Fic: People Come Around, Entourage, Vince/Eric, 5/6
Notes in Part 1. Back to Part 4.
SEPTEMBER: People Come Around
Turtle stays and he does his best, and he can tell Vince and E are on their best behavior, too. He feels progressively worse, watching them flinch when he walks into a room, sometimes, watching Vince retreat a little from his usual, sloppily affectionate self. One night, he walks into the living room and Vince and E snap apart on the couch.
“Jesus, all right,” Turtle says. “If I make out with Drama will you forgive me and go back to how things were before?”
E snorts beer through his nose, and after Vince is done hitting him on the back he leaves his hand there. After that things are pretty much cool again. They spend a lot of time hanging out at home, the four of them like before, and Drama stays over half the time because he’s not working at the moment. Sometimes they go out and Vince deflects girls Turtle’s way, so in a way things are even better.
One Thursday, Drama has an appointment to see Lloyd, and Turtle agrees to go with him because his day is otherwise empty. “Maybe before we can go see if Rex got that new sound-system in for my car,” Turtle says. “Then see Lloyd and do your stuff.”
Vince looks up from his eggs. “So you guys are gonna be gone all day?” he asks.
“Yeah, you want to meet for lunch or something?”
Vince’s eyes narrow. E walks in, and he turns. “E, the guys are going to be gone all day.”
E stops. “All day?”
Drama shrugs. “I got a meeting with Lloyd, Turtle wants to check on his sound system, I want to see my butcher in Culver City…”
“You have a butcher?” Turtle asks.
“We don’t have to leave the house today, do we, E?”
E shrugs. “Ari’s gonna wanna hear your thoughts about Las Cruces pretty soon.”
“He’s not gonna want to hear my thoughts,” Vince says, “so fuck him.” He grins and raises his eyebrows, and Turtle thinks he sees E blushing. “So again, I ask: do we have anything to do today?”
“I’m sure we can think of something,” E says.
“OK,” Turtle says. “I get it, the cats’ll be away, you two want to break out the whips and chains.”
“Chains?” E says, pouring cereal. “Who said anything about chains?”
Vince laughs. “Just don’t come home early, all right? Take a long lunch, on me, anywhere you want.”
“Anywhere?” Drama says.
Which is how they end up at The Palm. Vince’s name and his AmEx Black get them a table with a very small wait, and Turtle orders the Tenderloin Fillets. “At lunch? Isn’t that a little heavy?” Drama complains, and asks for the Seared Ahi salad.
They’re halfway through the meal when Ari shows up at their table. He waves off a woman in a sharp black suit, sits next to Drama, and says, “If it isn’t my favorite fuckups from Queens. Where’s the mayor of Munchkinland?”
Turtle shrugs. “E’s at home,” he says.
“At home.” He rubs his face. “I’ve called four times today. That’s four minutes I could’ve used to go down on Babs, making her happy so I wouldn’t have to work all these long hours schmoozing fucking soap opera stars just because she wants a client list the length of my ten-foot cock.”
“Sorry, man,” Turtle says, taking another bite of steak. It’s fucking amazing; he barely even has to chew. “Maybe they just don’t want to talk.”
Ari crosses his arms. “I get paid to talk to people who don’t want to talk to me.” He signals the waitress by snapping frantically. “Yeah, these two want their check. They’re leaving.”
“Hey,” Drama protests, “I was gonna get dessert.”
“I’ll buy you a fucking ice cream cone on the way,” Ari says.
“The way to where?”
“Home, jerkoff. E doesn’t call me back, I’ll fucking come to him.” He sniffs. “Jesus, what is that, Drama, the tuna? You on a diet?”
“Ari,” Turtle says, “you can’t just come home with us. We’re actually not headed home right now.”
“Yeah, change of plans,” Ari says. He snaps his fingers again. “Hello, do you work for money or just the glamour of being fucked by Colin Farrel in the bathroom, sweetheart? Yeah, thank you.” He takes the AmEx out of Turtle’s hand and passes it over.
Drama clears his throat. “I have a meeting with my agent,” he says. “I can’t just -“
“I own your agent,” Ari says. “And I will have him call you. But I know everything Lloyd knows, Drama, and if you want to know what we know, you’ll take me to your leader right-the-fuck now.”
“You know, E’s been sick,” Turtle says. “I bet that’s why he’s not answering.”
“Sick?”
“Oh, yeah,” Drama says, “he’s got, like, some nasty bug. Real contagious.”
“Yeah, in fact, I’m not feeling so great myself,” Turtle says. “Look, Ari, we promise we’ll tell him as soon as we’re home -“
“I paid an elderly woman 3,000 dollars to die so I could get my flu shot this year,” Ari says. When he leans forward, his eyes flash. “I’ve had so many fucking B-12 shots recently that I could survive Ebola. So let’s go take E some chicken soup for the soul, huh?”
They’re on the sidewalk waiting for their car five minutes later. Turtle grabs his phone and dials Vince’s number. As it rings, Ari grabs his arm.
“Don’t you dare fucking tell them I’m on the way,” Ari says. “They’ll tunnel out or something.”
Turtle clears his throat as his call goes to voicemail. “Uh, hey, Vin, it’s Turtle. Just checking in.” Ari nods. “Actually, Drama and I were on our way home. Uh. To hang out. With you. The four of us. So if you’re doing anything that would, you know, keep us from all hanging out together, maybe you could stop?” Ari’s glaring at him like he’s just grown another head. Turtle turns away from him and walks around to the driver’s seat. “See you soon, Vince.”
He tries E’s phone, too, and then the house line, where he leaves another message, hoping the answering machine will broadcast it. Jesus, if they’re in the pool… “Look, Ari, we can’t -“
“Is something going on?” Ari asks from the passenger’s seat; Drama’s been relegated to the back. “You can tell me, you know. If Vince and E are secretly packing up a bunch of drug mules -“
“Nothing’s going on!” Turtle says. “Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking paranoid, Ari?”
“Anyone ever tell you to shut the fuck up and drive, Turtle? And is this where you got the name?” Ari leans forward and drums his hands on the dash. “My golf cart goes faster than this.”
By the time they pull into the house, Turtle’s tried calling Vince three more times. He’s sent two text messages. He’s done everything but drive the car off the road trying to convince Ari this isn’t a good idea.
He throws the car in park and hops out before it’s even stopped rolling, hits the front door hard and yells, “Vince, E, Ari wants to see you, Ari’s here!” as loud as he can.
“Yeah, what the fuck, Turtle,” Ari says, walking in behind him. “Jesus, is this what happens when you don’t get your morning weed? Can I pitch in or something?”
Turtle swallows, then ducks into the kitchen. It’s empty, just the bowls from breakfast still lying around. He turns back to the foyer. “Drama, you want to get Ari a drink or something? One of your fruit tarts, maybe? In the kitchen?”
“What is this, are we courting now?” Ari asks. “You gonna give me the Architectural Digest tour or just blow me here?”
He starts toward the living room, and Turtle winces and has to cover his eyes. If Vince and E are sleeping - or worse - on the big couch, Ari will see them in the next five seconds. “I thought you said they were home!” Ari yells, and Turtle breathes a sigh of relief.
“Maybe they decided to go somewhere,” Turtle says, stepping into the living room. It’s empty, though there’s a T-shirt crumpled over the back of the couch and the pillows have been shifted around. Nothing that screams gay, though.
“Yeah, we aren’t babysitters,” Drama says.
“Yeah, well maybe you - hey, there’s my man!”
Turtle turns and sees Vince walk out of his bedroom, wearing his robe and rubbing his eyes like he’s just been sleeping. “Hey, guys. Ari,” he says, wandering into the living room. “What’s up, I thought you were meeting at the agency.”
“Change of plans, man,” Ari says. “You just get up? You got the same bug E’s got?”
“Bug?” Vince says, at the same moment that Turtle looks up to see E descending the stairs. He’s freshly showered and wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the fucking picture of health.
“E,” Turtle says. “You feeling better, man?”
“I feel fine,” E says.
“That’s funny, Eric, because the guys here told me you weren’t taking my calls because you had SARS,” Ari says.
“Food poisoning,” E says, his face instantly hard, his usual Ari expression.
Ari lifts the shirt from the couch. “You got a new girl, E? You weren’t just blowing me off for some pussy, were you? You remember how that turned out last time.”
“No girl,” E says.
“That’s mine,” Vince says. “Late night. What’s going on, Ari?”
“Yeah, don’t try and tell me you stopped in to show how much you care,” E says.
“I do care, E, I care because I’ve got a hundred-million-dollar movie sitting on my desk, waiting to put Vince’s name back in the big lights, and neither my client nor his fucking manager are taking my calls.” Ari turns to Vince. It’s funny, really, how quickly his expression can change, from anger to something that Turtle thinks of as ass-kissage. “So what do you say, Vin, we gonna make a movie or what?”
Vince shrugs. “I don’t know, Ari. You said there’d be a re-write?”
“Absolutely. Absolutely. They’re talking about bringing in Peter Morgan to go through it, the studio’s already got that planned. Anything you want, baby, we’ll get it but they won’t green-light without your name behind it.”
Vince sighs and looks at E, and E shrugs. “It’s not amazing,” he says, “but it has some cool stuff. And working with Fincher…”
“And I got you ten,” Ari says. “For fifty days’ work, man.”
“All right,” Vince says. “Contingent upon the re-write, though, it’s gotta be quality.”
“You bet,” Ari says, shaking his hand. “I’ll tell them you want pages as soon as they happen.”
“Do that,” E says.
“You’ll come by and sign tomorrow morning? Fax me a fake tonight?”
“Yeah, yeah,” E agrees.
“You want a drink or something?” Vince asks.
“No, I gotta get back to work,” Ari says. “Lloyd’s on his way.”
“All right, man, take it easy,” Vince says, and he and Ari slap hands, and Ari turns to walk out. He stops at the threshold, just when Turtle’s starting to breathe again. “E, food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
“You allergic to something?”
E shrugs. “No. What, you wanted to order some?”
“So that’s not a hive on your neck, there,” he says, pointing. Turtle’s eyes follow his finger and see it, a hickey forming just under E’s earlobe.
E reaches up and touches his neck. “What?” he says, nearly snarls. “What’s your problem, Ari?”
“My problem is, you don’t answer your phone, Vince doesn’t answer his, you’re home alone, together, that’s your ugly-ass children’s size T-shirt on the couch, you’ve got a hickey, and Tweedledumb and Dumber here are scared to death I’m going to walk in and surprise you at something.” Ari puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, then crosses his arms. “My problem is you’re fucking my client, Eric.”
“Jesus, Ari, jump to conclusions much?” E says. Turtle looks at Vince, who’s staring at Ari in a strange, curious way. “It’s not my shirt. Vince had a girl here last night. I probably knocked my head on the toilet, throwing up. Tell me how that adds up to me fucking Vince.”
“You know what else adds up? Vince hasn’t been on the market recently.” Ari paces forward into the room, his arms still crossed tight except when one hand jabs out at E to make a point. “Usually I get four calls a week from girls, saying they know, in the Biblical sense, Vincent Chase, can I get them a walk-on somewhere, but the last few months, nada. Fuck, just getting that premiere set up with the model was like negotiating the Cuban fucking Missile Crisis.”
“So he’s more savvy -”
“E,” Vince says, his voice slightly amused, “it’s all right. He knows.”
“I - I do?” Ari says, and Turtle watches his face flicker through emotions he recognizes: anger, fear, maybe a second of disgust, before he settles on surprise. “Holy fuck, I’m right?”
E looks at Vince, then laughs. “All right. Yeah. Yeah, Ari, welcome to the club.”
“You’re seriously - the two of you - I need to sit down,” Ari says. “I need to sit down and I need a big fucking glass of whiskey, Drama, right now.”
“I got it,” Turtle says, and he goes to the bar. He pours from a bottle of E’s favorite stuff, one for Ari, one for himself, and after a glance back he gets one for E, too. Ari’s on the couch, and Vince has taken a seat in the armchair. Turtle hands the whiskey over to E, who takes it with a grateful nod and then sits on the arm of Vince’s chair. After he gives Ari his drink, Turtle stands by Drama in the doorway, ready to make a quick escape if Ari’s packing.
Ari gulps the whiskey. “OK. Jesus. You guys are fucking. I don’t suppose if I said stop, that would do anything?”
“No dice,” Vince says. “And it’s not just fucking.”
“Please, no details,” Ari says. “I get enough gay sex in my life from the tap I have on Lloyd’s phone.” He rubs his forehead with his thumb, really seems to be straining over a thought, or maybe over holding a thought back. “So, this is, what, like a buddy-fucking deal? He’s your piece on the side, Vince, tell me that’s it, tell me the only thing I need to do here is arrange some super-secret HIV tests.”
“Ari,” E says, “it’s not a casual thing.”
“And now that you know, can we can it with the girls?” Vince says.
Ari keeps rubbing his face. “Maybe another drink?” Drama murmurs.
“Fuck that, I’m not going near him,” Turtle says.
“How long?” Ari asks.
Vince looks at E. “Almost a year, seriously,” he says.
“Yeah, happy anniversary,” Ari says. “Who’s seen you?”
“What?”
Every word seems to be causing Ari pain. “You’re good kids, but you’re clearly dumb as fuck,” he says, “so let’s get a list, right now, of the places you’ve been where you couldn’t keep a leash on it, so I can start making some calls.”
E blinks. “Nowhere,” he says. “Jesus, we’re not that dumb, Ari.”
“Evidence to the contrary,” Ari says. “Who else knows?”
“Just these guys,” E says.
“That’s it? Have you two told anyone?” Ari asks, whirling toward them.
“No way, man,” Turtle says.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Drama says.
“Your mother isn’t dead,” Ari says.
“My, uh, therapist,” Vince says, and when Ari curses, he says, “Hey, you sent me to rehab.”
Ari pauses, then nods frantically. “So, OK. Legally she can’t say anything, and then we’re it.” He turns briefly to face Turtle and Drama. “I swear to you now, if one of you two fuckups breathes a word of this to anyone, I don’t care if you’re being tortured or in the throes of passion with some chesty hooker, I will know it was you that leaked it and I will kill you. Raise your hands if you doubt that.”
Turtle is afraid to move, and when Ari turns back to Vince and E, he drinks the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.
“Harsh, Ari,” Vince says.
“Was it? Christ, I’m going to have to up my blood pressure meds just to survive this as it is, and when it does come out - look, maybe I should be the one to tell Shauna.”
“No,” E says, setting his glass down. “No one knows. The more people we tell -”
“Yeah, that was a nice strategy when it was just the two of you and the afterglow,” Ari says, “but now it’s time to wake the fuck up. We need a strategy for when this breaks.”
“When it breaks?” Vince says.
“Oh, come on, even you guys aren’t this naive,” Ari snaps. “Yes, when, Vince. You know that old saying, a secret can be kept between two people if one of them kills the other? Well, unless you’re willing to cap us all -”
“Don’t tempt me,” E says.
“- then we need a strategy, and right the fuck now. We need to get Shauna in on this, so that when - when - someone from TMZ picks up your private cell conversation, or some maid sells pictures of E’s underwear on your bedroom floor to US Weekly, or fucking Turtle takes a million dollar book deal to spill it to the world, we have a plan. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life playing the gay best friend or the creepy uncle.”
Vince stands up. “You want to strategize my sex life?”
Ari’s expression is absolutely deadpan. “I thought it was more than sex, Vince. But if that’s it, man, please tell me, because I can get you way finer ass than this, and for less than ten percent, too.”
E launches off the armchair, but Vince grabs his arm before he can get too far and hauls him around. He says something into E’s ear, and E grits his teeth - Turtle can almost hear it from where he’s standing - and then walks right out of the living room. Drama follows at a wave from Vince, but Turtle stays put. This is a face-off he wants to watch.
Vince looks at Ari and spreads his hands out over the back of the armchair. “Ari, get out,” he says.
“You have to see how stupid this is.”
“Get out, right now,” Vince says.
“Vince, this is a death move, this is -”
“If you want to have a job with me, then you’re leaving right now,” Vince says. “We will come to your office, tomorrow morning, and we will talk about this, maybe even like grownups, maybe even without the name-calling, but if you don’t leave right now I’m gonna walk out, and E can come in here and fire you. And maybe punch you. He’s been working out. You wanna go?”
Ari opens his mouth, then closes it. He stands up, walks to the doorway by Turtle, and pauses.
“Keep going,” Turtle says, and after a moment, with his hand over his mouth, Ari does.
When the front door slams, Vince’s head drops. Turtle hears him take a deep breath. “Vince, man,” he says, and Vince raises one hand and waves, like he’s OK. But he’s not; how could he be? This has to be in the top five nightmares for him. It’s certainly close for Turtle. The idea of the whole world knowing about this - well, it’s hard to take. Turtle’s not even sure what it would mean, and he’s damn sure it’s not going to be a good thing.
“Look, things’ll work out,” he says, and Vince glances over. “Uh, you wanna smoke, or something? Chill for a minute?”
Vince shrugs. “I probably need to go talk E down,” he says. He taps Turtle’s arm on the way out. “But thanks, man.”
Turtle says “Anytime,” and watches Vince walk out with the same feeling he’s had all year: he wishes he could help, he wishes he could figure things out, he wishes things were just simple again.
The meeting the next day goes about how Turtle expects. He and Drama sit in the waiting room, and they hear certain shouted phrases - “since fucking high school?!!” and a lot of cursing - and when Vince and E walk out they both look like they’ve been knocked around. They don’t talk much about it, except to say that Ari repeated his verdict that they should simply stop and shape up, and that he wants to work on a plan for what they’ll do when it leaks.
“And he wants to book a bunch of stuff as far in advance as possible,” E says, rubbing his forehead. “Which means a shitload of reading.”
“He says I won’t be as bankable if people find out,” Vince says.
“You tell him to go fuck himself?” Turtle asks. “Lots of other agents, Vin.”
Vince glances over and smirks. “People come around,” he says, and Turtle has to smile.
On to Part 5.5 (too long to fit! eep.)
SEPTEMBER: People Come Around
Turtle stays and he does his best, and he can tell Vince and E are on their best behavior, too. He feels progressively worse, watching them flinch when he walks into a room, sometimes, watching Vince retreat a little from his usual, sloppily affectionate self. One night, he walks into the living room and Vince and E snap apart on the couch.
“Jesus, all right,” Turtle says. “If I make out with Drama will you forgive me and go back to how things were before?”
E snorts beer through his nose, and after Vince is done hitting him on the back he leaves his hand there. After that things are pretty much cool again. They spend a lot of time hanging out at home, the four of them like before, and Drama stays over half the time because he’s not working at the moment. Sometimes they go out and Vince deflects girls Turtle’s way, so in a way things are even better.
One Thursday, Drama has an appointment to see Lloyd, and Turtle agrees to go with him because his day is otherwise empty. “Maybe before we can go see if Rex got that new sound-system in for my car,” Turtle says. “Then see Lloyd and do your stuff.”
Vince looks up from his eggs. “So you guys are gonna be gone all day?” he asks.
“Yeah, you want to meet for lunch or something?”
Vince’s eyes narrow. E walks in, and he turns. “E, the guys are going to be gone all day.”
E stops. “All day?”
Drama shrugs. “I got a meeting with Lloyd, Turtle wants to check on his sound system, I want to see my butcher in Culver City…”
“You have a butcher?” Turtle asks.
“We don’t have to leave the house today, do we, E?”
E shrugs. “Ari’s gonna wanna hear your thoughts about Las Cruces pretty soon.”
“He’s not gonna want to hear my thoughts,” Vince says, “so fuck him.” He grins and raises his eyebrows, and Turtle thinks he sees E blushing. “So again, I ask: do we have anything to do today?”
“I’m sure we can think of something,” E says.
“OK,” Turtle says. “I get it, the cats’ll be away, you two want to break out the whips and chains.”
“Chains?” E says, pouring cereal. “Who said anything about chains?”
Vince laughs. “Just don’t come home early, all right? Take a long lunch, on me, anywhere you want.”
“Anywhere?” Drama says.
Which is how they end up at The Palm. Vince’s name and his AmEx Black get them a table with a very small wait, and Turtle orders the Tenderloin Fillets. “At lunch? Isn’t that a little heavy?” Drama complains, and asks for the Seared Ahi salad.
They’re halfway through the meal when Ari shows up at their table. He waves off a woman in a sharp black suit, sits next to Drama, and says, “If it isn’t my favorite fuckups from Queens. Where’s the mayor of Munchkinland?”
Turtle shrugs. “E’s at home,” he says.
“At home.” He rubs his face. “I’ve called four times today. That’s four minutes I could’ve used to go down on Babs, making her happy so I wouldn’t have to work all these long hours schmoozing fucking soap opera stars just because she wants a client list the length of my ten-foot cock.”
“Sorry, man,” Turtle says, taking another bite of steak. It’s fucking amazing; he barely even has to chew. “Maybe they just don’t want to talk.”
Ari crosses his arms. “I get paid to talk to people who don’t want to talk to me.” He signals the waitress by snapping frantically. “Yeah, these two want their check. They’re leaving.”
“Hey,” Drama protests, “I was gonna get dessert.”
“I’ll buy you a fucking ice cream cone on the way,” Ari says.
“The way to where?”
“Home, jerkoff. E doesn’t call me back, I’ll fucking come to him.” He sniffs. “Jesus, what is that, Drama, the tuna? You on a diet?”
“Ari,” Turtle says, “you can’t just come home with us. We’re actually not headed home right now.”
“Yeah, change of plans,” Ari says. He snaps his fingers again. “Hello, do you work for money or just the glamour of being fucked by Colin Farrel in the bathroom, sweetheart? Yeah, thank you.” He takes the AmEx out of Turtle’s hand and passes it over.
Drama clears his throat. “I have a meeting with my agent,” he says. “I can’t just -“
“I own your agent,” Ari says. “And I will have him call you. But I know everything Lloyd knows, Drama, and if you want to know what we know, you’ll take me to your leader right-the-fuck now.”
“You know, E’s been sick,” Turtle says. “I bet that’s why he’s not answering.”
“Sick?”
“Oh, yeah,” Drama says, “he’s got, like, some nasty bug. Real contagious.”
“Yeah, in fact, I’m not feeling so great myself,” Turtle says. “Look, Ari, we promise we’ll tell him as soon as we’re home -“
“I paid an elderly woman 3,000 dollars to die so I could get my flu shot this year,” Ari says. When he leans forward, his eyes flash. “I’ve had so many fucking B-12 shots recently that I could survive Ebola. So let’s go take E some chicken soup for the soul, huh?”
They’re on the sidewalk waiting for their car five minutes later. Turtle grabs his phone and dials Vince’s number. As it rings, Ari grabs his arm.
“Don’t you dare fucking tell them I’m on the way,” Ari says. “They’ll tunnel out or something.”
Turtle clears his throat as his call goes to voicemail. “Uh, hey, Vin, it’s Turtle. Just checking in.” Ari nods. “Actually, Drama and I were on our way home. Uh. To hang out. With you. The four of us. So if you’re doing anything that would, you know, keep us from all hanging out together, maybe you could stop?” Ari’s glaring at him like he’s just grown another head. Turtle turns away from him and walks around to the driver’s seat. “See you soon, Vince.”
He tries E’s phone, too, and then the house line, where he leaves another message, hoping the answering machine will broadcast it. Jesus, if they’re in the pool… “Look, Ari, we can’t -“
“Is something going on?” Ari asks from the passenger’s seat; Drama’s been relegated to the back. “You can tell me, you know. If Vince and E are secretly packing up a bunch of drug mules -“
“Nothing’s going on!” Turtle says. “Anyone ever tell you you’re fucking paranoid, Ari?”
“Anyone ever tell you to shut the fuck up and drive, Turtle? And is this where you got the name?” Ari leans forward and drums his hands on the dash. “My golf cart goes faster than this.”
By the time they pull into the house, Turtle’s tried calling Vince three more times. He’s sent two text messages. He’s done everything but drive the car off the road trying to convince Ari this isn’t a good idea.
He throws the car in park and hops out before it’s even stopped rolling, hits the front door hard and yells, “Vince, E, Ari wants to see you, Ari’s here!” as loud as he can.
“Yeah, what the fuck, Turtle,” Ari says, walking in behind him. “Jesus, is this what happens when you don’t get your morning weed? Can I pitch in or something?”
Turtle swallows, then ducks into the kitchen. It’s empty, just the bowls from breakfast still lying around. He turns back to the foyer. “Drama, you want to get Ari a drink or something? One of your fruit tarts, maybe? In the kitchen?”
“What is this, are we courting now?” Ari asks. “You gonna give me the Architectural Digest tour or just blow me here?”
He starts toward the living room, and Turtle winces and has to cover his eyes. If Vince and E are sleeping - or worse - on the big couch, Ari will see them in the next five seconds. “I thought you said they were home!” Ari yells, and Turtle breathes a sigh of relief.
“Maybe they decided to go somewhere,” Turtle says, stepping into the living room. It’s empty, though there’s a T-shirt crumpled over the back of the couch and the pillows have been shifted around. Nothing that screams gay, though.
“Yeah, we aren’t babysitters,” Drama says.
“Yeah, well maybe you - hey, there’s my man!”
Turtle turns and sees Vince walk out of his bedroom, wearing his robe and rubbing his eyes like he’s just been sleeping. “Hey, guys. Ari,” he says, wandering into the living room. “What’s up, I thought you were meeting at the agency.”
“Change of plans, man,” Ari says. “You just get up? You got the same bug E’s got?”
“Bug?” Vince says, at the same moment that Turtle looks up to see E descending the stairs. He’s freshly showered and wearing jeans and a T-shirt, the fucking picture of health.
“E,” Turtle says. “You feeling better, man?”
“I feel fine,” E says.
“That’s funny, Eric, because the guys here told me you weren’t taking my calls because you had SARS,” Ari says.
“Food poisoning,” E says, his face instantly hard, his usual Ari expression.
Ari lifts the shirt from the couch. “You got a new girl, E? You weren’t just blowing me off for some pussy, were you? You remember how that turned out last time.”
“No girl,” E says.
“That’s mine,” Vince says. “Late night. What’s going on, Ari?”
“Yeah, don’t try and tell me you stopped in to show how much you care,” E says.
“I do care, E, I care because I’ve got a hundred-million-dollar movie sitting on my desk, waiting to put Vince’s name back in the big lights, and neither my client nor his fucking manager are taking my calls.” Ari turns to Vince. It’s funny, really, how quickly his expression can change, from anger to something that Turtle thinks of as ass-kissage. “So what do you say, Vin, we gonna make a movie or what?”
Vince shrugs. “I don’t know, Ari. You said there’d be a re-write?”
“Absolutely. Absolutely. They’re talking about bringing in Peter Morgan to go through it, the studio’s already got that planned. Anything you want, baby, we’ll get it but they won’t green-light without your name behind it.”
Vince sighs and looks at E, and E shrugs. “It’s not amazing,” he says, “but it has some cool stuff. And working with Fincher…”
“And I got you ten,” Ari says. “For fifty days’ work, man.”
“All right,” Vince says. “Contingent upon the re-write, though, it’s gotta be quality.”
“You bet,” Ari says, shaking his hand. “I’ll tell them you want pages as soon as they happen.”
“Do that,” E says.
“You’ll come by and sign tomorrow morning? Fax me a fake tonight?”
“Yeah, yeah,” E agrees.
“You want a drink or something?” Vince asks.
“No, I gotta get back to work,” Ari says. “Lloyd’s on his way.”
“All right, man, take it easy,” Vince says, and he and Ari slap hands, and Ari turns to walk out. He stops at the threshold, just when Turtle’s starting to breathe again. “E, food poisoning?”
“Yeah.”
“You allergic to something?”
E shrugs. “No. What, you wanted to order some?”
“So that’s not a hive on your neck, there,” he says, pointing. Turtle’s eyes follow his finger and see it, a hickey forming just under E’s earlobe.
E reaches up and touches his neck. “What?” he says, nearly snarls. “What’s your problem, Ari?”
“My problem is, you don’t answer your phone, Vince doesn’t answer his, you’re home alone, together, that’s your ugly-ass children’s size T-shirt on the couch, you’ve got a hickey, and Tweedledumb and Dumber here are scared to death I’m going to walk in and surprise you at something.” Ari puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, then crosses his arms. “My problem is you’re fucking my client, Eric.”
“Jesus, Ari, jump to conclusions much?” E says. Turtle looks at Vince, who’s staring at Ari in a strange, curious way. “It’s not my shirt. Vince had a girl here last night. I probably knocked my head on the toilet, throwing up. Tell me how that adds up to me fucking Vince.”
“You know what else adds up? Vince hasn’t been on the market recently.” Ari paces forward into the room, his arms still crossed tight except when one hand jabs out at E to make a point. “Usually I get four calls a week from girls, saying they know, in the Biblical sense, Vincent Chase, can I get them a walk-on somewhere, but the last few months, nada. Fuck, just getting that premiere set up with the model was like negotiating the Cuban fucking Missile Crisis.”
“So he’s more savvy -”
“E,” Vince says, his voice slightly amused, “it’s all right. He knows.”
“I - I do?” Ari says, and Turtle watches his face flicker through emotions he recognizes: anger, fear, maybe a second of disgust, before he settles on surprise. “Holy fuck, I’m right?”
E looks at Vince, then laughs. “All right. Yeah. Yeah, Ari, welcome to the club.”
“You’re seriously - the two of you - I need to sit down,” Ari says. “I need to sit down and I need a big fucking glass of whiskey, Drama, right now.”
“I got it,” Turtle says, and he goes to the bar. He pours from a bottle of E’s favorite stuff, one for Ari, one for himself, and after a glance back he gets one for E, too. Ari’s on the couch, and Vince has taken a seat in the armchair. Turtle hands the whiskey over to E, who takes it with a grateful nod and then sits on the arm of Vince’s chair. After he gives Ari his drink, Turtle stands by Drama in the doorway, ready to make a quick escape if Ari’s packing.
Ari gulps the whiskey. “OK. Jesus. You guys are fucking. I don’t suppose if I said stop, that would do anything?”
“No dice,” Vince says. “And it’s not just fucking.”
“Please, no details,” Ari says. “I get enough gay sex in my life from the tap I have on Lloyd’s phone.” He rubs his forehead with his thumb, really seems to be straining over a thought, or maybe over holding a thought back. “So, this is, what, like a buddy-fucking deal? He’s your piece on the side, Vince, tell me that’s it, tell me the only thing I need to do here is arrange some super-secret HIV tests.”
“Ari,” E says, “it’s not a casual thing.”
“And now that you know, can we can it with the girls?” Vince says.
Ari keeps rubbing his face. “Maybe another drink?” Drama murmurs.
“Fuck that, I’m not going near him,” Turtle says.
“How long?” Ari asks.
Vince looks at E. “Almost a year, seriously,” he says.
“Yeah, happy anniversary,” Ari says. “Who’s seen you?”
“What?”
Every word seems to be causing Ari pain. “You’re good kids, but you’re clearly dumb as fuck,” he says, “so let’s get a list, right now, of the places you’ve been where you couldn’t keep a leash on it, so I can start making some calls.”
E blinks. “Nowhere,” he says. “Jesus, we’re not that dumb, Ari.”
“Evidence to the contrary,” Ari says. “Who else knows?”
“Just these guys,” E says.
“That’s it? Have you two told anyone?” Ari asks, whirling toward them.
“No way, man,” Turtle says.
“I swear on my mother’s grave,” Drama says.
“Your mother isn’t dead,” Ari says.
“My, uh, therapist,” Vince says, and when Ari curses, he says, “Hey, you sent me to rehab.”
Ari pauses, then nods frantically. “So, OK. Legally she can’t say anything, and then we’re it.” He turns briefly to face Turtle and Drama. “I swear to you now, if one of you two fuckups breathes a word of this to anyone, I don’t care if you’re being tortured or in the throes of passion with some chesty hooker, I will know it was you that leaked it and I will kill you. Raise your hands if you doubt that.”
Turtle is afraid to move, and when Ari turns back to Vince and E, he drinks the rest of his whiskey in one gulp.
“Harsh, Ari,” Vince says.
“Was it? Christ, I’m going to have to up my blood pressure meds just to survive this as it is, and when it does come out - look, maybe I should be the one to tell Shauna.”
“No,” E says, setting his glass down. “No one knows. The more people we tell -”
“Yeah, that was a nice strategy when it was just the two of you and the afterglow,” Ari says, “but now it’s time to wake the fuck up. We need a strategy for when this breaks.”
“When it breaks?” Vince says.
“Oh, come on, even you guys aren’t this naive,” Ari snaps. “Yes, when, Vince. You know that old saying, a secret can be kept between two people if one of them kills the other? Well, unless you’re willing to cap us all -”
“Don’t tempt me,” E says.
“- then we need a strategy, and right the fuck now. We need to get Shauna in on this, so that when - when - someone from TMZ picks up your private cell conversation, or some maid sells pictures of E’s underwear on your bedroom floor to US Weekly, or fucking Turtle takes a million dollar book deal to spill it to the world, we have a plan. Unless you want to spend the rest of your life playing the gay best friend or the creepy uncle.”
Vince stands up. “You want to strategize my sex life?”
Ari’s expression is absolutely deadpan. “I thought it was more than sex, Vince. But if that’s it, man, please tell me, because I can get you way finer ass than this, and for less than ten percent, too.”
E launches off the armchair, but Vince grabs his arm before he can get too far and hauls him around. He says something into E’s ear, and E grits his teeth - Turtle can almost hear it from where he’s standing - and then walks right out of the living room. Drama follows at a wave from Vince, but Turtle stays put. This is a face-off he wants to watch.
Vince looks at Ari and spreads his hands out over the back of the armchair. “Ari, get out,” he says.
“You have to see how stupid this is.”
“Get out, right now,” Vince says.
“Vince, this is a death move, this is -”
“If you want to have a job with me, then you’re leaving right now,” Vince says. “We will come to your office, tomorrow morning, and we will talk about this, maybe even like grownups, maybe even without the name-calling, but if you don’t leave right now I’m gonna walk out, and E can come in here and fire you. And maybe punch you. He’s been working out. You wanna go?”
Ari opens his mouth, then closes it. He stands up, walks to the doorway by Turtle, and pauses.
“Keep going,” Turtle says, and after a moment, with his hand over his mouth, Ari does.
When the front door slams, Vince’s head drops. Turtle hears him take a deep breath. “Vince, man,” he says, and Vince raises one hand and waves, like he’s OK. But he’s not; how could he be? This has to be in the top five nightmares for him. It’s certainly close for Turtle. The idea of the whole world knowing about this - well, it’s hard to take. Turtle’s not even sure what it would mean, and he’s damn sure it’s not going to be a good thing.
“Look, things’ll work out,” he says, and Vince glances over. “Uh, you wanna smoke, or something? Chill for a minute?”
Vince shrugs. “I probably need to go talk E down,” he says. He taps Turtle’s arm on the way out. “But thanks, man.”
Turtle says “Anytime,” and watches Vince walk out with the same feeling he’s had all year: he wishes he could help, he wishes he could figure things out, he wishes things were just simple again.
The meeting the next day goes about how Turtle expects. He and Drama sit in the waiting room, and they hear certain shouted phrases - “since fucking high school?!!” and a lot of cursing - and when Vince and E walk out they both look like they’ve been knocked around. They don’t talk much about it, except to say that Ari repeated his verdict that they should simply stop and shape up, and that he wants to work on a plan for what they’ll do when it leaks.
“And he wants to book a bunch of stuff as far in advance as possible,” E says, rubbing his forehead. “Which means a shitload of reading.”
“He says I won’t be as bankable if people find out,” Vince says.
“You tell him to go fuck himself?” Turtle asks. “Lots of other agents, Vin.”
Vince glances over and smirks. “People come around,” he says, and Turtle has to smile.
On to Part 5.5 (too long to fit! eep.)