Date: Sat, 16 Jun 2018 21:21:42 -0700
From: christopher <breakingthroughstory@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Through 25

A very big thank you to all of the readers who have taken the time to send
kind messages for the story. I very much appreciate it. Please send any
feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com.

The usual disclaimers apply. This is fiction.

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Chapter 25

It had been a week since he signed the papers and Chris found himself
staring out at gray skies and incessant drizzle. He still felt numb, a
little bit shocked, and wondered if he might be in denial. He'd managed to
book a flight to London, took a train to Oxford, and then somehow found
himself in Manchester. He wouldn't be surprised if he took a horse and
buggy, his mind was so hazy. The trip started out as a literary sojourn,
stopping to see places he'd only read about in real life, but the pity
party he'd wallowed in was actually amazing for research. As he wandered
around in solitary introspection, he took in the sights and took everything
slowly. He moved at a snail's pace, looking at everything at every museum,
spending hours just drinking tea and scribbling ideas in his
notebook. London was the quickest place he could get to after packing some
clothes -- not enough, it turned out. He thought it may have been a case of
self-punishment, going to a place that marked another huge fight with Jake,
but before he could change his mind, he was on his way.

"Can I get you some water? A coffee, maybe?"

"I'm fine right now," Chris said, looking over his shoulder after the
waiter stepped away. He saw a lean figure with a full sleeve tattoo down
one arm and another halfway down the other arm, a gleaming white smile, and
stubble that may have been slightly too groomed. They were in a pub, where
Chris had initially planned on taking his fish and chips back to his hotel,
but the man's charisma and warm demeanor kept Chris from leaving. There was
a soccer game on the TV, because that's just how things worked on this side
of the Atlantic, and though Chris knew the basics of the game, the man took
it upon himself to explain the game. He was American.

Chris noticed the lack of accent right away, which made for a quick
camaraderie. What Chris didn't know was that he was talking to a
footballer, which was another thing that was common on this side of the
Atlantic, and that he'd be heading home with him after the final
whistle. From what Chris felt in his ass -- the familiar emptiness and dull
ache that came after a night of too much sex -- it seemed they both had a
hell of a time.

"I don't have anywhere to be today," Geoff said. "You don't have to leave."

Chris leaned against the window and met Geoff's eyes. One-night stands
weren't his style, though he'd been with Jake so long that he wasn't quite
sure what his style even was at this point. Dark eyes. That was new. "I
googled you," Chris said, motioning towards the framed jerseys on the
wall. Geoff Cameron. Houston Dynamo. U.S. Men's National Team. Stoke
City. "You're a big deal."

"I never got your last name, so I couldn't do the same," Geoff said. Chris
heard the slightest Boston accent. Geoff hadn't bothered to put on a
shirt. His hair was still wet from his shower and Chris got an eyeful of
lean muscle and chiseled legs.

"It's Gyllenhaal," Chris said. "Or it was. It's not anymore. But you'll get
the most dirt if you search Chris or Christopher Gyllenhaal."

"Should I know that name?" Geoff asked.

"No, I didn't mean it like that," Chris said, crossing the room to sit at
the kitchen counter. The house was big. He'd walked past a few extra
bedrooms from the master and still had more to see. "Do all soccer players
shave their legs? Is it for aerodynamics?" Chris changed the subject as
quickly as he could.

"Not all of us," Geoff said. "I'm high maintenance. I shave so that the
tape from my shin guards doesn't rip out the hair. They don't call it
soccer over here. I told you that last night."

"As fascinating as this all is, I should get going," Chris said. "I'm not
used to this morning-after situation."

"Let me drive you to your hotel. It's the polite thing to do."

"I'll take you up on that," Chris said. "I'm at the Gotham."

"So, what is your name now?"

"Back to Christopher Lewis," Chris said. "Divorce. Pretty fresh one. Google
that. Not sure how the news cycle works over here, but it was all over the
tabloids back at home."

"That would explain a few things," Geoff said.

"What happened to polite?"

"Sorry, the name's just now registering. Jake Gyllenhaal. 'Brokeback
Mountain.' You're the guy married to him. You're an author, right? It's
still early, otherwise I could think of more things I might know you from."

"I was married to him. We're not together anymore."

"I've been a rebound before, you're in good hands. And after last night, I
could be convinced to see you again."

"I'm not looking for anything right now," Chris said.

"Neither am I, which is great for both of us."

It was a week of dodging calls, ignoring his email, and re-reading all of
the English lit he only had time to skim during his college years. He met
up with Geoff after practice every day and remembered why he loved Jake
post-workout. The sweat, the adrenaline, the weird balance between being
half-exhausted and completely energized, it all made for hot sessions that
always ended up with Chris seeing stars, just like the ones that were inked
on Geoff's arms, along with the words "discipline," "dedication," and
"desire."

Manchester wasn't the most exciting place, but when Geoff insisted that
Chris see a game and they drove the hour through sheep meadows down to
Stoke-on-Trent for one of his home games, he felt the electricity in the
crowd and the passion on the field and in the stands. It was amazing to see
from the field. He'd been to concerts and sporting events before, but they
were nothing like this. Chanting. Jeering. The whizzing of the ball as it
flew from player to person. Chris was in awe the entire time. Even though
Geoff's team lost the game, Chris did his best to console him when they got
back to his house. Champion or not, Geoff deserved to be treated like a
winner. It was Chris' duty to make sure it happened all night.

Chris snapped back to reality when he heard the garage door, not sure why
his mind had wandered back to that particular moment. That trip was a blur,
half because he felt completely numb and half because Geoff had been a very
welcome kind of distraction. He could hardly remember what happened after
the divorce, it was so clouded in confusion and rash, rushed
decisions. He'd gone to England alone, gone to Washington, D.C., where he
spoke on the Senate floor to plead for education reform alongside a few
other prominent writers, and then jetted to Seattle to concentrate on
polishing up "Everything After the Wedding." He sent the final draft from
Santa Barbara and settled in Venice Beach. All the while, he wondered if
he'd ever feel a real connection with anyone again. What had transpired
with Jake had been so draining that he considered just giving up on looking
for anything.

"It's hot out there," Armie said, tapping at the thermostat to blast the
air conditioning inside the house. He walked over and gave Chris a quick
kiss before heading back to the kitchen.

"Do you need help?" Chris asked, getting up off the couch and
stretching. He followed the sound of rustling and sat down on a stool,
watching Armie load the fridge with a fresh round of groceries.

"No, I'm almost done. Were you taking a nap on the couch?"

"No. Maybe? I was just daydreaming," Chris said.

"I'll make you a coffee," Armie said. "And we can talk about how you're
making me look bad at the museum and foundation."

Back in the living room, with all of the back doors open to the outside
world, Armie joked that the museum board had seen more of him and Chris in
the last few months than they had for the entirety of Armie's life. After
the show's initial episodes aired, the Hammer name got even more
attention. People were curious about the foundation, its connection to
Chris and Armie, and the museum itself. While it had always been a Los
Angeles institution, it was getting some attention on the world
stage. Traveling exhibits wanted in. New artists wanted to show there. Once
seen as a stuffy and staid venue, it got an injection of energy that nobody
could have predicted. The foundation and, in turn, Dru, appreciated
it. Chris shrugged it off. The foundation paid for all of the show's
production costs, so he was grateful for having it involved.

"You're mom's favorite now, that's for sure," Armie said, kicking his feet
up onto the coffee table.

"She hated having my name engraved on that wall in the lobby," Chris
said. "But I think she got over that."

Armie rolled his eyes. "She was probably more upset about getting rid of
Liz's name."

"If PBS wants four more, the foundation will do it. But after twelve
episodes, they said we'd have to do a brand-new proposal."

"Is that what you want?"

Chris shrugged and took a long sip of coffee. "Right now, I have to finish
putting together the book that goes along with the show. Then, who knows
what'll happen?"

Armie had filmed an entire movie while Chris had zigzagged across the state
and filmed an extra episode in Washington, D.C. Though there was nothing
about moviemaking that could be described as predictable, there was a
routine of filming, waiting, and the inevitable promotion. Toss in a film
festival sometimes and Chris had the routine down. He'd been through it so
many times that he didn't even think about it anymore. However, Armie's
latest movie, which was about the life of activist Cleve Jones, felt bigger
than usual. It would probably get a lot more attention. There was already
award buzz.

Suddenly a very visible and vocal part of the LGBTQ community, Chris found
himself being asked to flip coins at sporting events, wave at crowds during
Pride parades, and, shoulder-to-shoulder with Armie, offer some words of
support. Nobody had referred to him as reclusive anymore and he was glad to
help where he could. When he was with Jake, he was happy to stay out of the
spotlight. Jake had his causes. Chris didn't really have any of his own,
but that changed when he found himself with the spare time and energy that
came after the divorce. That empty space needed to be filled with
something.

Post-England, when he'd been in Washington, he'd met up with Representative
Brian Sims, an openly gay member of the Pennsylvania State House, who had
suggested that Chris be more cognizant of his influence. He could be an
agent of change, be someone that made a difference. Chris could be the
first gentleman of Pennsylvania, Brian had said after he announced that
he'd be running for governor. But the siren song of California was too
strong to resist. Pennsylvania couldn't compare, even though Brian had been
very charming. So charming that he was more than happy to help Chris out on
his most recent trip to D.C. for the show. No hard feelings.

"It's all about the long game," Brian had said. "You have to think about it
in five, 10 years. I could be governor, you could push your initiatives
from a huge stage."

Politics and acting weren't that different. As Chris stared at the ceiling
through half-lidded eyes, his muscles achy, he realized that both
industries were as much about validation as they were about art and talent
or genuine concern for the public. Brian was a huge part of Philadelphia
politics. He had been for years. Chris threw his hand over Brian's chest
and sighed.

"Stop talking," Chris said. "Relax. Turn it off just for a little and see
what it feels like. It's wonderful."

"I know it's not exciting," Brian said softly. "But it's stable. Steady."

"It's not about that," Chris said, his eyes still closed. "Trust me. We
wouldn't work."

Chris rubbed his foot against Armie's. He closed his eyes and let his head
fall down onto Armie's shoulder. He wondered if life would ever settle
down. While everyone talked about how boring and dull 9-to-5 jobs were,
wouldn't it be easier if he and Armie had perfectly predictable schedules?
Armie cleared his throat and Chris glanced up, meeting his blue eyes.

"You've got coffee in your veins and you're falling asleep on me?"

"I'm distracted. Should we go for a walk?"

The California sunshine was already intense, even though Armie and Chris
hadn't even had lunch yet. Armie had pulled a baseball cap on over his
unruly waves and Chris' aviators were doing their best to keep the rays at
bay. In the short time that they'd been at the new house, the neighborhood
had already changed. The old-school beach houses were coming down and
brand-new houses were coming up in their place. It was sad to see a few of
them go, but there were no rules against it, Chris realized. Not every
house was a historic building and he couldn't blame the homeowners for
selling. They were all making a fortune, after all.

"It's not going to be weird having her here," Armie said. "Don't worry
about it."

"I'm not," Chris said. He pulled Armie down a different street than they
usually took, hoping to catch a glimpse of the main drag between the
houses. The warm weather meant an influx of people, even more than normal,
and he wanted to see just how the crammed the sidewalks were. To his
relief, it looks manageable, which meant his usual haunts, wouldn't be
crammed just yet.

"Is it harder to edit stuff from other people or write your own material?"
Armie asked.

Chris didn't answer right away. It was too complicated to answer straight
out. "It's different," he said. "But these people are counting on me to
tell their story and that's pressure I'm not used to."

"Don't try too hard, you're not getting paid for this," Armie joked. All
the money from book sales was going straight to the foundation, which would
hopefully use it to support literacy initiatives throughout California.

"Don't say that," Chris said. "Your mom will hear it. Somehow."

Chris stopped to look at a particular house, a low fence covered in ivy and
blooming morning glory around its postage stamp-sized lawn. The house
behind it seemed to be in good shape, but it was the colors that drew Chris
in. Instead of the usual magenta bougainvillea, the trumpet-shaped vines of
morning glory were blue and white. The deep ivy behind them seemed to
intensify the color and the graying house behind it all looked quaint and
welcoming.

"Cape Cod," Armie said. "Or Gray Gardens, depends on how you look at it."

"It's not that bad," Chris said. He kept walking, thinking about how many
times they'd walked past it without noticing.

"We should get some food before we head to the airport," Armie
suggested. "We're probably in for a full schedule."

Another few blocks and Chris and Armie found themselves at one of their
usual restaurants, eating salads on the patio. There was no way to predict
the L.A. traffic -- something Brian had mentioned in his efforts to get
Chris to date him -- so there was a sense of urgency as they ate their Ahi
tuna and harissa chicken. Armie ate from Chris' salad almost as often as he
did from his own plate, eliciting a grin and chuckle from Chris and a few
sideways glances from the other diners.

"Armie, take a breath," Chris said.

The blue eyes he knew so well, had stared into over and over, wrinkled at
the corners as Armie sat back. "All I had this morning was a protein
shake."

"You didn't eat any of cheese cubes at the supermarket?"

"Those don't count."

Chris smiled and leaned over to kiss him, giving everyone at the restaurant
something to really look at.

"This is your room," Chris said, letting Ramona enter the guest room before
he stepped in behind her. "There's another one closer to our room, but we
figured you'd want the one with the bathroom attached."

"Thank you," she said perkily. After picking her up from the airport, they
went straight to get frozen yogurt and then made the trek back home. "This
is great."

Ramona was in L.A. for a science camp and probably to get a taste of what
it would be like to get away from her parents. Jake was still in New York,
so it was either going to be a situation that involved Maggie and Peter
putting their lives on hold and living in the old Gyllenhaal family house
for a week or having Ramona stay with the Hammers. With the decision on her
shoulders, Ramona decided that being a block from the Pacific would be the
smarter choice.

"You can unpack, there are hangers in the closet for you, everything you
need should be in the bathroom. Let us know if we forgot anything."

"I'm more than happy to get junk food for you," Armie added. "Anything your
parents won't let you have, I'll get it right away."

"I can drop you off at camp tomorrow morning," Chris said. "But we can work
it out at dinner. I'm sure you're tired, you need to call your parents, and
all of that."

"I sent them a text," Ramona said. "They know I'm here."

"You're 12," Armie said. "And you're texting?"

"Armie and I will be around. Let us know when you're hungry or if you need
us to take you to get anything," Chris said, pushing Armie out of the
guestroom. "Don't be afraid to interrupt anything."

"She's very mature," Armie said as soon as they got downstairs. "Space
camp, cross-country flights all by herself, an iPhone."

"It's science camp," Chris corrected. "And she's my niece. She's our
niece."

"I don't mind that she's here at all," Armie said. "She's just a very small
adult. I thought she'd be a kid."

"You've met her parents," Chris said. "That should explain everything."

Armie shrugged. "Is it time to watch the final cuts from PBS?"

"I think we have to wait and see if she needs anything. I actually don't
know what to do with a 12 year old."

"I'm pretty sure they're on their phones all the time and we just feed her
and keep her from escaping into the wild."

"Very funny."

"You're very cute when you're with her."

"Let's just try not to scar her for life."

Both of them were right. Ramona was preoccupied with her phone, but she did
come downstairs to peek in to the refrigerator and take in the views of the
canals. It was very different from Brooklyn, she insisted, and Chris knew
right then that she'd make her way out here eventually. New York would have
one more expat in a few short years. Armie showed her where he kept his
secret stash of chocolate and Chris assured her that he knew it was there
all along. She was inquisitive, asking questions at a breakneck pace,
mostly involving the things that she'd heard Chris talk about repeatedly:
whether or not he ate tacos every day, the fact he was friends with an
Avenger, and if he really went to the beach as often as he said he
did. Armie was fascinated with her curiosity and all the things that she
clung to. Ramona didn't care that Chris was a bona fide "New York Times"
bestselling author. She was too hung up on the fact that he believed he was
a Ravenclaw -- she'd finished all the "Harry Potter" books -- and that he
could dip his toes in the ocean every single day if he had 15 minutes to
spare.

"You're very tall," she said to Armie as he leaned against the kitchen
counter.

He raised an eyebrow. "You're very observant."

"Do you want to get tacos tonight?" Chris asked. "We could ask Sebastian if
he wants to come, but that might be too many things off your checklist at
once. I don't want you to get bored after one day."

"He doesn't have long hair or a metal arm," Armie clarified. "But he is
very loyal."

"Let me text him and we can figure dinner out," Chris said.

Armie regretting not making more family-friendly films at that point,
though he was still waiting for the perfect time to slip in a mention of
his work on "Cars 3." Something told him that wouldn't really compare to
meeting a superhero, though. He pushed the thoughts out of his head as
quickly as they had come in. He didn't need to impress a pre-teen. Chris'
hand on his arm brought him back out of his own brain. "She likes
you. Don't try too hard," he whispered.

"Grab your jacket and we can start heading over to the boardwalk," Armie
said.

"Sebastian is on his way," Chris said. "Be cool, okay? He's sort of a diva,
but we still love him."

Ramona blushed, unable to contain her ear-to-ear smile. "You said he was
nice!"

"He's very nice," Chris assured her. "I was kidding."

Chris wondered how old he was when something as simple as seeing the ocean
and having authentic Mexican food could bring him genuine, unbridled
joy. Ramona was smiling wider than Chris had ever seen, her eyes wide as
they sat and watched the sun slowly dip into the ocean. She was practically
attached to Sebastian, who was humoring her and answering every question
she had about his Marvel movies, even going as far as FaceTiming with
Scarlett Johansson. Chris couldn't compete with a real conversation with
the Black Widow, so he satisfied himself with leaning against Armie's
shoulder and digging his toes into the cool sand.

"She's going to be a handful," Armie whispered, his lips grazing Chris'
ear. "No, she's already a handful. She adores you."

"She'll adore you, too," Chris said. "By the end of the week, she'll look
at you just like she looks at the Winter Soldier over there."

"Let's not go that far," Armie said. He wrapped one arm around Chris,
pulling him even closer. "Have you ever thought about it?"

"Don't want any," Chris said. "I'll spend my whole life spoiling this one
and her sister. We've talked about this before."

"I'm not pushing," Armie clarified. "Just keeping the conversation
open. You know where I stand."

Ramona glanced over her shoulder and turned back to Sebastian. "No, they're
not kissing," she said.

"Hey, we could be," Armie said. "The romance isn't dead."

"The romance should die down a little," Sebastian said. "You kiss too much,
if you ask me."

Ramona came over and practically fell into Chris' lap, pulling her knees up
to her chest and watching horizon again from her new perch. "We did this
before. I remember," she said.

"Yeah, we've come to the beach a few times together," Chris said.

"You always liked watching the sun go down," Ramona added. "We did it with
Uncle Jake."

"Lots of people do it," Armie said. "Look at all the people around us."

"Ramona," Chris said, smoothing down her hair, "that was a long time
ago. Things are different."

"I liked it better when you two were kissing," Ramona said.

"Your uncle...we, your uncle and I, I mean, were too stubborn to talk about
what we needed to and we don't kiss anymore. I kiss Armie now. He's not so
bad."

"I'm great," Armie said. "He wouldn't kiss me if I wasn't."

"Mom and dad told me," Ramona said. "I understand."

"I appreciate that," Armie said.

"You can come stay with me if you get sick of them," Sebastian said. "I'll
get you all the taquitos you can eat."

Armie stretched, the satisfying crack of his back and elbows bouncing
around the living room. Chris appeared a second after Armie settled into
the couch and flopped down beside him. "She's exhausted," Chris said. "I'm
exhausted."

Armie kissed Chris' temple. The week had gone by at warp speed. Trips to
the planetarium, time in the actual labs at UCLA, and visits to the museum
were punctuated with watching nature documentaries at home and one
impromptu trip to Universal Studios' Wizarding World of Harry
Potter. Ramona loved every minute, whether she was learning or she was
waving her fake wand around. Chris and Armie split the responsibilities,
driving her from one place to the next, indulging her with frozen yogurt,
and making sure that Maggie and Peter weren't too worried from 3,000 miles
away. She became a regular fixture at the bocce ball courts by the beach,
bringing a smile to the older gentlemen that played every evening. She knew
the quickest route to the boardwalk, learned which taco fillings she liked
best, and got plenty of time with her ex-uncle and whatever she'd decide to
call Armie.

"She likes me now," Armie said, a look of smug satisfaction on his face.

"You're easy to like." Chris was half burrowed into Armie's chest by now,
his eyes closed as he felt the steady thump of Armie's heartbeat. His hand
slid up under Armie's T-shirt, rubbing warm skin.

"These are your favorite, right?" Brian asked, handing Chris a bouquet of
blush-pink peonies. Chris had just arrived in D.C. when he spotted someone
holding a sign with his name one. "Christopher Hammer," it read in plain
black type. Brian sent a driver, even though Chris had only emailed him
asking for a few names to help with the episode. That simple message
snowballed into appointments with the Secretary of Education, the Librarian
of Congress, and even the head of the U.S. Association of Libraries. It
would be great for the show, but knowing that these people were very
important, very powerful, and even somewhat controversial, he was nervous.

"They are," Chris said. "Thank you."

"I'll have them sent to your hotel with your luggage. You need to be in the
Capitol in 20 minutes if you're going to make your first appointment. The
crew is already setting up."

"How did you make this happen so fast?"

"I know people at the National Endowment for the Arts," Brian said. "I'm
not on the national level yet, but I'm working on it."

"That's exciting," Chris said, rummaging through his carry-on. A plain
black cashmere sweater would have to do. It would look fine on TV, he knew
that much.

"I read that you got married."

"He's in Quebec filming right now," Chris said. "But Armie's been involved
with all the episodes we filmed back in California."

"Does he know about us?"

"I don't really talk about any of my exes," Chris said. "I think it's a
good habit." He shrugged off his grey hoodie and pulled on the sweater. He
didn't look professional, but it was definitely more polished than his
cross-country flight attire.

"Okay, let's get going," Brian said, handing Chris a security lanyard. "Do
you need to bring anything?"

Chris was already reaching for his notebook and his pen. "I read that you
were dating a hipster with a man bun," he said, straightening his sweater
now that he had everything in hand.

"It's not serious. Nothing like the connection we had."

"I've got too much baggage to be a politician's husband," Chris
said. "You're better off without me."

"That's not how I see it," Brian said. Chris followed behind him as they
walked, Brian looking every bit the politician in a full suit, tiny
American flag lapel pin, and polished shoes. Chris wondered how much sway
he had here in D.C., but didn't question anything. Thanks to Brian, the
show would get big name policymakers in addition to small-town
teachers. Chris had promised PBS some Washington heavyweights, even though
he didn't know how he'd go about doing it. "This is where we met,
remember?"

"Yes," Chris said automatically. He didn't know if it was the truth, but it
seemed like the polite thing to say. He looked around the hallway that
attached the Cannon House Office Building -- they'd been using an extra
room in U.S. Representative Dwight Evans' office -- and couldn't quite
remember anything specific. He'd walked this hall so many times before that
it all blurred together. A rare set of circumstances meant that the
secretary of education was taking appointments in the Capitol today and
Chris was jumping in on that opportunity. PBS opened a few doors and
Brian's efforts made even more swing wide open.

"I'll be right outside the door," Brian said as they approached a
nondescript-looking office. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"Thank you for all your help," Chris said. "I really mean that."

"Just let me get a photo with you so my constituents think I'm cool," Brian
said, pulling out his phone. Chris gave a big smile and Brian snapped a
selfie. "And let me treat you to dinner."

"No," Chris said quickly. "That's taxpayer money. I'll pay for dinner. It's
honestly the least I could do."

"I won't argue with that," Brian said. "I'll have one of the interns book
us a table at Charlie Palmer."

An few hours later, Chris was back at the hotel, changing into something a
little more presentable. Brian's peonies, with their big mop-head blooms
and shaggy leaves, were sitting in a tall vase. Chris had already called
Armie, who was so exhausted Chris was sure that his excitement was
completely feigned. Chris let his producer know that there was plenty of
great footage coming her way and even had a chance to take a quick sunset
walk down the Capitol Mall. No matter how many times he'd seen it before,
the Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial always left him
speechless. He ran his fingers through his hair one more time and headed to
the restaurant. It was just a few blocks from his hotel, but he took his
time. During past visits, he'd rushed through everything. This time, he
wouldn't make that mistake again.

"There are bats flying around," Chris said as he hugged Brian. He'd
changed, too. The suit was gone. Instead, he was wearing a deep purple
sweater and dark blue jeans.

"They'll leave you alone," Brian said. "And you look better than
ever. Married life suits you."

"No complaints," Chris said. "I don't know why I fought it. Divorce really
messes you up."

"You're lucky that the press glosses over everything that happened before
Armie Hammer."

"Lucky for you, too," Chris said just as they were being escorted to their
table. "They write a lot of awful things about me. Me and the people I'm
seen with."

"It's pretty quiet on that front in Philly," Brian said. Before he could
finish that thought, the waiter came over, ready for their drink orders:
"Two waters: one still, one sparkling. Bourbon, neat."

"Your newfound interest in activism is commendable," Brian added. "Just
knowing that you're trying to make the world a better place actually makes
it a better place."

"It's not new. I'm just doing more. I have the resources now."

"That's great," Brian said. "I'll do anything I can to help. Don't ever
hesitate to reach out. You're doing good work."

Chris took a sip of his sparkling water. "Things are good for you,
too. I've been keeping up."

"I'm humbled," Brian said. Chris swore he could see him blush. "A big
glitzy Hollywood writer like you keeping up with local Philadelphia
politics would certainly be something."

"I know how to use Google alerts, Representative Sims."

"Can you teach me?" Brian joked. "I'd like to get some alerts, too."

Chris ignored his comments. The last thing he needed was for Brian to get a
notification any time he did anything worthy of a headline. "Are you
getting a steak tonight?"

"And a dessert, since you're picking up the check. Maybe an appetizer?"

"Do your worst," Chris said. "Hollywood writing comes with a few perks."

"Hey, hey. Did you fall asleep?" Armie asked, shaking Chris' shoulder.

"I think I just zoned out," Chris said, rubbing his eyes. "I've been
watching too much of myself." He got up off the couch and
stretched. "Between Ramona and the edits, my brain hurts."

"C'mon," Armie said, pulling Chris back down into his arms and kissing his
forehead. "I'll make it better."

Nick shook at Armie's shoulder. "Hey, are you still with me?"

"I don't want to be," Armie said. "She doesn't love me. Probably never
did. I'm going to be a divorcee. It's so cliche."

"All this beer was supposed to make you forget about that."

"Nice try," Armie said. The two of them were at the pool, getting more and
more sunburned as Armie wallowed for the second weekend in a row. He'd
missed two auditions. He ignored phone calls, emails, and text
messages. Nick was the only person who'd seen him since Elizabeth left all
those week ago. The house was quiet, half-empty and a definite weight was
pushing down on both Nick and Armie. "People" magazine described the
divorce as amicable. It wasn't. Neither one of them was happy, but no
matter how hard they tried, whether it was therapy and counseling or just
talking to each other, things weren't clicking anymore. Elizabeth wondered
why Armie's big break just wasn't coming. He wondered why she seemed to
have a dozen very expensive hobbies and no actual passions. It had been
more than a year since they told each other that they could make it
work. It was more than a year that Armie felt trapped.

"We all saw it coming. Hate to say it."

"You love saying it. You and Viktor."

"I thought you were doing better. What happened?"

"She called. She wanted the pink slip to her car and it wasn't at the
lawyers. It was here. I never want to see her again. I don't want to talk
to her. If it's done, it's done."

"Slow down."

"Fuck everything. I'll start over on Monday."

"It is Monday."

"Fuck Monday. I got passed up for two movies. I'm nobody to anyone."

Nick sighed. If Armie was going to seethe with self-pity, there was nothing
he could do about it. Things had to ride out. This wasn't anything new, but
it felt harder than ever before. Armie had gone through breakups, but the
combination of Elizabeth finally making the separation and divorce a
reality coupled with the rejection of not getting movie roles -- and no
real prospects coming up -- was a lot to take. "Armie, get it together. You
knew this was coming. You've been to the lawyers. You knew what was
happening."

"Still sucks."

"Yeah, that's not a surprise."

"If you give me a 'chin up' motivational speech right now, I'll punch you."

"If you don't suck it up and get to this audition you have scheduled today,
I'll punch you."

"I look like shit. I feel like shit. I'm not going to get any role."

"You've got nothing to lose, Armie."

Armie let out a long, loud sigh. A shower. Maybe a shave. He really did
have nothing to lose. Feeling sorry for himself was getting old. He could
use a change of scenery. Plus, doing one audition meant that he'd done
something productive, which could buy him a few more days of doing
absolutely nothing.

"You think you'll actually try this time?"

Armie looked around the yard, the glittering pool reflecting the sunlight,
the grand house right behind him. None of this was going anywhere, whether
he had ten movies in the works or zero. "I don't care. I don't even know
what it is."

"If you can read, you can audition. Now please, get out of here."

"Sell a fucking house."

"Well, let's both be adults today. I'll see you tonight."

Armie grabbed his phone and scrolled through his email. He had more than an
hour to get ready and drive to the Chateau Marmont. Ignoring more than 20
voicemails and dozens of other emails, he figured that this audition was
something that piqued his interest a few weeks ago he heard about it. Maybe
being mature wouldn't be so bad today. Pushing all his emotions aside for
now, he walked past Nick back into the house. A shower would do him
good. An audition would do him even better. If he got a callback, he
thought, things would definitely be turning around.

He practiced his monologue during the drive, trying to remember exactly
what he was auditioning for. Was it a brooding leading man? Was this a
romantic comedy? Were studios still making those? He had a passage from
"Franny and Zooey" memorized just in case, but maybe this was a Shakespeare
situation. Nick could have given him a clue as to exactly what he was in
for, but it wasn't like he'd have listened.

Nick had warned him about Elizabeth and he ignored all of that
outright. Nick, who he'd known longer than just about anyone else in his
life; Nick, who knew him better than himself, probably; Nick, who obviously
wanted Armie to be happy and successful, didn't get any credit. Armie swore
that if this audition went well, he'd buy Nick the most expensive bottle of
scotch he could find. But he had to get through it, first. He hadn't been
focused during the last two, so it wasn't a surprise that he never got a
callback. But this time, he'd try. This time, he'd focus -- the best he
could, given the circumstances at hand -- and if he got a callback, he'd
call it a victory. Right now, landing a role wasn't the endgame, especially
since nobody in the industry seemed to care about him. Right now, he just
needed to get back in the routine.

Chateau Marmont wasn't an unusual place to hold auditions. It was where
smaller projects usually got off the ground and, if actors were lucky,
where big ones started when producers and directors wanted to stay under
the radar. It was easier, almost enjoyable, to audition at a hotel and not
at a studio. If anything, it was easier to get a drink after. He made his
way through the lobby, checking his phone to remind himself of where he was
going. One stop in a mirror to make sure he looked better than he felt and
he was ready. Deep breath. "Franny and Zooey."

A gentle knock on the door was all it took for it to open. There was a
standard setup inside the suite, with a group of people on the sofa and a
few more milling around. "Armie Hammer," he said.

"Great, they're ready for you," the young PA said, checking Armie's name
off of her iPad. "They're through that door." She motioned to what looked
like a bedroom, but Armie was sure it would be emptied of any actual
furniture. One last deep breath. He stepped inside, a wide smile on his
face and nearly stopped mid-stride. This was a big deal. He recognized a
few of the faces. One in particular deserved a second look. He went right
over, thankful that the handsome one was sitting on the end of the table.

"Armie Hammer, nice to meet you."

"Christopher Lewis. Thank you for your time. We're ready when you are."

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