The Castro
Chapter seven time!!!! :D
Not counting this week, there's three more weeks of chapters to go. Eight'll be split into two parts and then there's the epilogue. June 14th will be The Castro's finale. <3
I can't believe I'm nearly done posting. I want to thank everyone who's read and enjoyed thus far, and I hope these last few chapters don't disappoint. We're gearing up for The Castro's climax now, folks! ^____^
Seven's song is "White Horse" by Taylor Swift.
Title: The Castro (7/9)
Rated: R
Pairings: Drew/Chip, Ryan/Greg, mention of Chip/Brad and Jeff/Wayne
Summary: Drew is divorced, stuck at a dead-end job and suffering from writer's block. Will attending the funeral of an old friend be the wake up call he so desperately needs?
Chapter Seven: White Horse
I was a dreamer before you
and you let me down.
my mistake-i didn't want to be in love.
you had to fight to have the upper hand.
Cleveland, Ohio
Friday, November 13, 2009
Geraci's Restaurant was fancier than Dubrovnik's, and a lot pricier, too. Drew was Cleveland born and raised but had only dined there a handful of times. So he was somewhat confused when Ryan sent him a text on his lunch break, asking if he'd like to grab some pizza for dinner that night-his treat.
Sure. Pizza Hut? Drew had said.
Fuck that. Geraci's. See you at 8.
And that was it.
“C'mon, Ry,” Drew muttered under his breath, hugging himself tighter. It was mid-November now, and it felt like it. Temperatures were in the low twenties, and it'd been flurrying sporadically since noon. But that still didn't stop Drew's fellow Clevelanders from heading outdoors-it was Friday night, after all.
Person after coat-clad person passed him on the sidewalk, headed for Geraci's or another destination in the plaza. He noted with a frown that many of them appeared to be couples, walking hand-in-hand through the snow flurries, laughing happily to themselves.
He missed Chip.
It'd been almost two weeks since they'd left Williamsburg. After Ryan finally managed to coax Drew and Chip from the balcony, Chip stayed true to his word and dropped them off at the airport. For once, he and Drew parted on good terms, and had been talking practically everyday since. They had no official name for themselves, other than “us.”
Us.
It was still so surreal-not upsetting, just surreal. Two months ago Drew and Chip didn't know each other. Two months ago, Al was still alive, and Chelsea remained a lost cause in California. Two months ago, Drew had never made love to a man.
He didn't think it was possible for so much to change so dramatically in such a short period of time.
Geraci's was getting busier now. Drew could make out the beginnings of a line forming through the window. Still no sign of Ryan.
Not that Drew disliked the sex. At first he was nervous, but Chip was gentle and it had only been uncomfortable for a few seconds before becoming almost unbearably pleasurable. He'd yet to be inside of Chip, but they had talked about it and both agreed that, the next time they saw each other, they wanted to try it. That same night, there'd been a bout of unexpected phone sex, too. Chip admitted that the night's topics had gotten him hot and bothered, and he wished Drew could take him right now-
“Carey!”
Drew jolted at Ryan's unexpected voice, earning himself an odd look from some passing teenaged girls. “What?” he called back, trying in vain to ignore images of Chip naked, hard and breathless in his mind. “Jesus. You're late. They're getting busy.”
Ryan hurried over to him, asking, “You didn't hear me calling you? I told you to go in and get a table! I wanted to finish my cigarette real fast.”
“It's loud, Ry,” he muttered defensively. “No, I didn't hear you calling me. Why're you so late?”
“It's only five after eight,” Ryan argued. “I'm not that late. Come on.”
The inside of Geraci's always smelled divine. Its interior was composed of mostly brick and basic décor, and Drew inhaled the scent of herbs and marinara deeply, momentarily forgetting his embarrassment of fantasizing about a twenty three year old boy. The line forming earlier had dwindled a bit and, thankfully, Drew and Ryan only had to wait about five or six minutes before being whisked away to a cozy table in the back.
I should bring Chip here some day.
After the waiter delivered their drinks and appetizer and took their order, Drew took a sip of Coke, watching his friend with a curious frown. “So, what's with the generosity?” he asked.
“What generosity?” Ryan retorted around a mouthful of garlic toast. “I own a fucking bar. You're a retail slave. I make more money than you. It's more like pity.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “Seriously, asshole,” he said. “What gives? Is everything all right?” A wicked smirk formed on his mouth. “Is Greg pregnant?”
“Damn it, Drew, you're so observant!” Ryan replied mockingly. Drew laughed out loud and chucked a balled up napkin at his head. Ryan dodged it with a smirk, reaching for his beer. “Yeah. Yeah, Greg's pregnant. I'm gonna be a daddy.”
“Then I guess that makes me an uncle.” Drew grinned.
Ryan gave a good-natured shrug, smiling. “I guess so, Carey.”
Drew scrutinized his friend another moment before asking, “Really, Ry. What's up?”
Ryan quirked an eyebrow at his concern, opening his mouth in reply, but then closed it again, shaking his head. He wiped his hands off on his jeans and reached into his coat pocket, producing a small black jewelry box. He plucked a stray hair from its velvet exterior and placed it on the table between them.
Drew's eyes widened as Ryan opened the box, revealing a simple gold ring inside. Geraci's artificial lights glinted off its smooth surface like glass. “Okay, wow, Ry,” he breathed. “You're my friend, and I care about you a lot, but-”
“Cut the shit, Carey,” Ryan growled. He glanced at the ring. “It's not for you. I'm gonna ask Greg to marry me.”
Drew stared. “You are?” he said incredulously. “When did you decide this?”
“After he left.” Ryan gave a dismissive shrug, shutting the box. He looked back at Drew. “You're right. I don't want to lose him again.” He sounded sincere-Ryan Stiles didn't sound like that a lot.
The day Drew proposed to Chelsea, she'd said no-at first. Something about too many bad experiences; one too many flourishing romances that had consequently crashed and burned. It wasn't until after Drew assured her that he'd never hurt her like that and consequently promised her the whole world that she tearfully-albeit fearfully-agreed.
The irony was palpable.
But Greg won't do that.
“Congratulations, Ryan!” Drew smiled. “I'm happy for you. When-”
Ryan interrupted him. “There's more, Drew,” he interjected quietly. He seemed...nervous. Now.
Drew knit his eyebrows at that, reaching for his Coke. “Okay, shoot,” he said. “What?”
He wet his lips. “Drew, I'm-”
A sudden ringing reverberating from Drew's half of the table startled them both. It grew louder as Drew fussed with his coat, tugging out his cell phone.
Incoming Call
Chip's Cell
Despite interrupting his best friend's news, Drew couldn't help smiling. Hey, you.
“Sorry, Ry, hang on.” Ryan smirked and sipped his beer. “It's Chip. Hang on.” He accepted the call. “Hello? Hi. Wait-hang on, Chip. It's loud in here.” He met Ryan's eyes once more. “Ry, I'll be right back, all right?” Ryan nodded, selecting another piece of garlic toast, and Drew slipped outside.
It was snowing harder. A thin sheen of white powder doused the street now, and Drew's breath was visible puffs in the frigid air. He wound his free arm about his waist for warmth and leaned back against one of Geraci's outer walls.
“Sorry, Chip,” he said. “Ry and I went out to dinner. How was work?”
There was a pause, and then, “I got the part.”
Drew blinked at that. “The It's A Wonderful Life part, or Buddy?” he asked.
Two days after Drew, Ryan and Greg left Williamsburg, a talent agent had contacted Chip in regards to an upcoming musical about the late Buddy Holly. Chip happily auditioned three days later, attended a callback audition this past Tuesday and had been waiting with baited breath since. In that time, he'd also tried out for a smaller role at Williamsburg Players-their rendition of It's A Wonderful Life. It didn't take a genius to know which role he wanted more, and Drew didn't blame him at all.
The night of Chip's callback audition, while he was anxiously analyzing his performance on the phone to him, Drew couldn't hide a frown. He thought of Williamsburg Players, miniscule and unimpressive, and of Chip, extraordinary and wonderful, and reached the conclusion that the two just didn't mesh well.
Williamsburg Players wasn't good enough for Chip.
“You could do so much better,” Drew had argued. “You're talented, Chip.”
“I could say the same of you, you know,” Chip countered, and Drew had let it drop after that.
Chip didn't know it-was too young to realize it-but he had potential and raw talent and as long as he remained ruthless and unyielding in his quest to be an actor, he could take the world by storm someday.
Drew was positive.
So when a legitimate agent from a legitimate talent agency just happened to witness his performance in The Importance of Being Earnest and had liked him well enough to track him down afterward, Drew had interpreted it as a sign. He hoped Chip would, too.
“Buddy,” Chip answered quietly.
Drew's eyes widened at that. Oh, honey! “That's the one you wanted!” he exclaimed, grinning happily. “Chip, that's awesome! When-”
“It's in London,” he added. He sounded strangely subdued.
The night air felt ten degrees chillier than before, and Drew pressed himself closer against the wall. What? “Wait, what?” he said. “What's in London? Buddy takes place in London?”
“No,” Chip answered. “The show. It-it's in London.”
Drew wracked his brain, trying to decipher how far away London was from Cleveland.
A Hell of a lot further than Virginia.
Are you moving to London?
“Are you moving to London?” he blurted out. But you can't do that.
The snow was picking up. People hurried past Geraci's, laughing out loud, their breath white clouds in the night.
“I don't-I have to.” Chip let out a sigh. Drew just frowned. “Drew, this is an amazing opportunity for me,” he said. “I'm not going to find anything like this in Virginia. You told me I can do better than Williamsburg Players, and now I have the chance to!”
It was logical-Drew told himself it was. “But you can't move to London,” he said softly.
No matter the logic behind it, Drew didn't want to lose him. He couldn't lose him.
That would be five times harder than stopping drinking, and ten times more painful than the night Chelsea had smacked him with a relationship caliber pink slip.
And Drew didn't want to do it.
He heard Chip sighing. “Drew-”
“You can't go to London!” he argued. “What about-I don't-” His head spun, and his eyes were starting to sting. He blamed it all on the chilly air.
Chip fell silent then, at a loss, and when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded thicker. It must've been cold in Williamsburg, too. “Drew, I don't think it'd be permanent,” he offered quietly. “Just temporary. Just for Buddy.”
But Drew wasn't listening anymore. Panic was gripping him-the usual sensation that always bubbled up inside him whenever he was tittering on the edge of losing Chip. It felt different, however. Stronger. More desperate. All Drew could think was how far away Chip would be.
I'll never see you again.
“But what happens if there's another show?” he asked. “And another and another and another and, Chip, what if you don't come back?”
Chip was probably becoming agitated now, and Drew didn't blame him. After all, he was being unreasonable, hypocritical, unsupportive-
I'm in love with you.
“Drew, come on,” Chip coaxed. He sounded frustrated. “I have to do this. I'm sorry I don't give up as easily as you do.”
“What about us?”
“What about us?” He groaned. “I'm not breaking up with you! I'm just-”
“You're just moving to a different continent!” Drew interjected, absently wiping his eyes. Damn snowflakes were melting on him. “What would you call it, Chip?”
Drew couldn't see Ryan, but he bet his friend was probably starting to wonder what was taking so long.
Fuck you.
Drew hated Ryan. This was his fault! Ryan had been the idiot dragging his ass to San Francisco when all Drew had wanted was to go home. Ryan was the one coerced into going to that God damned street fair, and Ryan was the moron who'd invited Chip to his house without his permission. All of this was Ryan's fault.
And now-
“Come with me.”
Chip's words startled Drew back to reality. He blinked, clearing his throat. An uncomfortable painful lump had started forming in it.
“What?” he replied dumbly.
“Come with me,” Chip repeated. “What's in Ohio, Drew?”
“What's in Ohio, Drew?”
Ryan asked him the same question at Al's funeral back in September. September felt like a different life.
Drew had lacked an answer then, and he still didn't have one now.
Shit was in Ohio-nothing! Moe was portable, his shitty best friend was portable. Fuck PetSmart.
Ohio was safe.
Out of everything and everyone in Drew's life, Cleveland was the one thing that had never abandoned him. It pained him that he couldn't keep Chip on that list now.
“You want me to go with you to London,” Drew reiterated. “Just like that.”
“Yes!”
Drew sighed. “And what about money, Chip?”
“I have some money saved up, you have some money saved up,” he answered eagerly. “I'll be getting paid for doing Buddy, too.”
Drew scoffed. “So what, you want me to sit at home like some bum?” Like I do now?
“Drew, stop being a jackass,” Chip snapped.
“I'm not being a jackass, kid, I'm being rational!”
“No, you aren't! And don't fucking call me that!” he shouted, and Drew jumped. He'd seen Chip angry so infrequently. He had really done it this time. “Seriously, Drew!” He sounded tearful once more. “What's in Ohio that's worth holding on to?”
Nothing. “Chip-”
“I don't want to break up with you,” he continued without missing a beat. Drew angrily wiped at his eyes again. “I'm not breaking up with you. I want you to come with me.” Chip paused.
“I love you.”
It was quieter out since the snow had picked up. Drew heard his heart in his ears.
“What'd you just say?” he whispered.
“I love you,” Chip said again. “But I'm not giving up my dream for you, Drew.”
Drew shook his head. “I don't want you to either, Chip,” he agreed.
They lapsed into silence. Drew could hear papers shuffling on Chip's end. He wondered if he had already started packing.
What about Thanksgiving?
“What now?” Chip asked somberly. The shuffling had stopped.
“How long do I-when do you need to know?” I can't go with you.
It hurt. Drew wanted to slide down the wall and sit in the snow and not get up until Ryan forced him to.
“I'm leaving on the 20th,” he answered. “A week from today.”
Drew nodded. “I'll let you know.” No, I won't. “I gotta go. Ry's waiting.”
“Me, too. Jeff-we're gonna go out. Celebrate. This is my big break.” Chip let out an emotionless chuckle. The distance that separated him from Drew felt alive now-like some gaping pit that might eat them both alive.
“I meant it, by the way,” Chip added.
Drew sniffled. “Meant what?” he asked.
“When I said I love you,” Chip said softly. Drew sighed. “Bye, Drew.”
The dial tone reverberating in Drew's skull after Chip hung up was the loudest thing he'd ever heard Louder than Chelsea's goodbyes on the night she ended it. Louder than all the bullshit customers at the PetSmart-even louder than the last words Drew had ever heard Al say.
He had finally lost him.
&
Monday, November 16, 2009
The weekend was a mishmash of illiterate customers and texts from Ryan. Drew excelled at ignoring the former by now, but the latter-it hadn't taken Ryan long to find out what had happened between he and Chip Friday night. Ryan wasn't stupid. Spontaneous, but not stupid. So Drew hoped his friend would agree with him; he prayed Ryan would see logic and understand why he couldn't just up and go to England in four days.
“So go, Carey,” had been his simple response. Drew had stared. “You love him, too.”
Chip hadn't called all weekend. Drew figured he was preparing to move, packing and quitting at Red Robin. Figuring out who would take care of Snoopy in his absence.
That or Friday really had been their goodbye.
No.
“What do you think, boy?” Drew asked Moe after dinner, rubbing the dog's stomach. Moe panted happily. “Should I go?”
It was one week shy of Al's two month anniversary. The date had caught Drew's eye at work earlier, giving him pause.
He smiled sadly at Moe.
You'd know, Al.
Al had always been more of a father to Drew than his own biological father. It was why he'd never be able to forgive himself for abandoning him in the end.
“Okay, Al,” he murmured aloud, watching the fireplace, “what do I do now?”
The flames just danced and crackled, and Drew retired to his bed missing Chip.
&
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Drew twirled Chip's paper gift idly with his fingertips, smiling. It was falling apart now, but there were still flecks of frosting on it from the cupcakes he and Chip had consumed at Kingdom Cake. It reminded him of Layla and Alejandro, California sunshine and the first time he ever saw Chip smile.
That day wound up being one of the best days of his life.
He'd caved and called Chip about a half hour ago. Drew still didn't know what to do about Friday, but he missed him.
Please call me back.
There had been no great epiphanies last night, and if Al had offered his advice, he'd done so quietly. Drew had stayed up a bit longer but ended up turning in early. He was off today but still worn out from the weekend...and sometimes he could still catch Chip's faint scent in the blankets he'd pilfered from the couch.
It did a lot on cold nights.
The phone let out a shrill ring. Drew jolted at the sound of it, immediately reaching for his cell before stopping and frowning, realization dawning on him.
That was the land line ringing. Chip didn't even have that number.
Puzzled, Drew grabbed the cordless phone from its base. “Hello?” he answered.
There was a pause, and then, “Hi, doll baby.”
Drew stopped breathing.
Chelsea?!
“Chelsea?” he reiterated out loud. “What are-is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah, I'm fine,” Chelsea assured him. “Everyone's good here. How are you? How's Moe?”
Confused as fuck? “We're both good,” Drew dutifully replied. Something was amiss-he hadn't heard a peep from her since September at Al's funeral. He looked down at Chip's paper gift, asking, “Can I help you with something, or-”
“Actually, Drew, there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” she admitted.
Drew swallowed. “What's that?”
“My father-well, we've been handling his will, and he named you a beneficiary.”
Drew blanched at that. From the looks of things-like the fact that he hadn't been present in any pictures in that damned memorial-he had assumed that when Al died, he was mad at him.
“He left me something?” he asked softly.
“Yes, he did,” Chelsea confirmed. “He left specific instructions with the executor, demanding it be hand-delivered to you.”
“Wow.” Drew shook his head, chuckling disbelievingly. “Well, um, wow.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “What is it? Do you know?”
“No,” she said. “But I did pull some strings; I want to come and give the item to you personally.”
That gave Drew pause.
It was definitely peculiar. Ever since Chelsea had left, Drew had always been waiting for her to come back again, ready and willing to do just about anything for her. Now, however-
Miniscule flecks from Chip's paper gift littered his palms. He gingerly set it back down on his bedside table.
“I'm not a fool, Drew,” she continued softly, “I know how much I hurt you when I left. But you still came to his funeral anyway.” She paused. “I must say, I've been thinking about you a lot since you and Ryan left.”
He sighed, staring down at his hands impassively. “Have you.”
“Yes, I have,” Chelsea said. “So is it all right if I come to Ohio?”
“When?”
“I have a flight booked Thursday morning. Takeoff is at 10:45.” Drew's eyes widened. “I should land in Cleveland around six. Is that all right?”
I asked you what I should do, Al. Is this really what you want me to do?
He felt nauseous and lightheaded at the prospect of never seeing Chip again.
But Chip was moving to England. He would be busy all the time now, he'd be at rehearsals everyday-maybe this was just Al's way of trying to save him from another broken heart.
But I'm in love with him, Al.
“I can-I'll pick you up at the airport, Chelsea,” he offered quietly, much like a silent resignation.
“Thanks,” Chelsea said. “I'm looking forward to seeing you again, doll baby. See you Thursday.”
They said their goodbyes, and Drew stared at the phone for a long time after.
But I'm in love with Chip.
If Chelsea landed in Cleveland Thursday night she wouldn't be gone by Friday, and Friday was when Chip-
His cell phone started ringing, brandishing the telltale words Chip's Cell.
Drew swallowed, reaching for it.
Al...
“Hello?” he said quietly.
“Hey, you,” Chip murmured with a small smile. “I got your message.”
Drew stared guiltily at the wall. He'd yet to put the cordless phone away-it remained in his lap.
Al, I don't want to do this.
“I can't go.” Drew already regretted saying it. He could almost see Chip's face as it fell.
Chip frowned. “What?” he said.
Drew let out a shaky breath. “England, Chip,” he answered quietly. “I can't go with you to England.”
“But I thought-”
“She wants to see me!” he blurted out.
“She?” Chip sounded incredulous. “Who is she?”
“Chelsea,” Drew admitted. “Al-”
“Chelsea?” he reiterated, frowning heavily. “You-but I thought-”
Drew rolled his eyes. “You thought what, Chip?” he snapped. “Chelsea's my wife! You're-”
“What? I'm what, Drew?” Chip demanded. Drew scrubbed a hand over his face.
Forgetting San Francisco, Kingdom Cake, Chip-it would be so much easier if Chip hated him.
Drew felt like he was digging his own grave.
“I just-her?She's the reason why you won't come with me?”
No. “Chip, I-”
“You're so stupid, Drew!” Drew frowned at that, taken aback. Chip let out a hollow chuckle. “Do you remember what she did to you? And now you're going back to her?”
“Oh, like you wouldn't go back to Brad if you could,” Drew muttered and stood up. Fuck this.
If everything was on its way to Hell-if the boy Drew was in love with wasn't in love with him anymore, and if his best friend was set on leaving him, too, and if the cold-hearted bitch who'd betrayed him in the first place was on her way to do God knows what-why not celebrate it all with a drink?
It had been so long since Drew had any alcohol. He didn't have any in the house, but he could always go out and buy some. The liquor stores wouldn't necessarily know he was an ex-alcoholic, and even if they did, who cared?
Well, I don't.
He could go out and buy a huge bottle of tequila and drink it until dawn.
Maybe I'll even be able to write again.
“Over you?” Chip finally said. He didn't sound as mad now. “No, actually. I wouldn't. Brad meant a lot to me, Drew, but he's not you. I'd choose you.”
Drew scoffed, taking the stairs by two. “Well, you're not Chelsea, are you?” he retorted.
“No, I'm not,” he said. “Thank God. I'd never abandon you.”
Drew literally laughed out loud at that. He switched Chip over to speaker and tossed the phone on the couch. He sat beside it and clumsily started to pull on his sneakers. His hands were shaking.
“You already have!” he shouted back. Moe whined worriedly from in front of the fireplace.
“What are you-”
“England, Chip!” Drew clarified, turning his head to glare at the phone. “You're moving to England!”
“My God, Drew, it's not like I'm going to a different planet!” Chip yelled. Drew snorted and got back up to tug on his coat.
His hands were shaking worse.
Growling in annoyance when he buttoned up his coat wrong, Drew abandoned the task and slipped his hands in his pockets, feeling for his keys.
“And how's what she did any better?” Chip added. It sounded like he was moving around now, too. “So if I relocated to-to Kansas, would that be all right? How big is your radius before you start to consider it abandonment, Drew?”
Drew growled, yanking his keys out, and immediately dropped them. He rolled his eyes and bent over to retrieve them, blinking at a folded napkin that had fallen out, too. He frowned and picked it up.
Best Wishes!
Chip Esten
Drew stared. The napkin was creased but the ink was still legible. He trailed a gentle fingertip over Chip's name.
“Fuck,” he said.
“I don't understand you!” Chip continued yelling, completely oblivious. “I've tried to be compassionate and I've tried to-to, like, understand that she hurt you and scared you and-”
“She didn't scare me,” he interjected softly. He sat down on the floor and bowed his head, fingering the napkin.
“-but nothing's ever good enough for you, Drew, is it?” Chip let out a shaky breath. He seemed to stop moving, too. “You told me Williamsburg Players isn't good enough for me, well, maybe you aren't, either.”
Drew's head immediately snapped up at that, and he gaped at his cell, paling. “What?”
“I'm not-” He chuckled humorlessly. “I can't compete with her, can I? You won't let me. I care about you a lot and you make me-make me forget Brad, which is okay. That's okay. Because you aren't replacing him, and I've never, ever, ever tried to replace Chelsea, either.” He paused. “I just love you.”
Say it back! Oh God, stupid, say it back!
“Chip, I lo-”
“But this is ridiculous, and you're-” Chip cut himself off, sniffling, and Drew tried to remember how to breathe.
He felt like he was paralyzed-plastered to the floor. Like a statue.
Chip noisily exhaled. “If you can't live without her, fine.” Another pause. Drew still couldn't move. “You're just going to have to live without me.”
If possible, Drew's body froze even more. He could feel a chill working its way down his spine, and the lump in his throat was becoming bigger and more painful.
“Chip, what-wait-” he stammered. His tongue wasn't working right.
“I love you,” Chip said quietly. Then he hung up.
Drew stared.
Al, what did you make me do, oh God, what did you make me do?!
t.b.c 05/31
Not counting this week, there's three more weeks of chapters to go. Eight'll be split into two parts and then there's the epilogue. June 14th will be The Castro's finale. <3
I can't believe I'm nearly done posting. I want to thank everyone who's read and enjoyed thus far, and I hope these last few chapters don't disappoint. We're gearing up for The Castro's climax now, folks! ^____^
Seven's song is "White Horse" by Taylor Swift.
Title: The Castro (7/9)
Rated: R
Pairings: Drew/Chip, Ryan/Greg, mention of Chip/Brad and Jeff/Wayne
Summary: Drew is divorced, stuck at a dead-end job and suffering from writer's block. Will attending the funeral of an old friend be the wake up call he so desperately needs?
Chapter Seven: White Horse
I was a dreamer before you
and you let me down.
my mistake-i didn't want to be in love.
you had to fight to have the upper hand.
Cleveland, Ohio
Friday, November 13, 2009
Geraci's Restaurant was fancier than Dubrovnik's, and a lot pricier, too. Drew was Cleveland born and raised but had only dined there a handful of times. So he was somewhat confused when Ryan sent him a text on his lunch break, asking if he'd like to grab some pizza for dinner that night-his treat.
Sure. Pizza Hut? Drew had said.
Fuck that. Geraci's. See you at 8.
And that was it.
“C'mon, Ry,” Drew muttered under his breath, hugging himself tighter. It was mid-November now, and it felt like it. Temperatures were in the low twenties, and it'd been flurrying sporadically since noon. But that still didn't stop Drew's fellow Clevelanders from heading outdoors-it was Friday night, after all.
Person after coat-clad person passed him on the sidewalk, headed for Geraci's or another destination in the plaza. He noted with a frown that many of them appeared to be couples, walking hand-in-hand through the snow flurries, laughing happily to themselves.
He missed Chip.
It'd been almost two weeks since they'd left Williamsburg. After Ryan finally managed to coax Drew and Chip from the balcony, Chip stayed true to his word and dropped them off at the airport. For once, he and Drew parted on good terms, and had been talking practically everyday since. They had no official name for themselves, other than “us.”
Us.
It was still so surreal-not upsetting, just surreal. Two months ago Drew and Chip didn't know each other. Two months ago, Al was still alive, and Chelsea remained a lost cause in California. Two months ago, Drew had never made love to a man.
He didn't think it was possible for so much to change so dramatically in such a short period of time.
Geraci's was getting busier now. Drew could make out the beginnings of a line forming through the window. Still no sign of Ryan.
Not that Drew disliked the sex. At first he was nervous, but Chip was gentle and it had only been uncomfortable for a few seconds before becoming almost unbearably pleasurable. He'd yet to be inside of Chip, but they had talked about it and both agreed that, the next time they saw each other, they wanted to try it. That same night, there'd been a bout of unexpected phone sex, too. Chip admitted that the night's topics had gotten him hot and bothered, and he wished Drew could take him right now-
“Carey!”
Drew jolted at Ryan's unexpected voice, earning himself an odd look from some passing teenaged girls. “What?” he called back, trying in vain to ignore images of Chip naked, hard and breathless in his mind. “Jesus. You're late. They're getting busy.”
Ryan hurried over to him, asking, “You didn't hear me calling you? I told you to go in and get a table! I wanted to finish my cigarette real fast.”
“It's loud, Ry,” he muttered defensively. “No, I didn't hear you calling me. Why're you so late?”
“It's only five after eight,” Ryan argued. “I'm not that late. Come on.”
The inside of Geraci's always smelled divine. Its interior was composed of mostly brick and basic décor, and Drew inhaled the scent of herbs and marinara deeply, momentarily forgetting his embarrassment of fantasizing about a twenty three year old boy. The line forming earlier had dwindled a bit and, thankfully, Drew and Ryan only had to wait about five or six minutes before being whisked away to a cozy table in the back.
I should bring Chip here some day.
After the waiter delivered their drinks and appetizer and took their order, Drew took a sip of Coke, watching his friend with a curious frown. “So, what's with the generosity?” he asked.
“What generosity?” Ryan retorted around a mouthful of garlic toast. “I own a fucking bar. You're a retail slave. I make more money than you. It's more like pity.”
Drew rolled his eyes. “Seriously, asshole,” he said. “What gives? Is everything all right?” A wicked smirk formed on his mouth. “Is Greg pregnant?”
“Damn it, Drew, you're so observant!” Ryan replied mockingly. Drew laughed out loud and chucked a balled up napkin at his head. Ryan dodged it with a smirk, reaching for his beer. “Yeah. Yeah, Greg's pregnant. I'm gonna be a daddy.”
“Then I guess that makes me an uncle.” Drew grinned.
Ryan gave a good-natured shrug, smiling. “I guess so, Carey.”
Drew scrutinized his friend another moment before asking, “Really, Ry. What's up?”
Ryan quirked an eyebrow at his concern, opening his mouth in reply, but then closed it again, shaking his head. He wiped his hands off on his jeans and reached into his coat pocket, producing a small black jewelry box. He plucked a stray hair from its velvet exterior and placed it on the table between them.
Drew's eyes widened as Ryan opened the box, revealing a simple gold ring inside. Geraci's artificial lights glinted off its smooth surface like glass. “Okay, wow, Ry,” he breathed. “You're my friend, and I care about you a lot, but-”
“Cut the shit, Carey,” Ryan growled. He glanced at the ring. “It's not for you. I'm gonna ask Greg to marry me.”
Drew stared. “You are?” he said incredulously. “When did you decide this?”
“After he left.” Ryan gave a dismissive shrug, shutting the box. He looked back at Drew. “You're right. I don't want to lose him again.” He sounded sincere-Ryan Stiles didn't sound like that a lot.
The day Drew proposed to Chelsea, she'd said no-at first. Something about too many bad experiences; one too many flourishing romances that had consequently crashed and burned. It wasn't until after Drew assured her that he'd never hurt her like that and consequently promised her the whole world that she tearfully-albeit fearfully-agreed.
The irony was palpable.
But Greg won't do that.
“Congratulations, Ryan!” Drew smiled. “I'm happy for you. When-”
Ryan interrupted him. “There's more, Drew,” he interjected quietly. He seemed...nervous. Now.
Drew knit his eyebrows at that, reaching for his Coke. “Okay, shoot,” he said. “What?”
He wet his lips. “Drew, I'm-”
A sudden ringing reverberating from Drew's half of the table startled them both. It grew louder as Drew fussed with his coat, tugging out his cell phone.
Incoming Call
Chip's Cell
Despite interrupting his best friend's news, Drew couldn't help smiling. Hey, you.
“Sorry, Ry, hang on.” Ryan smirked and sipped his beer. “It's Chip. Hang on.” He accepted the call. “Hello? Hi. Wait-hang on, Chip. It's loud in here.” He met Ryan's eyes once more. “Ry, I'll be right back, all right?” Ryan nodded, selecting another piece of garlic toast, and Drew slipped outside.
It was snowing harder. A thin sheen of white powder doused the street now, and Drew's breath was visible puffs in the frigid air. He wound his free arm about his waist for warmth and leaned back against one of Geraci's outer walls.
“Sorry, Chip,” he said. “Ry and I went out to dinner. How was work?”
There was a pause, and then, “I got the part.”
Drew blinked at that. “The It's A Wonderful Life part, or Buddy?” he asked.
Two days after Drew, Ryan and Greg left Williamsburg, a talent agent had contacted Chip in regards to an upcoming musical about the late Buddy Holly. Chip happily auditioned three days later, attended a callback audition this past Tuesday and had been waiting with baited breath since. In that time, he'd also tried out for a smaller role at Williamsburg Players-their rendition of It's A Wonderful Life. It didn't take a genius to know which role he wanted more, and Drew didn't blame him at all.
The night of Chip's callback audition, while he was anxiously analyzing his performance on the phone to him, Drew couldn't hide a frown. He thought of Williamsburg Players, miniscule and unimpressive, and of Chip, extraordinary and wonderful, and reached the conclusion that the two just didn't mesh well.
Williamsburg Players wasn't good enough for Chip.
“You could do so much better,” Drew had argued. “You're talented, Chip.”
“I could say the same of you, you know,” Chip countered, and Drew had let it drop after that.
Chip didn't know it-was too young to realize it-but he had potential and raw talent and as long as he remained ruthless and unyielding in his quest to be an actor, he could take the world by storm someday.
Drew was positive.
So when a legitimate agent from a legitimate talent agency just happened to witness his performance in The Importance of Being Earnest and had liked him well enough to track him down afterward, Drew had interpreted it as a sign. He hoped Chip would, too.
“Buddy,” Chip answered quietly.
Drew's eyes widened at that. Oh, honey! “That's the one you wanted!” he exclaimed, grinning happily. “Chip, that's awesome! When-”
“It's in London,” he added. He sounded strangely subdued.
The night air felt ten degrees chillier than before, and Drew pressed himself closer against the wall. What? “Wait, what?” he said. “What's in London? Buddy takes place in London?”
“No,” Chip answered. “The show. It-it's in London.”
Drew wracked his brain, trying to decipher how far away London was from Cleveland.
A Hell of a lot further than Virginia.
Are you moving to London?
“Are you moving to London?” he blurted out. But you can't do that.
The snow was picking up. People hurried past Geraci's, laughing out loud, their breath white clouds in the night.
“I don't-I have to.” Chip let out a sigh. Drew just frowned. “Drew, this is an amazing opportunity for me,” he said. “I'm not going to find anything like this in Virginia. You told me I can do better than Williamsburg Players, and now I have the chance to!”
It was logical-Drew told himself it was. “But you can't move to London,” he said softly.
No matter the logic behind it, Drew didn't want to lose him. He couldn't lose him.
That would be five times harder than stopping drinking, and ten times more painful than the night Chelsea had smacked him with a relationship caliber pink slip.
And Drew didn't want to do it.
He heard Chip sighing. “Drew-”
“You can't go to London!” he argued. “What about-I don't-” His head spun, and his eyes were starting to sting. He blamed it all on the chilly air.
Chip fell silent then, at a loss, and when he finally spoke again, his voice sounded thicker. It must've been cold in Williamsburg, too. “Drew, I don't think it'd be permanent,” he offered quietly. “Just temporary. Just for Buddy.”
But Drew wasn't listening anymore. Panic was gripping him-the usual sensation that always bubbled up inside him whenever he was tittering on the edge of losing Chip. It felt different, however. Stronger. More desperate. All Drew could think was how far away Chip would be.
I'll never see you again.
“But what happens if there's another show?” he asked. “And another and another and another and, Chip, what if you don't come back?”
Chip was probably becoming agitated now, and Drew didn't blame him. After all, he was being unreasonable, hypocritical, unsupportive-
I'm in love with you.
“Drew, come on,” Chip coaxed. He sounded frustrated. “I have to do this. I'm sorry I don't give up as easily as you do.”
“What about us?”
“What about us?” He groaned. “I'm not breaking up with you! I'm just-”
“You're just moving to a different continent!” Drew interjected, absently wiping his eyes. Damn snowflakes were melting on him. “What would you call it, Chip?”
Drew couldn't see Ryan, but he bet his friend was probably starting to wonder what was taking so long.
Fuck you.
Drew hated Ryan. This was his fault! Ryan had been the idiot dragging his ass to San Francisco when all Drew had wanted was to go home. Ryan was the one coerced into going to that God damned street fair, and Ryan was the moron who'd invited Chip to his house without his permission. All of this was Ryan's fault.
And now-
“Come with me.”
Chip's words startled Drew back to reality. He blinked, clearing his throat. An uncomfortable painful lump had started forming in it.
“What?” he replied dumbly.
“Come with me,” Chip repeated. “What's in Ohio, Drew?”
“What's in Ohio, Drew?”
Ryan asked him the same question at Al's funeral back in September. September felt like a different life.
Drew had lacked an answer then, and he still didn't have one now.
Shit was in Ohio-nothing! Moe was portable, his shitty best friend was portable. Fuck PetSmart.
Ohio was safe.
Out of everything and everyone in Drew's life, Cleveland was the one thing that had never abandoned him. It pained him that he couldn't keep Chip on that list now.
“You want me to go with you to London,” Drew reiterated. “Just like that.”
“Yes!”
Drew sighed. “And what about money, Chip?”
“I have some money saved up, you have some money saved up,” he answered eagerly. “I'll be getting paid for doing Buddy, too.”
Drew scoffed. “So what, you want me to sit at home like some bum?” Like I do now?
“Drew, stop being a jackass,” Chip snapped.
“I'm not being a jackass, kid, I'm being rational!”
“No, you aren't! And don't fucking call me that!” he shouted, and Drew jumped. He'd seen Chip angry so infrequently. He had really done it this time. “Seriously, Drew!” He sounded tearful once more. “What's in Ohio that's worth holding on to?”
Nothing. “Chip-”
“I don't want to break up with you,” he continued without missing a beat. Drew angrily wiped at his eyes again. “I'm not breaking up with you. I want you to come with me.” Chip paused.
“I love you.”
It was quieter out since the snow had picked up. Drew heard his heart in his ears.
“What'd you just say?” he whispered.
“I love you,” Chip said again. “But I'm not giving up my dream for you, Drew.”
Drew shook his head. “I don't want you to either, Chip,” he agreed.
They lapsed into silence. Drew could hear papers shuffling on Chip's end. He wondered if he had already started packing.
What about Thanksgiving?
“What now?” Chip asked somberly. The shuffling had stopped.
“How long do I-when do you need to know?” I can't go with you.
It hurt. Drew wanted to slide down the wall and sit in the snow and not get up until Ryan forced him to.
“I'm leaving on the 20th,” he answered. “A week from today.”
Drew nodded. “I'll let you know.” No, I won't. “I gotta go. Ry's waiting.”
“Me, too. Jeff-we're gonna go out. Celebrate. This is my big break.” Chip let out an emotionless chuckle. The distance that separated him from Drew felt alive now-like some gaping pit that might eat them both alive.
“I meant it, by the way,” Chip added.
Drew sniffled. “Meant what?” he asked.
“When I said I love you,” Chip said softly. Drew sighed. “Bye, Drew.”
The dial tone reverberating in Drew's skull after Chip hung up was the loudest thing he'd ever heard Louder than Chelsea's goodbyes on the night she ended it. Louder than all the bullshit customers at the PetSmart-even louder than the last words Drew had ever heard Al say.
He had finally lost him.
&
Monday, November 16, 2009
The weekend was a mishmash of illiterate customers and texts from Ryan. Drew excelled at ignoring the former by now, but the latter-it hadn't taken Ryan long to find out what had happened between he and Chip Friday night. Ryan wasn't stupid. Spontaneous, but not stupid. So Drew hoped his friend would agree with him; he prayed Ryan would see logic and understand why he couldn't just up and go to England in four days.
“So go, Carey,” had been his simple response. Drew had stared. “You love him, too.”
Chip hadn't called all weekend. Drew figured he was preparing to move, packing and quitting at Red Robin. Figuring out who would take care of Snoopy in his absence.
That or Friday really had been their goodbye.
No.
“What do you think, boy?” Drew asked Moe after dinner, rubbing the dog's stomach. Moe panted happily. “Should I go?”
It was one week shy of Al's two month anniversary. The date had caught Drew's eye at work earlier, giving him pause.
He smiled sadly at Moe.
You'd know, Al.
Al had always been more of a father to Drew than his own biological father. It was why he'd never be able to forgive himself for abandoning him in the end.
“Okay, Al,” he murmured aloud, watching the fireplace, “what do I do now?”
The flames just danced and crackled, and Drew retired to his bed missing Chip.
&
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Drew twirled Chip's paper gift idly with his fingertips, smiling. It was falling apart now, but there were still flecks of frosting on it from the cupcakes he and Chip had consumed at Kingdom Cake. It reminded him of Layla and Alejandro, California sunshine and the first time he ever saw Chip smile.
That day wound up being one of the best days of his life.
He'd caved and called Chip about a half hour ago. Drew still didn't know what to do about Friday, but he missed him.
Please call me back.
There had been no great epiphanies last night, and if Al had offered his advice, he'd done so quietly. Drew had stayed up a bit longer but ended up turning in early. He was off today but still worn out from the weekend...and sometimes he could still catch Chip's faint scent in the blankets he'd pilfered from the couch.
It did a lot on cold nights.
The phone let out a shrill ring. Drew jolted at the sound of it, immediately reaching for his cell before stopping and frowning, realization dawning on him.
That was the land line ringing. Chip didn't even have that number.
Puzzled, Drew grabbed the cordless phone from its base. “Hello?” he answered.
There was a pause, and then, “Hi, doll baby.”
Drew stopped breathing.
Chelsea?!
“Chelsea?” he reiterated out loud. “What are-is everything all right?”
“Oh, yeah, I'm fine,” Chelsea assured him. “Everyone's good here. How are you? How's Moe?”
Confused as fuck? “We're both good,” Drew dutifully replied. Something was amiss-he hadn't heard a peep from her since September at Al's funeral. He looked down at Chip's paper gift, asking, “Can I help you with something, or-”
“Actually, Drew, there is something I wanted to talk to you about,” she admitted.
Drew swallowed. “What's that?”
“My father-well, we've been handling his will, and he named you a beneficiary.”
Drew blanched at that. From the looks of things-like the fact that he hadn't been present in any pictures in that damned memorial-he had assumed that when Al died, he was mad at him.
“He left me something?” he asked softly.
“Yes, he did,” Chelsea confirmed. “He left specific instructions with the executor, demanding it be hand-delivered to you.”
“Wow.” Drew shook his head, chuckling disbelievingly. “Well, um, wow.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “What is it? Do you know?”
“No,” she said. “But I did pull some strings; I want to come and give the item to you personally.”
That gave Drew pause.
It was definitely peculiar. Ever since Chelsea had left, Drew had always been waiting for her to come back again, ready and willing to do just about anything for her. Now, however-
Miniscule flecks from Chip's paper gift littered his palms. He gingerly set it back down on his bedside table.
“I'm not a fool, Drew,” she continued softly, “I know how much I hurt you when I left. But you still came to his funeral anyway.” She paused. “I must say, I've been thinking about you a lot since you and Ryan left.”
He sighed, staring down at his hands impassively. “Have you.”
“Yes, I have,” Chelsea said. “So is it all right if I come to Ohio?”
“When?”
“I have a flight booked Thursday morning. Takeoff is at 10:45.” Drew's eyes widened. “I should land in Cleveland around six. Is that all right?”
I asked you what I should do, Al. Is this really what you want me to do?
He felt nauseous and lightheaded at the prospect of never seeing Chip again.
But Chip was moving to England. He would be busy all the time now, he'd be at rehearsals everyday-maybe this was just Al's way of trying to save him from another broken heart.
But I'm in love with him, Al.
“I can-I'll pick you up at the airport, Chelsea,” he offered quietly, much like a silent resignation.
“Thanks,” Chelsea said. “I'm looking forward to seeing you again, doll baby. See you Thursday.”
They said their goodbyes, and Drew stared at the phone for a long time after.
But I'm in love with Chip.
If Chelsea landed in Cleveland Thursday night she wouldn't be gone by Friday, and Friday was when Chip-
His cell phone started ringing, brandishing the telltale words Chip's Cell.
Drew swallowed, reaching for it.
Al...
“Hello?” he said quietly.
“Hey, you,” Chip murmured with a small smile. “I got your message.”
Drew stared guiltily at the wall. He'd yet to put the cordless phone away-it remained in his lap.
Al, I don't want to do this.
“I can't go.” Drew already regretted saying it. He could almost see Chip's face as it fell.
Chip frowned. “What?” he said.
Drew let out a shaky breath. “England, Chip,” he answered quietly. “I can't go with you to England.”
“But I thought-”
“She wants to see me!” he blurted out.
“She?” Chip sounded incredulous. “Who is she?”
“Chelsea,” Drew admitted. “Al-”
“Chelsea?” he reiterated, frowning heavily. “You-but I thought-”
Drew rolled his eyes. “You thought what, Chip?” he snapped. “Chelsea's my wife! You're-”
“What? I'm what, Drew?” Chip demanded. Drew scrubbed a hand over his face.
Forgetting San Francisco, Kingdom Cake, Chip-it would be so much easier if Chip hated him.
Drew felt like he was digging his own grave.
“I just-her?She's the reason why you won't come with me?”
No. “Chip, I-”
“You're so stupid, Drew!” Drew frowned at that, taken aback. Chip let out a hollow chuckle. “Do you remember what she did to you? And now you're going back to her?”
“Oh, like you wouldn't go back to Brad if you could,” Drew muttered and stood up. Fuck this.
If everything was on its way to Hell-if the boy Drew was in love with wasn't in love with him anymore, and if his best friend was set on leaving him, too, and if the cold-hearted bitch who'd betrayed him in the first place was on her way to do God knows what-why not celebrate it all with a drink?
It had been so long since Drew had any alcohol. He didn't have any in the house, but he could always go out and buy some. The liquor stores wouldn't necessarily know he was an ex-alcoholic, and even if they did, who cared?
Well, I don't.
He could go out and buy a huge bottle of tequila and drink it until dawn.
Maybe I'll even be able to write again.
“Over you?” Chip finally said. He didn't sound as mad now. “No, actually. I wouldn't. Brad meant a lot to me, Drew, but he's not you. I'd choose you.”
Drew scoffed, taking the stairs by two. “Well, you're not Chelsea, are you?” he retorted.
“No, I'm not,” he said. “Thank God. I'd never abandon you.”
Drew literally laughed out loud at that. He switched Chip over to speaker and tossed the phone on the couch. He sat beside it and clumsily started to pull on his sneakers. His hands were shaking.
“You already have!” he shouted back. Moe whined worriedly from in front of the fireplace.
“What are you-”
“England, Chip!” Drew clarified, turning his head to glare at the phone. “You're moving to England!”
“My God, Drew, it's not like I'm going to a different planet!” Chip yelled. Drew snorted and got back up to tug on his coat.
His hands were shaking worse.
Growling in annoyance when he buttoned up his coat wrong, Drew abandoned the task and slipped his hands in his pockets, feeling for his keys.
“And how's what she did any better?” Chip added. It sounded like he was moving around now, too. “So if I relocated to-to Kansas, would that be all right? How big is your radius before you start to consider it abandonment, Drew?”
Drew growled, yanking his keys out, and immediately dropped them. He rolled his eyes and bent over to retrieve them, blinking at a folded napkin that had fallen out, too. He frowned and picked it up.
Best Wishes!
Chip Esten
Drew stared. The napkin was creased but the ink was still legible. He trailed a gentle fingertip over Chip's name.
“Fuck,” he said.
“I don't understand you!” Chip continued yelling, completely oblivious. “I've tried to be compassionate and I've tried to-to, like, understand that she hurt you and scared you and-”
“She didn't scare me,” he interjected softly. He sat down on the floor and bowed his head, fingering the napkin.
“-but nothing's ever good enough for you, Drew, is it?” Chip let out a shaky breath. He seemed to stop moving, too. “You told me Williamsburg Players isn't good enough for me, well, maybe you aren't, either.”
Drew's head immediately snapped up at that, and he gaped at his cell, paling. “What?”
“I'm not-” He chuckled humorlessly. “I can't compete with her, can I? You won't let me. I care about you a lot and you make me-make me forget Brad, which is okay. That's okay. Because you aren't replacing him, and I've never, ever, ever tried to replace Chelsea, either.” He paused. “I just love you.”
Say it back! Oh God, stupid, say it back!
“Chip, I lo-”
“But this is ridiculous, and you're-” Chip cut himself off, sniffling, and Drew tried to remember how to breathe.
He felt like he was paralyzed-plastered to the floor. Like a statue.
Chip noisily exhaled. “If you can't live without her, fine.” Another pause. Drew still couldn't move. “You're just going to have to live without me.”
If possible, Drew's body froze even more. He could feel a chill working its way down his spine, and the lump in his throat was becoming bigger and more painful.
“Chip, what-wait-” he stammered. His tongue wasn't working right.
“I love you,” Chip said quietly. Then he hung up.
Drew stared.
Al, what did you make me do, oh God, what did you make me do?!
t.b.c 05/31