things, the sliding door opens and Arnold bounds in, followed by Vince. “Hey, you’re back!” he says, grinning at Eric.
“Yeah.” Arnold’s licking Turtle’s cheek, his ass in Drama’s face, and that makes Eric feel better. Vince sits on the arm of his chair and rubs his neck, and Eric takes a deep breath. Drama being Drama, he tells himself, but it doesn’t really help.
Wednesday, they go back to Ari’s, just Vince and Eric. Ari still looks kind of pale, but he also looks better than the week before. “Vince, give me one second with your boy, OK?” Ari says, and Vince nods and gives Eric a quizzical look before he turns to wait in the lobby.
Ari crosses his arms. “You passed on Courier.”
“Fuck, yeah, we passed.”
“No, I mean, you passed,” Ari says, and he keeps staring until Eric shrugs. “Does he know?”
Eric shrugs again, then shakes his head. He can see Vince talking to Lloyd in the waiting area, laughing at something. “Why? You think I should have -”
“Fuck you, I want him on basic cable?” Ari shakes his head. “You tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny it like I’m Ryan Seacrest’s boyfriend, but E, I’m so fucking proud of you right now I could weep.”
“Somehow, your pride in me is more troubling than your disdain,” Eric says, but he smiles a little. “Can we let the actual movie star in, now, or do you need to give me a gold star or something?”
“By all means,” Ari says, and Eric holds open the door. “Now this is the kind of deference I like to see,” Ari says as Vince walks through. “Vinnie, you got him trained right. Maybe you can give a course to my wife.”
“I’m not touching that one,” Vince mutters, and Eric snorts.
“All right, but, seriously, I have the video,” Ari says, pulling a DVD case off his desk.
Eric sits forward, and his stomach twists. “Already?”
“It’s a rough cut, but you’ll get the idea.”
He reaches for the case and says, “How’s it look?”
“You, my friend, are going to love it. You’ll pull muscle groups you didn’t know you had watching that, E.”
“What?”
“Trust me, baby, it’s hot,” Ari says. “You’re looking at the next killer vid, there, man. I talked to LaDell’s people already, they love it, they’re going to release it next week like planned, and the buzz? It’s already making me hard.” Ari rubs his hands together, then whirls. “Don’t get jealous, E, it’s a professional hard-on.”
“I’d never worry about you,” Eric says. He turns the case over in his hands, then stands up. He sees Vince and Ari exchange some look, and that worries him, but no one says anything. Ari crows a little more about the video and tells Eric to talk to Shauna about doing some preview for it, some Internet news show, and then they leave.
In the car, Vince says, “E, it’s fine. You know it’s gonna be fine.”
“Yeah,” he says, but he keeps staring at the road, and he turns on the radio fast to stop the conversation. He just - doesn’t want to see it. Not yet. He should be curious, but it feels like, well, like everything is riding on this video. It’s probably only four minutes long, and Eric’s as nervous as if he was driving to see the first Medellin cut.
“E, seriously,” Vince says, and Eric realizes he’s been drumming his finger over the DVD case, which is resting on the console between them, for their whole trip. “Am I that fucked?”
“Seriously?” Eric shrugs. “I don’t know, Vince. I’ve never been down this road before.”
“You don’t think Nightfeeders is gonna do well?”
“I think it should do well,” Eric says as they pull into the driveway. He stops the car but keeps looking ahead. “Everything’s in place. But Ari’s right, if it doesn’t, everybody’s gonna look for someplace to land that blame.”
He doesn’t have to look over for Vince to know who he means, but he does, anyway, and Vince blinks, and Eric sees him get it, again, and he feels momentarily bad. Because of course, it’s not just his career, it’s this whole life that’s at stake - their whole life, and Turtle’s and Drama’s. If the movie flops, everyone will say it was Vince coming out, and even Cameron will be pissed, and yeah, then they probably will be fucked. Maybe the Fincher movie will get pushed back. Maybe the offers will dry up. Vince looks away and after a second he shrugs, but Eric can see through the bullshit. He’s worried, too; it’s a huge gamble, and they can’t turn back now.
Eric wants to reach over, touch Vince, reassure him somehow, but the top is down on the convertible and he can hear the paparazzi calling their names, his name, even from there. So he pockets the keys and picks up the DVD and heads inside.
Vince wanders toward the living room, and Eric follows, after a minute, the disc still in his hand. Turtle’s crashed on the couch, and he sits up as they walk in.
“What’s up, fellas?”
Vince says, “We saw Ari, just got a copy of that video.”
“Yeah? We should watch that,” Turtle says. “That model was smokin’. Where’s it at?”
Vince shrugs and looks back at him, and Eric nods. He slides the disc into the DVD player, then turns around, surprised to see Vince already stretched out on the other couch. “Shift,” he says, and Vince sits up long enough for Eric to settle in, then he rests his head on Eric’s thigh. Eric knows he’s not really tired - they haven’t even been awake that long - but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe Vince needs a little soothing, right now. Maybe he’s as nervous as Eric is. Eric lowers his hand to Vince’s hair, and Vince murmurs something appreciative.
The video is, actually, pretty hot: lots of shots of Vince in black-and-white, wearing the sharp suits they had for him, looking powerful and pretty at the same time, glowering, slamming down a stack of bills, holding out a hand for the girl to join him. Kanye makes incongruous appearances in the background. Half the video is black and white, the other half is done with heavy tints in blue and green. The chorus - which comes up three times - is Vince and the model, making out in slow-motion in the back of the limo. The last shot is Vince sitting in the back of that car, his arms spread out across the back of the seat, looking straight into the camera like, I dare you, or Come at me, or Here I am. It’s not bad; it’s also not great. It’s just a fucking music video, flashy romance for wannabe gangsters. Eric can’t really believe that Ari thinks this is going to save them.
“Jesus,” Turtle says, when the song is over. “Personal porn, E. You should send Ari a bottle of wine or something.”
Eric rolls his eyes, and Vince laughs and looks up at him. “Don’t joke, Turtle,” Vince says, “E thinks I’m gonna have to start doing porn, soon, just to keep working.”
“Is that lucrative?” Turtle asks.
“Billy thought so,” Vince says. “Hey, maybe he could direct.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Eric says, looking down. He feels a strange flare of annoyance, a little tightening in his shoulders. Even now that he’s seen it, Vince doesn’t care? Fine, Eric thinks, play dumb. He draws his hand back, doesn’t look down at Vince.
Turtle snorts. “Bet he wouldn’t stay on script.” He starts the video again, and Vince sits up next to Eric, not touching him at all. Eric doesn’t reach over, either. When it’s over, Eric stands up and gets out his phone. He makes a motion like he’s going upstairs to call someone, but really, he just wants to get away. He doesn’t want to see the video again, and not just because it’s a stupid music video. Really, there’s nothing hot about watching his boyfriend making out with some girl, and there’s definitely nothing hot about knowing that soon, thousands - maybe even millions - of people will be able to see it, too. He wants to call Ari and tell him to pull it, to axe the whole idea, to axe himself for thinking of it, but instead he takes a couple of deep breaths and sits calmly for a moment, forcing himself to relax. He’s thinking like a lover instead of a manager, and that shit has to stop. If he wants people to keep taking him seriously, then he’s got to divide his duties. Ari’s right. They need something, and this video is probably the best they can do. It’s better than sitting down with Rolling Stone or Larry King or Oprah, that’s for sure.
Eric takes another deep breath, then rests his head in his hands. The truth is, whatever he’s saying to Vince, he thinks things are only going to get worse. He thinks if Nightfeeders bombs, not only is Vince going to get the blame from the studio and Cameron, Eric’s going to get his fair share, too, for not managing Vince better about when to come out, and for being the reason he’s off track in the first place. And that’s going to be hard for them to balance, on top of all of the other shit they’re still working on and going through. It’s just gonna get harder for a while. No one in the world seems to think that they should get a happy ending, that this should work. Eric wants badly to prove them wrong, but he feels the pressure. He tells himself that eventually, things will be better, easier, things will be OK, but he can’t quite talk himself into it.
The next morning, Vince sits down with his cereal and says, “All right, so you hated the video.”
“Hated?” Eric says. He looks up from his breakfast - oatmeal - and blinks. He thought he was covering better than this. “I didn’t hate it.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Vince says.
“I thought it was fine,” he says.
“You seriously did?”
Eric nods. “The black and white was a good idea. LaDell does good work.”
Vince groans. “I’m talking about me, dickhead.”
He shrugs. “You were good, too.”
Vince stares at him. “E, is something going on?” he asks.
“What?” Eric’s got his spoon halfway to his mouth. “Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Vince says. “But you’re being weird.”
“I’m not being weird,” he says, shaking his head. He’s tired, he’s frustrated, a little, but it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Vince keeps staring at him. “What? I’m not.”
Vince frowns. “You are,” he says, “but whatever, if you don’t want to talk about it.”
Eric sighs. “Vin, nothing’s going on,” he says. “I’m worried about the movie.”
“Uh-huh,” Vince says. Eric shrugs when Vince keeps staring at him. “If this is just about the movie, I’ll eat my spoon,” he says.
“What else would it be about?”
“I don’t know,” Vince says. His voice is infuriating: soft and knowing all at once, like he’s mocking Eric. “What would it be about?”
“Jesus Christ,” Eric says, setting down his spoon. “It’s like having a fucking girlfriend sometimes.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You’re pissed at me because, what, I didn’t give you a standing ovation for the video?”
“I’m not pissed at anyone,” Vince says, though Eric can tell that’s not so true anymore, “but you seem kinda testy.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Eric says. He picks up his bowl - it’s not even half-empty - and carries it to the sink. “I’m gonna go to the office for a while,” he says, and walks out without saying another word. He gets into the car, slides on his sunglasses, and then keeps one hand up to block the cameras as he eases the car onto the street. Christ, he wants to rev his motor, really put the car in gear, but they’re so close that he has to creep along, giving them all plenty of time to snap their photos. “Vultures,” he mutters, and finally gets clear enough to put some speed on.
He calls Turtle from the office and reminds him to pick Vince up for his appointment with the therapist that afternoon. “I thought he was done,” Turtle says, and Eric sighs. To be honest, he thought Vince was done, too, but he still goes to talk with Margot once every few weeks. He says it helps him stay centered, and Eric figures right now, anything that helps should be encouraged. So he tells Turtle to just go, and then he tries to concentrate on his full inbox for a while. He manages to pare it down to only a few dozen unanswered messages by lunch time, and though he thinks about calling Vince, he decides to just wait until he’s home to get into it all again with him. He stays at the office well into the afternoon, picks up their laundry on the way home, and is surprised when he walks into an empty house. He texts Turtle and finds out they’re at a club, and that makes him quickly, sharply angry. After all of this, Vince is just ready to go out again? Without Eric? Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks. There will be pictures all over tomorrow. He hangs up the laundry and goes to bed, and though he wakes up, he doesn’t move at all when Vince climbs in next to him at 2.
The next day over a late breakfast, Eric says, “So where’d you go last night?”
Vince shrugs. “Turtle just wanted to hang out for a while. I thought you’d call when you were done at the office.”
That’s actually a fair assumption. Eric almost always calls Vince when he’s in transit. He clears his throat. “Did you have a good time?”
Vince shrugs again. “Not really,” he says. “I mean, it was fine, but the guys both struck out.” He’s toying with his bagel. “Lots of paparazzi,” he says finally, and he sounds just discouraged and bewildered enough that Eric’s anger deflates.
Eric nods. “There were a lot out front yesterday, too.”
“Shauna says the offer price has gone up.” They’ve talked about this a few times: everyone wants a proof picture of the two of them, a hug, a kiss, something that proves they are gay and together. The few grainy shots they have with Vince’s arm around his shoulders at the donut shop downtown sold like crazy, she says. Eric doesn’t want to think what a price hike might mean.
“How was your thing yesterday?” Eric asks.
“With Margot?” Eric nods. “It was good,” Vince says. “Actually - this is sort of weird. But, she asked if maybe, if you wouldn’t mind maybe coming along next time.”
Eric narrows his eyes. “What, for therapy?”
Vince nods. “She said it might be good just to see us together.”
“Why?”
“I dunno,” Vince says. “Maybe she’s just checking to see if I’m telling the truth about stuff, you know, like are things with us like I say they are.”
“Like couple’s therapy or something?”
Vince shrugs. “I guess. Could be good. What do you say?”
“Uh, no?” Eric says, and Vince rolls his eyes. “What, you think we should?”
“Yeah,” he says. “It can’t hurt.”
“But what’s it going to help?”
Vince sighs. “You don’t really know until you get there.”
“Fifteen fucking years, man, you really think we need someone telling us how to be us?”
“She won’t tell us anything,” Vince says. “Seriously, you don’t think there’s anything that could be better between us?”
“You could listen to me more,” Eric says. “Like right now.”
“I’m serious,” Vince says, and he leans forward. “And you know what, you’re serious, too, probably, even if you don’t realize it. There’s shit going on we could work out.”
“Is this about yesterday?” Eric asks. “About breakfast? Did you tell her we were fighting?” Vince shrugs, which means yes. “Jesus, no wonder she wants to see us both.”
“You’re saying, you walked out on me yesterday morning, you don’t think that’s worth talking about?”
Eric laughs. “Yeah! Yeah, let’s talk about it. But we don’t need a fucking audience for that, OK? We’ve got enough people horning in on us now, we don’t need a fucking therapist added to the mix.”
Vince says, quietly, “Then let’s talk about it. Why’d you leave, yesterday?”
Eric wants to explain. He could just talk about the stress of all those cameras outside, talk about the downturn in the studio’s expectations for Nightfeeders, talk about his big fear, that come the end of summer, someone’s going to suggest that maybe Fincher’s movie isn’t the best fit for them after all. But more than he wants to talk, he doesn’t want to lay that all out on Vince. Not right now. So he just says, “I was having a rough morning.”
“Rough how?”
He shrugs. “I didn’t sleep so well, and then you were on me about the video, and I just - I wasn’t ready to talk about it,” he says.
“Are you ready now?”
“Sure,” Eric says. “But I don’t think there’s a lot to talk about it, not really. I mean, the video’s done, it looks great, you look great in it.”
Vince stares across the table at him, like he’s trying to read his mind. Eric concentrates on looking honest, on looking like he means this. He doesn’t really want to get into this fight again, and it can’t help anything right now for him to tell the truth. “Look, I’m just kind of stressed out,” he says, finally. He scratches his neck, ducking his head so he doesn’t have to look Vince in the eye. Jesus, if this is acting, it’s fucking exhausting. “I’m not used to people wanting to take my picture, you know?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, and he nods, just once. “I know. I’m sorry, I know it’s weird, hard, whatever right now. It’ll get better. OK?”
“I know,” Eric says. He cracks a smile. “I just wish it would hurry up.”
“We just - I think we just keep doing what we’re going, right?” Vince says. “Just go on like normal.”
Eric nods, agreeing even though he’s thinking about how not normal everything is right now. But if Vince thinks they’re maintaining OK, then Eric’s not going to say anything different. One of them, at least, should be happy with how things are going.
The next night, they go out to dinner, as part of the effort to just go on like normal. When they get to the restaurant, there’s some kind of problem, someone spilled something in their booth and there’s broken glass everywhere, so they go to the bar to wait while the table’s getting cleared. Turtle and Drama get their drinks from the bar while Vince and Eric stake out a tall table in the corner. Eric’s still thinking about the paparazzi outside, wondering if he walked too close to Vince. “Vince, here’s your G and T,” Drama says, handing over a glass, and then he slides a tall glass with a mint sprig in front of Eric.
“What the fuck, Drama, I said a beer.”
He shrugs. “It’s Ladies’ Night, two dollars off mojitos.”
“That’s it,” Eric says, pushing away from the table and stepping toward Drama.
Vince flings an arm across his chest. “Yo, ease up,” he says. “Turtle, can you get him a beer?”
Drama snickers and sips his own drink, and Eric glares at him. He’s so fucking sick of this. “I don’t want a beer,” he says, shaking Vince’s arm off. Vince grips his biceps instead. “You know what, I’m not even hungry anymore.”
“Oh, come on, E, he’s sorry. Johnny,” Vince says, and Drama rolls his eyes.
“You know what, bro, actually I’m not sorry.” Drama sets his drink down on the table. “Unless we’re mourning the death of E’s sense of humor, and yeah, I’m pretty broken up about that.”
“Fuck you,” Eric says. “You aren’t being funny, Drama, you’re being a dick. Deny it all you want, but you’re doing this shit on purpose, you’re just bashing me for the hell of it.”
“I’m not doing anything I haven’t always done,” Drama says, his voice full of mock innocence and offense.
“Right,” Eric says.
Vince starts to say, “E -” but the hostess shows up then to lead them to their table. Vince keeps a tight grip on Eric’s arm, so he has to follow. It’s either that or really make a scene.
They make it through dinner, but barely. Eric sits in the corner near the wall, blocked in by Vince, and Drama sits diagonal from him. Vince and Turtle mostly keep the conversation going. Vince also keeps his hand on Eric’s leg through the whole meal, which Eric finds mildly patronizing, but somehow also necessary. Drama doesn’t make any cracks, just talks about filming and the cooking technique he guesses the chef used on his fish, but Eric still grits his teeth through half of the meal. If he were fifteen, he’d kick him under the table. Or climb under the table and drag him outside to fight.
After dinner they were supposed to all go out, something they haven’t done in forever, but Eric is totally not in the mood and Vince seems to pick up on it. He tells the other guys to go ahead, and after they’ve left they get into Eric’s car. “OK,” Vince says, “what’s going on with you and Johnny?”
Eric pauses. He wants to tell Vince everything, because he wants Vince to be on his side, but he also doesn’t want to tell him everything, because - well, it’s his brother. Vince might feel bad. Or hurt. And Eric’s pretty sure that whatever Drama’s saying, he doesn’t actually mean it; he’s just trying, for whatever reason, to get under Eric’s skin.
“He’s just been, uh, he’s been picking on me more, I guess, recently,” Eric says. It sounds lame, so he’s not surprised when Vince doesn’t look convinced.
“It was a dumb joke tonight,” he says. “But he’s right, E, that’s the kind of shit the guys have pulled for years. Hell, we’ve done stuff like that to them.”
“It’s not just tonight,” Eric says. “Look, every time I’m around him recently, he’s just been a pain in the ass for me. I shouldn’t’ve gotten so worked up tonight, OK, but - he’s got it coming, Vin.”
“You’re not seriously going to get into a fight with my brother, are you?”
“If he keeps acting like an asshole,” Eric mutters, and Vince groans.
“Christ, E. It’s Johnny. You know how he is. Sometimes he’s weird, you just have to, like, ride it out. You know this.”
Eric shake his head. “This is more than that. This is - he’s like targeting me, or something.”
“I don’t think that’s true.” Vince rubs his shoulder. “You don’t think it’s possible he’s right, maybe? A little?”
“What, you think I lost my sense of humor, too?”
“No, but I think you’re stressed out, and you’re taking stuff meant to be a joke - a stupid joke, sure - a little harder than usual.”
Eric glares over at him, but it’s hard to be mad at Vince when he’s looking at him with this warm, affectionate face. “I’m not crazy,” he says.
“I know,” Vince says. “Listen, maybe let’s go to the gym tomorrow. You want to hit the bags? I can call Kerwin.”
“Maybe,” Eric says. Kerwin is Vince’s boxing trainer on the film. Eric’s been enjoying Vince’s sessions with him, and not just because it’s pretty hot to watch Vince working out. Going along tomorrow could be a good way to get rid of some of this tension. Particularly if he pictures Drama’s face on the bag. “Yeah, call him up.”
“Good,” Vince says. “Now, come on, no more of this tonight, all right? Just let it go. It’s just Johnny being Johnny, E.”
“I know,” Eric says, and he tries to pretend that he does.
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