There was one I remembered clearly, one that she always used to say whenever she was under stress or pressure. Sumptus censum ne superet. When I'd asked her what it meant, she'd told me it meant that we should be happy with what we have, so we would never be dissatisfied. When I'd gotten older, I'd looked it up. Let not your spending exceed your income . Live within your means, don't go for the forbidden. Nice sentiment. Only problem with it was that I never thought anything was forbidden. *** (New Zealand, September 28th, 1999) Five hours in this new country and already I had an assigned role. Leader. Apparently the previous actor had been lacking in that quality for all that he'd been, by all accounts, a pretty decent guy. I was supposed to bring gravitas, meaning, a deeper understanding of a world I'd only discovered on the long plane ride out here. No pressure. The party was supposed to be my introduction to the rest of the cast and crew. Put me in a more relaxed setting, so to speak. Personally, I thought it was an excuse for everyone to get drunk, but since that sounded like a fine idea to me, I went along with it. "It's good to finally have another adult around." Sean Bean smiled his famous smile, crinkles lighting the corners of his remarkable eyes. I'd heard of him, of course, being of an age and working with many of the same people. Acting was a pretty small community, all things considered. I smiled back. "Inmates running the asylum?" "You have no idea." I clinked my beer bottle to his in salute. I liked him, which was a good thing, since we'd be sharing a house and all. "I'll warn you I'm just as bad." "Just keep your eye on this one," Sean said, and snagged a skinny elbow, dragged a slender body towards us. "He's already got most of the crew wrapped around his little finger." "I do not." Wide, laughing brown eyes met mine. I was engulfed in an enthusiastic hug a second later, the space between us forgotten as if it had never been. As if we weren't total strangers. "Welcome to the family," Orlando smiled. I could only smile back. *** (L.A., June 15th, 2004) "Five more minutes," I mumbled when the alarm clock went off. Useless to negotiate with time, but I always did it. One more minute, two, ten. I couldn't help it. I was fond of sleep. It had been a really pleasant dream. Something about St. Augustine (the actual saint) teaching me to make oatmeal caramel bars. I usually tried to scribble them down before I forgot them, but this one was too good not to share right away. One good thing about this cell phone Elijah had insisted I buy was that it had one-touch dialing. "'Lo?" The voice on the other end was sleep-rough. "So, I was having this great dream..." "Ah, fuck me, Vig, it's...fuck. 7 AM." "Yeah, I know. Just listen." "7 AM," Elijah repeated it like I hadn't said anything. "You have any fucking idea what time I went to bed last night?" "No." "I just got back in town. How the fuck did you know I was here, anyway?" "I didn't," I told him. "You just, what? Guessed?" "Something like that." I was fully awake now. Tea would be good. I got up and stretched, winced when my feet hit the bare floor. "Your luck is, as ever, outstanding." I heard scuffling on the other end. Probably rolling over to grab for his cigarettes. I put the kettle on, gazed out at the sun through the bay windows. Garden was in full, riotous color. Would be outstanding later in the day when the light was just – "What was that?" "I said, I saw Orlando and Kate last night after I got in. We should get together, man. Mini-reunion. Isn't Karl here, too?" "Yeah. Yeah, he is." I forced myself to take a deep breath, and changed the subject. ***
Writing was a scary thing. Scarier even, than acting. Getting to the core of a character was easy. You had your co-stars, directors, cinematographers, wardrobe and, if you were lucky, the writers on set, to help you along, set you on your path. You still walked it alone, but the path, at least, was there. Writing was free-falling. No safety, no second chances. Once the word was written, it was permanent, tangible, a physical being. A manifestation of self. Infinite. *** (New Zealand, November 8th, 1999) "Oi, Vig, we need your help, mate!" I stopped and reversed course, headed back to Dom and Billy. Like two peas, they were, thick as thieves or whatever cliché you could think of. The mountainside we were currently filming on was covered in layers of fake snow to cover emerald green grass. November, and I still hadn't gotten used to the flip-flopping of the seasons yet. I itched for my camera -- the old Minolta with the slow shutter. The longer exposure would contrast the brilliance of the greens and golds with... "Vig." I glanced up when Billy snapped his fingers in front of my eyes. "You still with us?" "Yeah." I lowered myself into the director's chair next to them. "What can I do for you?" "We need your help with Orli." "You do?" My gaze went automatically to Orlando. He was across the set, in some deep conversation with Elijah. He looked animated enough, but the circles under his eyes... Elves weren't supposed to look tired. Dom continued where Billy'd left off. "He's been depressed since Sarah dumped him. Don't tell me you haven't noticed." "You notice everything," Billy finished. I couldn't answer. "He looks up to you." Dom brushed a piece of lint from his costume. I kept my eyes on his fingers, not his eyes. "You should talk to him." "Let him cry on your shoulder, that sort of thing. He's wounded," Billy said. "You're good with making people feel better." They wouldn't take no for an answer. I'd expected no less. *** (Santa Monica, June 18th, 2004) Karl's exuberance was one of the many things I loved about him. No inhibitions, no hiding, everything he felt and thought was right there, out in the open for all the world to see. Made him a gifted actor and a better friend. "You look tired, Vig," he said, after a very long, tight hug and even longer kiss. We'd all quickly learned to give up and respond, go along with it. The kisses were just a cultural thing. "Not tired." I sat across from him at the table. The little sidewalk café near the Promenade was bustling with servers and bussers weaving from table to table. All of them hopeful actors, I imagined. All of them looking for that elusive big break. Searching, forever searching, seeking, wanting that one thing out of reach. "Didn't say you were. Just said you looked it." Karl ordered water and beer and a large roast beef sandwich with fries. Kiwis had never heard of the SoCal diet and thank God for it. I placed my order -- beer and salad -- and shrugged. "Guess I've got a lot going on. Signed a few new projects. It's good to see you," I added, and it was. I hadn't seen him since the Berlin premiere and it felt like a lifetime. "Seen anyone else since you've been in town?" "Dinner with Astin, lunch with Bean. Went out last night with Orlando and Kate." He swallowed his first sip of beer. "He looked good. Rested." "He's been working hard, I hear." I shrugged and picked up my own glass. "You seen him?" "No." "Y'know..." I looked up. "What?" "Nothing." He spread his hands on the table. "It's just fucked is all. It's over, let it go. You two used to be tight." "I'm not talking about this." "Of course not." Karl shook his head. "Elwood's throwing some pool party thing on Sunday. He wants you there. Something about a mini-reunion." Mini-reunion. Yeah, right. I knew what that meant. "I don't think..." "You're going." Karl smiled his thanks at the server when she dropped off our plates. "You know you can't say no to us." Yeah. I knew. ***
Remember. Years went by, decades, time wearing away once sharp sorrow, faded it until it was no more than dust motes in the air. I could think back on her, on those careless days, with a wistful smile. Years went by and the look, the feel of her, blurred, softened until I could no longer recall her exact scent, her exact taste. But I never forgot the memory of that last look she'd given me. Never forgot that last, chaste kiss. Or the lock of black hair that I carried with me always as a talisman. *** (New Zealand, December 12th, 1999) The sizzling smells of butter and garlic permeated the house as I tossed another handful of mushrooms in the pan. I watched Orlando roam around the living room, going from shelf to shelf. He glanced at me through the open door every once in awhile, smiled that shy smile he sometimes got when he was trying to think of something to say, but couldn't. I never told him that his silences were more precious to me than any words. "I appreciate this," he finally said. He appeared next to me, barefoot, jeans riding baggy and low on his hips, shirt some sort of bright salmon color with faded mustard stains near the hem. His hair was impossibly short, eyes soft and bright. He looked young, fresh, like a springtime garden or summer rain. The scent of him overpowered everything else, blurred my vision, stuttered my breath. "I had to eat anyway," I told him, and slid the mushrooms to each plate of pasta. I didn't look up at him. "Got any wine to go with this?" he asked, and the moment was lost. But not forgotten. "Yeah." I forced my eyes to his, forced myself to give him an easy-going smile. "Got some cabernet behind you on the counter." His smile was blinding white. "Sounds perfect." The back patio was cool, and we elected to eat there, surrounded by woods and cicadas chirping (or what I assumed were cicadas, I had no idea of the local flora and fauna of New Zealand, which shamed me). Wine disappeared, dinner was consumed, and through it all, I was careful to keep the conversation light, steered each topic with care and precision. It was easy to talk with him. He had a delightfully wicked sense of humour and never failed to laugh at my jokes. He volunteered to clean up since I cooked, and that was fine with me. Cleaning up after myself was never high on my list of priorities. He was elbow deep in suds and water when I wandered into the kitchen with the last of the dishes, space between his eyes furrowed with concentration. I wondered what he was thinking about. I wanted to smooth the wrinkle with my thumb. The portable radio was playing an old Stones tune and he hummed and sang along, hips twitching to the beat. I remembered when the song had been new. "Is that it?" he asked, and gave me one of those bright, shy smiles. "Yeah." Impossible not to answer that smile, and maybe that had been my first mistake. I'd made so many when it came to him that it was hard to keep track. "You're so...together, Vig," he said. He sounded weary, and I ached for the fragility and strength of him. His hands were wet when he turned off the water, and he reached past me for the towel. I held my breath, felt the heat as the hairs on our arms brushed. "I don't know how you do it." I shrugged, used the movement to take that precious step back. Space for the both of us. "I've been alive longer than you. Living's easier once you get in some practice." "Alive...yeah." He glanced at me, all lashes and hope and half-fearful seduction. "That's exactly what you are. Alive." "Orlando..." I held up my hands, wanted to tell him... "I didn't want this." He stepped forward, hands at his sides. Didn't touch me, but that was somehow worse. "I don't want this," he repeated, "but if I don't have you again..." "I know," I told him. Met the heat of his lips, the slick invasion of his tongue halfway. Met the full, hard slide of his body against mine. And let myself drown. *** (Santa Monica, June 21st, 2004) Elijah greeted me himself when I knocked on the door. He climbed up my back and gave my neck a loud, smacking kiss. Good thing the kid was still a skinny runt. "You came!" "So I did," I said, and set him down, ruffling his hair in a way I knew would get on his nerves. He ducked out of the way easily, gave me his best fuck you smile. "Just about everyone's here already," he said, and grabbed my hand to drag me out to the pool. Bean was the first one out of his chair. "'Bout time," he laughed, and I was enveloped in a bone-crushing hug for the second time in as many minutes. "Been languishing without me?" I grinned, returned the embrace easily. Caught a flash of silver, flash of curls, out of the corner of my eye. Orlando. Our gazes collided almost instantly, and all of the oxygen, all thought, regret, space, fell away. Six months, almost, to the day since I'd seen him, and it may as well have been six minutes. For a second, I could feel hesitant fingers marking my skin, hear my name echoed in breathless wonder, see dark eyes grow opaque as we moved together as one. For a second, I was in New Zealand, wandering the forests with him at my side, sunlight dappling through the leaves. For a second, June felt like winter. "Hey," Orlando said a second later, and stepped forward to give me a quick, impersonal hug. He returned to Kate's side almost instantly. His hair was longer than it had been in December, skin darker, but his eyes were still that impossible shade of gold and mahogany. "Hey," I replied, then gave Kate an easy smile, longer hug. She felt like glass, only warm, small frame easily engulfed by mine. "How's he treating you?" "Very well." Her smile was radiant, pure. Her fingers curled with Orlando's as he kissed strands of white-blonde hair. They looked perfect together. "Anyone want a beer?" Bean asked, and I was the first to volunteer to get them. *** Karl showed up about an hour later with Dom in tow, and the afternoon wore on with stories and insults traded, beer consumed, so many hot dogs and burgers eaten that I felt part cow. It was a good time -- full of laughter and remembrance and camaraderie. Good that we could still get together like this. There was a hidden path that led from Elijah's house to the beach, and I decided to take a walk, watch the moon rise over the ocean. The sand still felt warm between my toes, but the breeze held a bite to it that warned of cooler weather. The first star appeared on the canvas of blue-black, and I tilted my head back, made a silent wish. I didn't believe in them, didn't believe in fate, but I made one anyway. The night seemed to call for it. When Orlando found me, I was standing at the water's edge, waves lapping at my feet with cold fingers. The water stretched out into the horizon, the same shade of blue-black as the sky. Impossible to capture on film, even though I'd tried and tried. Impossible to tame. "You've been missed," Orlando murmured, bumped a careless shoulder against mine. I took his hand, laced our fingers together. Fancied I could feel the imprint of a smaller hand over his. "But not by you," I answered, kept my eyes on the waves. "It doesn't matter. I'm here now." It was a lie, and we both knew it. "Guess not." I felt his fingers flex in mine, glanced into moonlight-silver eyes. "Yeah." His nod was one of careful resignation. The kiss surprised neither of us. One of his hands lifted to my hair -- one gentle tug, and I opened for him, him for me, tongues dueling, teeth marking. Hard slide of lips, of bodies, as we stepped closer, space between us an afterthought, unneeded. When I lifted my head, the first thing I saw was Karl's hard gaze, not ten feet away. ***
I remember debating the merits of the soul one night with Bean and Orlando, after a few too many drinks in our regular pub. "I believe the soul is our way of being free," Bean had said, leaning forward, pointing at me with his glass. "I don't believe that." I'd turned to Orlando, met serious eyes that held none of their youthful spark. He'd looked far older than myself and Bean combined. "I think we'll never be free as long as we have the soul as a safety net," he'd said. "As long as we know somewhere out there we have a second chance." He'd taken my glass from me and raised it to his lips, throat working as he swallowed half the contents. His gaze never left mine as he'd spoken. "I don't believe in second chances." *** (New Zealand, December 1999) "So." Bean dropped onto the rock next to me, stretched his legs in front of him. "So." Peter was talking on his headset to the 2nd unit and setting up our next shot at the same time. Hour seven of a typical thirteen hour day, and I was taking this small break for all it was worth. "So, Orli spent the night again last night, so." Calm green eyes met mine as I shrugged. "Is this going to be a problem?" I asked. Sean was pretty conservative sometimes, for all that he was in the business. "Not for me," he said. He didn't sound upset. Just...resigned. "But if you were to ask my advice, I'd tell you to be careful." "Careful?" I repeated, tested the word on my tongue. "Yeah." He shook his head, strands of wig falling across his forehead. "You have any idea what you're doing with him?" I thought back to last night, last week...hell, last month. "Not really," I answered. It was the truth. "Then be careful." He placed a hand on my knee, gave it a careful squeeze. "Kid like that was born to break hearts." *** (Santa Monica, June 21st, 2004) "You selfish cocksucker." Karl said it conversationally, even though he was pacing in great, angry strides. We were alone. He'd sent Orlando back up the path to the party ('but not far, because we're talking about this, and if you ditch me, I swear to Christ I'll bring it up in front of everyone, including Kate...' and he would, too) and the tension kept exponentially growing. Pretty soon it would engulf this stretch of beach, us, our friendship, and everyone around us. "The fuck are the two of you thinking?" he asked, rounding on me with murder and a kind of furious hurt in his eyes. He looked tired, old, as old as I felt, and it killed me that I'd done this. We'd done this. "He's got a great girl, and you know it," Karl continued. "Has his career and life all before him. He's fucking golden. And you --" Dismissive wave "-- you just can't keep your hands off, can you?" "Well, actually..." "How long? How long've you been lying to us? How long've you been doing this to him?" Doing it to each other, I wanted to say, but didn't. I knew better. "Since New Zealand," I finally said, when it became apparent that he was waiting for an answer. He nodded as if he'd expecting nothing less. "You have to end it." He clamped a hand over my shoulder, squeezed in friendly commiseration. "Before having him destroys you both." I nodded. But didn't reply. Having him wasn't the hard part. Wanting him was easy. But the space... the space was going to destroy me. ***
"Fuck me, I'm wiped," Orlando stated as he sank into the make-up chair next to Bean. Normally bright tawny eyes were red-rimmed and paunchy. He looked like he hadn't slept. For once, I wasn't the cause. Bean didn't bother to open his eyes as he slumped further into his chair. "Should know better'n to outdrink Billy." "I wasn't trying to outdrink Billy," Orlando mumbled. "Just trying to keep up." He looked up gratefully when I pressed a steaming mug of coffee in his hands -- black and strong, three sugars. "Have I told you lately that I love you?" "Not lately." I smiled into warm eyes. Our fingers brushed over each other in passing. Bean cracked an eye open and gave us both the patented Glare of Doom. "Why's this tosser get coffee and I don't?" Orlando sipped gratefully from his mug, gave me a quick wink. "Haven't you been paying attention, Bean? I'm loved and you're not." "Bollocks. Vig's just a sucker for pretty brown eyes." Sean continued to glare at me. I stared back, nonplussed. "Are you, Vig?" Orlando turned said pretty brown eyes to me, waited for an answer. I didn't bother to give him one. We both knew it already. "I'll get your coffee," I told Sean, and poured him a cup. *** (L.A., June 24th, 2004) The sunsets in California were nowhere near as spectacular as those in New Zealand, but they were still fairly nice. Most evenings I was home found me on my back porch, mug of tea in hand, watching as the sun sank into the ocean in a fiery ball of gold and red. I always sat alone. It was the only time I allowed myself to remember. "Whatcha writing?" His breath was warm on my neck, and I leaned back, smiled as I finished scribbling the line. "Just a little something," I told him, and closed the journal. I tumbled him into my lap a moment later and his laughter was quickly swallowed by my kiss... When I'd left Elijah's party, I'd said goodbye to everyone under Karl's watchful gaze. Such a careful guard dog, and I'd been grateful. Kept us honest. Orlando had been last, his eyes locking with mine speaking louder than words ever could. Our palms slid across each other a moment longer than necessary, and the hum between us crackled anew. Everything we needed to say had already been said in that one touch. No, I'd never be free of him, nor him of me. But wasn't that the entire point?
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