Fic: People Come Around, Entourage, Vince/Eric, 6/6
Notes in Part 1. Link to 5.5.
NOVEMBER: Hide In Plain Sight
Vince catches Turtle in the kitchen on a Tuesday morning. “I wanna ask your help with something,” he says. “But if it’s gonna make you uncomfortable, then don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not about to get a threesome offer, am I?” Turtle asks.
“Funny,” Vince says. “No. Uh, there’s - I wanna get something, for E.”
“Please, God, if the next sentence involves the word ‘sex toy,’” Turtle starts, and Vince rolls his eyes.
“He’s got enough of those,” Vince says, and Turtle can’t tell if he’s being serious or just trying to get a rise. “I want to get him something special. To cheer him up, kind of, and -” he shrugs, and Turtle doesn’t need to hear much more. E’s been pretty down since they got back from New York, and this week’s been particularly rough, trying to arrange to get his mother’s house packed up from across the country. “It’s been a rough couple of months, you know? And I didn’t really do anything big for our anniversary.”
“Anniversary?”
“Last month,” Vince says. “It’s been a year since he broke it off with Gillian.”
Turtle nods. “Congratulations, man,” he says, and Vince nods. “Seriously, a year, that’s a pretty big deal for you.”
Vince smirks. “Thanks,” he says. “I am capable of commitment, you know.”
“I’m learning,” Turtle says. “So what do you need my help with?”
The smirk broadens into a grin. “You wanna go shopping?”
They go to Beverly Hills. “What are you thinking?” Turtle asks, driving down Wilshire. “He’s got a car, and I’m gonna guess you aren’t in the market for another house.”
Vince shrugs. “I’m thinking maybe, I don’t know. Let’s go to Cartier.”
“He’s got a watch,” Turtle says. “Cufflinks or something?”
“We’ll just look,” Vince says.
Inside, they look at watches, all of them sparkling and coated in diamonds, none of them at all E’s style. “I think he really likes his watch,” Turtle says, and Vince agrees. Turtle starts for the cufflink display, but Vince doesn’t follow. Instead, he shifts over a case. It takes Turtle a moment to follow him, and when he does he freezes. Vince is looking at rings. “Seriously?” Turtle asks.
“He’s got a watch,” Vince says, and Turtle shakes his head. He’s aware, suddenly, of the salesgirl lurking at the end of the counter.
“Vince,” Turtle whispers, “you can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
Turtle recognizes the recklessness in Vince’s voice and knows he’s not going to win this one. Since they got back from home, while E’s been pulling a bit of a hermit act, Vince has been hovering close to E all the time, almost daring people to say something, as if showing up stuck to E’s side in US Weekly will convince Vince’s mother that she should start speaking to him again. Since E’s been distracted, there’s been no one to tell Vince he should maybe take a step back.
He can understand, a little, why a ring would seem like a good idea, but they’re in a store with security cameras and gawkers and outside there’s probably paparazzi. The best Turtle can hope for at this point is damage control, but he keeps trying. “This is a bad idea,” he says. “What about a suit? He likes Armani.”
The salesgirl walks up, smiles, and says, “Hello, Vince,” with a warm little purr.
“Hey, Monica,” Vince says. “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been well,” she says, her smile sleek and a little suggestive. Oh, great, Turtle thinks, of course he knows her. Of fucking course.
“You’re looking for a ring?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Vince says. His fingers - ringless - tap over the glass.
“We have some lovely new diamonds,” she says, starting to the women’s side of the case. “Have you seen the Panthére collection? What does she like?”
“It’s for a guy,” Vince says, and Turtle stifles a groan. He watches the salesgirl’s eyes flicker, in surprise or confusion. “Could we see that one?” Vince points straight down at a silver band.
She nods and pulls out a tray, sets the ring on the surface. “White gold,” she says. “Part of the Love collection.”
Even Turtle knows enough about jewelry to see that’s obvious; it has bold circles around the band with lines through their centers, like little screws, the Cartier Love trademark. A circular diamond sparkles in the middle. “Is it for you?” she asks.
“It’s a gift,” Vince says.
Turtle can see her making connections in her head, and he pipes up without thinking. “It’s for me,” Turtle says, as fast as he can manage, and both the salesgirl and Vince look up at him in surprise. “I mean. Not that Vince is buying me a ring, because Vince wouldn’t buy another guy a ring.” He steps on Vince’s foot as he says this, and Vince flinches.
“So who is it for, then?”
Vince is staring at him, a tiny smirk starting on his face. Turtle can feel his cheeks turning red. “It’s for my, uh, my, uh,” he takes a deep breath, speaks as quietly as he can, “my boy. My boyfriend.”
“Really,” Monica says, and her smile is instantly sweet. Turtle rubs his forehead and pulls his cap down. “That’s really charming. You’ve been together a while?”
“A little more than a year,” Vince answers for him, grinning across the counter.
“Ah, then it’s certainly time for something like this,” she says.
Vince is clearly enjoying this, Turtle can see. “See, I told you it was a good idea.”
Turtle shakes his head. There are only a few other people in the store; he hopes none of them are looking at him. He wishes the salesgirl wasn’t looking at him. “I just don’t know,” he says, picking the ring up. “It’s a big fucking step.”
Vince shrugs. “What, you don’t think he’ll like it?”
He understands this is an honest question. He looks at the ring and thinks about E, about how for the last month he’s been walking around like a zombie. Two nights ago, Drama mentioned maybe going back East for Christmas and E said he’d be sticking around in L.A. “Not much left back there for me,” he said.
Turtle turns the ring around, looks over at Vince. “Yeah, he’ll probably like it,” he admits, and Vince grins.
Monica smiles, her delicate hands on the top of the counter. “So you’ll take it?” Vince asks, turning to Turtle, and Turtle sighs.
“You know, we’ve sold several of these to gay couples, recently,” she says. “The bracelet is also very popular -”
“No bracelet,” Vince and Turtle say together, and Monica laughs.
“Well, the ring is a very good choice,” she says. “If you want to say you’re serious.”
Turtle clears his throat. “Yeah, oh, I do,” he says, glaring at Vince, who has a vaguely pleading expression on his face. “Believe me, I am completely whipped. Almost obsessed.” Vince mouths something, maybe “please.” “All right, wrap it up,” he says, and Vince’s smile grows huge.
“What size?” she asks.
Turtle blinks, and Vince says smoothly, “A nine. Jesus, I knew you’d forget.” He elbows Turtle, and Turtle forces a laugh.
“He’s nervous,” Monica says, patting Turtle’s wrist. “Really, it’s endearing.”
“It really is,” Vince says. He pulls out a credit card. “On me,” he says, handing it to Monica. “Happy anniversary, man.”
Turtle rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks,” he says.
Monica runs the card and packages the gift, making sweet, flirtatious small talk with Vince. She’s even a flirty with Turtle, asking him what else he has planned for his anniversary. “Long walk on the beach,” Turtle says, and she smiles.
“Turtle’s a real romantic,” Vince says. “You ought to see them together. Very cute.”
“Yeah?” Monica says.
“Yeah, we’re disgusting,” Turtle mutters. “Some people say it turns their stomach.”
“Well, you can’t listen to them,” she says. “Maybe we could double some time.” She smiles across at Vince and Turtle watches him blink.
Ha, he thinks.
“Oh, they’re pretty shy,” Vince says. “They don’t get out much.”
“That’s terrible,” she says, handing Turtle the small red ring box. “You should be proud. You shouldn’t have to hide.”
“You’re so right,” Vince says, grinning. “Really. Turtle, she’s got a point.”
Turtle’s sweating. He’s not even sure what to say.
“We could go tonight,” Monica suggests, and Turtle watches Vince’s eyes get just a little wider. “I know the sommelier at Café Calais, and I remember how you like a good wine.” She leans across the counter. “Not a bad place to start your anniversary celebrations…” She touches Vince’s arm, and Turtle watches him trying not to react. Vince is looking at him, and Turtle’s looking back, not sure what exactly Vince is trying to say. When he glances over, Monica’s giving them both kind of a funny look. “Unless you guys have other plans.”
Turtle speaks without thinking. “No,” he says, “no other plans. We, yeah, let’s go, tonight. The four of us.”
“Great,” Monica says. “Seven?”
“Uh,” Turtle says, and then, because Vince looks incapable of speech, “I guess, yeah, that’s cool.”
Vince kisses her cheek as they leave. In the car, he says, “What the fuck, man?”
Turtle shakes his head. “This is all you,” he says. “You want to turn a girl down after buying a guy a ring? You know what that looks like? And you’re making eyes at me, fuck.”
Vince shrugs. “I thought you were covering pretty well,” he says.
“Yeah, well, you need all the fucking cover you can get.” He shakes his head. “How do you survive as an actor? And don’t fucking laugh, man.”
“Wait until E hears you set me up with a girl,” Vince says.
“Wait until E hears he’s my boyfriend, now,” Turtle says.
E is just getting out of his car when they pull in. “Hey, guys, where you been?” he asks.
Turtle shoves the ring box into his pocket. “Shopping,” he says, shortly.
“Yeah, guess what, E?” Vince says as they walk into the house. “You’ve got a date tonight.”
E turns. “Does that mean I’m paying for pizza?”
Turtle shakes his head. The ring is still in his pocket, and it makes him realize he can’t tell E exactly what happened without giving Vince’s gift away. “I hate you,” he says, looking at Vince.
“But you love E.”
“What is going on?”
Turtle sighs. “We were - out, and I had to improvise, and the short story is you and I are going on a double date with Vince and the jewelry store girl tonight.”
“You and I,” E says. “We’re going on a date.”
“This can’t be any more uncomfortable for you than it is for me,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs.
“He’s telling the truth, E,” Vince says. “I got backed into a corner by this girl, I said something stupid and Turtle rescued me.”
“It’s not like a real date,” Turtle says.
“No kidding,” E says, “because there’s zero chance of action for you at the end of the night.” Vince snickers, and E glares at him. “It’s not looking too good for you, either, pal,” he says, and Vince sobers up.
“E, come on, please? Just to make sure this girl doesn’t get too curious. We get drinks, we get dinner, we call it a night.”
E raises an eyebrow. “You think she’s going to be happy just with dinner?”
“I’ll fake a headache or something,” Vince says. “The important part is she sees you and Turtle.”
E rubs his forehead. “This is a fucking nightmare,” he says, but something about his voice sounds more like the old E: worried about Vince’s career, worried about business. Active. OK. Not zombie-like.
“It won’t be that bad,” Turtle says. “I know I’m no Vince, but, Jesus, E -”
“All right, fine,” E says. “But Jesus Christ, you guys never get to leave the house without an adult ever again.”
“Noted,” Vince says. E turns toward the kitchen, and Vince holds out his hand to Turtle.
“You’re going to give it to him now?” Turtle asks.
Vince shrugs. “No time like the present. Plus, he should maybe wear it at dinner, huh?”
Turtle rolls his eyes and hands it over, and Vince claps his shoulder before he walks down the hall after E. Turtle retires to the living room and turns on the Wii. A couple of hours of video game playing and a well-packed bong should make the morning’s embarrassment fade a little.
Drama calls in the afternoon to see what they’re up to. Turtle tells him, expecting laughter.
“Jesus, why E?” he says. “I can act gay. I am an actor.”
“You want the whole world thinking you’re gay?” Turtle asks. “Vince Chase’s gay brother, that’s gonna be good for your résumé.”
“All right, good point,” Drama says. “But it would’ve been nice to be asked.”
“You’re a fucking freak, Drama,” Turtle says, and hangs up. With his hand still on the phone, he starts to wonder if he’s just somehow outed himself. Will Monica tell her friends? Well, of course she will, he realizes, and he shivers. Shit, he thinks, shit shit shit. As if it wasn’t already hard enough getting a girl in L.A.
E walks in, wearing black slacks and a gray button-down shirt. “You better put on something nice for me,” he says, buttoning his cuffs. Turtle catches the glint of his ring.
“E,” Turtle says, and E looks up. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“What’s the deal now?” E asks.
“This is - this will out you,” he says, slowly.
E shrugs. “To the jewelry store girl,” he says. “Not like I’m on the market, anyway. Plus Ari’s called me a cocksucker in half the restaurants in L.A.”
“So you don’t care,” Turtle says. “People are gonna think you’re gay, you don’t care?”
“I care more that they don’t think Vince is,” E says. He crosses his arms. “Wait, you worried about what people will think of you?” Turtle shrugs, and E rolls his eyes. “She already thinks you’re gay,” he says. “Too late now. And if she’s the girl I remember, you don’t have a chance there, either.”
Well, that’s a fair point. Though, she was pretty nice to him at the store. Maybe this can work in his favor, a little. Turtle can’t pretend to know what’s going to make a girl interested. “Yeah, all right,” he says.
“And I’m serious, wear a shirt with fucking buttons,” E says, and Turtle gets up. He showers, puts on cologne, styles his hair, and changes into the Joseph Abboud pants and collared Armani shirt he picked up the last time he went to the outlets with Drama. When he walks out, Vince wolf-whistles, and Turtle flips him off.
“Our boy goes gay with style,” Vince says, one arm slung around E’s shoulders.
“How come he gets to dress down?” Turtle asks. Vince isn’t wearing jeans, at least, but his green shirt has no buttons, and his hair is sloppy as always.
“He bought me jewelry,” E says. “Plus straight guys don’t even have to match. You should know. Come on.”
E rides up front with Turtle, Vince in the back, as they drive to Café Calais to meet Monica. As they pull up to the valet stand, Monica is standing near the entryway. She’s wearing a short black dress and very high heels, and Turtle whistles low just seeing her - and seeing so much of her. E says, “Swear to god, Vince, you touch that girl and I’ll cut off your balls.”
As they get out of the car, Vince turns to Turtle with a mischievous look. “That goes for you, too, man,” he says as they walk up behind E. “Hands off.”
“Fuck you,” Turtle says, and then he stands next to E while Vince greets Monica with a kiss on the cheek.
Turtle gets a similar greeting and a little wink, and then Vince says, “Do you remember Eric, my manager?”
“Oh sure,” she says, and leans in for a kiss. “I’ve heard a lot about you today,” she says to E.
“Yeah? Anything good?”
“Very,” she says. Her voice drops, maybe in deference to the maitre de who’s greeting Vince. “Your boyfriend really likes you.”
Eric laughs, a fake laugh that still works on Monica. Turtle glances around to see if anyone’s listening. “You think, huh?”
He feels like maybe he’s standing too close to E, suddenly, even though there’s more space between them than there is between Turtle and Vince. The crowd near the hostess stand is pretty tightly packed, so that Turtle has to scoot in right behind E to follow their group through. He keeps his hands firmly at his sides.
They’re seated in a booth, and E stands at the end and says, all false courtesy, “After you,” to Turtle. Turtle grits his teeth when E touches his back as he slides into the booth. It’s not even a particularly gay move, it’s just E being E, herding everyone around, mother-henning them all, but Jesus. Turtle scoots to the far, far end, and when he looks up Vince is glaring at him. He tilts his head just a bit to his left, Turtle’s right, and Turtle reluctantly scoots closer to E. There’s about six inches of space between them, now, which is seven more than what’s between Vince and Monica. This should be fun, Turtle thinks. E’s knee is bouncing spastically under the table.
“So happy anniversary,” Monica says, leaning across the table. That’s nice, good view of her rack - which of course isn’t supposed to interest him.
E says, “What?” and Turtle elbows him.
“It’s cool, man, she knows, remember?” Vince says, and E nods fast.
“Oh, yeah, uh, sorry,” he says.
“We’re pretty used to keeping things under wraps,” Turtle adds, and Monica gives him a friendly, sympathetic smile.
“That’s terrible,” she says. “Really.” When she leans back, her bare arm is against Vince’s. “You like the ring, though? That certainly makes a statement.”
Eric’s hands are folded on the table, and Turtle looks over, realizes the ring is on E’s ring finger, not the left hand but hey, close enough. He swallows and can’t meet Vince’s eyes, can’t really even look at E. This is so fucked up. “It’s pretty cool,” E says. “I’m not much for jewelry, usually, but this is a little different.”
“It’s a special piece,” Monica says, nodding.
“It’s got some meaning,” Vince says.
Turtle glances over as E nods. He realizes he should do something here, maybe touch E or say something, but he can’t. He just can’t. It’s not Turtle E’s talking about or thinking about; there’s no meaning in that ring for them. “I hear you helped out with this,” E says, and then Turtle looks over at Monica.
“Actually, you should thank Vince,” she says. “He has a good eye.”
Vince shrugs. “Turtle knew what he wanted,” he says, smiling at Turtle and then quickly over at E.
“That right?”
“Yeah, uh, I just wanted a second opinion,” Turtle says, looking over at the amused little smirk on E’s face.
“And I said, after all the shit that guy makes you put up with, it’s the least he can do,” Vince says. He’s looking right at E, and E’s blushing.
“He’s not so bad,” E says. “Really, he’s a pussycat.”
Turtle clears his throat, in case the guys have forgotten there’s an audience. “You calling me a pussy, baby?” Turtle says, and Vince laughs and looks away, and the weird moment is over.
“No, sweetheart,” E says, his voice terse and exaggerated. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Monica!” A man in an expensive suit stops at the end of their table. “I’m so glad you’re here, wonderful to see you, my dear.”
Monica leans over Vince to let the guy kiss her hand. “Vince, this is Marc, L.A.’s most brilliant sommelier,” she says. “And Marc, this is Vincent Chase, his manager, Eric, and his friend Turtle.”
“Pleased to meet you all,” Marc says, shaking hands.
Monica’s snuggled up to Vince’s side in a way that makes Turtle a little uncomfortable. She says, “Eric and Turtle are celebrating their anniversary,” and Marc tips his head and looks at them. Turtle flinches, then tries to make up for it by putting his hand on E’s turned shoulder.
“Well, congratulations,” Marc says.
“Thanks,” Turtle says.
Marc seems to recover a bit from his surprise, and says, “Well, you must let me send over some champagne, certainly.”
“We’d enjoy that,” E says, and Turtle wonders if he’s imagining it or if E really is speaking through clenched teeth.
“Of course, of course.” A waiter approaches and taps Marc on the shoulder, and after a brief conference Marc says, “I’ll check back in. But Tony, here, will make sure you have a spectacularly romantic evening.”
Turtle has to make himself smile. He’s pretty sure the jolt he feels is Vince kicking E. E, for his part, leans back a bit against Turtle’s arm, and they stay frozen like that until Tony has taken their orders.
When the champagne arrives, E leans forward and raises a glass. “To romance,” he says, and though he’s looking at Turtle, Vince’s is the first glass he clinks.
Things get a little easier from there. They order, they bandy about stories from Vince’s recent film, from the past, kid stories, weird stuff. Monica asks a few questions - “So you two have really been together for a long time?” - and Turtle mostly lets E take the lead. He makes an effort to look right at E when he’s talking, stays sitting closer than he feels comfortable with, and gives the waiter a glare when they keep getting weird looks. He can sense E getting a little annoyed, and maybe Vince can, too, because halfway through his meal, he snaps backward, suddenly, and clutches his mouth.
“Fuck,” Vince mutters, his eyes so wide with pain that Turtle drops his fork.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, at the same time Monica does.
“I think I broke a tooth or something,” Vince says, his voice a little slurred. He probes the side of his mouth with a finger and winces. “Jesus, that hurts.”
“You all right?” E asks, but his tone is completely droll.
“Was it something in the food?” Monica asks, her voice pitched high.
Vince shrugs. “Just bit down wrong, I think.”
He drops out of the conversation, then, for a while, and whenever Turtle looks over he’s got his lips pursed, his tongue working in his mouth. Turtle’s starting to wonder if Vince really has broken something. “Vince, you OK?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
Monica puts both hands on his arm, then touches his cheek. “You want to get the check? You look like you’re really hurting.”
“No, we’re having a good time,” Vince protests. “And you guys never go out.”
Turtle has to look away to keep from laughing, because Monica’s concern increases. “Don’t worry about me,” she says, and E says, “Yeah, man, if you’re in pain, let’s go.”
“We can have just as much fun at home,” Turtle says, and Vince breaks his act for just a second to look surprised. “What? Just sayin’.”
E laughs. “All right. Let’s get the check,” he says.
Ten minutes later they’re in the car, and Vince’s mouth is fine except that it’s flapping, making fun of Turtle. “Should I leave you two alone?” he says. “I don’t want to ruin whatever it is you have planned for him tonight, man.”
“That was the most fucking awkward thing I’ve ever done,” Turtle says.
“Yeah,” E says, turning around and looking at Vince. “Pretty fucking awkward, Vince.”
Vince shrugs. “What, it’s not like it would be like that for real.”
E snorts, and Turtle suddenly realizes they’re having some completely different conversation. “Yeah, it’d be ten thousand times weirder,” he says. “Because instead of Monica asking questions and the waiter giving us funny looks, we’d have the whole fucking world watching.”
“Are you guys talking about coming out?” Turtle asks.
“No,” E says.
“Maybe,” Vince says.
“Jesus.” Turtle turns the car onto the freeway. “Seriously?”
“No,” E says, and his voice is heavy and a little angry and very final. Turtle watches Vince huff in the back seat, his arms crossed.
He clears his throat. “But eventually,” Turtle says.
“Yeah,” Vince says. “Exactly. Eventually, E. We aren’t going to play the game forever.”
“But we can try,” he says.
They don’t talk any more about it, but Turtle picks up on the weird tension and tries to compensate by talking about other things: Drama’s new job possibility, Arnold’s upcoming vet appointment, all the regular stuff. When they get home, Vince goes right to bed, but E detours to the living room and ends up watching the last half of Apocalypse Now and smoking up with Turtle. As the credits roll, Turtle looks over at him and says, “Hey, uh, I’m sorry, man.”
E’s eyes narrow just a little. “What’d you do?”
“No, I mean - like, it’s so hard,” Turtle says, shaking his head. “Man. I get it, I mean, I get it a little, it’s gotta be fucking hard, for you guys.”
“Oh,” E says. He shrugs and takes another hit. When he lets it out, he says, “That. Yeah. It blows. But it’s, you know, it’s better than the alternative.”
Turtle shrugs. “You sure?”
E looks at him for a second. His eyes are very wide, probably from the pot, but it’s not an unfamiliar expression. He looks like E, circa 1998, just finding out about somebody’s - usually Vince’s - latest conquest, E, wide-eyed, worried, always thinking too much. And then he laughs, at first a high laugh that seems nervous, but it cascades down into actual heavy laughter that leaves him doubled up on the couch.
“What?” Turtle asks, though he can’t help laughing along.
“Fuck, Turtle, I’m not sure of anything,” E says. “You guys always think - fuck,” he says, and he starts laughing again. When he’s settled down, he puts both hands flat on the coffee table and stands up. “Thanks for the date,” he says, and snickers so that Turtle thinks they’re going back to the high fast laughter. “I’m gonna go fuck my movie-star boyfriend.”
Turtle lifts his bong in salute. “Happy anniversary,” he calls, and then starts to laugh a little, himself.
DECEMBER: Breaking News
In the end, it’s not their decision to make, really. Turtle wakes up one morning - well, maybe it’s afternoon, 12:45 by the clock - to the sound of Ari shouting in the living room. He hauls himself out of bed and finds Vince sitting on the bottom step, still wearing his pajama pants, with a crumpled T-shirt pulled on backwards. Turtle takes a seat next to him. He can hear E’s voice, now, hissing at Ari in the living room.
“What’s going on?”
“Page 6 has something,” Vince says. “A blind item, but it’s pretty obvious.” He’s staring straight ahead, and Turtle realizes he doesn’t look so good, kind of pale and wide-eyed.
“About what?”
Vince shrugs. “Somebody outed us.”
Turtle swallows. In the living room, he hears E yell, “You’re fucking with our lives, Ari!”
“Come on,” he says, standing up. “Come on, you need a drink.”
Vince nods loosely and follows Turtle into the kitchen. The yelling is more muted from here, but Vince still looks like someone hit him in the stomach. “So what’s Ari doing?” Turtle asks, pulling glasses down from the cabinets.
“He wants E to move out,” Vince says, falling into a chair at the table. “He says we can still contain it, if there’s nothing to know.” Turtle pulls a bottle of vodka out of the freezer, then pours a little into each of the glasses. Vince looks down at his for a moment, then picks the glass up and shoots it. “He wants me to fire E,” Vince says, wincing, eyes still closed from the liquor.
“Jesus,” Turtle says. He pushes his own glass over, but Vince shakes his head. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
Vince shrugs.
Turtle nods. “You call Drama?”
“No,” Vince says, and Turtle cocks his head to the side. “I think it was my mom,” he says, after a minute. “I think my mom told someone, I think that’s what’s happened.” He swallows and toys with his empty glass. “I haven’t told E.”
“You want me to?” Turtle asks. Vince looks up, and his eyes are still wide. He looks afraid and tired. “Don’t sweat it,” Turtle says. “How long have they been going at it?”
“Forever,” Vince says. “I was in there, but - I needed a break.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Turtle says. “Listen, you wanna go back to bed or something? You look pretty rough.”
Vince shrugs, but then he nods. “Maybe I should,” he says. Turtle stands up, and Vince does, too, and Turtle watches him walk down the hall and close the door to his bedroom. Then he turns toward the living room, takes a deep breath, and walks in.
Ari and E are on opposite sides of the room, as if circling each other in some kind of duel. E’s fists are clenched, and so are Ari’s, and it’s probably a good idea that there’s so much space between them. Turtle steps into the center of the room and says, “You two better fucking sit down.”
It surprises him when they both do it, but then he looks at E and sees the same kind of panic and exhaustion on his face. They’re both probably running on indignation, frustration, and fear. Turtle shakes his head. “You figure out who said what, yet?”
“Nobody said anything,” Ari says, his voice gritty. “They were fucking seen. E couldn’t keep his motherfucking hands off -”
“I told you,” E says, sounding much more tired than angry, “we never, ever, nowhere in public -”
“E’s right,” Turtle says.
Ari snorts. “Then what’s your fucking theory, Turtle? Because everyone who knows is either here or Drama.”
“It was Vince’s mom,” Turtle says, watching E as he says it. His head snaps up, and his eyes go wide.
“What?” he says, voice breathy, disbelieving. Ari says the same, but with a sharper tone.
Turtle takes a seat on the couch. “She found out when we were back for your mom’s funeral,” Turtle says, and E keeps staring at him in complete disbelief.
“Vince never said -” E starts, and Turtle nods.
“She didn’t take it so well.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ari mutters. “You think she’d talk to the Post?”
Turtle shrugs. “Probably not on purpose. She probably said something to someone, who said something - you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t know,” Ari says, “because no one fucking tells me anything.” But his voice is quieter, and he’s shaking his head. “Jesus,” he says. “That’s gonna make damage control a little harder.”
Turtle keeps looking at E. He looks bewildered, and sad, and a little scared. “You oughtta check on Vince,” Turtle says, making his voice as gentle as he can. “He went back to bed.”
E nods and stands up. Ari says, “Eric, we aren’t done,” but E waves him off and walks out.
It’s just Ari and Turtle. “You really think Vince would ever leave him?” he says.
“If he knew what was best for him,” Ari says, but there’s not much conviction in his voice. “Motherfucker,” he says, almost a sigh, and presses his fist to mouth. When he pulls it back, he shakes his head. “All right. I can - I can deal with this. I can make this work. You tell E he better keep his motherfucking phone on, all right?”
“Yeah,” Turtle says, and he watches Ari leave. Down the hall, he can hear yelling from Vince’s bedroom, and it sounds like it might be Vince’s voice. Turtle takes a seat on the couch, and decides that this is probably what it feels like when the world’s crumbling around you.
Ari is true to his word. Shauna unleashes some kind of press bomb and the story dies that night. In its place, there’s a story about Vince being estranged from his mother, and Turtle feels uncomfortable just reading about that, even though it’s true. He can see that Vince doesn’t like it, either; in fact, after Ari’s visit, Vince doesn’t leave his bedroom for a full day. E doesn’t leave the house, either - there are two high-end cars parked on the street outside, now, each with a telephoto lens poking out the window - so Turtle runs a few errands for him in the afternoon, the day after Ari came over. When he gets back, he drops his keys on the side table by the door and looks around for the guys. He sees E sitting with his back against the closed bedroom door, his elbows on his knees. Turtle starts to back into the living room, to act like he hasn’t seen him, but then decides that’s a pussy move. So he goes to the bar, gets two glasses of scotch, and walks over to sit next to E.
E takes the glass and looks over at him, surprised. “What’s up?” he asks.
Turtle shrugs. “You all right?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “This is all pretty fucked up.”
“Vince OK?”
He shrugs, then takes a sip of his scotch. “Basically he’s just sleeping a lot,” he says. “Fucking great strategy.”
“Has he tried calling Rita?”
E shakes his head. “I tried, though,” he says, and Turtle raises an eyebrow. “You know what she said? She said, ‘I have nothing to say to you, Eric.’” He laughs, then drains his glass. “I said, Vince thinks you leaked this, he thinks you ruined his career, he thinks you hate him. And she said, ‘Your mother would be ashamed,’ and she hung up on me.”
“Jesus Christ, E,” Turtle says, and he puts his hand on E’s shoulder.
“Ari won’t return my calls,” he says. “Lloyd told me he’s been on the phone with Hood, talking about the Oscar campaign. I can’t even leave the house, so it’s not like I can help. And where the fuck is Drama?”
“I told him to stay home,” Turtle says. “Vince said -”
“Fuck that,” E says. “Tell him to come over. Maybe Vince will eat something if he cooks.”
Turtle nods. “You want me to talk to him?”
“You can try,” E says.
Turtle takes the glass back, then stands up and offers a hand to help E to his feet. “Come on,” he says, and E squints at him. Turtle shakes his hand, and E finally takes it and stands. “I’m gonna smoke you up until this all seems funny.”
“Whatever,” E says, but he looks grateful. He also looks exhausted, which is probably why it only takes a single, albeit fat, joint before he’s curled up on the couch, a pillow against his chest, drooling peacefully. Turtle watches him for a moment, then takes another joint and heads for Vince’s room.
The bedroom door isn’t locked, so he lets himself in. Vince is sprawled over the bed, laying on his stomach, a pillow snuggled under his arm. Turtle considers going out and getting E, just tucking him in next to Vince and calling that his good deed for the day, but he decides he should probably actually talk. So he turns on the lights and closes the door, then switches on the stereo.
“Mm?” Vince rolls over. “Jesus, Turtle,” he groans. “The fuck? I’m sleeping.”
“Huh-uh. You’re done. No one sleeps this much.”
Vince closes his eyes, like this is an answer. It’s not gonna fly. Not today, not like this. E’s passed out on the fucking couch, the least Vince can do is pretend to care. Being a movie star doesn’t give him special privileges, not here, and Turtle’s tired of him not remembering that. He was the one, after all, who was so keen for everyone to know about them.
Turtle grabs a CD case off the nearest bookshelf and zings it at Vince, frisbee-style, so that it connects with his shoulder. “Ow!” Vince yelps. After the second case, and he erupts out of bed, clutching his shoulder, swinging his legs up so he’s sitting with one knee up. “What the fuck?”
“You need to cut this prima-donna depressive bullshit out right now,” Turtle says. “E is having just as bad a day as you, man.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “What are you talking about, Turtle?”
“Get dressed,” Turtle says. “Get dressed, come out to the kitchen, eat something. Be a fucking human being, at least.”
Vince blinks at him, and Turtle keeps staring until Vince nods. “And I’m gonna call Drama,” Turtle says as Vince gets out of the bed.
“Whatever,” Vince says, but he stumbles into the bathroom. Turtle hears the shower turn on as he walks toward the kitchen, phone already open.
“Drama,” Turtle says. “Get over here, man. And bring whatever you need to make some serious comfort food.”
“On my way,” Drama says.
Drama makes chicken cacciatore for dinner. Vince eats at the table, but E’s still asleep on the couch. It surprises Turtle when Vince doesn’t go in to talk to him or sit by him or anything. Instead, he eats and then he gets up and looks like he’s going back to his bed. Turtle stops him at the door. “Let’s hit the pool.”
Vince shrugs. They haven’t talked about the gossip or the story about his mother. In fact, he’s hardly talking at all, just kind of staring down at his food and nodding when Drama needs feedback. It’s the same thing poolside; Vince sits with his drink, sips it, stares at the water. Turtle finally says, “What the fuck, Vince?”
“What?” he asks.
Turtle shakes his head. “What’s the deal? The story’s killed.”
Vince nods. “Yeah, but it’s only dead for now,” he says.
“Uh, yeah, but you knew that. You always knew that,” he says. “Last month, you were all gung ho.”
“Yeah,” Vince says. “I know.” He rubs his face. “I just, I guess I thought -” He stops. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I thought we’d have some choice. Some control.”
“Maybe you will, still,” Turtle says.
Vince takes a shuddery breath. “Ari thinks I should fire E,” he says. “He says, E moves out, we spend a little time apart, the rumors will die and then, if we want, we can go back and control things.” Vince looks up, a question in his eyes, and for once there’s no E around to tell him what’s what..
“Oh, huh-uh,” Turtle says. “No fucking way are you even thinking about that. You’re gonna fire him, make him move out, and break up with him, just so that maybe later on you can break the story your way? That’s fucking sick, Vince,” Turtle says. “Jesus, no wonder he’s fucked up.”
“What’s going on?” Drama asks, climbing out of the pool.
Turtle stands up. Vince has his head in his hands. “Your brother’s talking about putting his career before his boy,” he says. “Fucking stupid.”
“What’s the deal?” Drama asks, sitting next to Vince. Vince explains, and Turtle holds his breath. He knows Vince really just needs a little push in the right direction, here; he hopes he doesn’t get a kick the wrong way.
Drama lets out a low whistle. “That’s fucked up,” he says. “Ari’s one Machiavellian bastard.”
“What do you mean?” Vince asks.
“I’m saying, it’s in his best interest, always has been, for you to fire E. For you to get rid of him in all his many roles.” Drama shrugs, and Vince’s eyes narrow.
“No way,” he says. “Ari’s just trying to help. He’s trying to get things back to how they were. What’s wrong with wanting things to go back?”
“Because you already made this decision,” Turtle says. He sits back down so he’s on eye-level with Vince. “That kid fucking loves you,” he says. “And messed up as it is, you fucking love him back.”
Vince puts his head down again. “I just need to think,” he says. “OK, guys? This is my life.”
Turtle scoffs. “Not just yours,” he says. He gets up from the chair and hears Drama following.
Inside, E is awake, sitting at the kitchen table, head down much like Vince’s. Drama pats his shoulder. “Lemme heat up the chicken,” he says, and E nods. He looks like a guy on the morning after a three-day bender.
Turtle sits across from him. E props his head up. “Vince is freaking out, huh?” he says. Turtle nods. “Thing is, I knew this would happen. I knew it. I knew from the beginning, from the time -” he stops. “We got caught,” he says, after a moment, voice so low that Turtle can barely hear him over the hum of the microwave. He’s sure Drama’s not catching the story.
“When?”
“High school,” E says. “Just once. Stupid. We were messing around, and these guys saw us and yelled and threw some shit at us. At the car. Called us fags.” E shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking it’d be like that since day one. And just when I start to think, you know, maybe it won’t be, maybe things could be OK, just when Vince is starting to work on me that we should - the shit hits, and he loses his nerve.”
Turtle shakes his head. “You know,” he says, “I can’t picture you together in high school.”
“We weren’t really -” E starts, and Turtle waves him off.
“The thing is, though, I’m pretty used to you guys, now,” he says. “I can’t picture you not together.” It surprises him even as he says it, but it’s true. The last year has taught him a lot, he figures, if he can say that and mean it. Vince makes E happy and vice-versa, in a cool, easy way like Turtle’s not used to. It’s not the relationship that his parents had, it’s not a relationship like what Turtle’s looking for, but it’s real and it’s good. It’s actually excellent.
E smirks, but it fades after a second into something like a real smile. “Thanks,” he says.
He eats some of his chicken, and then they go to the living room and Drama turns on the TV and they watch a cooking show. During the middle commercial break, the deck door opens and Vince walks into the living room. He pauses in the doorway, and Turtle looks up, then over to see that E’s looking at him, too.
Vince purses his lips, then steps into the room, walks to the couch, and sinks down next to E. He puts his head on E’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Turtle hears E sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” E says.
“I thought I’d be ready,” Vince murmurs. “But man, this happened fast.”
E puts his arm around Vince. “We’ll get through this,” he says, and Turtle doesn’t look away when Vince tilts up to kiss E. Instead, he leans in, claps them both on the shoulders.
“Nothing we can’t do,” he says, and everyone smiles.
Epilogue
NOVEMBER: Hide In Plain Sight
Vince catches Turtle in the kitchen on a Tuesday morning. “I wanna ask your help with something,” he says. “But if it’s gonna make you uncomfortable, then don’t worry about it.”
“I’m not about to get a threesome offer, am I?” Turtle asks.
“Funny,” Vince says. “No. Uh, there’s - I wanna get something, for E.”
“Please, God, if the next sentence involves the word ‘sex toy,’” Turtle starts, and Vince rolls his eyes.
“He’s got enough of those,” Vince says, and Turtle can’t tell if he’s being serious or just trying to get a rise. “I want to get him something special. To cheer him up, kind of, and -” he shrugs, and Turtle doesn’t need to hear much more. E’s been pretty down since they got back from New York, and this week’s been particularly rough, trying to arrange to get his mother’s house packed up from across the country. “It’s been a rough couple of months, you know? And I didn’t really do anything big for our anniversary.”
“Anniversary?”
“Last month,” Vince says. “It’s been a year since he broke it off with Gillian.”
Turtle nods. “Congratulations, man,” he says, and Vince nods. “Seriously, a year, that’s a pretty big deal for you.”
Vince smirks. “Thanks,” he says. “I am capable of commitment, you know.”
“I’m learning,” Turtle says. “So what do you need my help with?”
The smirk broadens into a grin. “You wanna go shopping?”
They go to Beverly Hills. “What are you thinking?” Turtle asks, driving down Wilshire. “He’s got a car, and I’m gonna guess you aren’t in the market for another house.”
Vince shrugs. “I’m thinking maybe, I don’t know. Let’s go to Cartier.”
“He’s got a watch,” Turtle says. “Cufflinks or something?”
“We’ll just look,” Vince says.
Inside, they look at watches, all of them sparkling and coated in diamonds, none of them at all E’s style. “I think he really likes his watch,” Turtle says, and Vince agrees. Turtle starts for the cufflink display, but Vince doesn’t follow. Instead, he shifts over a case. It takes Turtle a moment to follow him, and when he does he freezes. Vince is looking at rings. “Seriously?” Turtle asks.
“He’s got a watch,” Vince says, and Turtle shakes his head. He’s aware, suddenly, of the salesgirl lurking at the end of the counter.
“Vince,” Turtle whispers, “you can’t do this.”
“Why not?”
Turtle recognizes the recklessness in Vince’s voice and knows he’s not going to win this one. Since they got back from home, while E’s been pulling a bit of a hermit act, Vince has been hovering close to E all the time, almost daring people to say something, as if showing up stuck to E’s side in US Weekly will convince Vince’s mother that she should start speaking to him again. Since E’s been distracted, there’s been no one to tell Vince he should maybe take a step back.
He can understand, a little, why a ring would seem like a good idea, but they’re in a store with security cameras and gawkers and outside there’s probably paparazzi. The best Turtle can hope for at this point is damage control, but he keeps trying. “This is a bad idea,” he says. “What about a suit? He likes Armani.”
The salesgirl walks up, smiles, and says, “Hello, Vince,” with a warm little purr.
“Hey, Monica,” Vince says. “How’ve you been?”
“I’ve been well,” she says, her smile sleek and a little suggestive. Oh, great, Turtle thinks, of course he knows her. Of fucking course.
“You’re looking for a ring?” she asks.
“Yeah,” Vince says. His fingers - ringless - tap over the glass.
“We have some lovely new diamonds,” she says, starting to the women’s side of the case. “Have you seen the Panthére collection? What does she like?”
“It’s for a guy,” Vince says, and Turtle stifles a groan. He watches the salesgirl’s eyes flicker, in surprise or confusion. “Could we see that one?” Vince points straight down at a silver band.
She nods and pulls out a tray, sets the ring on the surface. “White gold,” she says. “Part of the Love collection.”
Even Turtle knows enough about jewelry to see that’s obvious; it has bold circles around the band with lines through their centers, like little screws, the Cartier Love trademark. A circular diamond sparkles in the middle. “Is it for you?” she asks.
“It’s a gift,” Vince says.
Turtle can see her making connections in her head, and he pipes up without thinking. “It’s for me,” Turtle says, as fast as he can manage, and both the salesgirl and Vince look up at him in surprise. “I mean. Not that Vince is buying me a ring, because Vince wouldn’t buy another guy a ring.” He steps on Vince’s foot as he says this, and Vince flinches.
“So who is it for, then?”
Vince is staring at him, a tiny smirk starting on his face. Turtle can feel his cheeks turning red. “It’s for my, uh, my, uh,” he takes a deep breath, speaks as quietly as he can, “my boy. My boyfriend.”
“Really,” Monica says, and her smile is instantly sweet. Turtle rubs his forehead and pulls his cap down. “That’s really charming. You’ve been together a while?”
“A little more than a year,” Vince answers for him, grinning across the counter.
“Ah, then it’s certainly time for something like this,” she says.
Vince is clearly enjoying this, Turtle can see. “See, I told you it was a good idea.”
Turtle shakes his head. There are only a few other people in the store; he hopes none of them are looking at him. He wishes the salesgirl wasn’t looking at him. “I just don’t know,” he says, picking the ring up. “It’s a big fucking step.”
Vince shrugs. “What, you don’t think he’ll like it?”
He understands this is an honest question. He looks at the ring and thinks about E, about how for the last month he’s been walking around like a zombie. Two nights ago, Drama mentioned maybe going back East for Christmas and E said he’d be sticking around in L.A. “Not much left back there for me,” he said.
Turtle turns the ring around, looks over at Vince. “Yeah, he’ll probably like it,” he admits, and Vince grins.
Monica smiles, her delicate hands on the top of the counter. “So you’ll take it?” Vince asks, turning to Turtle, and Turtle sighs.
“You know, we’ve sold several of these to gay couples, recently,” she says. “The bracelet is also very popular -”
“No bracelet,” Vince and Turtle say together, and Monica laughs.
“Well, the ring is a very good choice,” she says. “If you want to say you’re serious.”
Turtle clears his throat. “Yeah, oh, I do,” he says, glaring at Vince, who has a vaguely pleading expression on his face. “Believe me, I am completely whipped. Almost obsessed.” Vince mouths something, maybe “please.” “All right, wrap it up,” he says, and Vince’s smile grows huge.
“What size?” she asks.
Turtle blinks, and Vince says smoothly, “A nine. Jesus, I knew you’d forget.” He elbows Turtle, and Turtle forces a laugh.
“He’s nervous,” Monica says, patting Turtle’s wrist. “Really, it’s endearing.”
“It really is,” Vince says. He pulls out a credit card. “On me,” he says, handing it to Monica. “Happy anniversary, man.”
Turtle rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks,” he says.
Monica runs the card and packages the gift, making sweet, flirtatious small talk with Vince. She’s even a flirty with Turtle, asking him what else he has planned for his anniversary. “Long walk on the beach,” Turtle says, and she smiles.
“Turtle’s a real romantic,” Vince says. “You ought to see them together. Very cute.”
“Yeah?” Monica says.
“Yeah, we’re disgusting,” Turtle mutters. “Some people say it turns their stomach.”
“Well, you can’t listen to them,” she says. “Maybe we could double some time.” She smiles across at Vince and Turtle watches him blink.
Ha, he thinks.
“Oh, they’re pretty shy,” Vince says. “They don’t get out much.”
“That’s terrible,” she says, handing Turtle the small red ring box. “You should be proud. You shouldn’t have to hide.”
“You’re so right,” Vince says, grinning. “Really. Turtle, she’s got a point.”
Turtle’s sweating. He’s not even sure what to say.
“We could go tonight,” Monica suggests, and Turtle watches Vince’s eyes get just a little wider. “I know the sommelier at Café Calais, and I remember how you like a good wine.” She leans across the counter. “Not a bad place to start your anniversary celebrations…” She touches Vince’s arm, and Turtle watches him trying not to react. Vince is looking at him, and Turtle’s looking back, not sure what exactly Vince is trying to say. When he glances over, Monica’s giving them both kind of a funny look. “Unless you guys have other plans.”
Turtle speaks without thinking. “No,” he says, “no other plans. We, yeah, let’s go, tonight. The four of us.”
“Great,” Monica says. “Seven?”
“Uh,” Turtle says, and then, because Vince looks incapable of speech, “I guess, yeah, that’s cool.”
Vince kisses her cheek as they leave. In the car, he says, “What the fuck, man?”
Turtle shakes his head. “This is all you,” he says. “You want to turn a girl down after buying a guy a ring? You know what that looks like? And you’re making eyes at me, fuck.”
Vince shrugs. “I thought you were covering pretty well,” he says.
“Yeah, well, you need all the fucking cover you can get.” He shakes his head. “How do you survive as an actor? And don’t fucking laugh, man.”
“Wait until E hears you set me up with a girl,” Vince says.
“Wait until E hears he’s my boyfriend, now,” Turtle says.
E is just getting out of his car when they pull in. “Hey, guys, where you been?” he asks.
Turtle shoves the ring box into his pocket. “Shopping,” he says, shortly.
“Yeah, guess what, E?” Vince says as they walk into the house. “You’ve got a date tonight.”
E turns. “Does that mean I’m paying for pizza?”
Turtle shakes his head. The ring is still in his pocket, and it makes him realize he can’t tell E exactly what happened without giving Vince’s gift away. “I hate you,” he says, looking at Vince.
“But you love E.”
“What is going on?”
Turtle sighs. “We were - out, and I had to improvise, and the short story is you and I are going on a double date with Vince and the jewelry store girl tonight.”
“You and I,” E says. “We’re going on a date.”
“This can’t be any more uncomfortable for you than it is for me,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs.
“He’s telling the truth, E,” Vince says. “I got backed into a corner by this girl, I said something stupid and Turtle rescued me.”
“It’s not like a real date,” Turtle says.
“No kidding,” E says, “because there’s zero chance of action for you at the end of the night.” Vince snickers, and E glares at him. “It’s not looking too good for you, either, pal,” he says, and Vince sobers up.
“E, come on, please? Just to make sure this girl doesn’t get too curious. We get drinks, we get dinner, we call it a night.”
E raises an eyebrow. “You think she’s going to be happy just with dinner?”
“I’ll fake a headache or something,” Vince says. “The important part is she sees you and Turtle.”
E rubs his forehead. “This is a fucking nightmare,” he says, but something about his voice sounds more like the old E: worried about Vince’s career, worried about business. Active. OK. Not zombie-like.
“It won’t be that bad,” Turtle says. “I know I’m no Vince, but, Jesus, E -”
“All right, fine,” E says. “But Jesus Christ, you guys never get to leave the house without an adult ever again.”
“Noted,” Vince says. E turns toward the kitchen, and Vince holds out his hand to Turtle.
“You’re going to give it to him now?” Turtle asks.
Vince shrugs. “No time like the present. Plus, he should maybe wear it at dinner, huh?”
Turtle rolls his eyes and hands it over, and Vince claps his shoulder before he walks down the hall after E. Turtle retires to the living room and turns on the Wii. A couple of hours of video game playing and a well-packed bong should make the morning’s embarrassment fade a little.
Drama calls in the afternoon to see what they’re up to. Turtle tells him, expecting laughter.
“Jesus, why E?” he says. “I can act gay. I am an actor.”
“You want the whole world thinking you’re gay?” Turtle asks. “Vince Chase’s gay brother, that’s gonna be good for your résumé.”
“All right, good point,” Drama says. “But it would’ve been nice to be asked.”
“You’re a fucking freak, Drama,” Turtle says, and hangs up. With his hand still on the phone, he starts to wonder if he’s just somehow outed himself. Will Monica tell her friends? Well, of course she will, he realizes, and he shivers. Shit, he thinks, shit shit shit. As if it wasn’t already hard enough getting a girl in L.A.
E walks in, wearing black slacks and a gray button-down shirt. “You better put on something nice for me,” he says, buttoning his cuffs. Turtle catches the glint of his ring.
“E,” Turtle says, and E looks up. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”
“What’s the deal now?” E asks.
“This is - this will out you,” he says, slowly.
E shrugs. “To the jewelry store girl,” he says. “Not like I’m on the market, anyway. Plus Ari’s called me a cocksucker in half the restaurants in L.A.”
“So you don’t care,” Turtle says. “People are gonna think you’re gay, you don’t care?”
“I care more that they don’t think Vince is,” E says. He crosses his arms. “Wait, you worried about what people will think of you?” Turtle shrugs, and E rolls his eyes. “She already thinks you’re gay,” he says. “Too late now. And if she’s the girl I remember, you don’t have a chance there, either.”
Well, that’s a fair point. Though, she was pretty nice to him at the store. Maybe this can work in his favor, a little. Turtle can’t pretend to know what’s going to make a girl interested. “Yeah, all right,” he says.
“And I’m serious, wear a shirt with fucking buttons,” E says, and Turtle gets up. He showers, puts on cologne, styles his hair, and changes into the Joseph Abboud pants and collared Armani shirt he picked up the last time he went to the outlets with Drama. When he walks out, Vince wolf-whistles, and Turtle flips him off.
“Our boy goes gay with style,” Vince says, one arm slung around E’s shoulders.
“How come he gets to dress down?” Turtle asks. Vince isn’t wearing jeans, at least, but his green shirt has no buttons, and his hair is sloppy as always.
“He bought me jewelry,” E says. “Plus straight guys don’t even have to match. You should know. Come on.”
E rides up front with Turtle, Vince in the back, as they drive to Café Calais to meet Monica. As they pull up to the valet stand, Monica is standing near the entryway. She’s wearing a short black dress and very high heels, and Turtle whistles low just seeing her - and seeing so much of her. E says, “Swear to god, Vince, you touch that girl and I’ll cut off your balls.”
As they get out of the car, Vince turns to Turtle with a mischievous look. “That goes for you, too, man,” he says as they walk up behind E. “Hands off.”
“Fuck you,” Turtle says, and then he stands next to E while Vince greets Monica with a kiss on the cheek.
Turtle gets a similar greeting and a little wink, and then Vince says, “Do you remember Eric, my manager?”
“Oh sure,” she says, and leans in for a kiss. “I’ve heard a lot about you today,” she says to E.
“Yeah? Anything good?”
“Very,” she says. Her voice drops, maybe in deference to the maitre de who’s greeting Vince. “Your boyfriend really likes you.”
Eric laughs, a fake laugh that still works on Monica. Turtle glances around to see if anyone’s listening. “You think, huh?”
He feels like maybe he’s standing too close to E, suddenly, even though there’s more space between them than there is between Turtle and Vince. The crowd near the hostess stand is pretty tightly packed, so that Turtle has to scoot in right behind E to follow their group through. He keeps his hands firmly at his sides.
They’re seated in a booth, and E stands at the end and says, all false courtesy, “After you,” to Turtle. Turtle grits his teeth when E touches his back as he slides into the booth. It’s not even a particularly gay move, it’s just E being E, herding everyone around, mother-henning them all, but Jesus. Turtle scoots to the far, far end, and when he looks up Vince is glaring at him. He tilts his head just a bit to his left, Turtle’s right, and Turtle reluctantly scoots closer to E. There’s about six inches of space between them, now, which is seven more than what’s between Vince and Monica. This should be fun, Turtle thinks. E’s knee is bouncing spastically under the table.
“So happy anniversary,” Monica says, leaning across the table. That’s nice, good view of her rack - which of course isn’t supposed to interest him.
E says, “What?” and Turtle elbows him.
“It’s cool, man, she knows, remember?” Vince says, and E nods fast.
“Oh, yeah, uh, sorry,” he says.
“We’re pretty used to keeping things under wraps,” Turtle adds, and Monica gives him a friendly, sympathetic smile.
“That’s terrible,” she says. “Really.” When she leans back, her bare arm is against Vince’s. “You like the ring, though? That certainly makes a statement.”
Eric’s hands are folded on the table, and Turtle looks over, realizes the ring is on E’s ring finger, not the left hand but hey, close enough. He swallows and can’t meet Vince’s eyes, can’t really even look at E. This is so fucked up. “It’s pretty cool,” E says. “I’m not much for jewelry, usually, but this is a little different.”
“It’s a special piece,” Monica says, nodding.
“It’s got some meaning,” Vince says.
Turtle glances over as E nods. He realizes he should do something here, maybe touch E or say something, but he can’t. He just can’t. It’s not Turtle E’s talking about or thinking about; there’s no meaning in that ring for them. “I hear you helped out with this,” E says, and then Turtle looks over at Monica.
“Actually, you should thank Vince,” she says. “He has a good eye.”
Vince shrugs. “Turtle knew what he wanted,” he says, smiling at Turtle and then quickly over at E.
“That right?”
“Yeah, uh, I just wanted a second opinion,” Turtle says, looking over at the amused little smirk on E’s face.
“And I said, after all the shit that guy makes you put up with, it’s the least he can do,” Vince says. He’s looking right at E, and E’s blushing.
“He’s not so bad,” E says. “Really, he’s a pussycat.”
Turtle clears his throat, in case the guys have forgotten there’s an audience. “You calling me a pussy, baby?” Turtle says, and Vince laughs and looks away, and the weird moment is over.
“No, sweetheart,” E says, his voice terse and exaggerated. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Monica!” A man in an expensive suit stops at the end of their table. “I’m so glad you’re here, wonderful to see you, my dear.”
Monica leans over Vince to let the guy kiss her hand. “Vince, this is Marc, L.A.’s most brilliant sommelier,” she says. “And Marc, this is Vincent Chase, his manager, Eric, and his friend Turtle.”
“Pleased to meet you all,” Marc says, shaking hands.
Monica’s snuggled up to Vince’s side in a way that makes Turtle a little uncomfortable. She says, “Eric and Turtle are celebrating their anniversary,” and Marc tips his head and looks at them. Turtle flinches, then tries to make up for it by putting his hand on E’s turned shoulder.
“Well, congratulations,” Marc says.
“Thanks,” Turtle says.
Marc seems to recover a bit from his surprise, and says, “Well, you must let me send over some champagne, certainly.”
“We’d enjoy that,” E says, and Turtle wonders if he’s imagining it or if E really is speaking through clenched teeth.
“Of course, of course.” A waiter approaches and taps Marc on the shoulder, and after a brief conference Marc says, “I’ll check back in. But Tony, here, will make sure you have a spectacularly romantic evening.”
Turtle has to make himself smile. He’s pretty sure the jolt he feels is Vince kicking E. E, for his part, leans back a bit against Turtle’s arm, and they stay frozen like that until Tony has taken their orders.
When the champagne arrives, E leans forward and raises a glass. “To romance,” he says, and though he’s looking at Turtle, Vince’s is the first glass he clinks.
Things get a little easier from there. They order, they bandy about stories from Vince’s recent film, from the past, kid stories, weird stuff. Monica asks a few questions - “So you two have really been together for a long time?” - and Turtle mostly lets E take the lead. He makes an effort to look right at E when he’s talking, stays sitting closer than he feels comfortable with, and gives the waiter a glare when they keep getting weird looks. He can sense E getting a little annoyed, and maybe Vince can, too, because halfway through his meal, he snaps backward, suddenly, and clutches his mouth.
“Fuck,” Vince mutters, his eyes so wide with pain that Turtle drops his fork.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, at the same time Monica does.
“I think I broke a tooth or something,” Vince says, his voice a little slurred. He probes the side of his mouth with a finger and winces. “Jesus, that hurts.”
“You all right?” E asks, but his tone is completely droll.
“Was it something in the food?” Monica asks, her voice pitched high.
Vince shrugs. “Just bit down wrong, I think.”
He drops out of the conversation, then, for a while, and whenever Turtle looks over he’s got his lips pursed, his tongue working in his mouth. Turtle’s starting to wonder if Vince really has broken something. “Vince, you OK?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
Monica puts both hands on his arm, then touches his cheek. “You want to get the check? You look like you’re really hurting.”
“No, we’re having a good time,” Vince protests. “And you guys never go out.”
Turtle has to look away to keep from laughing, because Monica’s concern increases. “Don’t worry about me,” she says, and E says, “Yeah, man, if you’re in pain, let’s go.”
“We can have just as much fun at home,” Turtle says, and Vince breaks his act for just a second to look surprised. “What? Just sayin’.”
E laughs. “All right. Let’s get the check,” he says.
Ten minutes later they’re in the car, and Vince’s mouth is fine except that it’s flapping, making fun of Turtle. “Should I leave you two alone?” he says. “I don’t want to ruin whatever it is you have planned for him tonight, man.”
“That was the most fucking awkward thing I’ve ever done,” Turtle says.
“Yeah,” E says, turning around and looking at Vince. “Pretty fucking awkward, Vince.”
Vince shrugs. “What, it’s not like it would be like that for real.”
E snorts, and Turtle suddenly realizes they’re having some completely different conversation. “Yeah, it’d be ten thousand times weirder,” he says. “Because instead of Monica asking questions and the waiter giving us funny looks, we’d have the whole fucking world watching.”
“Are you guys talking about coming out?” Turtle asks.
“No,” E says.
“Maybe,” Vince says.
“Jesus.” Turtle turns the car onto the freeway. “Seriously?”
“No,” E says, and his voice is heavy and a little angry and very final. Turtle watches Vince huff in the back seat, his arms crossed.
He clears his throat. “But eventually,” Turtle says.
“Yeah,” Vince says. “Exactly. Eventually, E. We aren’t going to play the game forever.”
“But we can try,” he says.
They don’t talk any more about it, but Turtle picks up on the weird tension and tries to compensate by talking about other things: Drama’s new job possibility, Arnold’s upcoming vet appointment, all the regular stuff. When they get home, Vince goes right to bed, but E detours to the living room and ends up watching the last half of Apocalypse Now and smoking up with Turtle. As the credits roll, Turtle looks over at him and says, “Hey, uh, I’m sorry, man.”
E’s eyes narrow just a little. “What’d you do?”
“No, I mean - like, it’s so hard,” Turtle says, shaking his head. “Man. I get it, I mean, I get it a little, it’s gotta be fucking hard, for you guys.”
“Oh,” E says. He shrugs and takes another hit. When he lets it out, he says, “That. Yeah. It blows. But it’s, you know, it’s better than the alternative.”
Turtle shrugs. “You sure?”
E looks at him for a second. His eyes are very wide, probably from the pot, but it’s not an unfamiliar expression. He looks like E, circa 1998, just finding out about somebody’s - usually Vince’s - latest conquest, E, wide-eyed, worried, always thinking too much. And then he laughs, at first a high laugh that seems nervous, but it cascades down into actual heavy laughter that leaves him doubled up on the couch.
“What?” Turtle asks, though he can’t help laughing along.
“Fuck, Turtle, I’m not sure of anything,” E says. “You guys always think - fuck,” he says, and he starts laughing again. When he’s settled down, he puts both hands flat on the coffee table and stands up. “Thanks for the date,” he says, and snickers so that Turtle thinks they’re going back to the high fast laughter. “I’m gonna go fuck my movie-star boyfriend.”
Turtle lifts his bong in salute. “Happy anniversary,” he calls, and then starts to laugh a little, himself.
DECEMBER: Breaking News
In the end, it’s not their decision to make, really. Turtle wakes up one morning - well, maybe it’s afternoon, 12:45 by the clock - to the sound of Ari shouting in the living room. He hauls himself out of bed and finds Vince sitting on the bottom step, still wearing his pajama pants, with a crumpled T-shirt pulled on backwards. Turtle takes a seat next to him. He can hear E’s voice, now, hissing at Ari in the living room.
“What’s going on?”
“Page 6 has something,” Vince says. “A blind item, but it’s pretty obvious.” He’s staring straight ahead, and Turtle realizes he doesn’t look so good, kind of pale and wide-eyed.
“About what?”
Vince shrugs. “Somebody outed us.”
Turtle swallows. In the living room, he hears E yell, “You’re fucking with our lives, Ari!”
“Come on,” he says, standing up. “Come on, you need a drink.”
Vince nods loosely and follows Turtle into the kitchen. The yelling is more muted from here, but Vince still looks like someone hit him in the stomach. “So what’s Ari doing?” Turtle asks, pulling glasses down from the cabinets.
“He wants E to move out,” Vince says, falling into a chair at the table. “He says we can still contain it, if there’s nothing to know.” Turtle pulls a bottle of vodka out of the freezer, then pours a little into each of the glasses. Vince looks down at his for a moment, then picks the glass up and shoots it. “He wants me to fire E,” Vince says, wincing, eyes still closed from the liquor.
“Jesus,” Turtle says. He pushes his own glass over, but Vince shakes his head. “What are you going to do?” he asks.
Vince shrugs.
Turtle nods. “You call Drama?”
“No,” Vince says, and Turtle cocks his head to the side. “I think it was my mom,” he says, after a minute. “I think my mom told someone, I think that’s what’s happened.” He swallows and toys with his empty glass. “I haven’t told E.”
“You want me to?” Turtle asks. Vince looks up, and his eyes are still wide. He looks afraid and tired. “Don’t sweat it,” Turtle says. “How long have they been going at it?”
“Forever,” Vince says. “I was in there, but - I needed a break.”
“Yeah, I can see that,” Turtle says. “Listen, you wanna go back to bed or something? You look pretty rough.”
Vince shrugs, but then he nods. “Maybe I should,” he says. Turtle stands up, and Vince does, too, and Turtle watches him walk down the hall and close the door to his bedroom. Then he turns toward the living room, takes a deep breath, and walks in.
Ari and E are on opposite sides of the room, as if circling each other in some kind of duel. E’s fists are clenched, and so are Ari’s, and it’s probably a good idea that there’s so much space between them. Turtle steps into the center of the room and says, “You two better fucking sit down.”
It surprises him when they both do it, but then he looks at E and sees the same kind of panic and exhaustion on his face. They’re both probably running on indignation, frustration, and fear. Turtle shakes his head. “You figure out who said what, yet?”
“Nobody said anything,” Ari says, his voice gritty. “They were fucking seen. E couldn’t keep his motherfucking hands off -”
“I told you,” E says, sounding much more tired than angry, “we never, ever, nowhere in public -”
“E’s right,” Turtle says.
Ari snorts. “Then what’s your fucking theory, Turtle? Because everyone who knows is either here or Drama.”
“It was Vince’s mom,” Turtle says, watching E as he says it. His head snaps up, and his eyes go wide.
“What?” he says, voice breathy, disbelieving. Ari says the same, but with a sharper tone.
Turtle takes a seat on the couch. “She found out when we were back for your mom’s funeral,” Turtle says, and E keeps staring at him in complete disbelief.
“Vince never said -” E starts, and Turtle nods.
“She didn’t take it so well.”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Ari mutters. “You think she’d talk to the Post?”
Turtle shrugs. “Probably not on purpose. She probably said something to someone, who said something - you know how it is.”
“No, I don’t know,” Ari says, “because no one fucking tells me anything.” But his voice is quieter, and he’s shaking his head. “Jesus,” he says. “That’s gonna make damage control a little harder.”
Turtle keeps looking at E. He looks bewildered, and sad, and a little scared. “You oughtta check on Vince,” Turtle says, making his voice as gentle as he can. “He went back to bed.”
E nods and stands up. Ari says, “Eric, we aren’t done,” but E waves him off and walks out.
It’s just Ari and Turtle. “You really think Vince would ever leave him?” he says.
“If he knew what was best for him,” Ari says, but there’s not much conviction in his voice. “Motherfucker,” he says, almost a sigh, and presses his fist to mouth. When he pulls it back, he shakes his head. “All right. I can - I can deal with this. I can make this work. You tell E he better keep his motherfucking phone on, all right?”
“Yeah,” Turtle says, and he watches Ari leave. Down the hall, he can hear yelling from Vince’s bedroom, and it sounds like it might be Vince’s voice. Turtle takes a seat on the couch, and decides that this is probably what it feels like when the world’s crumbling around you.
Ari is true to his word. Shauna unleashes some kind of press bomb and the story dies that night. In its place, there’s a story about Vince being estranged from his mother, and Turtle feels uncomfortable just reading about that, even though it’s true. He can see that Vince doesn’t like it, either; in fact, after Ari’s visit, Vince doesn’t leave his bedroom for a full day. E doesn’t leave the house, either - there are two high-end cars parked on the street outside, now, each with a telephoto lens poking out the window - so Turtle runs a few errands for him in the afternoon, the day after Ari came over. When he gets back, he drops his keys on the side table by the door and looks around for the guys. He sees E sitting with his back against the closed bedroom door, his elbows on his knees. Turtle starts to back into the living room, to act like he hasn’t seen him, but then decides that’s a pussy move. So he goes to the bar, gets two glasses of scotch, and walks over to sit next to E.
E takes the glass and looks over at him, surprised. “What’s up?” he asks.
Turtle shrugs. “You all right?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “This is all pretty fucked up.”
“Vince OK?”
He shrugs, then takes a sip of his scotch. “Basically he’s just sleeping a lot,” he says. “Fucking great strategy.”
“Has he tried calling Rita?”
E shakes his head. “I tried, though,” he says, and Turtle raises an eyebrow. “You know what she said? She said, ‘I have nothing to say to you, Eric.’” He laughs, then drains his glass. “I said, Vince thinks you leaked this, he thinks you ruined his career, he thinks you hate him. And she said, ‘Your mother would be ashamed,’ and she hung up on me.”
“Jesus Christ, E,” Turtle says, and he puts his hand on E’s shoulder.
“Ari won’t return my calls,” he says. “Lloyd told me he’s been on the phone with Hood, talking about the Oscar campaign. I can’t even leave the house, so it’s not like I can help. And where the fuck is Drama?”
“I told him to stay home,” Turtle says. “Vince said -”
“Fuck that,” E says. “Tell him to come over. Maybe Vince will eat something if he cooks.”
Turtle nods. “You want me to talk to him?”
“You can try,” E says.
Turtle takes the glass back, then stands up and offers a hand to help E to his feet. “Come on,” he says, and E squints at him. Turtle shakes his hand, and E finally takes it and stands. “I’m gonna smoke you up until this all seems funny.”
“Whatever,” E says, but he looks grateful. He also looks exhausted, which is probably why it only takes a single, albeit fat, joint before he’s curled up on the couch, a pillow against his chest, drooling peacefully. Turtle watches him for a moment, then takes another joint and heads for Vince’s room.
The bedroom door isn’t locked, so he lets himself in. Vince is sprawled over the bed, laying on his stomach, a pillow snuggled under his arm. Turtle considers going out and getting E, just tucking him in next to Vince and calling that his good deed for the day, but he decides he should probably actually talk. So he turns on the lights and closes the door, then switches on the stereo.
“Mm?” Vince rolls over. “Jesus, Turtle,” he groans. “The fuck? I’m sleeping.”
“Huh-uh. You’re done. No one sleeps this much.”
Vince closes his eyes, like this is an answer. It’s not gonna fly. Not today, not like this. E’s passed out on the fucking couch, the least Vince can do is pretend to care. Being a movie star doesn’t give him special privileges, not here, and Turtle’s tired of him not remembering that. He was the one, after all, who was so keen for everyone to know about them.
Turtle grabs a CD case off the nearest bookshelf and zings it at Vince, frisbee-style, so that it connects with his shoulder. “Ow!” Vince yelps. After the second case, and he erupts out of bed, clutching his shoulder, swinging his legs up so he’s sitting with one knee up. “What the fuck?”
“You need to cut this prima-donna depressive bullshit out right now,” Turtle says. “E is having just as bad a day as you, man.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “What are you talking about, Turtle?”
“Get dressed,” Turtle says. “Get dressed, come out to the kitchen, eat something. Be a fucking human being, at least.”
Vince blinks at him, and Turtle keeps staring until Vince nods. “And I’m gonna call Drama,” Turtle says as Vince gets out of the bed.
“Whatever,” Vince says, but he stumbles into the bathroom. Turtle hears the shower turn on as he walks toward the kitchen, phone already open.
“Drama,” Turtle says. “Get over here, man. And bring whatever you need to make some serious comfort food.”
“On my way,” Drama says.
Drama makes chicken cacciatore for dinner. Vince eats at the table, but E’s still asleep on the couch. It surprises Turtle when Vince doesn’t go in to talk to him or sit by him or anything. Instead, he eats and then he gets up and looks like he’s going back to his bed. Turtle stops him at the door. “Let’s hit the pool.”
Vince shrugs. They haven’t talked about the gossip or the story about his mother. In fact, he’s hardly talking at all, just kind of staring down at his food and nodding when Drama needs feedback. It’s the same thing poolside; Vince sits with his drink, sips it, stares at the water. Turtle finally says, “What the fuck, Vince?”
“What?” he asks.
Turtle shakes his head. “What’s the deal? The story’s killed.”
Vince nods. “Yeah, but it’s only dead for now,” he says.
“Uh, yeah, but you knew that. You always knew that,” he says. “Last month, you were all gung ho.”
“Yeah,” Vince says. “I know.” He rubs his face. “I just, I guess I thought -” He stops. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet. “I thought we’d have some choice. Some control.”
“Maybe you will, still,” Turtle says.
Vince takes a shuddery breath. “Ari thinks I should fire E,” he says. “He says, E moves out, we spend a little time apart, the rumors will die and then, if we want, we can go back and control things.” Vince looks up, a question in his eyes, and for once there’s no E around to tell him what’s what..
“Oh, huh-uh,” Turtle says. “No fucking way are you even thinking about that. You’re gonna fire him, make him move out, and break up with him, just so that maybe later on you can break the story your way? That’s fucking sick, Vince,” Turtle says. “Jesus, no wonder he’s fucked up.”
“What’s going on?” Drama asks, climbing out of the pool.
Turtle stands up. Vince has his head in his hands. “Your brother’s talking about putting his career before his boy,” he says. “Fucking stupid.”
“What’s the deal?” Drama asks, sitting next to Vince. Vince explains, and Turtle holds his breath. He knows Vince really just needs a little push in the right direction, here; he hopes he doesn’t get a kick the wrong way.
Drama lets out a low whistle. “That’s fucked up,” he says. “Ari’s one Machiavellian bastard.”
“What do you mean?” Vince asks.
“I’m saying, it’s in his best interest, always has been, for you to fire E. For you to get rid of him in all his many roles.” Drama shrugs, and Vince’s eyes narrow.
“No way,” he says. “Ari’s just trying to help. He’s trying to get things back to how they were. What’s wrong with wanting things to go back?”
“Because you already made this decision,” Turtle says. He sits back down so he’s on eye-level with Vince. “That kid fucking loves you,” he says. “And messed up as it is, you fucking love him back.”
Vince puts his head down again. “I just need to think,” he says. “OK, guys? This is my life.”
Turtle scoffs. “Not just yours,” he says. He gets up from the chair and hears Drama following.
Inside, E is awake, sitting at the kitchen table, head down much like Vince’s. Drama pats his shoulder. “Lemme heat up the chicken,” he says, and E nods. He looks like a guy on the morning after a three-day bender.
Turtle sits across from him. E props his head up. “Vince is freaking out, huh?” he says. Turtle nods. “Thing is, I knew this would happen. I knew it. I knew from the beginning, from the time -” he stops. “We got caught,” he says, after a moment, voice so low that Turtle can barely hear him over the hum of the microwave. He’s sure Drama’s not catching the story.
“When?”
“High school,” E says. “Just once. Stupid. We were messing around, and these guys saw us and yelled and threw some shit at us. At the car. Called us fags.” E shakes his head. “I’ve been thinking it’d be like that since day one. And just when I start to think, you know, maybe it won’t be, maybe things could be OK, just when Vince is starting to work on me that we should - the shit hits, and he loses his nerve.”
Turtle shakes his head. “You know,” he says, “I can’t picture you together in high school.”
“We weren’t really -” E starts, and Turtle waves him off.
“The thing is, though, I’m pretty used to you guys, now,” he says. “I can’t picture you not together.” It surprises him even as he says it, but it’s true. The last year has taught him a lot, he figures, if he can say that and mean it. Vince makes E happy and vice-versa, in a cool, easy way like Turtle’s not used to. It’s not the relationship that his parents had, it’s not a relationship like what Turtle’s looking for, but it’s real and it’s good. It’s actually excellent.
E smirks, but it fades after a second into something like a real smile. “Thanks,” he says.
He eats some of his chicken, and then they go to the living room and Drama turns on the TV and they watch a cooking show. During the middle commercial break, the deck door opens and Vince walks into the living room. He pauses in the doorway, and Turtle looks up, then over to see that E’s looking at him, too.
Vince purses his lips, then steps into the room, walks to the couch, and sinks down next to E. He puts his head on E’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he says, and Turtle hears E sigh. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” E says.
“I thought I’d be ready,” Vince murmurs. “But man, this happened fast.”
E puts his arm around Vince. “We’ll get through this,” he says, and Turtle doesn’t look away when Vince tilts up to kiss E. Instead, he leans in, claps them both on the shoulders.
“Nothing we can’t do,” he says, and everyone smiles.
Epilogue