FIC: Get Used to It, Entourage, V/E, NC-17, 3/6
Previous.
The video releases and goes straight to the top, helped along by multiple mentions in all of the star mags that are currently tracking Vince. Turtle moves into Drama’s building but spends most of his time at the house anyway, because Eric is still twitchy about leaving. In fact, he gets so tired of cameras outside his door that when Turtle suggests they go to Vegas for Easter weekend, he jumps at the suggestion and makes the calls himself. They get a huge suite and all kinds of comps just for Vince staying around a few nights. They gamble a little and Eric wins twenty grand on a single roll at craps and says he’s done for the night. Vince, who’s down about that much, says he’s willing to call it a night, too, and they leave the guys debating whether to gamble more or hit the Pussycat Dolls show. Vince grips Eric’s shoulder as they walk across the casino so they don’t lose each other in the crowd, and in the elevator he pushes Eric up against the wall and says, “You’re so fucking hot,” and Eric laughs even as he’s being kissed.
“What’d I do?” he asks, his hands on Vince’s waist.
“I love a high roller,” Vince says, and then he bends to kiss and suck Eric’s neck.
They step out of the elevator still entangled, Eric backing Vince into the hallway and then against the wall there. They make out for a minute or so, until the rumbling of the elevator behind them starts to make Eric too nervous. Vince growls a little when Eric pulls back and he laughs again. He hooks Vince by the belt loop and says, “C’mon, Ace, let’s get a room.”
Vince grins and draws back. “Callin’ me DeNiro? Nice, E.” He slides his hand into Eric’s back pocket as they walk, and it’s only a little ways to their room so Eric lets him. As they turn the corner they run into a gaggle of girls in shiny club wear, and three of them have their camera phones out. Eric flinches, but when he looks over, Vince is just grinning, his head ducked a little toward Eric as he says, “Excuse us, ladies.”
Vince stays close to him as he unlocks the door, and inside, Eric tosses the card key on the side table and shakes free to walk to the bar. Vince follows and hops up on the counter, still grinning. “I think those girls got pictures of us,” Eric says.
“So what?” Vince says, grabbing Eric’s biceps. Eric puts his beer down and lets himself be dragged over so he’s standing between Vince’s legs. “This is what being out means, Eric. People can take pictures all they want, who the fuck cares? In fact, the more pictures they take, the less we get hassled.” He raises one eyebrow. “You wanna go down to the pool and give ‘em a real show?”
“You’re such an idiot,” Eric says, but he grins in spite of himself. What the hell, he thinks. Better those girls than the assholes outside their door at home. Vince cups his face, leans down and kisses him, and after a minute, in the new spirit of outness, Eric decides that Vince’s suggestion of a blowjob isn’t a bad one, and manages to get Vince’s belt undone and pants down in nearly record time. In the old spirit of fairness, Vince returns the favor, Eric sitting on a barstool while Vince goes down on him, and it’s during that the main door opens and the guys come in. Though they’re mostly put back together by the time Turtle rounds the corner, Eric knows he can see exactly what they’ve been up to. It’s not hard to tell, after all - Eric’s still fumbling with his belt and he knows he must be as red as the nickel chips downstairs, beyond still being hard, and Vince is standing, just buttoning his shirt. They’re both breathing like they’ve just run a four-minute mile.
“Uh, whoa, sorry,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs, fast and high pitched.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Eric says, closing his belt.
Drama appears behind Turtle. “We gonna smoke or what?”
Turtle holds up a joint. “Guys?”
They crowd out onto the balcony with them, and Vince drops into a lounge chair. Eric takes a seat on the edge of Vince’s chair, while Turtle hands a joint to Drama and starts rolling a new one.
Vince slides his hand up under Eric’s shirt back and says, “Raincheck?” and Eric laughs.
Turtle lights up, and Vince says, “What’s up, guys, I thought you were going to that show.”
“Nah, sold out, bro,” Drama says. “So we thought we’d see if you guys wanted to hit Pure.”
“You mean you realized you couldn’t get in VIP without Vince,” Eric says, and Drama takes a hit and rolls his eyes at the same time.
“Shut up, dickbreath,” he says, and Eric actually thinks Jesus Christ, do I really - before he realizes it’s just an insult like always.
“So, Vin, whaddya say?” Turtle asks.
Vince rubs Eric’s back. “I kind of had some plans of my own,” he says.
Drama snorts. “So get E to jerk you in the bathroom and let’s go.”
Eric starts to protest, but Vince beats him to it. “All right, look, I’ll go, but only if you promise to knock this shit off with E.”
“What stuff?” Drama says, and then, as Vince stares at him, “OK, yeah, whatever, best behavior, bro.”
“All right.” Vince looks up at Eric and Eric frowns. “What?” he says, and Eric shakes his head. He gets off the chair and says he’s going to change, and after a few minutes Vince joins him in their room, smelling like weed.
“I can fight my own fucking battles,” Eric says, struggling into a T-shirt.
“Jesus,” Vince says, falling back on the bed. “I don’t say anything, I’m a jerk, I do say something -”
“You’re just feeding into what he’s talking about,” Eric says. “He’s been calling me a pussy in every way possible for the last two weeks, and now it looks like I need big strong Vince to step in for me?”
“E,” Vince says, shaking his head, and his hand snakes out and grabs Eric by the pantsleg. “Eric. Come on. I’ll do whatever you want. Fuck what Johnny thinks, what anyone thinks. I just want you to be happy, I just want things to work out.”
Eric looks down and knows Vince is telling the truth. Vince just wants everything to be OK. Eric doesn’t want to ruin things. “I know,” he says. He sits on the bed and rests his hand on Vince’s abs. “It’s cool, we’re OK.”
Vince sits up and drapes himself over Eric’s back. “You gonna dance with me?” he asks, his breath warm against Eric’s ear.
“Not likely,” Eric says. “But I will watch.”
“Mm.” Vince kisses his neck. “Jesus, you’re tense.”
“Fucking Drama, Vin, I’m telling you.”
“You could just get him back,” Vince says. “Have a little fun with him, too. If he’s as weirded out as you think he is, rub his face in it. He’ll knock it off if you hit back.”
Eric looks back at him. “You’re telling me to pick a fight with your brother?”
“No, I’m saying, fight words with words, E.” Vince kisses him again. “But if you have to get physical, promise me you’ll watch the face, all right, bruiser? He’s got to work.”
Eric laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”
“And speaking of physical,” Vince says, his hands sliding up under the shirt Eric just put on, “I believe we were interrupted before.”
“The guys are waiting,” Eric says.
“They can wait a little longer.”
At the club, Vince does disappear onto the dance floor for a while, and Eric gets a drink and settles in at their table. He really doesn’t mind watching - Vince is hot, and Eric knows Vince knows it, and Eric knows Vince knows exactly what will happen if he lays anything more than the most casual hand on the girls who surround him. That’s the nice part of the grown-up relationship; he’s been watching Vince with girls his whole life, so he doesn’t have to waste much energy on worrying about it now. It’s weird, he knows, how something like the video sets him off, but this doesn’t bother him. He tries not to think too much about it.
Drama settles in next to him, smoking a cigar, and Eric coughs and waves his hand. “Jesus, what is that, made from seaweed or something?”
“I’ll have you know, this is a fine Honduran cigar. Cigar Aficionado gave it a very high rating, higher than some Cubans. What you’re smelling is probably its subtle grassy notes.”
“It smells like fucking rot, Drama, can you shove over or something?”
“No taste for the finer things,” he says, and scoots so he’s sitting in the corner of the booth. Eric looks out at the floor, where Turtle’s totally striking out with a girl in a pink dress and Vince is in the middle of a small ring of onlookers, swinging his arms and his hips in time with the beat, just fucking gorgeous under the flashing lights.
Drama says, “I don’t know, E, looks like he’s got his eye on that little blonde.”
And yeah, there’s a girl in there with him, and she’s a little close for comfort, but Eric’s not really bothered. If it weren’t for Drama’s cigar, he’d be able to still smell Vince on his own skin. He thinks about what Vince said and smirks. “Yeah, well forty-five minutes ago, he had his mouth on my cock, so I’m not too worried about his eye.”
“Jesus,” Drama says, leaning forward fast and looking around with his eyes all bugged out, the cigar forgotten in his hand. “Christ, E, there could be reporters. What the fuck, you’re calling Vince a cocksucker in front of everybody?”
“We’re out now,” Eric says. “I’m not calling him anything, I’m stating a fucking fact.” Eric leans back, enjoying the alarmed look on Drama’s face a little too much.
Turtle drops back into the chair opposite Eric and picks up his drink.
“No go?” Eric asks, though it’s obvious.
Turtle shakes his head. “She went back to hang with her friends.”
“Couldn’t close, huh?” Drama takes a theatrical puff on his cigar. “Christ, am I the only real man left among us?”
Before Eric can get a word in, Turtle says, “You guys are at it again?”
“Ahh, ignore him,” Eric says. “He’s all offended because he just discovered that his brother and I do more than read the Bible in the evenings.”
“Hey, I resent that,” Drama says. “You know I’ve got no problem with you guys being - how you guys are.”
“Right, no problem at all,” Eric says. “Say, where’s your masseuse friend this trip?”
Turtle laughs, and so does Eric. Fuck, it feels good to have Drama be the one at the table who’s uncomfortable. Turtle says, “Yeah, whatever happened to Ken, Drama? He seemed like a cool guy, just your type. Couldn’t close, huh?”
“I could give you some tips, if you want,” Eric says. He looks out to the floor and manages to catch Vince’s eye, grins at him and tips his drink in Vince’s direction. “Look who I landed.”
“Fuck you, I don’t need your help,” Drama says. “Besides, you didn’t land him, you lucked into him. Let’s face it, he’s way out of your league.”
Turtle says, “Like Ken was anywhere in yours.”
“Shut up about that.”
“Why, did we hit a nerve?” Eric knocks back the rest of his beer, then grabs Drama’s cell off the table. He’s laughing for about the first time this week. “What’s his number, I bet I can patch this all up.”
“Give that back,” Drama says, lunging, dropping the cigar, and Eric dodges and slides out of the booth.
He’s not really looking for anything in the phone, just scrolling through Drama’s huge contact list, but he says - “Yo, here, is this him?”
Drama reaches for the phone again, misses, and then struggles out of the booth on the other side. Eric looks at the screen. “Jesus, are these little hearts around his name? Sad, Drama. This is a new low of pathetic even for you.” He grabs for the phone again and Eric dodges away.
“Fuck you, you fucking pussy,” Drama snarls.
Eric slowly lowers the phone. “Say that again,” he says, squaring his footing.
“Yo yo yo,” Turtle says, suddenly standing between them. “Ease up, fellas, you’re in public.”
Drama says, “Tell him to give me back my fucking phone.”
Turtle looks at Eric, widens his eyes a little, and Eric shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says, and hands it back, just as he sees Vince pushing through the crowd.
“Everything OK?” he asks, one hand on Drama’s shoulder though he’s looking right at Eric.
“Fine,” Eric says.
“Your girlfriend’s a fucking douche-bag,” Drama says.
“Your brother’s a -”
“Stop it,” Vince says. “Jesus Christ, the pair of you. Turtle, get the car. If you’re gonna beat each other up, at least can we do it in fucking private?”
Eric shrugs. “Anytime he wants a fair fight instead of this pussy name-calling shit, I’ll go,” he says. Vince just glares at him and doesn’t touch him, and Eric starts to feel bad. But Drama’s glaring at him, too, and that makes him feel, well, justified. The guy is being a total fucking prick.
When they get in the car, Vince, sitting in the back with Eric, says, “OK, what the fuck is going on, you two?”
“You know my side,” Eric says, looking out the window.
“Johnny, what’s the deal?”
Eric expects more denials. Instead, Drama says, “He’s cock-blocking my career!” and Eric’s head jerks around.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“The Courier pilot,” Drama says, and Eric flinches.
Vince says, “What about it?”
“Your fucking boytoy there torpedoed my chances.”
Eric rubs his face. “That’s not what happened.”
Drama snorts. “I have it on good authority that, until they called you, I had that part nailed.”
Vince turns. “E, is this true?”
“No,” he says. “No one from there called me.” Vince is still looking at him, and Eric takes a deep breath. “Lloyd called me.”
“What?”
Eric can’t look at Drama or Vince. “They wanted to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Vince asks.
Usually, this is the kind of shit he’d spare Drama from, but tonight, he wants him to hear it all. “You for him,” he says. “They wanted you to commit to a guest spot, maybe an arc, during sweeps.”
“And you said no.” Eric nods. “Without asking me.”
“Do you know how many things I don’t ask you about in a day?”
“But I’m his brother,” Drama says, and Eric looks up. Drama’s face is red, his fists are clenched. “I’m fucking family, and you’re - you’re still on the payroll.”
Eric hears Vince scoff or gasp or something; it’s hard to tell what the noise is over the pulse in his ears. “Yeah, you’re right,” Eric says, “maybe I’m not family, but I work every fucking day. I get paid because I work, Drama, which is more than I can say for you.”
“Oh come on, E. Everyone in the whole fucking world knows you basically get paid to suck Vince’s cock,” Drama says, and Eric jerks forward but Vince’s arm around his chest stops him.
“Stop it!” Vince yells, almost at the same time Turtle does.
Turtle says, “Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to make someone get out and walk?”
Vince is panting, and so is Eric. Drama’s half-turned, glaring at him but also looking kind of alarmed, and Eric turns from him to look at Vince. Vince’s eyes are wide but he’s staring at the floor. Turtle says, “Jesus Christ, Drama,” and Eric sits back, but Vince doesn’t.
“OK,” Eric says, rubbing Vince’s tight shoulder. “OK. Hey. Hey,” he says, until Vince looks back at him. “OK, I’m sorry, I’m done.”
Vince frowns, but when Eric pulls on his shoulder he sits back. He’s looking at the front, where Drama’s hunched up in his seat. “No more of this,” he says, although quietly, so only Eric can hear. “He’s just trying to get you.”
Eric nods, but he thinks, it’s fucking working. Drama’s talking to Turtle in low mutter up front, and Eric decides to let it go. Drama being fucking Drama, after all, and he doesn’t want to make anything worse for Vince. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaning against Vince’s arm, and after a minute Vince nods, and he lets Eric rub his shoulders. They’re kissing when they arrive at hotel, and when Drama says, “Turtle, get the hose,” Eric doesn’t even flip him off.
The next day, of course, there’s an awkward talk. A couple of them, actually, starting with Vince saying, “Is that thing about Lloyd calling true?”
Eric thinks, then feels bad for having to think, before he tells the truth. “Yeah,” he says. Vince is lying on his back in the bed, Eric sitting up against the headboard. He looks down, but Vince’s eyes are closed, his face unexpressive.
“You passed?”
“We fucking had to, Vince,” Eric says. “Basic cable? Right now - you know we gotta concentrate on filming, and we don’t want you unavailable if something comes up. And -” He pauses again, not sure of how much to say, but fuck it, Vince can’t not get this. “And… it’s not a good time.”
He expects Vince to argue, but Vince just opens his eyes and says, “Yeah. I know.”
Eric swallows. “Yeah?”
Vince shrugs. “The first thing I do after coming out, for it to be a TV series - I get it, E. And I get that that was your problem with the video, too, and I think it was a valid concern. OK? I know you’re looking out.” Vince puts his hand on Eric’s leg.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, about the pilot,” Eric says.
“I’m not.” Vince shrugs. “Thanks for it not being my decision.”
The drive home also has its awkward moments, like Drama pausing in the middle of calling Turtle a cocksucker, but mostly they’re OK. Drama even buys Eric a package of jalapeño kettle chips when they stop midway, and Eric takes those as an apology. By the time they get back in L.A., he’s feeling better about the whole weekend. Maybe they both just needed to push things, to blow off a little steam, and now they’ll be able to get back to being friends.
A week later, they all go to the gym with Vince. In addition to the typical machines they have boxing rings on the first floor, near the free weights. It reminds Eric of being very young to be around boxers, reminds him of his dad placing money on the big Tyson fights and recalling the real glory days of boxing, Sugar Ray and then Ali. Drama claims to have some experience in boxing - Drama, if given an opportunity, would probably claim to have experience in nuclear fission - and so they’re both down on the floor, Drama hitting the heavy bag while Eric holds it, while Vince finishes up with cardio. Turtle’s sitting on the floor messing with his new MP3 player. The place is mostly empty, except for a trainer and another high-profile client - a pro, Eric guesses - on the other side of the floor. They’re closed to the public whenever Vince is scheduled.
“That’s a nice one,” Eric says, rocking back with the weight of Drama’s punch. He’s trying to be kind to Drama, because he feels for the guy, a little, and because it makes Vince angry if he’s not. He hasn’t had any auditions since that pilot, and he’s been sort of bummed about things since Vegas.
“Thanks, bro,” Drama says. “You wanna hit for a while? I should lay off or I’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Eric says. They switch places, and Eric warms up with a few slow crosses. “What’s up tomorrow?”
“Got an audition,” Drama says.
“Yeah? All right, Drama, that’s good. What for?”
“New show on Fox,” he says. “It’s a recurring character, ex-husband of the lead. Guy has a motorcycle dealership. Tough guy with a good heart. I think I got it nailed.”
Eric’s glad that the workout is taking most of his attention, because he hits the bag instead of snickering. “Sounds good, man.”
“Who’s the girl, Drama?” Turtle asks.
Eric settles into a half-crouch, gives the bag a good one-two combination, and Drama turns to talk to Turtle. “Jane McAllister,” he says, and Turtle laughs.
“Aww, you’re gonna fuck Vin’s fallout on camera, now, too?” he asks, then says, quickly, “Sorry, E.”
“The fuck do I care,” he says. He’s starting to get the nice warmth up his biceps that means he’s doing it right. He sinks another jab.
“Actually, about that,” Drama says. “E - you think Vin could put in a good word with her?”
Eric sighs. “You really want him to call some girl he hooked up with a hundred years ago, Drama? I’m not sure that’s gonna work out for you the way you hope.”
“Come on, she’s not gonna be mad,” Drama says. “I mean, not now.”
“Why not now? Is she married or something?” Turtle asks.
“No, but Vince is,” Drama says. Eric rolls his eyes and hits the bag again, a nice combo that makes Drama wince a little. “All those girls who were heartbroken he never called back - you know they’re all over it now, right? They all blame you, not him.”
Eric laughs. His breath’s coming a little fast, now, and he shifts into a full crouch, really going at the bag. What Drama’s saying - maybe it’s true. Girls are still friendly to Vince, which Eric finds a little baffling. If they’re mad at him, though, that’s just fine. “Great,” he says, keeping his head down.
“So - what do you say?”
“Talk to Vince.”
Drama huffs. “Come on, you know he’s just gonna send me back to you.”
“Tell him I said,” Eric manages. He’s panting good now, really starting to feel it. This is how a workout should be.
“Or you could just tell him to do it.”
His eye stings, and Eric stops, wipes sweat back from his forehead. “Drama, I don’t tell him what to do,” Eric says. “I’m his manager, not his boss.”
Drama snorts. “You mean you’re his girlfriend, not his wife, right?”
Eric steadies his footing again. Just ignore it, he thinks, and says, “Ready?”
“Nah,” Drama says, and steps back. “I’m not helping you if you don’t help me.”
Eric rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Drama, can you not be a little kid about this? Come on, just hold the fucking bag.”
“Not until you say he’ll make the call,” Drama says.
“Go ask him,” Eric says, crossing his arms. He rubs his hands over his warm muscles. Jesus, he doesn’t want to lose his rhythm now. “I can’t just say he’s gonna call this girl. They had a thing, maybe he doesn’t want to.”
“Maybe you don’t want him to,” Drama says. “What’s the matter, E, you jealous? Afraid he might turn back?”
“Fuck you,” Eric says. “Turtle, hold the bag.”
“No way,” Turtle says, still staring at his player. “I’m not getting in the middle of this shit.”
Eric takes a step forward. What he wants, right now, is to hit something. Drama would do, he thinks, catching his sneer. He rubs his forehead again and half-turns, looking at the boxing ring. What he wants to do is tell Drama they should go, just climb up in there and beat the crap out of each other. But he thinks about Vince walking in and seeing it, thinks about Vince’s face the other night in the car. He takes a deep breath.
And then he’s nearly knocked over. Drama’s hit the bag or pushed it or something, but it’s just rammed right into Eric’s side and knocked him totally off balance. He turns and narrowly misses getting hit by the bag again, but manages to grab it with both hands on the sides. “What the fuck?” he says as the bag drags him toward center again.
“You’re sabotaging me,” Drama says, and he hits the bag while Eric’s still holding on to it, so his head bangs against the sweaty leather. “You’re fucking -”
“Jesus, I am not,” Eric says, taking a step to the side, closer to the wall. He puts a hand out to steady himself. “But we’ve got enough to fucking deal with right now without Vince having to worry about your goddamned joke of a career.”
“Take that back,” Drama says, his hands still up from hitting the bag.
“You take back all the shit you’ve been saying, then,” Eric says. “Stop all your fucking gay jokes.”
“Stop being such a fucking fag and I will,” Drama says.
Eric drops and charges, but he’s in a bad position, trapped between the wall and the bag and Drama, and Drama drops the bag again and Eric gets slammed before he’s even reached him. His head connects with the wall, and he feels a scary, sluggish thud inside his skull, and when he tries to shake it off the room tilts and blurs for a second. But he can still see Drama a few feet in front of him, his fists up, and Eric takes a clumsy swing at him, and for a few seconds or minutes it’s just the chaos of a fight, Eric hitting him every time he can, his fists against Drama’s chest and shoulders and arms and even Drama’s fists, his elbow connecting once with what might be Drama’s rib or collarbone or shoulder. They hit the floor still wailing on each other. Turtle’s yelling at them but Eric can’t pay attention to anything but trying to get Drama off his fucking chest, and he gets in a clumsy open-handed strike against his jaw. That seems to work, because suddenly Drama’s toppling backwards and away and Eric wants to go after him but he realizes it’s nothing he’s done; one of the trainers has grabbed Drama by the arms and yanked him up and off, and before Eric can react Turtle’s got a hold on him, too.
“The fuck are you doing?” Turtle yells.
Eric’s panting, and when he tries to answer he tastes blood in his mouth. He can hear Drama snarling at the trainer who’s holding him back, but instead of making him angrier, the noise makes Eric deflate. Drama has a bloody lip and one hand across his chest; Eric feels a little sick. “Oh, fuck me,” he says, and sees Vince and his trainer running down the stairs. He shrugs Turtle off and gets to his feet, which is harder than it should be.
“You aren’t gonna -”
“No,” Eric says. He feels wetness under his nose and rubs, not entirely surprised to find blood there. The other trainer has let go of Drama, and Eric approaches him with his hands out, wanting a chance to talk before Vince gets there. “Drama,” he starts, and Drama backs off a step. His lip is bloody. Eric’s knuckles are scraped.
“You know what, I’ll find my own fucking way home,” he says, and turns around; after a glance at Eric, Turtle follows him. When they run into Vince, Vince stops Turtle, and they have some fast whispered discussion that Eric can’t hear. Doesn’t want to hear, also, he decides, when Turtle rushes off and Vince comes right at him, looking pissed off.
“Seriously?” he says, and Eric rubs his face, forgetting about the blood until he smears it.
“I’m sorry,” Eric says, or tries to, but he has to clear his throat just to talk. He needs somewhere to spit the blood, finally just has to swallow.
“Christ,” Vince says, and grabs him roughly by the shoulder. “Hey, Kerwin, can you take a look at him?”
“What? Vince, I’m fine,” Eric says.
Vince rolls his eyes. “Sure. You’re bleeding all over the place.”
Kerwin is standing next to him, looking at Eric with his head tilted to the side. “Were you knocked out?”
“No,” Eric says. He touches his nose carefully, then presses on the bridge. “See, nothing broken. I’m OK.” He takes the towel Kerwin offers to wipe off his face. It comes back pink with blood and spit, and Eric folds it over and holds it to his mouth.
“Should be OK.” Kerwin claps Vince on the biceps and says, “We can pick up tomorrow if you need to get Rocky home.”
“Yeah,” Vince says, glaring at Eric, “thanks. We’re gonna go.”
Eric doesn’t protest. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what he can say. Vince asked him not to fight with Drama and he did it; he hit him in the face, even, after being specifically asked not to. Vince says, “Get your stuff, let’s roll,” and Eric nods and turns to pick up his bag from the floor. And it’s that - not Drama, not the fight, but leaning over for his bag and then standing up too quick - that makes something click off in his head, and before he can even reach out for Vince or the wall or anything, he’s out.
Next
The video releases and goes straight to the top, helped along by multiple mentions in all of the star mags that are currently tracking Vince. Turtle moves into Drama’s building but spends most of his time at the house anyway, because Eric is still twitchy about leaving. In fact, he gets so tired of cameras outside his door that when Turtle suggests they go to Vegas for Easter weekend, he jumps at the suggestion and makes the calls himself. They get a huge suite and all kinds of comps just for Vince staying around a few nights. They gamble a little and Eric wins twenty grand on a single roll at craps and says he’s done for the night. Vince, who’s down about that much, says he’s willing to call it a night, too, and they leave the guys debating whether to gamble more or hit the Pussycat Dolls show. Vince grips Eric’s shoulder as they walk across the casino so they don’t lose each other in the crowd, and in the elevator he pushes Eric up against the wall and says, “You’re so fucking hot,” and Eric laughs even as he’s being kissed.
“What’d I do?” he asks, his hands on Vince’s waist.
“I love a high roller,” Vince says, and then he bends to kiss and suck Eric’s neck.
They step out of the elevator still entangled, Eric backing Vince into the hallway and then against the wall there. They make out for a minute or so, until the rumbling of the elevator behind them starts to make Eric too nervous. Vince growls a little when Eric pulls back and he laughs again. He hooks Vince by the belt loop and says, “C’mon, Ace, let’s get a room.”
Vince grins and draws back. “Callin’ me DeNiro? Nice, E.” He slides his hand into Eric’s back pocket as they walk, and it’s only a little ways to their room so Eric lets him. As they turn the corner they run into a gaggle of girls in shiny club wear, and three of them have their camera phones out. Eric flinches, but when he looks over, Vince is just grinning, his head ducked a little toward Eric as he says, “Excuse us, ladies.”
Vince stays close to him as he unlocks the door, and inside, Eric tosses the card key on the side table and shakes free to walk to the bar. Vince follows and hops up on the counter, still grinning. “I think those girls got pictures of us,” Eric says.
“So what?” Vince says, grabbing Eric’s biceps. Eric puts his beer down and lets himself be dragged over so he’s standing between Vince’s legs. “This is what being out means, Eric. People can take pictures all they want, who the fuck cares? In fact, the more pictures they take, the less we get hassled.” He raises one eyebrow. “You wanna go down to the pool and give ‘em a real show?”
“You’re such an idiot,” Eric says, but he grins in spite of himself. What the hell, he thinks. Better those girls than the assholes outside their door at home. Vince cups his face, leans down and kisses him, and after a minute, in the new spirit of outness, Eric decides that Vince’s suggestion of a blowjob isn’t a bad one, and manages to get Vince’s belt undone and pants down in nearly record time. In the old spirit of fairness, Vince returns the favor, Eric sitting on a barstool while Vince goes down on him, and it’s during that the main door opens and the guys come in. Though they’re mostly put back together by the time Turtle rounds the corner, Eric knows he can see exactly what they’ve been up to. It’s not hard to tell, after all - Eric’s still fumbling with his belt and he knows he must be as red as the nickel chips downstairs, beyond still being hard, and Vince is standing, just buttoning his shirt. They’re both breathing like they’ve just run a four-minute mile.
“Uh, whoa, sorry,” Turtle says, and Vince laughs, fast and high pitched.
“Not as sorry as I am,” Eric says, closing his belt.
Drama appears behind Turtle. “We gonna smoke or what?”
Turtle holds up a joint. “Guys?”
They crowd out onto the balcony with them, and Vince drops into a lounge chair. Eric takes a seat on the edge of Vince’s chair, while Turtle hands a joint to Drama and starts rolling a new one.
Vince slides his hand up under Eric’s shirt back and says, “Raincheck?” and Eric laughs.
Turtle lights up, and Vince says, “What’s up, guys, I thought you were going to that show.”
“Nah, sold out, bro,” Drama says. “So we thought we’d see if you guys wanted to hit Pure.”
“You mean you realized you couldn’t get in VIP without Vince,” Eric says, and Drama takes a hit and rolls his eyes at the same time.
“Shut up, dickbreath,” he says, and Eric actually thinks Jesus Christ, do I really - before he realizes it’s just an insult like always.
“So, Vin, whaddya say?” Turtle asks.
Vince rubs Eric’s back. “I kind of had some plans of my own,” he says.
Drama snorts. “So get E to jerk you in the bathroom and let’s go.”
Eric starts to protest, but Vince beats him to it. “All right, look, I’ll go, but only if you promise to knock this shit off with E.”
“What stuff?” Drama says, and then, as Vince stares at him, “OK, yeah, whatever, best behavior, bro.”
“All right.” Vince looks up at Eric and Eric frowns. “What?” he says, and Eric shakes his head. He gets off the chair and says he’s going to change, and after a few minutes Vince joins him in their room, smelling like weed.
“I can fight my own fucking battles,” Eric says, struggling into a T-shirt.
“Jesus,” Vince says, falling back on the bed. “I don’t say anything, I’m a jerk, I do say something -”
“You’re just feeding into what he’s talking about,” Eric says. “He’s been calling me a pussy in every way possible for the last two weeks, and now it looks like I need big strong Vince to step in for me?”
“E,” Vince says, shaking his head, and his hand snakes out and grabs Eric by the pantsleg. “Eric. Come on. I’ll do whatever you want. Fuck what Johnny thinks, what anyone thinks. I just want you to be happy, I just want things to work out.”
Eric looks down and knows Vince is telling the truth. Vince just wants everything to be OK. Eric doesn’t want to ruin things. “I know,” he says. He sits on the bed and rests his hand on Vince’s abs. “It’s cool, we’re OK.”
Vince sits up and drapes himself over Eric’s back. “You gonna dance with me?” he asks, his breath warm against Eric’s ear.
“Not likely,” Eric says. “But I will watch.”
“Mm.” Vince kisses his neck. “Jesus, you’re tense.”
“Fucking Drama, Vin, I’m telling you.”
“You could just get him back,” Vince says. “Have a little fun with him, too. If he’s as weirded out as you think he is, rub his face in it. He’ll knock it off if you hit back.”
Eric looks back at him. “You’re telling me to pick a fight with your brother?”
“No, I’m saying, fight words with words, E.” Vince kisses him again. “But if you have to get physical, promise me you’ll watch the face, all right, bruiser? He’s got to work.”
Eric laughs. “Yeah, yeah.”
“And speaking of physical,” Vince says, his hands sliding up under the shirt Eric just put on, “I believe we were interrupted before.”
“The guys are waiting,” Eric says.
“They can wait a little longer.”
At the club, Vince does disappear onto the dance floor for a while, and Eric gets a drink and settles in at their table. He really doesn’t mind watching - Vince is hot, and Eric knows Vince knows it, and Eric knows Vince knows exactly what will happen if he lays anything more than the most casual hand on the girls who surround him. That’s the nice part of the grown-up relationship; he’s been watching Vince with girls his whole life, so he doesn’t have to waste much energy on worrying about it now. It’s weird, he knows, how something like the video sets him off, but this doesn’t bother him. He tries not to think too much about it.
Drama settles in next to him, smoking a cigar, and Eric coughs and waves his hand. “Jesus, what is that, made from seaweed or something?”
“I’ll have you know, this is a fine Honduran cigar. Cigar Aficionado gave it a very high rating, higher than some Cubans. What you’re smelling is probably its subtle grassy notes.”
“It smells like fucking rot, Drama, can you shove over or something?”
“No taste for the finer things,” he says, and scoots so he’s sitting in the corner of the booth. Eric looks out at the floor, where Turtle’s totally striking out with a girl in a pink dress and Vince is in the middle of a small ring of onlookers, swinging his arms and his hips in time with the beat, just fucking gorgeous under the flashing lights.
Drama says, “I don’t know, E, looks like he’s got his eye on that little blonde.”
And yeah, there’s a girl in there with him, and she’s a little close for comfort, but Eric’s not really bothered. If it weren’t for Drama’s cigar, he’d be able to still smell Vince on his own skin. He thinks about what Vince said and smirks. “Yeah, well forty-five minutes ago, he had his mouth on my cock, so I’m not too worried about his eye.”
“Jesus,” Drama says, leaning forward fast and looking around with his eyes all bugged out, the cigar forgotten in his hand. “Christ, E, there could be reporters. What the fuck, you’re calling Vince a cocksucker in front of everybody?”
“We’re out now,” Eric says. “I’m not calling him anything, I’m stating a fucking fact.” Eric leans back, enjoying the alarmed look on Drama’s face a little too much.
Turtle drops back into the chair opposite Eric and picks up his drink.
“No go?” Eric asks, though it’s obvious.
Turtle shakes his head. “She went back to hang with her friends.”
“Couldn’t close, huh?” Drama takes a theatrical puff on his cigar. “Christ, am I the only real man left among us?”
Before Eric can get a word in, Turtle says, “You guys are at it again?”
“Ahh, ignore him,” Eric says. “He’s all offended because he just discovered that his brother and I do more than read the Bible in the evenings.”
“Hey, I resent that,” Drama says. “You know I’ve got no problem with you guys being - how you guys are.”
“Right, no problem at all,” Eric says. “Say, where’s your masseuse friend this trip?”
Turtle laughs, and so does Eric. Fuck, it feels good to have Drama be the one at the table who’s uncomfortable. Turtle says, “Yeah, whatever happened to Ken, Drama? He seemed like a cool guy, just your type. Couldn’t close, huh?”
“I could give you some tips, if you want,” Eric says. He looks out to the floor and manages to catch Vince’s eye, grins at him and tips his drink in Vince’s direction. “Look who I landed.”
“Fuck you, I don’t need your help,” Drama says. “Besides, you didn’t land him, you lucked into him. Let’s face it, he’s way out of your league.”
Turtle says, “Like Ken was anywhere in yours.”
“Shut up about that.”
“Why, did we hit a nerve?” Eric knocks back the rest of his beer, then grabs Drama’s cell off the table. He’s laughing for about the first time this week. “What’s his number, I bet I can patch this all up.”
“Give that back,” Drama says, lunging, dropping the cigar, and Eric dodges and slides out of the booth.
He’s not really looking for anything in the phone, just scrolling through Drama’s huge contact list, but he says - “Yo, here, is this him?”
Drama reaches for the phone again, misses, and then struggles out of the booth on the other side. Eric looks at the screen. “Jesus, are these little hearts around his name? Sad, Drama. This is a new low of pathetic even for you.” He grabs for the phone again and Eric dodges away.
“Fuck you, you fucking pussy,” Drama snarls.
Eric slowly lowers the phone. “Say that again,” he says, squaring his footing.
“Yo yo yo,” Turtle says, suddenly standing between them. “Ease up, fellas, you’re in public.”
Drama says, “Tell him to give me back my fucking phone.”
Turtle looks at Eric, widens his eyes a little, and Eric shakes his head. “Whatever,” he says, and hands it back, just as he sees Vince pushing through the crowd.
“Everything OK?” he asks, one hand on Drama’s shoulder though he’s looking right at Eric.
“Fine,” Eric says.
“Your girlfriend’s a fucking douche-bag,” Drama says.
“Your brother’s a -”
“Stop it,” Vince says. “Jesus Christ, the pair of you. Turtle, get the car. If you’re gonna beat each other up, at least can we do it in fucking private?”
Eric shrugs. “Anytime he wants a fair fight instead of this pussy name-calling shit, I’ll go,” he says. Vince just glares at him and doesn’t touch him, and Eric starts to feel bad. But Drama’s glaring at him, too, and that makes him feel, well, justified. The guy is being a total fucking prick.
When they get in the car, Vince, sitting in the back with Eric, says, “OK, what the fuck is going on, you two?”
“You know my side,” Eric says, looking out the window.
“Johnny, what’s the deal?”
Eric expects more denials. Instead, Drama says, “He’s cock-blocking my career!” and Eric’s head jerks around.
“The fuck are you talking about?”
“The Courier pilot,” Drama says, and Eric flinches.
Vince says, “What about it?”
“Your fucking boytoy there torpedoed my chances.”
Eric rubs his face. “That’s not what happened.”
Drama snorts. “I have it on good authority that, until they called you, I had that part nailed.”
Vince turns. “E, is this true?”
“No,” he says. “No one from there called me.” Vince is still looking at him, and Eric takes a deep breath. “Lloyd called me.”
“What?”
Eric can’t look at Drama or Vince. “They wanted to make a deal.”
“What kind of deal?” Vince asks.
Usually, this is the kind of shit he’d spare Drama from, but tonight, he wants him to hear it all. “You for him,” he says. “They wanted you to commit to a guest spot, maybe an arc, during sweeps.”
“And you said no.” Eric nods. “Without asking me.”
“Do you know how many things I don’t ask you about in a day?”
“But I’m his brother,” Drama says, and Eric looks up. Drama’s face is red, his fists are clenched. “I’m fucking family, and you’re - you’re still on the payroll.”
Eric hears Vince scoff or gasp or something; it’s hard to tell what the noise is over the pulse in his ears. “Yeah, you’re right,” Eric says, “maybe I’m not family, but I work every fucking day. I get paid because I work, Drama, which is more than I can say for you.”
“Oh come on, E. Everyone in the whole fucking world knows you basically get paid to suck Vince’s cock,” Drama says, and Eric jerks forward but Vince’s arm around his chest stops him.
“Stop it!” Vince yells, almost at the same time Turtle does.
Turtle says, “Jesus fucking Christ, do I have to make someone get out and walk?”
Vince is panting, and so is Eric. Drama’s half-turned, glaring at him but also looking kind of alarmed, and Eric turns from him to look at Vince. Vince’s eyes are wide but he’s staring at the floor. Turtle says, “Jesus Christ, Drama,” and Eric sits back, but Vince doesn’t.
“OK,” Eric says, rubbing Vince’s tight shoulder. “OK. Hey. Hey,” he says, until Vince looks back at him. “OK, I’m sorry, I’m done.”
Vince frowns, but when Eric pulls on his shoulder he sits back. He’s looking at the front, where Drama’s hunched up in his seat. “No more of this,” he says, although quietly, so only Eric can hear. “He’s just trying to get you.”
Eric nods, but he thinks, it’s fucking working. Drama’s talking to Turtle in low mutter up front, and Eric decides to let it go. Drama being fucking Drama, after all, and he doesn’t want to make anything worse for Vince. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, leaning against Vince’s arm, and after a minute Vince nods, and he lets Eric rub his shoulders. They’re kissing when they arrive at hotel, and when Drama says, “Turtle, get the hose,” Eric doesn’t even flip him off.
The next day, of course, there’s an awkward talk. A couple of them, actually, starting with Vince saying, “Is that thing about Lloyd calling true?”
Eric thinks, then feels bad for having to think, before he tells the truth. “Yeah,” he says. Vince is lying on his back in the bed, Eric sitting up against the headboard. He looks down, but Vince’s eyes are closed, his face unexpressive.
“You passed?”
“We fucking had to, Vince,” Eric says. “Basic cable? Right now - you know we gotta concentrate on filming, and we don’t want you unavailable if something comes up. And -” He pauses again, not sure of how much to say, but fuck it, Vince can’t not get this. “And… it’s not a good time.”
He expects Vince to argue, but Vince just opens his eyes and says, “Yeah. I know.”
Eric swallows. “Yeah?”
Vince shrugs. “The first thing I do after coming out, for it to be a TV series - I get it, E. And I get that that was your problem with the video, too, and I think it was a valid concern. OK? I know you’re looking out.” Vince puts his hand on Eric’s leg.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, about the pilot,” Eric says.
“I’m not.” Vince shrugs. “Thanks for it not being my decision.”
The drive home also has its awkward moments, like Drama pausing in the middle of calling Turtle a cocksucker, but mostly they’re OK. Drama even buys Eric a package of jalapeño kettle chips when they stop midway, and Eric takes those as an apology. By the time they get back in L.A., he’s feeling better about the whole weekend. Maybe they both just needed to push things, to blow off a little steam, and now they’ll be able to get back to being friends.
A week later, they all go to the gym with Vince. In addition to the typical machines they have boxing rings on the first floor, near the free weights. It reminds Eric of being very young to be around boxers, reminds him of his dad placing money on the big Tyson fights and recalling the real glory days of boxing, Sugar Ray and then Ali. Drama claims to have some experience in boxing - Drama, if given an opportunity, would probably claim to have experience in nuclear fission - and so they’re both down on the floor, Drama hitting the heavy bag while Eric holds it, while Vince finishes up with cardio. Turtle’s sitting on the floor messing with his new MP3 player. The place is mostly empty, except for a trainer and another high-profile client - a pro, Eric guesses - on the other side of the floor. They’re closed to the public whenever Vince is scheduled.
“That’s a nice one,” Eric says, rocking back with the weight of Drama’s punch. He’s trying to be kind to Drama, because he feels for the guy, a little, and because it makes Vince angry if he’s not. He hasn’t had any auditions since that pilot, and he’s been sort of bummed about things since Vegas.
“Thanks, bro,” Drama says. “You wanna hit for a while? I should lay off or I’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Eric says. They switch places, and Eric warms up with a few slow crosses. “What’s up tomorrow?”
“Got an audition,” Drama says.
“Yeah? All right, Drama, that’s good. What for?”
“New show on Fox,” he says. “It’s a recurring character, ex-husband of the lead. Guy has a motorcycle dealership. Tough guy with a good heart. I think I got it nailed.”
Eric’s glad that the workout is taking most of his attention, because he hits the bag instead of snickering. “Sounds good, man.”
“Who’s the girl, Drama?” Turtle asks.
Eric settles into a half-crouch, gives the bag a good one-two combination, and Drama turns to talk to Turtle. “Jane McAllister,” he says, and Turtle laughs.
“Aww, you’re gonna fuck Vin’s fallout on camera, now, too?” he asks, then says, quickly, “Sorry, E.”
“The fuck do I care,” he says. He’s starting to get the nice warmth up his biceps that means he’s doing it right. He sinks another jab.
“Actually, about that,” Drama says. “E - you think Vin could put in a good word with her?”
Eric sighs. “You really want him to call some girl he hooked up with a hundred years ago, Drama? I’m not sure that’s gonna work out for you the way you hope.”
“Come on, she’s not gonna be mad,” Drama says. “I mean, not now.”
“Why not now? Is she married or something?” Turtle asks.
“No, but Vince is,” Drama says. Eric rolls his eyes and hits the bag again, a nice combo that makes Drama wince a little. “All those girls who were heartbroken he never called back - you know they’re all over it now, right? They all blame you, not him.”
Eric laughs. His breath’s coming a little fast, now, and he shifts into a full crouch, really going at the bag. What Drama’s saying - maybe it’s true. Girls are still friendly to Vince, which Eric finds a little baffling. If they’re mad at him, though, that’s just fine. “Great,” he says, keeping his head down.
“So - what do you say?”
“Talk to Vince.”
Drama huffs. “Come on, you know he’s just gonna send me back to you.”
“Tell him I said,” Eric manages. He’s panting good now, really starting to feel it. This is how a workout should be.
“Or you could just tell him to do it.”
His eye stings, and Eric stops, wipes sweat back from his forehead. “Drama, I don’t tell him what to do,” Eric says. “I’m his manager, not his boss.”
Drama snorts. “You mean you’re his girlfriend, not his wife, right?”
Eric steadies his footing again. Just ignore it, he thinks, and says, “Ready?”
“Nah,” Drama says, and steps back. “I’m not helping you if you don’t help me.”
Eric rolls his eyes. “Jesus Christ, Drama, can you not be a little kid about this? Come on, just hold the fucking bag.”
“Not until you say he’ll make the call,” Drama says.
“Go ask him,” Eric says, crossing his arms. He rubs his hands over his warm muscles. Jesus, he doesn’t want to lose his rhythm now. “I can’t just say he’s gonna call this girl. They had a thing, maybe he doesn’t want to.”
“Maybe you don’t want him to,” Drama says. “What’s the matter, E, you jealous? Afraid he might turn back?”
“Fuck you,” Eric says. “Turtle, hold the bag.”
“No way,” Turtle says, still staring at his player. “I’m not getting in the middle of this shit.”
Eric takes a step forward. What he wants, right now, is to hit something. Drama would do, he thinks, catching his sneer. He rubs his forehead again and half-turns, looking at the boxing ring. What he wants to do is tell Drama they should go, just climb up in there and beat the crap out of each other. But he thinks about Vince walking in and seeing it, thinks about Vince’s face the other night in the car. He takes a deep breath.
And then he’s nearly knocked over. Drama’s hit the bag or pushed it or something, but it’s just rammed right into Eric’s side and knocked him totally off balance. He turns and narrowly misses getting hit by the bag again, but manages to grab it with both hands on the sides. “What the fuck?” he says as the bag drags him toward center again.
“You’re sabotaging me,” Drama says, and he hits the bag while Eric’s still holding on to it, so his head bangs against the sweaty leather. “You’re fucking -”
“Jesus, I am not,” Eric says, taking a step to the side, closer to the wall. He puts a hand out to steady himself. “But we’ve got enough to fucking deal with right now without Vince having to worry about your goddamned joke of a career.”
“Take that back,” Drama says, his hands still up from hitting the bag.
“You take back all the shit you’ve been saying, then,” Eric says. “Stop all your fucking gay jokes.”
“Stop being such a fucking fag and I will,” Drama says.
Eric drops and charges, but he’s in a bad position, trapped between the wall and the bag and Drama, and Drama drops the bag again and Eric gets slammed before he’s even reached him. His head connects with the wall, and he feels a scary, sluggish thud inside his skull, and when he tries to shake it off the room tilts and blurs for a second. But he can still see Drama a few feet in front of him, his fists up, and Eric takes a clumsy swing at him, and for a few seconds or minutes it’s just the chaos of a fight, Eric hitting him every time he can, his fists against Drama’s chest and shoulders and arms and even Drama’s fists, his elbow connecting once with what might be Drama’s rib or collarbone or shoulder. They hit the floor still wailing on each other. Turtle’s yelling at them but Eric can’t pay attention to anything but trying to get Drama off his fucking chest, and he gets in a clumsy open-handed strike against his jaw. That seems to work, because suddenly Drama’s toppling backwards and away and Eric wants to go after him but he realizes it’s nothing he’s done; one of the trainers has grabbed Drama by the arms and yanked him up and off, and before Eric can react Turtle’s got a hold on him, too.
“The fuck are you doing?” Turtle yells.
Eric’s panting, and when he tries to answer he tastes blood in his mouth. He can hear Drama snarling at the trainer who’s holding him back, but instead of making him angrier, the noise makes Eric deflate. Drama has a bloody lip and one hand across his chest; Eric feels a little sick. “Oh, fuck me,” he says, and sees Vince and his trainer running down the stairs. He shrugs Turtle off and gets to his feet, which is harder than it should be.
“You aren’t gonna -”
“No,” Eric says. He feels wetness under his nose and rubs, not entirely surprised to find blood there. The other trainer has let go of Drama, and Eric approaches him with his hands out, wanting a chance to talk before Vince gets there. “Drama,” he starts, and Drama backs off a step. His lip is bloody. Eric’s knuckles are scraped.
“You know what, I’ll find my own fucking way home,” he says, and turns around; after a glance at Eric, Turtle follows him. When they run into Vince, Vince stops Turtle, and they have some fast whispered discussion that Eric can’t hear. Doesn’t want to hear, also, he decides, when Turtle rushes off and Vince comes right at him, looking pissed off.
“Seriously?” he says, and Eric rubs his face, forgetting about the blood until he smears it.
“I’m sorry,” Eric says, or tries to, but he has to clear his throat just to talk. He needs somewhere to spit the blood, finally just has to swallow.
“Christ,” Vince says, and grabs him roughly by the shoulder. “Hey, Kerwin, can you take a look at him?”
“What? Vince, I’m fine,” Eric says.
Vince rolls his eyes. “Sure. You’re bleeding all over the place.”
Kerwin is standing next to him, looking at Eric with his head tilted to the side. “Were you knocked out?”
“No,” Eric says. He touches his nose carefully, then presses on the bridge. “See, nothing broken. I’m OK.” He takes the towel Kerwin offers to wipe off his face. It comes back pink with blood and spit, and Eric folds it over and holds it to his mouth.
“Should be OK.” Kerwin claps Vince on the biceps and says, “We can pick up tomorrow if you need to get Rocky home.”
“Yeah,” Vince says, glaring at Eric, “thanks. We’re gonna go.”
Eric doesn’t protest. In fact, he doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what he can say. Vince asked him not to fight with Drama and he did it; he hit him in the face, even, after being specifically asked not to. Vince says, “Get your stuff, let’s roll,” and Eric nods and turns to pick up his bag from the floor. And it’s that - not Drama, not the fight, but leaning over for his bag and then standing up too quick - that makes something click off in his head, and before he can even reach out for Vince or the wall or anything, he’s out.
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