Fic: Made Men, Entourage, Vince/Eric, NC-17, 3/6
Continued from Part 2.
A week before the Coaster premiere, Vince wakes up in the middle of the night. At first, he’s not sure why, and then he hears the toilet flush in the master bathroom. A minute later, Eric creeps across the room and sinks onto the bed, and for a minute he just sits there, kind of hunched over. Vince reaches out and touches his back.
“You OK?”
“I dunno,” Eric says. His voice is gravelly.
“You sick?”
“I was,” he says. He tips back into the bed, and Vince moves his hand to Eric’s arm. His skin is clammy, sweaty. “Maybe something I ate.”
Vince rubs his back. Eric didn’t really eat anything much at dinner, though, just an egg roll off Vince’s plate. “You need anything? Want some water or Aspirin?”
“I took something already,” he says.
Vince helps Eric get the covers up to his shoulders, then he puts his arms around him and can feel that Eric has a fever; he’s sweaty and cold at the same time. Vince isn’t sure what to do. “You want me to call someone?”
“No,” Eric says firmly. “I’m fine, just need some sleep.”
Morning is only four hours away for Eric. Vince wakes up to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed against his stomach, the other holding a shiny black shoe. “Hey, what’re you doing?” Vince asks.
“Going to work,” Eric says. He makes a terrible little gasping noise as he bends to tie his shoe, and then another little groan when he stands up.
“No, seriously,” Vince says. “You’re sick. You look like death.”
“I kind of feel like it,” he admits. When he turns a little, Vince can see his pale face. “But I’ve gotta go. Big deal to sign today.”
Vince gets up and follows Eric out of the room. He’s moving slowly and swallowing a lot. Vince grabs him gently by the shoulders as they pass the kitchen. “Eric, I want you to stay home,” he says. “Think of it this way: we’ve got that interview coming up. You should rest up for that.”
Eric nods. “I’m just gonna go for this one meeting,” he says. “I promise. If I still feel shitty, I’ll come home at lunch.”
Vince frowns, but once Eric says he’s already called Steph to pick him up, he relents. He sends him off with a cup of tea, then wakes up Turtle. If Eric’s gonna be gone for the morning, he might as well get his gym time in. It sounds like his afternoon will be full of caretaking.
Just as he’s changing from his workout, Turtle walks into the locker room. Vince pulls a clean shirt on. “What’s up?” he asks, because Turtle looks hassled.
“Steph’s been trying to call you. She just got through to me. E’s at the hospital.”
“What?” Vince puts a hand out to his locker to steady himself. “What happened?”
“They don’t know, they think maybe his appendix or something. She said the doctor’s seeing him now. I guess he got real sick at work so they took him to the E.R. and he’s getting admitted.”
“Jesus Christ,” Vince says. He feels shaky. “But he’s OK, right, I mean -“
“I think so,” Turtle says. “I don’t really know what’s going on. Nobody does. Get your shoes on, we’ll go right over.”
At the hospital, after he hears the same know-nothing story from Steph, he finds a doctor. “You’re his partner?” the doctor asks, and Vince nods without even thinking. “Good, he’s been asking for you.” He leads Vince back through a maze of curtained-off waiting rooms, then out into a hall and down a narrow white corridor. For a moment, Vince is really afraid they’re headed to the morgue or something, but instead they stop in front of a patient’s room door. “In here,” he says. “We’re just keeping him comfortable and out of the way until his surgery.”
Vince swallows hard. “Surgery?” he whispers.
“We’re going to remove his gall bladder,” the doctor says. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty routine, won’t even hardly leave a scar.”
Vince has to take a second to get over that image: Eric, scar, surgery, no, he thinks, but he manages to nod. “It’s OK if I --”
“Of course,” the doctor says, and so Vince goes in.
Eric’s laying in bed, curled onto his side. He’s wearing a hospital gown and has a blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and he doesn’t stir until Vince touches his face. “E,” he says softly.
“Oh hey,” Eric says. His eyes slip open, and he looks sleepy, not quite with it. “Vince. You’re here.”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I was - I’ve been telling them to call you.”
“They did. Steph did. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” he says. His words are a little slurred, and he reaches up and takes Vince’s hand, holds it in both of his own. “They gave me something - something kind of wonderful.”
Vince grins in spite of himself. “Yeah, were you in some pain?”
“Pretty bad,” Eric says. “But it’s OK now. Everything’s getting fixed.”
He actually feels better just hearing Eric say it. “That’s what they told me.” Vince snags a chair with his foot, drags it close to the bed, and sits without ever taking his hand away from Eric’s. “How do you feel?”
“Kind of sleepy,” Eric says. “I had some X-rays and stuff before. I might’ve - I just really wanted you to get here.”
“You got your wish,” Vince says. The door opens, and he doesn’t move his hand.
“Everything OK?” Turtle says.
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Eric says, and Vince keeps looking at him. He looks pale, but he’s gripping Vince’s hand nice and tight. “Just fine.”
They do the surgery that night, because Eric’s gall bladder is inflamed or infected or something. The same doctor who greeted him, Dr. Yen, talks through the whole thing with Vince, but he doesn’t really understand or even try to understand anything about what’s happened. What he does understand is this: the surgery will take about an hour, they’ll only need a very small incision, Eric will be able to go home in a day or two, and then he’ll need to take it easy.
“I’ll make sure,” Vince says, and shakes Yen’s hand.
He sits with the guys in a small waiting room that’s been reserved for them so that nobody with a camera can get through. Vince talks to Ari and Shauna both, and they wish Eric the best and tell him to keep his head down, and Vince appreciates the way that neither of them freaks out when he mentions that the doctor “totally knows we’re a couple.”
Harvey arrives after Eric’s been in surgery for almost an hour, when they haven’t heard anything and Vince is already starting to worry. He really hasn’t seen that much of Harvey since they left Australia, and it occurs to him, sitting in the waiting room, that Eric’s been sheltering him. He feels a swell of affection for Eric, and then a new rush of nerves. Why haven’t they heard anything?
“He’s gonna be fine, bro,” Johnny says.
“He better be fine,” Harvey says. “The amount of money I got invested with that kid, anything goes wrong and I’m gonna own this hospital.”
“Shut up, Harvey,” Vince says, resting his head in his hands.
“You told them who he was, right? Hell, what am I saying, they probably saw you and got a pretty good idea.” He shakes his head. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and his face is, as always, pinkish red. Harvey just looks angry all the time, Vince thinks. What would it be like to face that in the mirror every day? Or in the office? “Should’ve called me, though. I don’t trust the guys here. Should’ve gone to my guy at Cedars, fucking miracle worker. My blood pressure’s down fifteen points in the last year, you believe that?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, “I believe it, because you’ve had E doing all your dirty work.”
Harvey laughs, a big, booming laugh that sounds a little evil. “Oh, whatsa matter, sweetheart, you pissed he’s working late? Jesus Christ, give me a break. E’s built for this. He’s a fucking machine, he’s a monster. He’s -”
“He’s not,” Vince insists. “And he’s gonna need some time off after this.”
“Time off? Time fucking - we got three multi-million dollar pictures starting up.”
“And he’s in surgery.”
Harvey shrugs. “I walked eight miles in the war with a bullet in my leg. I think the little fagela can sit on a fucking set.”
Vince has his mouth open to object when the door opens and Dr. Yen walks in. “He’s just fine,” he says, and Vince takes a deep, calming, grateful breath. “Everything went well. He’s in recovery right now, and I can take you to see him in a few minutes.”
“You guys fuck him up and I swear to God I’ll burn this hospital down and get you deported,” Harvey says, and Vince flinches. He stands up fast and ushers Dr. Yen into the hallway.
“I’m sorry, that’s Eric’s boss, he’s just worried,” he says, shaking the doctor’s hand again. “Thank you so much. For everything. You said I could see him?”
He eventually gets to go back to Eric, who’s groggy from the anesthesia and doesn’t seem to understand he’s there. Vince doesn’t really mind. He’s happier sitting next to Eric, holding his hand, than he was listening to Harvey be his unreasonable Harvey self, by far. He watches Eric resting and thinks when he wakes up, they should have a talk. It’s been over a year since Australia, now, and Vince is tired of never seeing Eric. He’s tired of Eric being tired. Christ, he’s in the fucking hospital. Something’s got to change. They need to schedule their getaway soon, he decides. They need to get some time to themselves.
By that evening, Eric’s alert enough to make sense, though he spends most of his time sleeping. Vince and Turtle are both camped out in the room; Johnny and Larissa went to get dinner. Eric stirs around eight and asks for something to drink, and Vince, whose foot has fallen asleep while they’ve been waiting, goes out to the nurse’s station to ask what he can have.
“Clear liquids,” the nurse says. “We can get him something. Water? Sprite?”
“I’ll get it,” Vince says, “but thank you.” Really, he just needs to stretch his legs a little, and the walk to the vending area near the elevators should do nicely. He gets a can of Sprite for Eric, then decides to take the longer way back to his room, past the reception desk for the floor, just to wake up his foot a little more.
As he rounds the corner, he hears a familiar voice.
Yelling.
“I could fucking own you!” Harvey’s shouting at a frightened nurse. “I could fucking own your entire family, I could -”
“Harvey!” When he turns at Vince’s yell, the nurse scampers away. “What the fuck?”
“Someone in this goddmaned place has a big fucking mouth, that’s what the fuck! I got a call from fucking Variety asking about Eric having surgery, and who the fuck is allowed to release that information? No one!” His voice is like a roar; Vince glances around, hoping there aren’t any patients in the rooms nearby.
“Calm down,” Vince says, “I’m sure - I mean, maybe it wasn’t the staff, maybe someone just saw -”
“Do you know what it does for me to have articles out about this right now? Right fucking now, when I’m depending on Eric like this, when I’ve got a goddamned merger in the works, to have a chink in the armor?”
Vince crosses his arms, still holding the drink. “It’s not like he’s in rehab. He’s sick.”
“He’s sick, and now half the fucking town thinks he has cancer or goddamned AIDS or some shit, and I’m trying to get people to trust me, meanwhile, with millions of dollars and movies and they’re hearing my number one guy is out of commission? Do you get this at all, does anything penetrate your pretty little brain or should I hire a guy to make the words smaller?”
Everyone on the floor is staring at them - a clump of nurses to his left, a clot of patients to the right. Vince can feel his face heating up. What he wants to do is run; what he wants to do is call Eric, or Ari, or somebody to deal with this monster. But there’s no one around but people who are even more scared than he is. “Fuck you, Harvey,” he says.
“He needs to get out of here tonight!”
“You’re insane! The doctor says he has to stay through at least tomorrow night, at least twenty-four hours of observation.”
Harvey snorts. “Observation, yeah, by the goddamned Hollywood Reporter. What a fucking piece of work you are. You want to ruin his career?”
“I’m way more worried about his life,” Vince says. Two burly security guards are approaching, and Vince steps back, keeping his hands high and clear. “Look, just don’t fucking bother him for a while, Harvey.”
“What the - what the fuck is this? What the -”
“Sir, you’re disturbing the patients, we’re gonna have to ask you -”
Vince hurries away, because he doesn’t want to get caught up in whatever potential assault lawsuit is about to happen. He’s breathing fast when he reaches Eric’s room, where the door is still halfway open. He gets himself under control, purposely not looking around in case any of the witnesses are still about, and walks in.
“Here you go, sorry it took so long,” Vince says, setting the can on Eric’s little over-bed table.
Eric puts one hand around the can, then says, “Do you mind opening it?” Vince reaches up to do that, and Eric says, “Is it the drugs, or did I hear you fighting with Harvey?”
Vince pops the can top and puts the can back in Eric’s hand. “Don’t worry about Harvey now,” he says.
“I’m not worried about Harvey,” Eric says. “I’m worried about you. Don’t fight with him, Vin. He’s crazy.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “If he’s so crazy, why do you keep working with him?”
“Because I can handle Harvey.”
“And I can’t?” Eric raises an eyebrow. He takes a sip of his soda, and his hand is shaking a little. This isn’t the time or the place to argue with him over what Vince can and cannot handle, he decides. “Listen, don’t worry. He wasn’t arguing with me, he was arguing with the nurses. He wants them to let you go tonight.”
Eric laughs, then groans. “Fucking Harvey,” he says. “Jesus, hey, can you call Steph, make sure she gets the Dead Quiet paperwork to him? He’s probably freaked out about that, I should have -”
“There’s nothing you should have done or should be doing other than taking it easy,” Vince says. “Seriously, I’ll pay somebody to strap you to the bed if I have to.”
“Kinky,” Eric says with a little smile, and Vince doesn’t miss Turtle’s head whipping around from where he’s trying to look like he’s watching TV and ignoring them. “OK. Let me finish my drink, at least, then I’ll go back to relaxing.”
The doctors release Eric the next afternoon, right on schedule, and despite a second round of inquisition from Harvey, they’re very nice about it.
“Did someone leak my medical information?” Eric asks after they’re home and he’s all settled in their bed.
Vince shrugs. “I doubt it. I called Ari and Shauna to let them know what was up, so I’m guessing that’s where the story came from or was confirmed.” Eric groans. “What? Are you hurting?”
“Harvey is never gonna forgive you if he finds that out,” Eric says.
“What’s his deal, anyway? He acts like you can’t even take a fucking sick day.”
“I can’t,” Eric says. “We’re at a critical juncture in the merger deal, we -”
“Critical? Critical like you were just in surgery critical, or like millionaire Harvey’s gonna lose a couple bucks critical?”
Eric rolls his eyes. “You just - you gotta know how it is for him. He built that whole company on three rules: every day is a work day; every project can be done; no one can save you but you.”
“Every day can’t be a work day,” Vince says, stretching out next to Eric. “There are laws.”
Eric smirks, a sleepy, painkiller-saturated smirk. “Says you.”
“I’m right,” Vince says. He touches Eric’s cheek, and Eric’s eyes close obediently. “And you are gonna be taking some time off, pal.” He rushes ahead, talking as fast as he can think. “Actually, you know what, I was thinking we should go on vacation.”
“Vacation?” Eric asks, his eyes opening again.
“Yeah. Reunion tour, right? You’re out of commission for a while, anyway, why don’t we just get out of town?”
Eric touches his arm. “Vin, that’s a good idea, but if we’re going away together, I want to be able to enjoy more than just room service, you know?” Vince blinks, then gets it. “But I hear you, you’re worried. I’ll be good, OK? I promise, I’m not even thinking about work right now.”
“OK.”
For the next week, it’s almost like Before Harvey. They lounge around the house, Eric recuperating, Vince bringing him whatever he wants or needs and spending a lot of time stretched out with him on the couch or in their bed. He relents from his no-business-at-all position to allow Eric to take some phone calls and do some low-impact reading, but he doesn’t let him go in to the office, and the world doesn’t stop turning. It’s nice - no, it’s better than nice, it’s the way things should be. When he says this to Eric, though, Eric rolls his eyes.
“We both gotta work sometime,” he says.
“Maybe I could get my gallbladder out next,” Vince says. “I don’t need it, do I?”
Eric’s smile is affectionate. “You’re a moron.”
He’s sore enough that the premiere of Coaster is out for him, so Vince goes on his own. The movie opens big, though not quite as big as they would’ve hoped - it doesn’t break any records, but comes in at the expected $92 million take. The studio takes him out to dinner Sunday night to celebrate, and afterwards he gets a car home, where he finds Eric sitting up, waiting - and reading scripts.
“Nuh-uh,” Vince says, taking the stack out of Eric’s hands and tossing it to the floor. “No reading for you tonight, pal.”
Eric smiles, but not fully. “I might be too sore to do anything else,” he says, but that doesn’t stop a little making out.
One topic they don’t talk much about is coming out. Shauna comes over for lunch one day and explains that rumors are flying since the hospital, but no one can really prove anything, at least not right now. “It’s like Jodie Foster,” she says. “Until you actually say the words, no one’s gonna report on it. So if you want to stall for a while, we’re in an OK place.”
Eric nods. “I know we talked about doing this now, but - I wouldn’t mind being back at full fighting weight when this comes out. Plus the timing’s not as good anymore, with the projects we’ve got coming up.”
Vince shrugs, though he hears Ari’s voice in the back of his head. But Eric really is still recuperating. “Whatever you think,” he says. “So I just refuse to talk about it?”
“That’s the plan,” Shauna confirms. “And so will I.”
Eric goes back to work the next week, and though they’ve agreed in advance that he’ll take it easy - Vince is terrified he’s going to pop a stitch or something and wind up bleeding to death - he doesn’t get home until after seven.
“I know, I know,” he says, walking in the door. “But you would not believe the correspondence I had to catch up on.”
“Get in bed right now,” Vince says, pointing down the hall, and Eric goes willingly. Vince follows, and he can tell that Eric’s exhausted because he sits on the edge of the bed just to take off his shirt. “Do I have to have a word with Harvey?”
Eric looks up, his expression tired and wary and full of dread. “Promise me you won’t,” he says.
Vince sits next to him, and Eric leans against him. “E, I’m worried.”
“It’s the first day back.”
“I mean, I’m worried, and I’ve been worried. You work too much.”
Eric sighs. After a pause, he says, “I know. But I’m fucking drained. Can we just not talk about this tonight?”
“OK,” Vince agrees, and kisses Eric’s neck to seal the deal.
They don’t end up talking about it again for the rest of the week, because Eric’s always so run down when he gets home that Vince can’t bring himself to bother him. Then, when he’s feeling a little better, Vince broaches the topic again, and Eric says, “I know, and I was thinking about it. We still haven’t taken our reunion tour, have we?”
“You have a plan?”
Eric nods. “I was thinking next week. Before you start up on the film again, and before my new project starts. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” Vince says. “Absolutely. Yes. Where are we going?”
“I thought somewhere close. Less time traveling, more time, uh, vacationing. There’s a resort in Mexico that Steven’s been talking about, maybe? I’ll figure it out,” Eric says. “You trust me, right?”
“I do,” Vince says.
The night before they’re supposed to leave, they go out to dinner with Turtle and Johnny. Johnny and Larissa are planning their own getaway that weekend, to Vegas, and Turtle’s tagging along - with Larissa’s best friend Melissa playing the fourth. “Everyone all paired up, finally,” Vince says, and Turtle rolls his eyes.
“Everybody keeps talking about this girl’s great personality,” he says. “I think I’d rather be tagging along on your vacation, at least there’d be beach beauties around.”
“Yeah, sorry, man,” Vince says, “but I want E all to myself.”
Eric laughs. “Put ten on red for us,” he says.
They all head back to the house after dinner, because Johnny says he’s got some kind of going-away surprise waiting for them. They find the front door cracked open and hear a terrible whine from Arnold within. Before Eric can call security, Johnny charges in, and after that, there’s no choice but to follow him. Vince keeps a hand on Eric’s shoulder, not sure what they’re going to find. If someone’s gonna kill them all the night before his big vacation, he’s gonna be pissed.
The invader isn’t a killer after all - it’s Dom, an old friend from the neighborhood. Vince is thrilled to see him, particularly because Dom looks so, well, good - strong, cleaner than he was in high school, and happy to see them all. They haven’t talked in several years, since Dom went up on charges that started from possession of Vince’s pot. Vince isn’t a worrier, but over the years, he’s felt some definite guilt about that whole situation. Now, seeing Dom in front of him, looking like and acting like exactly the same old guy, makes Vince feel more relieved than he would’ve guessed.
They hang out that night eating what’s left of Drama’s special sausage and talk through the last couple of years, and then Dom says, “So what are you fuckers up to, anyway? What’s a guy do for fun around here?”
“We’re going to Vegas this weekend,” Turtle says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you gotta come,” Johnny says. “You’ll love it, I got this killer suite.”
Dom looks over at Vince. “OK if I crash your party?”
Vince shifts. “I, actually, it’s just Johnny and Turtle going. E and I are going to Mexico for the week. ”
“What the fuck is in Mexico? Some movie thing?”
Vince looks over at Eric, who’s looking down. He can guess what he’s thinking about: Tiny Thompson, a kid in their class, who got his ass kicked freshman year after rumors went around about him and some other boy behind the bleachers. He never came back to school. Afterward, Dom, who might have been involved, said, “Fucking faggot deserved it, you know? You get what’s comin’ to you.”
“Just a vacation,” Eric says. His voice is the steely, even voice he uses when he’s talking to Harvey.
“You mean to tell me,” Dom says, “these guys are gonna go to Vegas, fucking Vegas with the showgirls and all that stuff I seen on TV, and you’re going to Mexico to - what, hang out with E?” He shakes his head. “On my first weekend out here, you’re just gonna run off?”
Vince looks over at Eric, and Eric meets his eye, nods just faintly. “Nah,” Vince says, “we should - we should all go, right? Make a weekend of it.”
“That’s it,” Dom says. “That’s what I like to hear.”
That night, Dom goes up to the guest room, and Eric pauses on the way back to Vince’s room.
“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he says. “Until we, uh, get a chance to talk to him?”
“Oh,” Vince says, stopping in the hall. Then he shrugs. “He probably won’t even notice.”
Eric nods, but looks wary, and he’s jumpy as they settle in to bed. Vince rests his head on Eric’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry about the trip,” he says. “But it is his first weekend.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eric says. “It’s probably better. I shouldn’t be taking time off right now, anyway.”
Vince looks up. “You’re gonna come to Vegas, though?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“Seriously, you’d rather hang out with Harvey than with Dom?”
Eric smirks. “You know, we ought to introduce them. I bet they’d get on great.”
“There’s a scary thought.” Vince slings an arm around Eric’s chest. “Look, he’s gonna be all distracted by hookers and slot machines anyway. We’ll get plenty of time together. Just come, all right?”
“All right,” Eric says, kissing his shoulder. “But I’m gonna bring some work.”
That weekend works out fine. Johnny’s girlfriend meets Dom at breakfast and then takes a raincheck on the rest of the weekend, so it’s just the five guys. Eric spends some time working and some time in Vince’s suite, and no one seems the wiser. When they get back to town on Monday, Eric goes right to a business dinner, and Vince and the guys settle in for a night of pizza and video games.
“So Vince,” Dom says as they’re watching Turtle box a computer character into the ground, “the guys tell me you and E are fucking each other now.”
Vince nearly chokes on a sip of beer. “They do?” He looks at Johnny, who’s got such an innocent look on his face that Vince knows immediately who spilled the beans. “Huh.”
“So’s it true?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, setting his beer on the coffee table. Dom just nods, not looking away from the TV. “You got a problem with it?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I always used to think it was pretty fucking disgusting, when we were back home. But I knew a lotta guys in the joint who - you know, swung that way, but that was prison. This ain’t prison, so - it’s kinda weirder.” Now he looks over. “You do this with other guys?”
“Some,” Vince says, and he can see Turtle’s head whip around in his peripheral vision. Yeah, they never really talked about that.
“Yeah? Seriously? ‘Cuz if it’s just E - I don’t know, it makes it different.” He looks back down at his drink. “Let me ask you something, though, you let them fuck your ass?”
“Jesus,” Johnny says, and Turtle drops his controller. Vince can feel his face starting to flame.
“Vin, please don’t answer that,” Turtle says. “I mean, seriously, no one cares, no one wants to know, all right?”
“What, I can’t ask? Guy says he’s a fag, I can’t be curious about how it works? In prison it matters who’s doing who, you know?”
“Yeah, well, here we’re a little more courteous,” Johnny says.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” Dom says, holding up his hands. “I didn’t know about Hollywood rules.”
“Whatever,” Vince says. “Guys, it’s fine. Let’s just drop it, all right?”
“Yeah, fine, fine,” Dom says. “Hey, is it my turn yet or what?”
He gets involved in the game, and in talking about that they avoid an awkward silence, at least. After a while, Vince stands up and points to the kitchen, like he’s just gonna get another drink. He doesn’t need another drink, though - he needs a minute away from that scene. He wishes Eric were around, and then he tries to imagine what his reaction would have been, and he can guess: he and Dom would already been punching each other out. So this is better, him standing alone in the kitchen wishing he could erase that whole conversation from his mind, because at least no one’s going to end up in the hospital.
Dom comes in after a while and starts making himself a new drink that’s mostly vodka. Vince makes himself busy at the refrigerator, staring at a bunch of leftovers that don’t look good at all.
“Listen,” Dom says, getting a handful of ice from the dispenser, “I didn’t mean to seem all intolerant before.” Vince smiles at the word, which sounds strange coming from Dom. Johnny must have been after him, he thinks. “I just known you guys a long time, and it’s a surprise, is all. But if that’s the way it works for you -”
“It does,” Vince says, closing the refrigerator. “He’s my boyfriend, Dom, OK?”
“Yeah. And Turtle says not everybody knows yet, so, I just wanted to say, don’t worry, I can keep a secret. I mean, you know that, right?”
Vince nods, and it doesn’t escape him that Dom might mean all those years ago, in Queens, when the cops said, “Who does this belong to?” and Dom took the rap and never told anybody. “I appreciate that,” Vince says. “I know.”
But it’s still weird, the next day, and the next, and Vince always has this feeling when he’s around Dom like he’s being watched or judged or both. He doesn’t like it, and once he tells Eric about the conversation, Eric doesn’t like it either. But Vince owes the guy. “He’s just gotta find his way,” Vince tells Eric one night. Eric’s changing for bed; Vince is already waiting for him there. As per usual, it’s the first time they’ve had alone all day.
“He’s about to fucking find his way into my fist,” Eric says. “The guy’s a nightmare. You heard what he called Ari.”
“I know,” Vince says. “I don’t like it either, E. But he just got out of prison. That can fuck a guy up.”
“He was a fuck up long before that,” Eric grumbles.
“Hey,” Vince says, sitting up. “E - I owe him. It was my fucking pot he was holding.”
Eric rolls his eyes. “If it hadn’t been that, it would’ve been something else. And it wasn’t the pot that got him - it was hitting the cop, and the priors. He was headed to jail for as long as we knew him.”
“You’re just mad he calls you E-bola.”
“No,” Eric says, sitting on the bed. He looks at Vince over his shoulder. “I’m mad he calls me fag-ola, Vince. I shouldn’t have to take that, and neither should you.”
Vince nods. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Eric’s shoulder. “I owe him,” he says, quietly. “E, please. Just put up with him a little longer, till he gets his feet back under him. I’ll get him a job, we’ll get him a place -”
“OK,” Eric says. “For you, not for him.”
“It’s not like you even see that much of him,” Vince says as Eric settles into bed. Eric’s been working every day and almost every evening lately.
“Don’t start with me,” Eric says, closing his eyes. “You want me home more, you better step up your prison rehab program.”
Vince rolls his eyes and settles onto his side, not touching Eric, and they fall asleep that way, too. In the morning, they make up before breakfast, and Eric even compliments Dom’s cooking before he leaves. He also kisses Vince on the mouth before he walks out, which is unusual but not unwelcome, and Dom doesn’t say anything rude about it. Vince starts to think maybe things will work out.
“That’s fucking it!” Eric’s saying two mornings later when Vince walks into the kitchen for breakfast.
“What’s going on?”
Dom’s standing at the counter with a big skillet of eggs in front of him, and Eric’s standing across the island, glaring at him like he might explode. Vince stands at the end of the island, looking between them. “Guys?”
“I was just asking,” Dom says, and Eric shakes his head.
“I can’t live with him any more,” Eric says, looking down the counter at Vince. “I’m not waking up to abuse, not in my own - not here.” He pushes back from the counter and grabs his bag. “I’ll see you later,” he says.
“E -” Vince says as Eric storms past him. He looks up at Dom, who shrugs and goes back to his cooking. Neither of the other two guys are around, so he can’t ask anyone else what’s happened. Vince takes a seat. “What happened?”
“Long story,” he says, and shoves some eggs onto Vince’s plate. “So whaddya wanna do today, boss?”
“Dom, you can’t keep picking fights with E,” Vince says. “I’m serious. He’s my partner, he’s not just another kid anymore.”
“Hey, I didn’t start anything,” Dom says. “That guy’s wound so fucking tight, Vin, it’s like all I gotta do is look at him wrong and suddenly he’s throwing a fit.”
Vince sighs. He knows there’s some truth there. If Eric wasn’t blowing up at Dom, it’d just be someone else. “Look, though,” he says. “We maybe - what do you think about looking for an apartment or something today? I know you don’t have a job yet or anything, but I can cover you, man. Least I can do, until we get you something going.”
It takes a little arm twisting to get over his “a man’s gotta earn his own fucking keep” pride, but eventually Dom agrees to take Vince’s money for a place to live, and he and Turtle and Vince go hunting that afternoon. Johnny, who just got a good role on a television show, joins them midday, and they go with him to his new building to sign a contract with the real estate agent.
“This is a fucking nice area,” Dom says. “I could see a guy doin’ real well, livin’ here.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Turtle agrees. The real estate agent, overhearing them, asks if they want to see another unit in a neighboring building that’s about to go on the market, and Vince ends up making an offer on a three-bedroom place two streets over from Johnny’s new place. Turtle and Dom can move in at the end of the month.
Eric’s supposed to meet them for dinner, but he cancels - unsurprisingly - and that annoys Vince enough that he doesn’t mention he’s made other arrangements for Dom that night. In fact, they don’t really talk at all until two nights later, when Johnny’s out with Larissa and Turtle and Dom have gone to cruise LAX. Eric comes in around dinner time and looks around, and Vince rolls his eyes. “They’re not here,” he says, taking a seat at the dining table.
“Oh,” Eric says. “Uh, good. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Eric nods. “Let me go first, all right?” Vince nods. “I, uh, I made an offer on a house today.”
Vince swallows. “What?” His first thought is that Eric’s buying a place for Dom, but then he realizes, from the nervous look on Eric’s face, that’s not what’s happening at all.
“It’s a good time to own real estate,” he says in a nervous version of his businesslike tone, and Vince feels cold. “There was a place in Malibu, it’s not on the market yet, uh, one of the execs at Paramount was selling and I heard about it and -”
“You bought a house?” Eric nods. He’s not really meeting Vince’s eyes. “You’re moving out?”
“Not really,” Eric says. “No. I just thought it might be good if I - I mean, I’ve got all of this money, it doesn’t really make sense for me to be living with you, you know?”
“Except it totally does,” Vince says. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“No one knows that,” Eric says. “You know what I mean. And I - I don’t know, Vin. I wanted some place I could go, I guess, in case anything happens.”
“Happens - with us, you mean.” Eric shrugs. He’s still not looking at Vince. He feels lightheaded, because suddenly he gets what talk they’re having. Eric bought a house. Another house, a house other than Vince’s. His own place. “Jesus Christ. Je-” Vince has to put his head down in his hands.
“Hey,” Eric says, sounding startled. “Vince?” His hands rest on Vince’s shoulders.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Vince asks, barely able to get the words out.
“What? No,” Eric says, fast. “No, Vince, I wouldn’t - I swear, you won’t even know I have the place. It’s for appearances, and the investment, I - I’m not leaving you. I’m not.”
Vince looks up, and now, Eric meets his eye. He looks so alarmed at the implication of breaking up that Vince believes him. He nods, and Eric nods and slowly draws his hands away. “What - uh, what did you want to talk about?”
“I bought Dom and Turtle a condo,” he says.
Eric laughs, startled. “Seriously? Where’s the condo?”
“Near Johnny’s building. On the Beverly Hills side.”
He shakes his head. “I can't wait for that call from Marvin.”
Vince cracks a smile. He still feels shaky and unsettled. “I can’t believe you bought a house,” he says.
“I can’t really, either,” Eric says. He rubs his face. “Just, this guy’s been talking about it, and yesterday, I was - I was so mad, and Dom got under my skin already about this stuff -”
“What stuff? What did you guys fight about, anyway?”
“It sounds stupid, now,” he says. “We got in this fight - he called me, uh, something new, great, whatever, and I told him his days were numbered here, that he couldn’t just live off your guilt and generosity forever. And he - he said that cut both ways, you know, that that’s a pretty bold argument for a guy to make when he’s also living off your generosity.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “I will sign this house over to you, if you want,” he says. “Or put your name on it. We’re partners, E - what’s mine really is yours.”
“I know that,” Eric says, though Vince doesn’t believe him. “But - not everyone else gets it. It - people who don’t know us, it does look like I’m a mooch. And I know, you don’t like hearing about or thinking about money, but for the first time in a long time, maybe my whole life, I’ve got enough. I’ve got more than enough, and I - a guy’s supposed to take care of himself, you know? It means something to me that I can do that, now, that it’s not always you paying for everything.”
Vince nods. “I know,” he says. “I know that about you.”
“OK,” Eric says. “I am sorry.” He sighs, and when he looks up, he looks so tired that Vince feels how he so often has recently: bad for bothering Eric at all.
“So, what’s say you spend some of that money on delivery?” Vince says, standing up. He drops his hands onto Eric’s shoulders and rubs, and Eric nods. “And then, maybe some hot tub time?”
“Fuck, yes,” he says. “I love being rich.”
Vince laughs. “And after that,” he promises, “I’ll give you some other reasons to keep coming home.”
Part 4
A week before the Coaster premiere, Vince wakes up in the middle of the night. At first, he’s not sure why, and then he hears the toilet flush in the master bathroom. A minute later, Eric creeps across the room and sinks onto the bed, and for a minute he just sits there, kind of hunched over. Vince reaches out and touches his back.
“You OK?”
“I dunno,” Eric says. His voice is gravelly.
“You sick?”
“I was,” he says. He tips back into the bed, and Vince moves his hand to Eric’s arm. His skin is clammy, sweaty. “Maybe something I ate.”
Vince rubs his back. Eric didn’t really eat anything much at dinner, though, just an egg roll off Vince’s plate. “You need anything? Want some water or Aspirin?”
“I took something already,” he says.
Vince helps Eric get the covers up to his shoulders, then he puts his arms around him and can feel that Eric has a fever; he’s sweaty and cold at the same time. Vince isn’t sure what to do. “You want me to call someone?”
“No,” Eric says firmly. “I’m fine, just need some sleep.”
Morning is only four hours away for Eric. Vince wakes up to find him sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand pressed against his stomach, the other holding a shiny black shoe. “Hey, what’re you doing?” Vince asks.
“Going to work,” Eric says. He makes a terrible little gasping noise as he bends to tie his shoe, and then another little groan when he stands up.
“No, seriously,” Vince says. “You’re sick. You look like death.”
“I kind of feel like it,” he admits. When he turns a little, Vince can see his pale face. “But I’ve gotta go. Big deal to sign today.”
Vince gets up and follows Eric out of the room. He’s moving slowly and swallowing a lot. Vince grabs him gently by the shoulders as they pass the kitchen. “Eric, I want you to stay home,” he says. “Think of it this way: we’ve got that interview coming up. You should rest up for that.”
Eric nods. “I’m just gonna go for this one meeting,” he says. “I promise. If I still feel shitty, I’ll come home at lunch.”
Vince frowns, but once Eric says he’s already called Steph to pick him up, he relents. He sends him off with a cup of tea, then wakes up Turtle. If Eric’s gonna be gone for the morning, he might as well get his gym time in. It sounds like his afternoon will be full of caretaking.
Just as he’s changing from his workout, Turtle walks into the locker room. Vince pulls a clean shirt on. “What’s up?” he asks, because Turtle looks hassled.
“Steph’s been trying to call you. She just got through to me. E’s at the hospital.”
“What?” Vince puts a hand out to his locker to steady himself. “What happened?”
“They don’t know, they think maybe his appendix or something. She said the doctor’s seeing him now. I guess he got real sick at work so they took him to the E.R. and he’s getting admitted.”
“Jesus Christ,” Vince says. He feels shaky. “But he’s OK, right, I mean -“
“I think so,” Turtle says. “I don’t really know what’s going on. Nobody does. Get your shoes on, we’ll go right over.”
At the hospital, after he hears the same know-nothing story from Steph, he finds a doctor. “You’re his partner?” the doctor asks, and Vince nods without even thinking. “Good, he’s been asking for you.” He leads Vince back through a maze of curtained-off waiting rooms, then out into a hall and down a narrow white corridor. For a moment, Vince is really afraid they’re headed to the morgue or something, but instead they stop in front of a patient’s room door. “In here,” he says. “We’re just keeping him comfortable and out of the way until his surgery.”
Vince swallows hard. “Surgery?” he whispers.
“We’re going to remove his gall bladder,” the doctor says. “Don’t worry. It’s pretty routine, won’t even hardly leave a scar.”
Vince has to take a second to get over that image: Eric, scar, surgery, no, he thinks, but he manages to nod. “It’s OK if I --”
“Of course,” the doctor says, and so Vince goes in.
Eric’s laying in bed, curled onto his side. He’s wearing a hospital gown and has a blanket pulled up to his shoulders, and he doesn’t stir until Vince touches his face. “E,” he says softly.
“Oh hey,” Eric says. His eyes slip open, and he looks sleepy, not quite with it. “Vince. You’re here.”
“Yeah, I’m here.”
“I was - I’ve been telling them to call you.”
“They did. Steph did. Are you OK?”
“I’m fine,” he says. His words are a little slurred, and he reaches up and takes Vince’s hand, holds it in both of his own. “They gave me something - something kind of wonderful.”
Vince grins in spite of himself. “Yeah, were you in some pain?”
“Pretty bad,” Eric says. “But it’s OK now. Everything’s getting fixed.”
He actually feels better just hearing Eric say it. “That’s what they told me.” Vince snags a chair with his foot, drags it close to the bed, and sits without ever taking his hand away from Eric’s. “How do you feel?”
“Kind of sleepy,” Eric says. “I had some X-rays and stuff before. I might’ve - I just really wanted you to get here.”
“You got your wish,” Vince says. The door opens, and he doesn’t move his hand.
“Everything OK?” Turtle says.
“Everything’s gonna be fine,” Eric says, and Vince keeps looking at him. He looks pale, but he’s gripping Vince’s hand nice and tight. “Just fine.”
They do the surgery that night, because Eric’s gall bladder is inflamed or infected or something. The same doctor who greeted him, Dr. Yen, talks through the whole thing with Vince, but he doesn’t really understand or even try to understand anything about what’s happened. What he does understand is this: the surgery will take about an hour, they’ll only need a very small incision, Eric will be able to go home in a day or two, and then he’ll need to take it easy.
“I’ll make sure,” Vince says, and shakes Yen’s hand.
He sits with the guys in a small waiting room that’s been reserved for them so that nobody with a camera can get through. Vince talks to Ari and Shauna both, and they wish Eric the best and tell him to keep his head down, and Vince appreciates the way that neither of them freaks out when he mentions that the doctor “totally knows we’re a couple.”
Harvey arrives after Eric’s been in surgery for almost an hour, when they haven’t heard anything and Vince is already starting to worry. He really hasn’t seen that much of Harvey since they left Australia, and it occurs to him, sitting in the waiting room, that Eric’s been sheltering him. He feels a swell of affection for Eric, and then a new rush of nerves. Why haven’t they heard anything?
“He’s gonna be fine, bro,” Johnny says.
“He better be fine,” Harvey says. “The amount of money I got invested with that kid, anything goes wrong and I’m gonna own this hospital.”
“Shut up, Harvey,” Vince says, resting his head in his hands.
“You told them who he was, right? Hell, what am I saying, they probably saw you and got a pretty good idea.” He shakes his head. His hair is sticking up everywhere, and his face is, as always, pinkish red. Harvey just looks angry all the time, Vince thinks. What would it be like to face that in the mirror every day? Or in the office? “Should’ve called me, though. I don’t trust the guys here. Should’ve gone to my guy at Cedars, fucking miracle worker. My blood pressure’s down fifteen points in the last year, you believe that?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, “I believe it, because you’ve had E doing all your dirty work.”
Harvey laughs, a big, booming laugh that sounds a little evil. “Oh, whatsa matter, sweetheart, you pissed he’s working late? Jesus Christ, give me a break. E’s built for this. He’s a fucking machine, he’s a monster. He’s -”
“He’s not,” Vince insists. “And he’s gonna need some time off after this.”
“Time off? Time fucking - we got three multi-million dollar pictures starting up.”
“And he’s in surgery.”
Harvey shrugs. “I walked eight miles in the war with a bullet in my leg. I think the little fagela can sit on a fucking set.”
Vince has his mouth open to object when the door opens and Dr. Yen walks in. “He’s just fine,” he says, and Vince takes a deep, calming, grateful breath. “Everything went well. He’s in recovery right now, and I can take you to see him in a few minutes.”
“You guys fuck him up and I swear to God I’ll burn this hospital down and get you deported,” Harvey says, and Vince flinches. He stands up fast and ushers Dr. Yen into the hallway.
“I’m sorry, that’s Eric’s boss, he’s just worried,” he says, shaking the doctor’s hand again. “Thank you so much. For everything. You said I could see him?”
He eventually gets to go back to Eric, who’s groggy from the anesthesia and doesn’t seem to understand he’s there. Vince doesn’t really mind. He’s happier sitting next to Eric, holding his hand, than he was listening to Harvey be his unreasonable Harvey self, by far. He watches Eric resting and thinks when he wakes up, they should have a talk. It’s been over a year since Australia, now, and Vince is tired of never seeing Eric. He’s tired of Eric being tired. Christ, he’s in the fucking hospital. Something’s got to change. They need to schedule their getaway soon, he decides. They need to get some time to themselves.
By that evening, Eric’s alert enough to make sense, though he spends most of his time sleeping. Vince and Turtle are both camped out in the room; Johnny and Larissa went to get dinner. Eric stirs around eight and asks for something to drink, and Vince, whose foot has fallen asleep while they’ve been waiting, goes out to the nurse’s station to ask what he can have.
“Clear liquids,” the nurse says. “We can get him something. Water? Sprite?”
“I’ll get it,” Vince says, “but thank you.” Really, he just needs to stretch his legs a little, and the walk to the vending area near the elevators should do nicely. He gets a can of Sprite for Eric, then decides to take the longer way back to his room, past the reception desk for the floor, just to wake up his foot a little more.
As he rounds the corner, he hears a familiar voice.
Yelling.
“I could fucking own you!” Harvey’s shouting at a frightened nurse. “I could fucking own your entire family, I could -”
“Harvey!” When he turns at Vince’s yell, the nurse scampers away. “What the fuck?”
“Someone in this goddmaned place has a big fucking mouth, that’s what the fuck! I got a call from fucking Variety asking about Eric having surgery, and who the fuck is allowed to release that information? No one!” His voice is like a roar; Vince glances around, hoping there aren’t any patients in the rooms nearby.
“Calm down,” Vince says, “I’m sure - I mean, maybe it wasn’t the staff, maybe someone just saw -”
“Do you know what it does for me to have articles out about this right now? Right fucking now, when I’m depending on Eric like this, when I’ve got a goddamned merger in the works, to have a chink in the armor?”
Vince crosses his arms, still holding the drink. “It’s not like he’s in rehab. He’s sick.”
“He’s sick, and now half the fucking town thinks he has cancer or goddamned AIDS or some shit, and I’m trying to get people to trust me, meanwhile, with millions of dollars and movies and they’re hearing my number one guy is out of commission? Do you get this at all, does anything penetrate your pretty little brain or should I hire a guy to make the words smaller?”
Everyone on the floor is staring at them - a clump of nurses to his left, a clot of patients to the right. Vince can feel his face heating up. What he wants to do is run; what he wants to do is call Eric, or Ari, or somebody to deal with this monster. But there’s no one around but people who are even more scared than he is. “Fuck you, Harvey,” he says.
“He needs to get out of here tonight!”
“You’re insane! The doctor says he has to stay through at least tomorrow night, at least twenty-four hours of observation.”
Harvey snorts. “Observation, yeah, by the goddamned Hollywood Reporter. What a fucking piece of work you are. You want to ruin his career?”
“I’m way more worried about his life,” Vince says. Two burly security guards are approaching, and Vince steps back, keeping his hands high and clear. “Look, just don’t fucking bother him for a while, Harvey.”
“What the - what the fuck is this? What the -”
“Sir, you’re disturbing the patients, we’re gonna have to ask you -”
Vince hurries away, because he doesn’t want to get caught up in whatever potential assault lawsuit is about to happen. He’s breathing fast when he reaches Eric’s room, where the door is still halfway open. He gets himself under control, purposely not looking around in case any of the witnesses are still about, and walks in.
“Here you go, sorry it took so long,” Vince says, setting the can on Eric’s little over-bed table.
Eric puts one hand around the can, then says, “Do you mind opening it?” Vince reaches up to do that, and Eric says, “Is it the drugs, or did I hear you fighting with Harvey?”
Vince pops the can top and puts the can back in Eric’s hand. “Don’t worry about Harvey now,” he says.
“I’m not worried about Harvey,” Eric says. “I’m worried about you. Don’t fight with him, Vin. He’s crazy.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “If he’s so crazy, why do you keep working with him?”
“Because I can handle Harvey.”
“And I can’t?” Eric raises an eyebrow. He takes a sip of his soda, and his hand is shaking a little. This isn’t the time or the place to argue with him over what Vince can and cannot handle, he decides. “Listen, don’t worry. He wasn’t arguing with me, he was arguing with the nurses. He wants them to let you go tonight.”
Eric laughs, then groans. “Fucking Harvey,” he says. “Jesus, hey, can you call Steph, make sure she gets the Dead Quiet paperwork to him? He’s probably freaked out about that, I should have -”
“There’s nothing you should have done or should be doing other than taking it easy,” Vince says. “Seriously, I’ll pay somebody to strap you to the bed if I have to.”
“Kinky,” Eric says with a little smile, and Vince doesn’t miss Turtle’s head whipping around from where he’s trying to look like he’s watching TV and ignoring them. “OK. Let me finish my drink, at least, then I’ll go back to relaxing.”
The doctors release Eric the next afternoon, right on schedule, and despite a second round of inquisition from Harvey, they’re very nice about it.
“Did someone leak my medical information?” Eric asks after they’re home and he’s all settled in their bed.
Vince shrugs. “I doubt it. I called Ari and Shauna to let them know what was up, so I’m guessing that’s where the story came from or was confirmed.” Eric groans. “What? Are you hurting?”
“Harvey is never gonna forgive you if he finds that out,” Eric says.
“What’s his deal, anyway? He acts like you can’t even take a fucking sick day.”
“I can’t,” Eric says. “We’re at a critical juncture in the merger deal, we -”
“Critical? Critical like you were just in surgery critical, or like millionaire Harvey’s gonna lose a couple bucks critical?”
Eric rolls his eyes. “You just - you gotta know how it is for him. He built that whole company on three rules: every day is a work day; every project can be done; no one can save you but you.”
“Every day can’t be a work day,” Vince says, stretching out next to Eric. “There are laws.”
Eric smirks, a sleepy, painkiller-saturated smirk. “Says you.”
“I’m right,” Vince says. He touches Eric’s cheek, and Eric’s eyes close obediently. “And you are gonna be taking some time off, pal.” He rushes ahead, talking as fast as he can think. “Actually, you know what, I was thinking we should go on vacation.”
“Vacation?” Eric asks, his eyes opening again.
“Yeah. Reunion tour, right? You’re out of commission for a while, anyway, why don’t we just get out of town?”
Eric touches his arm. “Vin, that’s a good idea, but if we’re going away together, I want to be able to enjoy more than just room service, you know?” Vince blinks, then gets it. “But I hear you, you’re worried. I’ll be good, OK? I promise, I’m not even thinking about work right now.”
“OK.”
For the next week, it’s almost like Before Harvey. They lounge around the house, Eric recuperating, Vince bringing him whatever he wants or needs and spending a lot of time stretched out with him on the couch or in their bed. He relents from his no-business-at-all position to allow Eric to take some phone calls and do some low-impact reading, but he doesn’t let him go in to the office, and the world doesn’t stop turning. It’s nice - no, it’s better than nice, it’s the way things should be. When he says this to Eric, though, Eric rolls his eyes.
“We both gotta work sometime,” he says.
“Maybe I could get my gallbladder out next,” Vince says. “I don’t need it, do I?”
Eric’s smile is affectionate. “You’re a moron.”
He’s sore enough that the premiere of Coaster is out for him, so Vince goes on his own. The movie opens big, though not quite as big as they would’ve hoped - it doesn’t break any records, but comes in at the expected $92 million take. The studio takes him out to dinner Sunday night to celebrate, and afterwards he gets a car home, where he finds Eric sitting up, waiting - and reading scripts.
“Nuh-uh,” Vince says, taking the stack out of Eric’s hands and tossing it to the floor. “No reading for you tonight, pal.”
Eric smiles, but not fully. “I might be too sore to do anything else,” he says, but that doesn’t stop a little making out.
One topic they don’t talk much about is coming out. Shauna comes over for lunch one day and explains that rumors are flying since the hospital, but no one can really prove anything, at least not right now. “It’s like Jodie Foster,” she says. “Until you actually say the words, no one’s gonna report on it. So if you want to stall for a while, we’re in an OK place.”
Eric nods. “I know we talked about doing this now, but - I wouldn’t mind being back at full fighting weight when this comes out. Plus the timing’s not as good anymore, with the projects we’ve got coming up.”
Vince shrugs, though he hears Ari’s voice in the back of his head. But Eric really is still recuperating. “Whatever you think,” he says. “So I just refuse to talk about it?”
“That’s the plan,” Shauna confirms. “And so will I.”
Eric goes back to work the next week, and though they’ve agreed in advance that he’ll take it easy - Vince is terrified he’s going to pop a stitch or something and wind up bleeding to death - he doesn’t get home until after seven.
“I know, I know,” he says, walking in the door. “But you would not believe the correspondence I had to catch up on.”
“Get in bed right now,” Vince says, pointing down the hall, and Eric goes willingly. Vince follows, and he can tell that Eric’s exhausted because he sits on the edge of the bed just to take off his shirt. “Do I have to have a word with Harvey?”
Eric looks up, his expression tired and wary and full of dread. “Promise me you won’t,” he says.
Vince sits next to him, and Eric leans against him. “E, I’m worried.”
“It’s the first day back.”
“I mean, I’m worried, and I’ve been worried. You work too much.”
Eric sighs. After a pause, he says, “I know. But I’m fucking drained. Can we just not talk about this tonight?”
“OK,” Vince agrees, and kisses Eric’s neck to seal the deal.
They don’t end up talking about it again for the rest of the week, because Eric’s always so run down when he gets home that Vince can’t bring himself to bother him. Then, when he’s feeling a little better, Vince broaches the topic again, and Eric says, “I know, and I was thinking about it. We still haven’t taken our reunion tour, have we?”
“You have a plan?”
Eric nods. “I was thinking next week. Before you start up on the film again, and before my new project starts. What do you think?”
“Yeah,” Vince says. “Absolutely. Yes. Where are we going?”
“I thought somewhere close. Less time traveling, more time, uh, vacationing. There’s a resort in Mexico that Steven’s been talking about, maybe? I’ll figure it out,” Eric says. “You trust me, right?”
“I do,” Vince says.
The night before they’re supposed to leave, they go out to dinner with Turtle and Johnny. Johnny and Larissa are planning their own getaway that weekend, to Vegas, and Turtle’s tagging along - with Larissa’s best friend Melissa playing the fourth. “Everyone all paired up, finally,” Vince says, and Turtle rolls his eyes.
“Everybody keeps talking about this girl’s great personality,” he says. “I think I’d rather be tagging along on your vacation, at least there’d be beach beauties around.”
“Yeah, sorry, man,” Vince says, “but I want E all to myself.”
Eric laughs. “Put ten on red for us,” he says.
They all head back to the house after dinner, because Johnny says he’s got some kind of going-away surprise waiting for them. They find the front door cracked open and hear a terrible whine from Arnold within. Before Eric can call security, Johnny charges in, and after that, there’s no choice but to follow him. Vince keeps a hand on Eric’s shoulder, not sure what they’re going to find. If someone’s gonna kill them all the night before his big vacation, he’s gonna be pissed.
The invader isn’t a killer after all - it’s Dom, an old friend from the neighborhood. Vince is thrilled to see him, particularly because Dom looks so, well, good - strong, cleaner than he was in high school, and happy to see them all. They haven’t talked in several years, since Dom went up on charges that started from possession of Vince’s pot. Vince isn’t a worrier, but over the years, he’s felt some definite guilt about that whole situation. Now, seeing Dom in front of him, looking like and acting like exactly the same old guy, makes Vince feel more relieved than he would’ve guessed.
They hang out that night eating what’s left of Drama’s special sausage and talk through the last couple of years, and then Dom says, “So what are you fuckers up to, anyway? What’s a guy do for fun around here?”
“We’re going to Vegas this weekend,” Turtle says.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah, you gotta come,” Johnny says. “You’ll love it, I got this killer suite.”
Dom looks over at Vince. “OK if I crash your party?”
Vince shifts. “I, actually, it’s just Johnny and Turtle going. E and I are going to Mexico for the week. ”
“What the fuck is in Mexico? Some movie thing?”
Vince looks over at Eric, who’s looking down. He can guess what he’s thinking about: Tiny Thompson, a kid in their class, who got his ass kicked freshman year after rumors went around about him and some other boy behind the bleachers. He never came back to school. Afterward, Dom, who might have been involved, said, “Fucking faggot deserved it, you know? You get what’s comin’ to you.”
“Just a vacation,” Eric says. His voice is the steely, even voice he uses when he’s talking to Harvey.
“You mean to tell me,” Dom says, “these guys are gonna go to Vegas, fucking Vegas with the showgirls and all that stuff I seen on TV, and you’re going to Mexico to - what, hang out with E?” He shakes his head. “On my first weekend out here, you’re just gonna run off?”
Vince looks over at Eric, and Eric meets his eye, nods just faintly. “Nah,” Vince says, “we should - we should all go, right? Make a weekend of it.”
“That’s it,” Dom says. “That’s what I like to hear.”
That night, Dom goes up to the guest room, and Eric pauses on the way back to Vince’s room.
“Maybe I shouldn’t,” he says. “Until we, uh, get a chance to talk to him?”
“Oh,” Vince says, stopping in the hall. Then he shrugs. “He probably won’t even notice.”
Eric nods, but looks wary, and he’s jumpy as they settle in to bed. Vince rests his head on Eric’s shoulder. “Hey, I’m sorry about the trip,” he says. “But it is his first weekend.”
“Yeah, I know,” Eric says. “It’s probably better. I shouldn’t be taking time off right now, anyway.”
Vince looks up. “You’re gonna come to Vegas, though?”
“I don’t know,” he says.
“Seriously, you’d rather hang out with Harvey than with Dom?”
Eric smirks. “You know, we ought to introduce them. I bet they’d get on great.”
“There’s a scary thought.” Vince slings an arm around Eric’s chest. “Look, he’s gonna be all distracted by hookers and slot machines anyway. We’ll get plenty of time together. Just come, all right?”
“All right,” Eric says, kissing his shoulder. “But I’m gonna bring some work.”
That weekend works out fine. Johnny’s girlfriend meets Dom at breakfast and then takes a raincheck on the rest of the weekend, so it’s just the five guys. Eric spends some time working and some time in Vince’s suite, and no one seems the wiser. When they get back to town on Monday, Eric goes right to a business dinner, and Vince and the guys settle in for a night of pizza and video games.
“So Vince,” Dom says as they’re watching Turtle box a computer character into the ground, “the guys tell me you and E are fucking each other now.”
Vince nearly chokes on a sip of beer. “They do?” He looks at Johnny, who’s got such an innocent look on his face that Vince knows immediately who spilled the beans. “Huh.”
“So’s it true?”
“Yeah,” Vince says, setting his beer on the coffee table. Dom just nods, not looking away from the TV. “You got a problem with it?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “I always used to think it was pretty fucking disgusting, when we were back home. But I knew a lotta guys in the joint who - you know, swung that way, but that was prison. This ain’t prison, so - it’s kinda weirder.” Now he looks over. “You do this with other guys?”
“Some,” Vince says, and he can see Turtle’s head whip around in his peripheral vision. Yeah, they never really talked about that.
“Yeah? Seriously? ‘Cuz if it’s just E - I don’t know, it makes it different.” He looks back down at his drink. “Let me ask you something, though, you let them fuck your ass?”
“Jesus,” Johnny says, and Turtle drops his controller. Vince can feel his face starting to flame.
“Vin, please don’t answer that,” Turtle says. “I mean, seriously, no one cares, no one wants to know, all right?”
“What, I can’t ask? Guy says he’s a fag, I can’t be curious about how it works? In prison it matters who’s doing who, you know?”
“Yeah, well, here we’re a little more courteous,” Johnny says.
“Christ, I’m sorry,” Dom says, holding up his hands. “I didn’t know about Hollywood rules.”
“Whatever,” Vince says. “Guys, it’s fine. Let’s just drop it, all right?”
“Yeah, fine, fine,” Dom says. “Hey, is it my turn yet or what?”
He gets involved in the game, and in talking about that they avoid an awkward silence, at least. After a while, Vince stands up and points to the kitchen, like he’s just gonna get another drink. He doesn’t need another drink, though - he needs a minute away from that scene. He wishes Eric were around, and then he tries to imagine what his reaction would have been, and he can guess: he and Dom would already been punching each other out. So this is better, him standing alone in the kitchen wishing he could erase that whole conversation from his mind, because at least no one’s going to end up in the hospital.
Dom comes in after a while and starts making himself a new drink that’s mostly vodka. Vince makes himself busy at the refrigerator, staring at a bunch of leftovers that don’t look good at all.
“Listen,” Dom says, getting a handful of ice from the dispenser, “I didn’t mean to seem all intolerant before.” Vince smiles at the word, which sounds strange coming from Dom. Johnny must have been after him, he thinks. “I just known you guys a long time, and it’s a surprise, is all. But if that’s the way it works for you -”
“It does,” Vince says, closing the refrigerator. “He’s my boyfriend, Dom, OK?”
“Yeah. And Turtle says not everybody knows yet, so, I just wanted to say, don’t worry, I can keep a secret. I mean, you know that, right?”
Vince nods, and it doesn’t escape him that Dom might mean all those years ago, in Queens, when the cops said, “Who does this belong to?” and Dom took the rap and never told anybody. “I appreciate that,” Vince says. “I know.”
But it’s still weird, the next day, and the next, and Vince always has this feeling when he’s around Dom like he’s being watched or judged or both. He doesn’t like it, and once he tells Eric about the conversation, Eric doesn’t like it either. But Vince owes the guy. “He’s just gotta find his way,” Vince tells Eric one night. Eric’s changing for bed; Vince is already waiting for him there. As per usual, it’s the first time they’ve had alone all day.
“He’s about to fucking find his way into my fist,” Eric says. “The guy’s a nightmare. You heard what he called Ari.”
“I know,” Vince says. “I don’t like it either, E. But he just got out of prison. That can fuck a guy up.”
“He was a fuck up long before that,” Eric grumbles.
“Hey,” Vince says, sitting up. “E - I owe him. It was my fucking pot he was holding.”
Eric rolls his eyes. “If it hadn’t been that, it would’ve been something else. And it wasn’t the pot that got him - it was hitting the cop, and the priors. He was headed to jail for as long as we knew him.”
“You’re just mad he calls you E-bola.”
“No,” Eric says, sitting on the bed. He looks at Vince over his shoulder. “I’m mad he calls me fag-ola, Vince. I shouldn’t have to take that, and neither should you.”
Vince nods. He leans forward and rests his forehead on Eric’s shoulder. “I owe him,” he says, quietly. “E, please. Just put up with him a little longer, till he gets his feet back under him. I’ll get him a job, we’ll get him a place -”
“OK,” Eric says. “For you, not for him.”
“It’s not like you even see that much of him,” Vince says as Eric settles into bed. Eric’s been working every day and almost every evening lately.
“Don’t start with me,” Eric says, closing his eyes. “You want me home more, you better step up your prison rehab program.”
Vince rolls his eyes and settles onto his side, not touching Eric, and they fall asleep that way, too. In the morning, they make up before breakfast, and Eric even compliments Dom’s cooking before he leaves. He also kisses Vince on the mouth before he walks out, which is unusual but not unwelcome, and Dom doesn’t say anything rude about it. Vince starts to think maybe things will work out.
“That’s fucking it!” Eric’s saying two mornings later when Vince walks into the kitchen for breakfast.
“What’s going on?”
Dom’s standing at the counter with a big skillet of eggs in front of him, and Eric’s standing across the island, glaring at him like he might explode. Vince stands at the end of the island, looking between them. “Guys?”
“I was just asking,” Dom says, and Eric shakes his head.
“I can’t live with him any more,” Eric says, looking down the counter at Vince. “I’m not waking up to abuse, not in my own - not here.” He pushes back from the counter and grabs his bag. “I’ll see you later,” he says.
“E -” Vince says as Eric storms past him. He looks up at Dom, who shrugs and goes back to his cooking. Neither of the other two guys are around, so he can’t ask anyone else what’s happened. Vince takes a seat. “What happened?”
“Long story,” he says, and shoves some eggs onto Vince’s plate. “So whaddya wanna do today, boss?”
“Dom, you can’t keep picking fights with E,” Vince says. “I’m serious. He’s my partner, he’s not just another kid anymore.”
“Hey, I didn’t start anything,” Dom says. “That guy’s wound so fucking tight, Vin, it’s like all I gotta do is look at him wrong and suddenly he’s throwing a fit.”
Vince sighs. He knows there’s some truth there. If Eric wasn’t blowing up at Dom, it’d just be someone else. “Look, though,” he says. “We maybe - what do you think about looking for an apartment or something today? I know you don’t have a job yet or anything, but I can cover you, man. Least I can do, until we get you something going.”
It takes a little arm twisting to get over his “a man’s gotta earn his own fucking keep” pride, but eventually Dom agrees to take Vince’s money for a place to live, and he and Turtle and Vince go hunting that afternoon. Johnny, who just got a good role on a television show, joins them midday, and they go with him to his new building to sign a contract with the real estate agent.
“This is a fucking nice area,” Dom says. “I could see a guy doin’ real well, livin’ here.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad,” Turtle agrees. The real estate agent, overhearing them, asks if they want to see another unit in a neighboring building that’s about to go on the market, and Vince ends up making an offer on a three-bedroom place two streets over from Johnny’s new place. Turtle and Dom can move in at the end of the month.
Eric’s supposed to meet them for dinner, but he cancels - unsurprisingly - and that annoys Vince enough that he doesn’t mention he’s made other arrangements for Dom that night. In fact, they don’t really talk at all until two nights later, when Johnny’s out with Larissa and Turtle and Dom have gone to cruise LAX. Eric comes in around dinner time and looks around, and Vince rolls his eyes. “They’re not here,” he says, taking a seat at the dining table.
“Oh,” Eric says. “Uh, good. I wanted to talk to you.”
“Yeah, me too.”
Eric nods. “Let me go first, all right?” Vince nods. “I, uh, I made an offer on a house today.”
Vince swallows. “What?” His first thought is that Eric’s buying a place for Dom, but then he realizes, from the nervous look on Eric’s face, that’s not what’s happening at all.
“It’s a good time to own real estate,” he says in a nervous version of his businesslike tone, and Vince feels cold. “There was a place in Malibu, it’s not on the market yet, uh, one of the execs at Paramount was selling and I heard about it and -”
“You bought a house?” Eric nods. He’s not really meeting Vince’s eyes. “You’re moving out?”
“Not really,” Eric says. “No. I just thought it might be good if I - I mean, I’ve got all of this money, it doesn’t really make sense for me to be living with you, you know?”
“Except it totally does,” Vince says. “You’re my boyfriend.”
“No one knows that,” Eric says. “You know what I mean. And I - I don’t know, Vin. I wanted some place I could go, I guess, in case anything happens.”
“Happens - with us, you mean.” Eric shrugs. He’s still not looking at Vince. He feels lightheaded, because suddenly he gets what talk they’re having. Eric bought a house. Another house, a house other than Vince’s. His own place. “Jesus Christ. Je-” Vince has to put his head down in his hands.
“Hey,” Eric says, sounding startled. “Vince?” His hands rest on Vince’s shoulders.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Vince asks, barely able to get the words out.
“What? No,” Eric says, fast. “No, Vince, I wouldn’t - I swear, you won’t even know I have the place. It’s for appearances, and the investment, I - I’m not leaving you. I’m not.”
Vince looks up, and now, Eric meets his eye. He looks so alarmed at the implication of breaking up that Vince believes him. He nods, and Eric nods and slowly draws his hands away. “What - uh, what did you want to talk about?”
“I bought Dom and Turtle a condo,” he says.
Eric laughs, startled. “Seriously? Where’s the condo?”
“Near Johnny’s building. On the Beverly Hills side.”
He shakes his head. “I can't wait for that call from Marvin.”
Vince cracks a smile. He still feels shaky and unsettled. “I can’t believe you bought a house,” he says.
“I can’t really, either,” Eric says. He rubs his face. “Just, this guy’s been talking about it, and yesterday, I was - I was so mad, and Dom got under my skin already about this stuff -”
“What stuff? What did you guys fight about, anyway?”
“It sounds stupid, now,” he says. “We got in this fight - he called me, uh, something new, great, whatever, and I told him his days were numbered here, that he couldn’t just live off your guilt and generosity forever. And he - he said that cut both ways, you know, that that’s a pretty bold argument for a guy to make when he’s also living off your generosity.”
Vince rolls his eyes. “I will sign this house over to you, if you want,” he says. “Or put your name on it. We’re partners, E - what’s mine really is yours.”
“I know that,” Eric says, though Vince doesn’t believe him. “But - not everyone else gets it. It - people who don’t know us, it does look like I’m a mooch. And I know, you don’t like hearing about or thinking about money, but for the first time in a long time, maybe my whole life, I’ve got enough. I’ve got more than enough, and I - a guy’s supposed to take care of himself, you know? It means something to me that I can do that, now, that it’s not always you paying for everything.”
Vince nods. “I know,” he says. “I know that about you.”
“OK,” Eric says. “I am sorry.” He sighs, and when he looks up, he looks so tired that Vince feels how he so often has recently: bad for bothering Eric at all.
“So, what’s say you spend some of that money on delivery?” Vince says, standing up. He drops his hands onto Eric’s shoulders and rubs, and Eric nods. “And then, maybe some hot tub time?”
“Fuck, yes,” he says. “I love being rich.”
Vince laughs. “And after that,” he promises, “I’ll give you some other reasons to keep coming home.”
Part 4