Make Sure They See My Face - Act V
RPF/RPS/Entourage/CRACK!
hackthis Productions Present:
Make Sure They See My Face (The Making of a Movie in Five Acts)
featuring Ari Gold
George Clooney
Shia LaBeouf
and Milo Ventimiglia
With Viggo Mortensen. And some other folks.
Act I: Ari
Act II: Milo
Act III: Shia
Act IV: Viggo
The last time George came to Regina to check on filming, he ended up making out with Brad. And John Barrowman. But not Viggo, because Viggo is his friend and doesn't take advantage of George when he's drunk.
Unlike Brad. And John.
This unfortunate turn of events would've all gone to the grave with the lot if them if Ari hadn't talked to a drunken Shia. George doesn't necessarily blame Shia for the shrieking Ari that was waiting on George's door step when he got home the next day, but he kind of wishes he could.
George was tired and hungover, or possibly still drunk, and Ari, well, Ari was Ari. George wasn't even completely out of the Town Car, before Ari had worked himself in an apoplectic fit. "I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM THAT SYPHILITIC, HERPES-LADEN HOOKER!"
George didn't even need to ask which syphilitic, herpes-laden hooker Ari was referring to; he just rolled his eyes. Unfortunately he was wearing sunglasses, so the effect was lost on Ari. "Ari, it's early, I'm tired; yell later," George said, trying to avoid his terrier of an agent and just get through his front door.
"I'll be yelling enough to make you deaf like Marlee fucking Matlin if I have to spend the next year picking your depressed ass off of the bathroom floor because Brad's gone off to play beard again," Ari howled, even as he yanked George's suitcase away from the driver and lugged it up the stairs behind George.
"He left you because his Mid-West mores make him think there's something wrong with taking it up the ass from you, so he has Angie strap it on instead. He's fucked up, and he doesn't deserve you, and for the love of The Best Little Whorehouse in West Hollywood, just let me kill him already!"
George stopped and turned sharply on his heel. "Ari, knock it off right now or I'm siccing Viggo on you."
Ari dropped George's suitcase on the doorstep and put his hands on his hips. "George, we've done this already. TWICE. Do you really want to do this again, because guess fucking what? I don't."
George could feel his mouth thinning into a line. Ari couldn't be rational where Brad was concerned because he was jealous. And because he had a point and three adopted kids on his side.
"I'm not getting back together with Brad," George enunciated perfectly. "I'm making a fucking movie, now go away before I fucking fire you for real."
Ari's face fell into a sullen repose. "Don't you see I'm just trying to look out for you," he pleaded. "We've been here before, and I know you don't want to go back. George, when you hurt I hurt, and that shit fucking hurt."
George turned his back on Ari and opened his front door. "Ari, go home. Don't make me call Matt."
Ari was quiet for two whole seconds and then he took a different tack. "I swear to God, George, if you make Shia gay with this movie, I will castrate you. And him. And Brad, because this is all his fucking fault and-"
George slammed the door shut behind him, and that was the end of that.
Or perhaps not -- because George is back in Regina for the wrap party, and uh, and there seems to be a problem.
All day long George has been marveling at Viggo's production. His crew -- err, screw -- is all fantastic. They say 'please' when telling you to fuck off and 'thank you', before telling you to eat shit and die. It's like a whole new training school, The Mortensen School of Movie Making.
Viggo hasn't shown George any of the dailies yet, but George got to watch as Viggo shot the last bits of the finale and nobody was more shocked than him when James McAvoy jumped through a wall with guns blazing.
In fact, George was so shocked that he fell backwards off of the chair he'd been sitting on. Filming hadn't even stopped since, apparently, nobody heard George's commotion over the sound of very real blanks filling the room. Well, one of the key grips, Saundra, did rush to his aid, but the minute she made sure he wasn't dead, she was back to her job, and George has been blown away -- pun intended -- ever since.
In fact, he's so blown away, he still can't figure out where James McAvoy came from, even though he and John are now standing on a table singing 'I Don't Feel Like Dancin'.
George is sitting with Viggo at a table not too far away from this spectacle, talking about art and movie making and sizzling shrimp, which is, apparently, what Viggo really misses about L.A. "Okay, you have to tell me, where the hell did you get James McAvoy?" George says, one eye on John and James singing and the other on Shia, Kerry and several make-up girls doing a chorus line kick on the floor behind.
Viggo tops up George's glass of whiskey, which isn't a glass as much as it's a red cup the size of a Big Gulp. "He came to visit Kerry; they did a film together."
George snickers. "And you said, 'would you like to jump through a wall and shoot people...'"
"And he said yes." Viggo shrugs as though it's the most natural thing ever.
George doesn't even know what to make of this. He's sort of jealous that he didn't think to cameo himself. "Does he know we can't credit him because he's already working on a film?"
"James does this for the love of the medium, not for profit," Viggo intones as though he's had this conversation many times already.
"How about you do it for the love of me?" George didn't even see John slink up to the table, but there he is, holding his hand out to George with his shirt half open and looking like sin incarnate. George eyes John with a little trepidation. Sex-on-a-stick recognizes sex-on-a-stick, and John could easily make -
"I can't believe you fucking slept with my EX!" a man hollers.
"It's a fucking photograph!" someone else retorts over the music, which suddenly stops. "You've never taken a fucking photograph in a press line because you were standing next to someone?!"
"I can't believe you fucked her! What the fuck, Shia?! Didn't you think you should've told me this before we fucked?"
George's hand freezes halfway to John's outstretched one, and his head swivels over to where Shia and Milo seem to be having some problems. At least that's his understanding based on the way Milo's got Shia by the throat.
"I didn't fuck her!" Shia snaps back over the pin-drop silence. "The only person I've been fucking lately is you!"
On the set today Shia and Milo were all over each other, which George chalked up to Viggo's method acting and the very real scratches and bruises the entire cast had acquired. After the camera stopped rolling though, Shia and Milo were still very much in each other's space, which George, again, attributed to the Mortensen School of Movie Making. Maybe he should've paid more attention, but this is the first time he's seen Milo all evening. Although that's probably down to the copious amounts of booze he's been knocking back with Viggo and John.
George can't see much at the moment though, because John and James are barreling through the crowd and there's more yelling. A lot of yelling.
Apparently Shia slept with Milo's ex. Or not.
It's not very clear with Milo yelling and Shia yelling back and John trying to calm them down and Kerry and James trying to help.
This is kind of not how a wrap party is supposed to go.
Every report George has gotten from Viggo has been full of praise and respect, which for anybody else would be the equivalent of jumping up and down and shouting on Oprah's sofa, but this -- this is bringing back bad flashbacks for George. John's got Shia by the scruff of the neck, and he's hauling him away from Milo, who's being restrained by James and a couple of the gaffers. It really reminds George of he and Brad -- but without the physical violence -- and Jesus Christ, it's about now that he gets it.
Milo and Shia ARE he and Brad. They're involved. They by-passed method acting for the real thing.
Fuck.
George did make Shia gay. Ari is going to be pissed.
*
George is in Viggo's hotel room watching Viggo's favorite dailies, and truly, they're more than George could've ever hoped for. The acting, the colors, the restrained beauty, the fucking cinematography make George want to weep. This is the movie that George was afraid would never be made. What you see on screen is never what you see in your mind's eye, but this is closer than George ever thought anyone could come. Even Viggo.
All this prosaic wonderment could also be down to all the whiskey George's had, but the video is definitely helping.
George has never given a shit about cinematography, but The Frayed Edge is his baby. He wants it to do well; it has to do well. The Good German, Good Night, Good Luck, Michael Clayton, these are his vanity projects. These are his political statements, but The Frayed Edge isn't his political statement, it's his life statement.
George is putting himself out there with this film. He's thinking about coming out too, which he hasn't mentioned to Ari, but this isn't about Ari. It's about him. And Brad. And Matt. This is about being a 46 year-old man who wants to just be happy.
Even if The Frayed Edge only sells twenty tickets and those are all to Smoke House staff, it will be okay. It has to be okay. "I think I'm going to come out," George says, taking another swig of the bottle of Jack Daniels.
Viggo, who is painting somewhere behind him, makes a hmming noise.
"I mean it," George says into the void. "I think it's time."
"It's always time for what you think is right." Viggo brushes against George's shoulder as he goes to switch the DVDs.
George shoots Viggo a wry grin after he loads the next DVD. "You don't care, do you?"
Viggo's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "We can only be who we are," he says pointedly. "We should never pretend otherwise."
George thinks that's Viggo's blessing, but he'll need more whiskey to check.
"I saved the best for last," Viggo says cryptically.
George raises an eyebrow. "If this great finale is 30 minutes of watching the grass grow, I've got jet lag," he jokes, re-settling himself in Viggo's armchair.
This time, when Viggo smiles, George can see his tongue pressing against his teeth. It's so rare for Viggo to smile this way that George sits back. "All right, you look way too self-satisfied, put it on."
Viggo nods once in benediction before pressing 'play'.
The tape starts with Milo and Shia lying on rickety bed, poking at each other. They're shirtless and pale and scarred. They're absolutely beautiful, like something Annie Lebowitz would photograph, and George finds himself sitting up a bit taller. The lighting is soft and gauzy, like it's warm, lazy Sunday morning even though George can see their breath in the shot. It must've been freezing in that room.
There's this soft laughter coming from Milo because Shia's tracing along his collarbone with a bare finger, and George doesn't know if he's watching the movie or watching them.
This explains a lot about the wrap party.
George feels like an interloper, but he can't make himself stop staring. Watching Shia and Milo kiss is like something sacred. They're by turns hard and soft, gentle and demanding. George almost wants to take the tape and hide it from the idiotic viewing public. If they didn't get Michael Clayton, then they won't get this.
They'll think it's porn. They'll ruin it.
He doesn't know how long he watches before he turns to Viggo, but Viggo is watching him, not the tape, and George exhales as though he's never really breathed before. "You did that?"
Viggo shakes his head. "They did that."
George upends the last of the whiskey. "Why do I feel like a dirty old man?"
"Because you are one?" Viggo offers.
George coughs and laughs at the same time. The whiskey ends up in his nose, burning his nostrils. "Wow, what does that make you?"
"A dirty old man who made a piece of art."
George shakes his head again. "That's some piece of art."
"I think so."
"Out of curiosity," George segues, "did you tell your actors they could stop acting now?"
Viggo licks at his lower lip. "You would be referring to Noah and Simon."
"No, I would be referring to Shia and Milo."
Viggo scratches at his five o'clock shadow that's now more like a week of growth. "I don't think they're acting anymore," he pauses, "if they ever were."
George sighs and rubs at his forehead. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid you were going to say."
*
The next day, Viggo goes into post-production and George flies back to L.A. George had offered to take some of the cast back with him, but John's going home to his partner in London, Kerry's going up to Saskatoon to visit James and neither Shia nor Milo are to be found when George's car comes to collect him. He hopes that's a good sign.
There are eight messages from Ari on his mobile when George lands, but he's tired and hungover and impossibly happy and a little maudlin. He needs a nap and to watch CNN.
When George gets home and Max isn't there, it hits him all over again. Max has been dead for a year, but George still expects him to be passed out by the fireplace, lying in his favorite patch of sunlight. George misses Max. And Brad. And Matt. He misses his life the way it used to be.
George doesn't think he's lonely, but he is more alone than he's been in a long time.
It's all sort of depressing, and also, depressing. He's standing in the middle of his living room, having an old folks' moment, when his mobile goes off again. He just knows it's Ari demanding to talk about the film, so he turns off his phone and goes upstairs to get some sleep.
He wakes up in time to see Anderson Cooper 360 and have a sandwich. George has only met Anderson twice, but both times George couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake by not taking Anderson home. Anderson's smart and stylish and 30-something; he's totally George's type. Except he gives George this nagging feeling, like, maybe, George is missing out on something good, but that's just crazy hungover talk.
When Anderson goes off the air, George goes back to bed. He dreams of Brad in a wedding gown and Matt officiating. Brad's eighteen children are the best men, and George is wearing a red satin gown.
He's not the bride.
George wakes up slightly hysterical, and his phone is ringing. It's five o'clock in the morning and George could've sworn he turned all the phones off. "Ari, no," George mumbles in greeting.
"Yeah, hi to you too," Matt says, and instantly George is more awake.
"What's wrong? Is it the rugrats?" George asks, sitting up in the dark fast enough to make himself dizzy.
"No, the kids are okay," Matt says, "well, my kids are."
"Fuck," George swears, "is it the Rainbow Coalition?" He'd expect the call to come from Brad himself, but Angie has him on a leash tighter than a dominatrix on a bad day. "Oh, god, nobody got kidnapped, did they?"
The fact that they live the sort of life where kidnapping is a real concern is entirely too surreal, but ignoring that possibility would be foolhardy at its best.
"No, no, Brad's kids are okay," Matt hedges. "It's, uh, it's your kids. Or kid. One of your kids."
George puts his hand to his head. He can't feel a bump there. He doesn't remember getting a concussion recently. Unless this is some alternate universe where he woke up straight. He doesn't think this is the case either though. "Matt, I don't have kids."
"Yeah, you do," Matt insists. "In particular, you have one named Shia."
George can feel the blood all rushing away from his head. He lies back down in case he's about to pass out. "I thought that was your kid."
Matt snorts. "No, I signed over the adoption certificate to you the day you cast him in The Frayed Edge."
"What happened?" George knows he's whispering, but maybe that will make this not real. Whatever this is, it's bad.
Matt takes a deep breath. " Shia got arrested."
George blinks into the darkness. "Shia got arrested? Arrested for what? Don't say DUI, because that would make an old man cry."
Matt snorts. "Drunken and disorderly."
"Crap."
"At Walgreens."
George sits up again; this really isn't good for his blood pressure. "Could you repeat that again? It sounds like you said he got arrested for being drunk at Walgreens."
"That's exactly what I said."
"Crap."
"You already said that," Matt parrots. "Now, do we know why he was being drunken and disorderly at a Walgreens in Chicago? And do we want to share that reason with the rest of the class?"
"We have some ideas," George offers cryptically.
"Like what?"
"Oh, like Shia is gay for his costar, and they had a fight at the wrap party, because Shia might've possibly slept with Milo's ex-girlfriend, even though he's now sleeping with Milo."
Matt's quiet for a very long time. "Are you fucking with me?"
"Uh, no."
"Shit," Matt says mildly. "Ari's going to kill you."
George sighs. "You think?"
"It's been nice knowing you."
George rolls over and turns on the light on his nightstand. There's no way he can get back to sleep now. Apparently he has to go bail his child out of jail. "You think I can blame this on Brad?"
"If I were you, I would definitely make the effort," Matt offers.
"I think that's how I got in trouble in the first place," George swings his feet out of the bed and stands up.
"No, you got in trouble for thinking with your heart and your dick," Matt assesses mildly.
"No," George corrects, wandering over to his sleeping laptop, "I got in trouble because you fell in love with your beard."
"Oh, so it's my fault now," Matt quips, while George does a Google search on Shia's arrest.
"Oh." George says after several clicks. "Oh boy."
"Oh boy, what?" Matt prods.
" They've got his mug shot up on The Smoking Gun already."
"How bad are we talking here?"
George considers the photo. "I'd do him."
"Yeah, now that's how you got in trouble last time," Matt re-assesses.
"I know, I know," George sighs. "I gotta go."
"Go where? It's five in the morning."
"Yeah, but apparently my kid is in jail, so I have to go break it to his mom."
"You're going to tell Ari? Wow, you're a brave man."
"Yeah, well, I figure this won't seem as bad when I tell him I'm coming out after the movie premieres, too."
Matt's silent for several moments. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
Matt takes it all in stride, which is probably why George loves him as much as he does. "Cool, can I be your Big Gay Date for the premiere?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," George says with a grin. "As long as Ari doesn't kill me first."
--The Love and Peace or Else Interlude (Milo/Shia, NC-17)--
I would like to thank sameoldhope for being on the police band and bringing this to my attention before Shia was probably done being processed. That's love, y'all.
hackthis Productions Present:
Make Sure They See My Face (The Making of a Movie in Five Acts)
featuring Ari Gold
George Clooney
Shia LaBeouf
and Milo Ventimiglia
With Viggo Mortensen. And some other folks.
Act I: Ari
Act II: Milo
Act III: Shia
Act IV: Viggo
The last time George came to Regina to check on filming, he ended up making out with Brad. And John Barrowman. But not Viggo, because Viggo is his friend and doesn't take advantage of George when he's drunk.
Unlike Brad. And John.
This unfortunate turn of events would've all gone to the grave with the lot if them if Ari hadn't talked to a drunken Shia. George doesn't necessarily blame Shia for the shrieking Ari that was waiting on George's door step when he got home the next day, but he kind of wishes he could.
George was tired and hungover, or possibly still drunk, and Ari, well, Ari was Ari. George wasn't even completely out of the Town Car, before Ari had worked himself in an apoplectic fit. "I FUCKING TOLD YOU TO STAY AWAY FROM THAT SYPHILITIC, HERPES-LADEN HOOKER!"
George didn't even need to ask which syphilitic, herpes-laden hooker Ari was referring to; he just rolled his eyes. Unfortunately he was wearing sunglasses, so the effect was lost on Ari. "Ari, it's early, I'm tired; yell later," George said, trying to avoid his terrier of an agent and just get through his front door.
"I'll be yelling enough to make you deaf like Marlee fucking Matlin if I have to spend the next year picking your depressed ass off of the bathroom floor because Brad's gone off to play beard again," Ari howled, even as he yanked George's suitcase away from the driver and lugged it up the stairs behind George.
"He left you because his Mid-West mores make him think there's something wrong with taking it up the ass from you, so he has Angie strap it on instead. He's fucked up, and he doesn't deserve you, and for the love of The Best Little Whorehouse in West Hollywood, just let me kill him already!"
George stopped and turned sharply on his heel. "Ari, knock it off right now or I'm siccing Viggo on you."
Ari dropped George's suitcase on the doorstep and put his hands on his hips. "George, we've done this already. TWICE. Do you really want to do this again, because guess fucking what? I don't."
George could feel his mouth thinning into a line. Ari couldn't be rational where Brad was concerned because he was jealous. And because he had a point and three adopted kids on his side.
"I'm not getting back together with Brad," George enunciated perfectly. "I'm making a fucking movie, now go away before I fucking fire you for real."
Ari's face fell into a sullen repose. "Don't you see I'm just trying to look out for you," he pleaded. "We've been here before, and I know you don't want to go back. George, when you hurt I hurt, and that shit fucking hurt."
George turned his back on Ari and opened his front door. "Ari, go home. Don't make me call Matt."
Ari was quiet for two whole seconds and then he took a different tack. "I swear to God, George, if you make Shia gay with this movie, I will castrate you. And him. And Brad, because this is all his fucking fault and-"
George slammed the door shut behind him, and that was the end of that.
Or perhaps not -- because George is back in Regina for the wrap party, and uh, and there seems to be a problem.
All day long George has been marveling at Viggo's production. His crew -- err, screw -- is all fantastic. They say 'please' when telling you to fuck off and 'thank you', before telling you to eat shit and die. It's like a whole new training school, The Mortensen School of Movie Making.
Viggo hasn't shown George any of the dailies yet, but George got to watch as Viggo shot the last bits of the finale and nobody was more shocked than him when James McAvoy jumped through a wall with guns blazing.
In fact, George was so shocked that he fell backwards off of the chair he'd been sitting on. Filming hadn't even stopped since, apparently, nobody heard George's commotion over the sound of very real blanks filling the room. Well, one of the key grips, Saundra, did rush to his aid, but the minute she made sure he wasn't dead, she was back to her job, and George has been blown away -- pun intended -- ever since.
In fact, he's so blown away, he still can't figure out where James McAvoy came from, even though he and John are now standing on a table singing 'I Don't Feel Like Dancin'.
George is sitting with Viggo at a table not too far away from this spectacle, talking about art and movie making and sizzling shrimp, which is, apparently, what Viggo really misses about L.A. "Okay, you have to tell me, where the hell did you get James McAvoy?" George says, one eye on John and James singing and the other on Shia, Kerry and several make-up girls doing a chorus line kick on the floor behind.
Viggo tops up George's glass of whiskey, which isn't a glass as much as it's a red cup the size of a Big Gulp. "He came to visit Kerry; they did a film together."
George snickers. "And you said, 'would you like to jump through a wall and shoot people...'"
"And he said yes." Viggo shrugs as though it's the most natural thing ever.
George doesn't even know what to make of this. He's sort of jealous that he didn't think to cameo himself. "Does he know we can't credit him because he's already working on a film?"
"James does this for the love of the medium, not for profit," Viggo intones as though he's had this conversation many times already.
"How about you do it for the love of me?" George didn't even see John slink up to the table, but there he is, holding his hand out to George with his shirt half open and looking like sin incarnate. George eyes John with a little trepidation. Sex-on-a-stick recognizes sex-on-a-stick, and John could easily make -
"I can't believe you fucking slept with my EX!" a man hollers.
"It's a fucking photograph!" someone else retorts over the music, which suddenly stops. "You've never taken a fucking photograph in a press line because you were standing next to someone?!"
"I can't believe you fucked her! What the fuck, Shia?! Didn't you think you should've told me this before we fucked?"
George's hand freezes halfway to John's outstretched one, and his head swivels over to where Shia and Milo seem to be having some problems. At least that's his understanding based on the way Milo's got Shia by the throat.
"I didn't fuck her!" Shia snaps back over the pin-drop silence. "The only person I've been fucking lately is you!"
On the set today Shia and Milo were all over each other, which George chalked up to Viggo's method acting and the very real scratches and bruises the entire cast had acquired. After the camera stopped rolling though, Shia and Milo were still very much in each other's space, which George, again, attributed to the Mortensen School of Movie Making. Maybe he should've paid more attention, but this is the first time he's seen Milo all evening. Although that's probably down to the copious amounts of booze he's been knocking back with Viggo and John.
George can't see much at the moment though, because John and James are barreling through the crowd and there's more yelling. A lot of yelling.
Apparently Shia slept with Milo's ex. Or not.
It's not very clear with Milo yelling and Shia yelling back and John trying to calm them down and Kerry and James trying to help.
This is kind of not how a wrap party is supposed to go.
Every report George has gotten from Viggo has been full of praise and respect, which for anybody else would be the equivalent of jumping up and down and shouting on Oprah's sofa, but this -- this is bringing back bad flashbacks for George. John's got Shia by the scruff of the neck, and he's hauling him away from Milo, who's being restrained by James and a couple of the gaffers. It really reminds George of he and Brad -- but without the physical violence -- and Jesus Christ, it's about now that he gets it.
Milo and Shia ARE he and Brad. They're involved. They by-passed method acting for the real thing.
Fuck.
George did make Shia gay. Ari is going to be pissed.
*
George is in Viggo's hotel room watching Viggo's favorite dailies, and truly, they're more than George could've ever hoped for. The acting, the colors, the restrained beauty, the fucking cinematography make George want to weep. This is the movie that George was afraid would never be made. What you see on screen is never what you see in your mind's eye, but this is closer than George ever thought anyone could come. Even Viggo.
All this prosaic wonderment could also be down to all the whiskey George's had, but the video is definitely helping.
George has never given a shit about cinematography, but The Frayed Edge is his baby. He wants it to do well; it has to do well. The Good German, Good Night, Good Luck, Michael Clayton, these are his vanity projects. These are his political statements, but The Frayed Edge isn't his political statement, it's his life statement.
George is putting himself out there with this film. He's thinking about coming out too, which he hasn't mentioned to Ari, but this isn't about Ari. It's about him. And Brad. And Matt. This is about being a 46 year-old man who wants to just be happy.
Even if The Frayed Edge only sells twenty tickets and those are all to Smoke House staff, it will be okay. It has to be okay. "I think I'm going to come out," George says, taking another swig of the bottle of Jack Daniels.
Viggo, who is painting somewhere behind him, makes a hmming noise.
"I mean it," George says into the void. "I think it's time."
"It's always time for what you think is right." Viggo brushes against George's shoulder as he goes to switch the DVDs.
George shoots Viggo a wry grin after he loads the next DVD. "You don't care, do you?"
Viggo's eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles. "We can only be who we are," he says pointedly. "We should never pretend otherwise."
George thinks that's Viggo's blessing, but he'll need more whiskey to check.
"I saved the best for last," Viggo says cryptically.
George raises an eyebrow. "If this great finale is 30 minutes of watching the grass grow, I've got jet lag," he jokes, re-settling himself in Viggo's armchair.
This time, when Viggo smiles, George can see his tongue pressing against his teeth. It's so rare for Viggo to smile this way that George sits back. "All right, you look way too self-satisfied, put it on."
Viggo nods once in benediction before pressing 'play'.
The tape starts with Milo and Shia lying on rickety bed, poking at each other. They're shirtless and pale and scarred. They're absolutely beautiful, like something Annie Lebowitz would photograph, and George finds himself sitting up a bit taller. The lighting is soft and gauzy, like it's warm, lazy Sunday morning even though George can see their breath in the shot. It must've been freezing in that room.
There's this soft laughter coming from Milo because Shia's tracing along his collarbone with a bare finger, and George doesn't know if he's watching the movie or watching them.
This explains a lot about the wrap party.
George feels like an interloper, but he can't make himself stop staring. Watching Shia and Milo kiss is like something sacred. They're by turns hard and soft, gentle and demanding. George almost wants to take the tape and hide it from the idiotic viewing public. If they didn't get Michael Clayton, then they won't get this.
They'll think it's porn. They'll ruin it.
He doesn't know how long he watches before he turns to Viggo, but Viggo is watching him, not the tape, and George exhales as though he's never really breathed before. "You did that?"
Viggo shakes his head. "They did that."
George upends the last of the whiskey. "Why do I feel like a dirty old man?"
"Because you are one?" Viggo offers.
George coughs and laughs at the same time. The whiskey ends up in his nose, burning his nostrils. "Wow, what does that make you?"
"A dirty old man who made a piece of art."
George shakes his head again. "That's some piece of art."
"I think so."
"Out of curiosity," George segues, "did you tell your actors they could stop acting now?"
Viggo licks at his lower lip. "You would be referring to Noah and Simon."
"No, I would be referring to Shia and Milo."
Viggo scratches at his five o'clock shadow that's now more like a week of growth. "I don't think they're acting anymore," he pauses, "if they ever were."
George sighs and rubs at his forehead. "Yeah, that's what I was afraid you were going to say."
*
The next day, Viggo goes into post-production and George flies back to L.A. George had offered to take some of the cast back with him, but John's going home to his partner in London, Kerry's going up to Saskatoon to visit James and neither Shia nor Milo are to be found when George's car comes to collect him. He hopes that's a good sign.
There are eight messages from Ari on his mobile when George lands, but he's tired and hungover and impossibly happy and a little maudlin. He needs a nap and to watch CNN.
When George gets home and Max isn't there, it hits him all over again. Max has been dead for a year, but George still expects him to be passed out by the fireplace, lying in his favorite patch of sunlight. George misses Max. And Brad. And Matt. He misses his life the way it used to be.
George doesn't think he's lonely, but he is more alone than he's been in a long time.
It's all sort of depressing, and also, depressing. He's standing in the middle of his living room, having an old folks' moment, when his mobile goes off again. He just knows it's Ari demanding to talk about the film, so he turns off his phone and goes upstairs to get some sleep.
He wakes up in time to see Anderson Cooper 360 and have a sandwich. George has only met Anderson twice, but both times George couldn't shake the feeling that he was making a mistake by not taking Anderson home. Anderson's smart and stylish and 30-something; he's totally George's type. Except he gives George this nagging feeling, like, maybe, George is missing out on something good, but that's just crazy hungover talk.
When Anderson goes off the air, George goes back to bed. He dreams of Brad in a wedding gown and Matt officiating. Brad's eighteen children are the best men, and George is wearing a red satin gown.
He's not the bride.
George wakes up slightly hysterical, and his phone is ringing. It's five o'clock in the morning and George could've sworn he turned all the phones off. "Ari, no," George mumbles in greeting.
"Yeah, hi to you too," Matt says, and instantly George is more awake.
"What's wrong? Is it the rugrats?" George asks, sitting up in the dark fast enough to make himself dizzy.
"No, the kids are okay," Matt says, "well, my kids are."
"Fuck," George swears, "is it the Rainbow Coalition?" He'd expect the call to come from Brad himself, but Angie has him on a leash tighter than a dominatrix on a bad day. "Oh, god, nobody got kidnapped, did they?"
The fact that they live the sort of life where kidnapping is a real concern is entirely too surreal, but ignoring that possibility would be foolhardy at its best.
"No, no, Brad's kids are okay," Matt hedges. "It's, uh, it's your kids. Or kid. One of your kids."
George puts his hand to his head. He can't feel a bump there. He doesn't remember getting a concussion recently. Unless this is some alternate universe where he woke up straight. He doesn't think this is the case either though. "Matt, I don't have kids."
"Yeah, you do," Matt insists. "In particular, you have one named Shia."
George can feel the blood all rushing away from his head. He lies back down in case he's about to pass out. "I thought that was your kid."
Matt snorts. "No, I signed over the adoption certificate to you the day you cast him in The Frayed Edge."
"What happened?" George knows he's whispering, but maybe that will make this not real. Whatever this is, it's bad.
Matt takes a deep breath. " Shia got arrested."
George blinks into the darkness. "Shia got arrested? Arrested for what? Don't say DUI, because that would make an old man cry."
Matt snorts. "Drunken and disorderly."
"Crap."
"At Walgreens."
George sits up again; this really isn't good for his blood pressure. "Could you repeat that again? It sounds like you said he got arrested for being drunk at Walgreens."
"That's exactly what I said."
"Crap."
"You already said that," Matt parrots. "Now, do we know why he was being drunken and disorderly at a Walgreens in Chicago? And do we want to share that reason with the rest of the class?"
"We have some ideas," George offers cryptically.
"Like what?"
"Oh, like Shia is gay for his costar, and they had a fight at the wrap party, because Shia might've possibly slept with Milo's ex-girlfriend, even though he's now sleeping with Milo."
Matt's quiet for a very long time. "Are you fucking with me?"
"Uh, no."
"Shit," Matt says mildly. "Ari's going to kill you."
George sighs. "You think?"
"It's been nice knowing you."
George rolls over and turns on the light on his nightstand. There's no way he can get back to sleep now. Apparently he has to go bail his child out of jail. "You think I can blame this on Brad?"
"If I were you, I would definitely make the effort," Matt offers.
"I think that's how I got in trouble in the first place," George swings his feet out of the bed and stands up.
"No, you got in trouble for thinking with your heart and your dick," Matt assesses mildly.
"No," George corrects, wandering over to his sleeping laptop, "I got in trouble because you fell in love with your beard."
"Oh, so it's my fault now," Matt quips, while George does a Google search on Shia's arrest.
"Oh." George says after several clicks. "Oh boy."
"Oh boy, what?" Matt prods.
" They've got his mug shot up on The Smoking Gun already."
"How bad are we talking here?"
George considers the photo. "I'd do him."
"Yeah, now that's how you got in trouble last time," Matt re-assesses.
"I know, I know," George sighs. "I gotta go."
"Go where? It's five in the morning."
"Yeah, but apparently my kid is in jail, so I have to go break it to his mom."
"You're going to tell Ari? Wow, you're a brave man."
"Yeah, well, I figure this won't seem as bad when I tell him I'm coming out after the movie premieres, too."
Matt's silent for several moments. "Really?"
"Yeah, really."
Matt takes it all in stride, which is probably why George loves him as much as he does. "Cool, can I be your Big Gay Date for the premiere?"
"I wouldn't have it any other way," George says with a grin. "As long as Ari doesn't kill me first."
--The Love and Peace or Else Interlude (Milo/Shia, NC-17)--
I would like to thank sameoldhope for being on the police band and bringing this to my attention before Shia was probably done being processed. That's love, y'all.