Project QAF - 108
Thanks to LJ being a princess today, this comes late. For Pet, cause she waited patiently.
++SCENES++
Brian calls Justin by his name - FIVE times!
A few words about the scene where Craig attacks Brian:
I read quite a few fics (and a discussion somewhere) that focus on Brian’s reaction to being beaten up. The way he curls into a tight ball. They interpret it as the behavior of an abused child and justify some very graphic depiction of his abuse as a child. And some of them do it so well, I’m inclined to believe it. The only thing I have actually trouble with is this: Would it be something that the makers of the episode intended to imply? I’m not sure. How much of this is Gale Harold’s interpretation of the scene and not necessarily Cowlip’s view of Brian? Again, we don’t know.
This seems like a good opportunity to pimp one of my all-time favorites: Faithless by the most amazing plumsuede.
And while I’m at that part already: What I find more memorable about this specific scene is the way Brian responds to Justin’s reactions. He swears when Craig presents Justin with the ultimatum to either come back home now or to never come home again. It’s like Brian expects Justin to leave and he only perks up when Justin decides to stay with Brian and tells his father to “Get the fuck out of here!” I love that part so much because it shows how much Brian’s already hung up on Justin.
On a side note: Justin is smoking in the diner? Since when is that okay?
This is, as far as I remember, the only episode we see Deb without her wig on, correct? That reminds me of my favorite drabble in this whole fandom: flashfly’s Reliquary. There have never been 100 more perfectly strung together words. Make sure to read the comments as well - they’re very insightful and will make you love the drabble even more.
What else is there to say about this episode? Hotlanta!! (See fic below) + Brian uses Southern accent.
When Brian says to Michael he’s got somebody waiting for him at home - he looks almost happy. But that’s me over-interpreting facial expressions maybe.
I ♥ Jennifer here.
Another prejudice this episode does away with: Brian doesn’t owns candles. He does! Unless you’re willing to believe that after the blowup the day before, Justin would go out and buy some.
++PICS++
++QUOTES++
BRIAN
He is not my responsibility.
JENNIFER
Oh, yes he is! You seduced him, you fucked him, so now he's yours! So, kindly, see that he takes his allergy medicine, and does his homework, and gets to school on time. And, uh, tell him that we love him.
DEBBIE
If I have to watch Martha Stewart make another goddamn thing out of goat cheese, I'm gonna kill myself!
VIC
AMC has a Joan Crawford festival all week.
DEBBIE
Nobody's that gay. I've got to go to work. They need me.
(Michael walks in just as Debbie tries to escape.)
VIC
And you need to rest your ass!
DEBBIE
Hi, honey. What are you doing here?
MICHAEL
Uncle Vic asked me to bring some rope and help tie you down.
DEBBIE
Kinky.
BRIAN
So, what's for dinner?
JUSTIN
Jambalaja from last night.
BRIAN
Not bad.
JUSTIN
It's always better the second day.
++DEBBIE’S SHIRTS++
++MUSIC++
Two great songs in this episode:
Plays in the diner, very faint in the background when Debbie collapses. Anything by Chin Injeti (Right-click + save on the red, capital lettered word.)
The outro for this episode: He’s All I Want by Angelmoon (Same procedure as above.)
++FIC++
A/N: For the first time ever, I wrote RPS. Hotlanta kinda inspired me. This can be a stand-alone, or it can develop into something more. Depends on you. Please let me know what you think. I’m very dependent on comments for this one since it’s the first RPS I ever did. When you think it’s generic and boring, let me know, too. I don’t mind honesty.
Warnings: This is RPS (Real People Slash) of the Gale Harold/Randy Harrison variety. If you don’t like those kind of things per se, please don’t read. If you do read it and don’t like it, please do tell.
Title: Every Now And Then
When I first met the guy who was hired to play Hotlanta, it was during the final read-through with the entire cast. We were all seated around the long table, and I wouldn’t have given him a second thought (with Gale present in the same room - who could fault me?) if it wasn’t for the fact that Gale did. I never spent too much attention to the extras or guest stars on the show. They came on set, did their part, and went their way. Not only held they nothing to interest me, but even when they were hot and gay, they had no chance to tempt me. The ubiquitous presence of the greatest temptation of all made sure of that.
Ever since that first, fatal meeting I was blind when it came to anyone else.
I met Gale during audition. From the moment I first laid my eyes on him, I was lost. He walked into the room as if he owned it, oozing Brianesque sex all over the place. He was perfect for the role and just… perfect. We read together and I wanted him to get the job, wanted it so much. They do warn you to be careful about what to wish for, don’t they?
I had no control over my body’s functions whenever he was in the room with me. I would flush, get hot, get hard, with no chance of reining in the signs that would betray my emotions. I never thought I could fall for a co-worker, and a straight one at that. I like to think of myself as a professional actor with enough (stage) acting experience to know better. But there I was, pining away for my co-star like some pimply teenager with his hormones on parade.
Every night when I was alone in my bed, jerking off to images of our closed set scenes together, I was disgusted with my little pathetic self. Alone, in bed, at night, I resolved to end this pining - dozens of times. I promised to move on, to do my damnedest to ignore the feelings the mere thought of him provoked in my mind and body. Every night I told myself this was going to stop. But then, inevitably, morning would come and with it, Gale - a cup of steaming hot coffee from the deli on the corner down the street in his hand, standing on my doorstep, looking like a fucking sex god in his ugly shirts and too baggy jeans and stupid caps. And all my resolutions were out the window; at least for the next sixteen hours or so, until I was in my bed again, alone again, allowing my fantasies to torment me, robbing me of sleep and making me even more susceptible to his aura.
How the fuck was it possible that the hottest kisses and most erotic touches I’ve ever experienced were while the cameras were rolling? He’s told me repeatedly how good an actor he thinks I am. He has no idea! I wanted him so much - it hurt; actual physical pain.
The only thing that had kept me somewhat sane those past weeks and months was the knowledge that this whole thing - this infatuation I had going for him - would eventually go away. Because he was straight and he could never want me in the same way that I wanted him. Time, I kept praying, would take care of it. It would either erase those feelings or break me. Either way was fine with me because the situation of the moment was truly and honestly hell.
So, as we sat at the large table, going through our lines, Gale beside me, I was perfectly aware of how close his naked forearm was to my elbow, both resting on the edge of the table. I had difficulty concentrating on my parts, my mind repeatedly straying off to contemplate how suspicious and immature it would be if I slid closer to accidentally touch him. That was when I noticed Glae giving Hotlanta the look. It wasn’t obvious or anything, but I noticed because nothing about him fails to register with my consciousness.
Pure hatred, directed at our unsuspecting guest star, and anger for my oh-so-straight co-star rose to my throat and made me sick. I tried to swallow it down while concentrating on keeping the expression on my face neutral. It was fucking too much and I choked, provoking a coughing fit. Gale bent over the backrest of his chair to rub a soothing palm between my shoulder blades.
“Rands, you okay?”
His breath stroked my cheek as his voice did the same, leaving my insides jagged and stinging with pain. I gulped a lung-full of air before I turned my head to stare at him with a bewildered look in my eyes - as if seeing him for the first time. The hand still rubbing my back stilled as he took in the expression on my face. I couldn’t stand his touch - the very same that I longed for mere seconds ago - and moved my chair slightly away from him. He noticed and watched me with his forehead creased in confusion. I threw another quick glance in his direction and saw pain in his beautiful eyes. Instead of the urge to take him in my arms that I would have usually felt at his pained expression, I felt strangely satisfied, knowing I wasn’t the only one hurting.
I couldn’t help it. The immature teenager I reverted to in his presence screamed at the unfairness of it all. Since when exactly was Gale looking at male extras like that? If he was to notice a man as a sexually appealing person, then this man should be me! How dare he find Hotlanta hot when I was sitting right next to him?!
I was still furious when we finished the read-through less than half an hour later, so I stormed past all my colleagues and out the door, directly into the changing rooms. The three of us - Gale, Hotlanta, and me - were up first. We always tried to get the scenes with extras shot first, so they wouldn’t have to be kept on the set for too long. When I was finished dressing - gladly Justin’s wardrobe didn’t require complicated adjustments or color tuning - I made my way quickly into the make-up room, successfully avoiding Gale and him, both of whom had just entered the changing room. Gale tried to grab my arm when I squeezed past him on my way out, but I twisted out of his grasp, noting the bewildered look in Hotlanta’s face. I tried to remember his name but only knew that it started with a single letter, and honestly, how stupid was that?
In the make-up room I immersed myself in the script, pretending to read it when Gale took his usual spot beside me. This was usually the time we would chat and make small talk about last night’s activities (or lack thereof), and our plans for lunch. Even though I kept staring into the script stubbornly, I couldn’t help but feel Gale’s eyes on me, watching my reflection in the mirror in front of us. When we were both finished, we left the room, but before we could reach the set of Brian’s loft, Gale pulled me into a dark, hidden niche and asked,
“Randy, what did I do?”
I glanced up into his face and he looked so beaten and miserable, my own heart clenched with guilt that I was causing him this pain. But then I remembered that he was the one who caused me pain, too, so I ignored his question and the pleading look as well as my urge to wrap my arms around him and make both of us better; it wouldn’t be for long anyway.
Shooting the actual scene was more painful than I could have imagined. I never knew Gale to be this enthusiastic during kissing scenes - well, at least not with someone other than me. But as I had to stand there, watch the two of them go at it in several takes, I almost screamed ‘Cut’ twice. The only thing that kept me from it was the knowledge that if I did, they just would have to start anew, and I wouldn’t have lived through one more take than necessary.
I actually sighed with relief when the director finally called it a wrap on the loft scene. I left without looking back at Gale and hoped I’d never have to see Hotlanta again. The rest of the day was spent on separate sets for which I was eternally grateful.
Gale came looking for me when I sat in the small room that was assigned to me, getting rid of the makeup before leaving for my apartment. I had been contemplating going out and getting shitfaced drunk when he knocked on my door.
“Randy?” He stuck his head around the corner.
“Go away, Gale.” I told him quietly.
“No! Tell me what’s wrong.” He insisted.
“I can’t. I just… can’t. Go! Please, go away. Leave.”
I knew he was hurt. I knew he didn’t understand why I was acting the way I was. But I couldn’t explain. Coming clean to him would mean coming clean about my feelings for him. And I wasn’t ready to jeopardize our relationship yet.
I never would have imagined I could feel any worse than I did right then, but when he turned and obliged to my request without another word, I was proven wrong. The soft click of the closing door behind him made me burrow my face in my hands and sob. I don’t know how long I sat there, silently sniffing at my own misery, wallowing in self-pity and self-righteous anger.
Eventually I grabbed my bag and made my way outside. I froze when I recognized his form sitting at the steps in front of the building’s entrance. He was huddled together - unaccustomed to the temperatures of the Canadian fall. He looked up upon hearing the door open and, recognizing me, rose to his full height.
“What’s wrong?” He asked without any preamble and with an urgency in his voice that made me shiver, and not because of the cold. He never spent time on pleasantries.
I was still thrown by the fact that he stayed here, waiting for me, and my heart flooded my body with so much love for him, it was painful to endure. He looked like an oversized puppy dog, and not for the first time I thought that he was too sensitive to be in this kind of business. I was still pondering how to answer his question when he spoke again.
“Tell me what I did, Rands.”
“You looked at him.” I whispered.
“Who… I… What?” He had no idea what I was talking about and how could he? If he even noticed himself looking, I doubt he knew how to interpret it.
I don’t know when exactly I decided to tell him the truth - whether it was two months ago or two minutes - but now that I had, I felt scared. I knew what I was putting on the line here; knew that I might destroy our friendship and lose him forever. He was shaking and I didn’t know if it was because of the cold or if a look on my face and me straightening my shoulders had something to do with it. I felt the cold creep through my veins as well and offered, “Let’s take this inside.”
He shook his head resolutely and declined. “No. I’m not moving until you start talking.”
I took a deep breath and while slowly exhaling, replied. “This morning, when we were going through the script before the shooting… you… you gave the guy… a look.”
“What guy? What look? Randy, I don’t understand.”
I realized how ridiculous my stuttering must have sounded to him. But I refused to ignore what I saw - not matter how unconscious or fleeting it was. I started again. “The Hotlanta actor. You looked at him.”
“Okay. I looked at him.” Gale repeated as if trying to get behind the hidden meaning in the sentence, trying to find the offending part in what was obviously an accusation on my part. “He sat across from me.” He continued talking, but he wasn’t speaking to me. He was stating facts, reconstructing this morning’s happenings. It was his process. “We read our lines. I looked at him, …probably. Rands?” He concluded with a confused question, not having found anything that would justify my behavior.
“You didn’t look at him like you would look at the other guest stars, like you would look at the staff. You looked at him like you were… Gale, you checked him out.”
I watched as Gale silently searched his pockets for his cigarettes. He never could remember which pocket he put them in last. Finally finding and lighting a smoke, he replied, “Hanging out with so many gay guys and playing Brian Kinney must have rubbed off on me.” He tried to joke.
I refused to laugh. Eventually Gale realized that and throwing his half-finished smoke away, stated, “So what if I was?”
“I was jealous.” I simply said and held my breath while looking him straight in the eye.
He stood unmoving and quiet, staring at me with that open and honest gaze of his. Every emotion easily readable on his face. I watched as first surprise, then confusion registered, and finally the full implication of my statement settled in.
He patted his pockets again and pulled out another cigarette with shaky hands. I knew he was wishing for a joint. After three failed attempts at lighting the smoke and a muttered ‘Fuck’, he finally managed and inhaled deeply before releasing the breath and speaking. His voice was quiet and I had to strain to hear him because he kept his gaze on his feet as he muttered, “Randy, we need to talk.”
The End.
Go to the next Episode - 109
++SCENES++
Brian calls Justin by his name - FIVE times!
A few words about the scene where Craig attacks Brian:
I read quite a few fics (and a discussion somewhere) that focus on Brian’s reaction to being beaten up. The way he curls into a tight ball. They interpret it as the behavior of an abused child and justify some very graphic depiction of his abuse as a child. And some of them do it so well, I’m inclined to believe it. The only thing I have actually trouble with is this: Would it be something that the makers of the episode intended to imply? I’m not sure. How much of this is Gale Harold’s interpretation of the scene and not necessarily Cowlip’s view of Brian? Again, we don’t know.
This seems like a good opportunity to pimp one of my all-time favorites: Faithless by the most amazing plumsuede.
And while I’m at that part already: What I find more memorable about this specific scene is the way Brian responds to Justin’s reactions. He swears when Craig presents Justin with the ultimatum to either come back home now or to never come home again. It’s like Brian expects Justin to leave and he only perks up when Justin decides to stay with Brian and tells his father to “Get the fuck out of here!” I love that part so much because it shows how much Brian’s already hung up on Justin.
On a side note: Justin is smoking in the diner? Since when is that okay?
This is, as far as I remember, the only episode we see Deb without her wig on, correct? That reminds me of my favorite drabble in this whole fandom: flashfly’s Reliquary. There have never been 100 more perfectly strung together words. Make sure to read the comments as well - they’re very insightful and will make you love the drabble even more.
What else is there to say about this episode? Hotlanta!! (See fic below) + Brian uses Southern accent.
When Brian says to Michael he’s got somebody waiting for him at home - he looks almost happy. But that’s me over-interpreting facial expressions maybe.
I ♥ Jennifer here.
Another prejudice this episode does away with: Brian doesn’t owns candles. He does! Unless you’re willing to believe that after the blowup the day before, Justin would go out and buy some.
++PICS++
++QUOTES++
BRIAN
He is not my responsibility.
JENNIFER
Oh, yes he is! You seduced him, you fucked him, so now he's yours! So, kindly, see that he takes his allergy medicine, and does his homework, and gets to school on time. And, uh, tell him that we love him.
DEBBIE
If I have to watch Martha Stewart make another goddamn thing out of goat cheese, I'm gonna kill myself!
VIC
AMC has a Joan Crawford festival all week.
DEBBIE
Nobody's that gay. I've got to go to work. They need me.
(Michael walks in just as Debbie tries to escape.)
VIC
And you need to rest your ass!
DEBBIE
Hi, honey. What are you doing here?
MICHAEL
Uncle Vic asked me to bring some rope and help tie you down.
DEBBIE
Kinky.
BRIAN
So, what's for dinner?
JUSTIN
Jambalaja from last night.
BRIAN
Not bad.
JUSTIN
It's always better the second day.
++DEBBIE’S SHIRTS++
++MUSIC++
Two great songs in this episode:
Plays in the diner, very faint in the background when Debbie collapses. Anything by Chin Injeti (Right-click + save on the red, capital lettered word.)
The outro for this episode: He’s All I Want by Angelmoon (Same procedure as above.)
++FIC++
A/N: For the first time ever, I wrote RPS. Hotlanta kinda inspired me. This can be a stand-alone, or it can develop into something more. Depends on you. Please let me know what you think. I’m very dependent on comments for this one since it’s the first RPS I ever did. When you think it’s generic and boring, let me know, too. I don’t mind honesty.
Warnings: This is RPS (Real People Slash) of the Gale Harold/Randy Harrison variety. If you don’t like those kind of things per se, please don’t read. If you do read it and don’t like it, please do tell.
Title: Every Now And Then
When I first met the guy who was hired to play Hotlanta, it was during the final read-through with the entire cast. We were all seated around the long table, and I wouldn’t have given him a second thought (with Gale present in the same room - who could fault me?) if it wasn’t for the fact that Gale did. I never spent too much attention to the extras or guest stars on the show. They came on set, did their part, and went their way. Not only held they nothing to interest me, but even when they were hot and gay, they had no chance to tempt me. The ubiquitous presence of the greatest temptation of all made sure of that.
Ever since that first, fatal meeting I was blind when it came to anyone else.
I met Gale during audition. From the moment I first laid my eyes on him, I was lost. He walked into the room as if he owned it, oozing Brianesque sex all over the place. He was perfect for the role and just… perfect. We read together and I wanted him to get the job, wanted it so much. They do warn you to be careful about what to wish for, don’t they?
I had no control over my body’s functions whenever he was in the room with me. I would flush, get hot, get hard, with no chance of reining in the signs that would betray my emotions. I never thought I could fall for a co-worker, and a straight one at that. I like to think of myself as a professional actor with enough (stage) acting experience to know better. But there I was, pining away for my co-star like some pimply teenager with his hormones on parade.
Every night when I was alone in my bed, jerking off to images of our closed set scenes together, I was disgusted with my little pathetic self. Alone, in bed, at night, I resolved to end this pining - dozens of times. I promised to move on, to do my damnedest to ignore the feelings the mere thought of him provoked in my mind and body. Every night I told myself this was going to stop. But then, inevitably, morning would come and with it, Gale - a cup of steaming hot coffee from the deli on the corner down the street in his hand, standing on my doorstep, looking like a fucking sex god in his ugly shirts and too baggy jeans and stupid caps. And all my resolutions were out the window; at least for the next sixteen hours or so, until I was in my bed again, alone again, allowing my fantasies to torment me, robbing me of sleep and making me even more susceptible to his aura.
How the fuck was it possible that the hottest kisses and most erotic touches I’ve ever experienced were while the cameras were rolling? He’s told me repeatedly how good an actor he thinks I am. He has no idea! I wanted him so much - it hurt; actual physical pain.
The only thing that had kept me somewhat sane those past weeks and months was the knowledge that this whole thing - this infatuation I had going for him - would eventually go away. Because he was straight and he could never want me in the same way that I wanted him. Time, I kept praying, would take care of it. It would either erase those feelings or break me. Either way was fine with me because the situation of the moment was truly and honestly hell.
So, as we sat at the large table, going through our lines, Gale beside me, I was perfectly aware of how close his naked forearm was to my elbow, both resting on the edge of the table. I had difficulty concentrating on my parts, my mind repeatedly straying off to contemplate how suspicious and immature it would be if I slid closer to accidentally touch him. That was when I noticed Glae giving Hotlanta the look. It wasn’t obvious or anything, but I noticed because nothing about him fails to register with my consciousness.
Pure hatred, directed at our unsuspecting guest star, and anger for my oh-so-straight co-star rose to my throat and made me sick. I tried to swallow it down while concentrating on keeping the expression on my face neutral. It was fucking too much and I choked, provoking a coughing fit. Gale bent over the backrest of his chair to rub a soothing palm between my shoulder blades.
“Rands, you okay?”
His breath stroked my cheek as his voice did the same, leaving my insides jagged and stinging with pain. I gulped a lung-full of air before I turned my head to stare at him with a bewildered look in my eyes - as if seeing him for the first time. The hand still rubbing my back stilled as he took in the expression on my face. I couldn’t stand his touch - the very same that I longed for mere seconds ago - and moved my chair slightly away from him. He noticed and watched me with his forehead creased in confusion. I threw another quick glance in his direction and saw pain in his beautiful eyes. Instead of the urge to take him in my arms that I would have usually felt at his pained expression, I felt strangely satisfied, knowing I wasn’t the only one hurting.
I couldn’t help it. The immature teenager I reverted to in his presence screamed at the unfairness of it all. Since when exactly was Gale looking at male extras like that? If he was to notice a man as a sexually appealing person, then this man should be me! How dare he find Hotlanta hot when I was sitting right next to him?!
I was still furious when we finished the read-through less than half an hour later, so I stormed past all my colleagues and out the door, directly into the changing rooms. The three of us - Gale, Hotlanta, and me - were up first. We always tried to get the scenes with extras shot first, so they wouldn’t have to be kept on the set for too long. When I was finished dressing - gladly Justin’s wardrobe didn’t require complicated adjustments or color tuning - I made my way quickly into the make-up room, successfully avoiding Gale and him, both of whom had just entered the changing room. Gale tried to grab my arm when I squeezed past him on my way out, but I twisted out of his grasp, noting the bewildered look in Hotlanta’s face. I tried to remember his name but only knew that it started with a single letter, and honestly, how stupid was that?
In the make-up room I immersed myself in the script, pretending to read it when Gale took his usual spot beside me. This was usually the time we would chat and make small talk about last night’s activities (or lack thereof), and our plans for lunch. Even though I kept staring into the script stubbornly, I couldn’t help but feel Gale’s eyes on me, watching my reflection in the mirror in front of us. When we were both finished, we left the room, but before we could reach the set of Brian’s loft, Gale pulled me into a dark, hidden niche and asked,
“Randy, what did I do?”
I glanced up into his face and he looked so beaten and miserable, my own heart clenched with guilt that I was causing him this pain. But then I remembered that he was the one who caused me pain, too, so I ignored his question and the pleading look as well as my urge to wrap my arms around him and make both of us better; it wouldn’t be for long anyway.
Shooting the actual scene was more painful than I could have imagined. I never knew Gale to be this enthusiastic during kissing scenes - well, at least not with someone other than me. But as I had to stand there, watch the two of them go at it in several takes, I almost screamed ‘Cut’ twice. The only thing that kept me from it was the knowledge that if I did, they just would have to start anew, and I wouldn’t have lived through one more take than necessary.
I actually sighed with relief when the director finally called it a wrap on the loft scene. I left without looking back at Gale and hoped I’d never have to see Hotlanta again. The rest of the day was spent on separate sets for which I was eternally grateful.
Gale came looking for me when I sat in the small room that was assigned to me, getting rid of the makeup before leaving for my apartment. I had been contemplating going out and getting shitfaced drunk when he knocked on my door.
“Randy?” He stuck his head around the corner.
“Go away, Gale.” I told him quietly.
“No! Tell me what’s wrong.” He insisted.
“I can’t. I just… can’t. Go! Please, go away. Leave.”
I knew he was hurt. I knew he didn’t understand why I was acting the way I was. But I couldn’t explain. Coming clean to him would mean coming clean about my feelings for him. And I wasn’t ready to jeopardize our relationship yet.
I never would have imagined I could feel any worse than I did right then, but when he turned and obliged to my request without another word, I was proven wrong. The soft click of the closing door behind him made me burrow my face in my hands and sob. I don’t know how long I sat there, silently sniffing at my own misery, wallowing in self-pity and self-righteous anger.
Eventually I grabbed my bag and made my way outside. I froze when I recognized his form sitting at the steps in front of the building’s entrance. He was huddled together - unaccustomed to the temperatures of the Canadian fall. He looked up upon hearing the door open and, recognizing me, rose to his full height.
“What’s wrong?” He asked without any preamble and with an urgency in his voice that made me shiver, and not because of the cold. He never spent time on pleasantries.
I was still thrown by the fact that he stayed here, waiting for me, and my heart flooded my body with so much love for him, it was painful to endure. He looked like an oversized puppy dog, and not for the first time I thought that he was too sensitive to be in this kind of business. I was still pondering how to answer his question when he spoke again.
“Tell me what I did, Rands.”
“You looked at him.” I whispered.
“Who… I… What?” He had no idea what I was talking about and how could he? If he even noticed himself looking, I doubt he knew how to interpret it.
I don’t know when exactly I decided to tell him the truth - whether it was two months ago or two minutes - but now that I had, I felt scared. I knew what I was putting on the line here; knew that I might destroy our friendship and lose him forever. He was shaking and I didn’t know if it was because of the cold or if a look on my face and me straightening my shoulders had something to do with it. I felt the cold creep through my veins as well and offered, “Let’s take this inside.”
He shook his head resolutely and declined. “No. I’m not moving until you start talking.”
I took a deep breath and while slowly exhaling, replied. “This morning, when we were going through the script before the shooting… you… you gave the guy… a look.”
“What guy? What look? Randy, I don’t understand.”
I realized how ridiculous my stuttering must have sounded to him. But I refused to ignore what I saw - not matter how unconscious or fleeting it was. I started again. “The Hotlanta actor. You looked at him.”
“Okay. I looked at him.” Gale repeated as if trying to get behind the hidden meaning in the sentence, trying to find the offending part in what was obviously an accusation on my part. “He sat across from me.” He continued talking, but he wasn’t speaking to me. He was stating facts, reconstructing this morning’s happenings. It was his process. “We read our lines. I looked at him, …probably. Rands?” He concluded with a confused question, not having found anything that would justify my behavior.
“You didn’t look at him like you would look at the other guest stars, like you would look at the staff. You looked at him like you were… Gale, you checked him out.”
I watched as Gale silently searched his pockets for his cigarettes. He never could remember which pocket he put them in last. Finally finding and lighting a smoke, he replied, “Hanging out with so many gay guys and playing Brian Kinney must have rubbed off on me.” He tried to joke.
I refused to laugh. Eventually Gale realized that and throwing his half-finished smoke away, stated, “So what if I was?”
“I was jealous.” I simply said and held my breath while looking him straight in the eye.
He stood unmoving and quiet, staring at me with that open and honest gaze of his. Every emotion easily readable on his face. I watched as first surprise, then confusion registered, and finally the full implication of my statement settled in.
He patted his pockets again and pulled out another cigarette with shaky hands. I knew he was wishing for a joint. After three failed attempts at lighting the smoke and a muttered ‘Fuck’, he finally managed and inhaled deeply before releasing the breath and speaking. His voice was quiet and I had to strain to hear him because he kept his gaze on his feet as he muttered, “Randy, we need to talk.”
The End.
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