Date: Wed, 29 Mar 2006 22:31:20 -0800 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 9 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal (or Topher Grace) and my little story doesn't imply anything about their respective sexualities, but I'd do just about anything to have Jake all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one. Questions, comments, loved it or hated it? Shoot me a message at christopherrluu@gmail.com. Thanks to everyone for writing the great letters. I have great readers out there and they never ever let me down. This chapter is short, but be ready for part ten, which is the Oscar special and packed full of exciting things. It's also quite long in comparison to this one. For those of you that wanted more of Chris' history and more of Jake's take on things, this is my attempt at that, but you may see the fruition of both of those in coming chapters. Brokeback Mountain, one of Jake's finest performances, is out on DVD April 4th, so go get a copy. I asked for the day off of work just to sit home and watch it all day. The short story is amazing as well, go get a copy of that to read. Now on with the story: Part IX Three months. Ninety days. 2,160 hours. More minutes than Chris could stand. Jake shot his next movie, this one about a man trying to retrace the steps of Jack Kerouac and finding himself along the way, realizing that Kerouac was nothing more than a drunk person with too much to say. Jake let Chris read the script and Chris wished that it were something he'd written. So Jake took it on, signing himself to shoot on location for three months. He may have been getting offers for big Hollywood blockbusters, but it was these independent films that got him started and he'd never turn his back on them. On location in Big Sur, Jake emailed Chris pictures of the streams and forests, his outstretched arm silly expressions in every picture. And for ninety days, Chris didn't write a word. He was too busy overseeing the shooting of Independence Day and saw Jake twice the entire time he was away. While Jake was away, he remembered everything he loved about him, his crooked grin, his blue eyes, the way he brushed his teeth in the shower, the way he went crazy when Chris worked that spot on his neck. New York had been a lesson for both of them. Jake carefully closed the sketchbook, every word hitting him harder than the last. The thing about Chris' writing was that he knew how heavy it could be, and most of the time, he didn't write like that. He balanced passages with each other, heavy ones with light ones, scenes butted up against one another so that readers weren't overwhelmed with the devastation of it all. But here, he didn't hold back. It was raw, there were sentences crossed out, but Jake sat there, trying to decipher every word. He sat there, his heart racing as he got to the end, mad that Maggie had been right, mad that he didn't do anything about Chris' situation, mad that Chris went out to Eric, but more than that, mad at himself. Walling inside, Jake saw Chris sitting on a chair, his legs drawn up to his chest. Jake was even more mad at himself when he threw the journal against the wall and slammed the door of Maggie's bedroom shut. He couldn't let Chris see him cry, he was supposed to be the strong one. Following Maggie's advice, Chris asked Soderbergh not to choose Jake. Maggie was surprised anyone listened to her, but Chris was sure there were conversations about the whole ordeal that he'd never hear about. Family was important to them and even though Chris felt like Maggie was practically his sister too, she and Jake had a relationship that nobody could penetrate. "Don't shit where you eat," she said, giggling. So for three months, Jake and Chris talked on the phone and they missed each other. New York was nothing more than a blip on the radar; New York was something Chris really did push out of his mind. He liked to think that Jake had done the same, but in the back of his head, he knew Jake could pull it out like a dagger anytime, using it to his advantage. Chris eventually forgot about that when he took the train up to Big Sur and Jake was there waiting for him, a smile on his face that melted any doubt. "You'd love it here," Jake said, "you could stay here for a while, you know. I think you'd really like it. It's all trees and sky." Chris hugged him and right then, he knew everything would be okay. They walked down the main boulevard, the only paved street in town, Chris following Jake as he looked into the cafes, storefronts, and tiny artists' houses. Soderberg tapped his fingers on his desk, covered with black and white headshots. "Jake's not Kent," Chris said, pulling his picture out from the stack and laying it in his lap. "Kent is me. Kent is me when I graduated from high school and had no idea what to do. He's confused, he's lost, and more than anything, he doesn't know who he is. Jake isn't him," Chris shook his head, feeling like he was betraying Jake, "He's not right." Soderbergh agreed, and Chris Jake had no trouble finding work. After their vacation in New York, Chris had gone to Soderbergh's office almost every day, talking about the movie and exactly how he wanted his book represented. Jake wasn't upset, and if he was, he didn't show it. His first day on set, Chris was amazed to see everything just like he imagined it in his head. The old, decaying fifties-style house, the suburban nouveau- riche clothes the costuming department had picked out, and more than anything, the way that Topher Grace and Mischa Barton interacted, it was just like Chris and his cousin, just like he saw it in his head as he wrote it. Chris didn't know which string of profanities flew from Jake's mouth when he found out that Topher was cast in a role he wanted, but if he was anything, Jake was cordial. They never talked about it. "I want to take you to this spot I found one day when I went for a break. You'll like it. Every time I'm there I want you to be there with me, want you to see it." Chris nodded, tired from the train ride, legs still wobbly from the bumps on the track. Everything in Big Sur was green and looked fresh. It looked like a postcard. The sky looked bluer and the air smelled like pine tress and the water that ran in the streams out to the ocean. Chris couldn't see it, but he could smell it, the salt lingering in the air. Jake grabbed Chris' hand, his eyes sparkling. It'd been a month of noting but work and drinks with the crew after watching dailies and now Chris was here to see all the things he was looking at for four weeks. "How is everything on set?" "More than anything I imagined. It's an independent film with a big budget, can you believe it?" Seeing his book come to life blew his mind, he never imagined it happening, but now that he was, he couldn't wait to see it. "So it's nothing like this," Jake said, "here it's independent film with an independent budget. But I guess I'm used to it." Chris looked out at the city nestled in the forest. It was more like a village, bikers everywhere and old hippies that thought it was still 1962. He'd always looked up to the uncontrollable willpower of Kerouac, and to see Big Sur like this, exactly how Kerouac saw it, Chris couldn't believe it. Jake pulled to the side of the road to a campsite, a few trailers parked in a circle. Jake's had his name on it, nothing more than a piece of paper with permanent marker on it, curled and yellowed from a constant cycle of morning dews and afternoon sun. "It's not the Astoria," Jake said, opening the door, "but it's all we got." Chris dropped his backpack onto the floor and laid down on the bed, "It's not so bad." It had a kitchenette and a couch, but not much else. He was sure there was a bathroom in there somewhere; he just couldn't see it. The bed was comfortable though, and when Chris smelled Jake on the sheets, he shut his eyes and didn't care where he was. "So how far away is your secret spot?" Chris asked, feeling the bed sink when Jake sat down next him. Jake's fingers combed through his hair and soft lips pressed against his own. "A mile I think. I've never thought about it," Jake said. He ran his hand up Chris' stomach, feeling the new definition there, "are you running without me?" "Mornings are hard without you," Chris said, lazily his fingers running up and down Jake's arm. "All day is hard without you here," Jake said, "everyone up here is all about Kerouac and Ferlinghetti. You could talk someone's ear off about them and they'd still want to keep going." Chris laughed, "Is it too late to go? Will it get dark soon?" "Nah, I'll grab some stuff from craft services and we can have a picnic," Jake said, sliding off the bed. He dug around a pile of clothes for a backpack and pulled Chris off the bed, running his nose through Chris' hair, nibbling lightly on Chris' earlobe. "You have no idea how much I've missed you. I use the desperation in my scenes, the character's lonely, I'm lonely. If you didn't come up this weekend, I'd have gone crazy," Jake whispered, his voice raspy. Chris pulled their lips together, his fingers feeling the softness of Jake's hair, the other resting on Jake's shoulder. "Let's get going," Jake said, throwing the empty backpack over his shoulder. Chris followed Jake out of the trailer, the bright sunlight making Big Sur even more unreal than it already was. Jake shoved a few sandwiches into the pack, waving to the catering truck as the ladies handed him cool bottles of water through the window. He threw an arm over Chris' shoulder, "You're not going to believe it." He followed Jake past the trailers and into the trees, Jake reaching for his hand, Chris noticing that his blue eyes were the same color as the sky. They walked through the trees; Jake's confident steps knew the path like he had the route memorized. Chris could hear a stream, birds chirping something splashing around in the water, but Jake kept going, turning to follow the water downstream. The old trees had moss growing on them, ferns and mushrooms at their bases, green grass everywhere Chris looked. At home, they ran along the beach and down to the pier, but here, their steps were slow, Chris trying to take in how amazing his surroundings were, trying to think of how he'd describe it to Maggie or Olivia back home, but he was drawing a blank, something that didn't happen very often. "Just a little more," Jake said, breaking the ethereal silence, "I'm telling you it's just for us. Nobody else has been there but me." Chris smiled, the whole thing feeling like a fairy tale. Jake stopped and Chris looked around, their hands still connected. Jake turned around and pulled their bodies together. Chris looked up into Jake's eyes as their foreheads pressed together, their noses running together, "This is for you and me." Jake pulled his hand and stepped over the little brook and between two trees. Chris followed, almost tripping over a root trying to keep up with Jake's excited strides. Chris couldn't breathe, it was too much to take in. It was like he was in a Waterhouse painting or a Van Gough. The colors were electric, pure, the air scented with pine and dew. Jake stood in the center of the clearing, a fallen tree splitting the clearing in two. Jake threw a blanket down onto the log and sat down on it, his arms spread out, face beaming with pride. Images rushed through Chris' head, the green cathedral in Crane's Red Badge of Courage, the Bertilak's castle in Sir Gawain and Green Knight, the Sherwood Forest of Robin Hood; it was like he and Jake had escaped from reality altogether. Chris sat down next to Jake and tried to take it all in, the sights, the sounds, the smells, everything. It looked like something out of National Geographic or a documentary on the Discover Channel, but it was real. It was real and he was right in he middle of it. Jake pulled him down onto the log, squeezing their bodies together. "Chris, this is like magic, like Lord of the Rings, but we're in it." Chris leaned over and kissed him, kissed him hard. His tongue slid into Jake's mouth, Jake's hands hungry on his back. He felt Jake push him down, the scratchy blanket doing little to shield the bumps on the tree bark. Belts and zippers, buttons and t-shirts, they were all undone and thrown to the grass, Chris' warm body under Jake's as the sun bathed them in yellow. Their mouths crashed into each other's, and when Jake slipped a spit-slicked finger into his ass, Chris felt a shiver shoot up his spine. Jake nibbled the soft skin of Chris' neck, feeling Chris squeeze around his finger as he slid his finger in and out, curling it to tap Chris' prostate, their groans filling the clearing as the cool air raised goose bumps on Chris' arms. It was primal, carnal, and instinctive. Their bodies moved together, skin against skin, mouth against mouth as Jake pushed another finger in, Chris' back arching as he felt Jake's fingers scissor inside of him, his cock hard, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach. Chris held Jake's head as the kissed, fingers pressing into Jake's scalp, his breaths short as Jake couldn't seem to get enough of kissing, making up for lost time and the unfamiliarity of loneliness. Chris felt Jake shift, pulling him up and lying down on the log, his eyes heavy-lidded and his tongue darting out to lick his lips. Throwing his head back, Chris slowly lowered himself down on Jake's dripping cock, falling forward and licking at Jake's neck as he felt each inch slide in. He panted against Jake's skin, his muscles tense as Jake ran hands down his back. He felt Jake's hands on his waist as he bottomed out, forehead resting on Jake's chest as he breathed. In, out. In, out. He felt the heat of the sun on his shoulders, the bark of the tree scratching against his calves as he lifted up, Jake blue eyes shut as his fingers dug into Chris' skin, a hiss escaping his lips. Chris could feel every vein on Jake's thick shaft, wincing as he lowered himself back down, his hands gripping the thin blanket on each side of Jake's head. He felt Jake's cock hit him deep, drops of pre-cum dripping onto Jake's stomach as he moved, every movement up or down forcing a groan from Jake's mouth, every squeeze of Chris' asshole sending shivers through his entire body. Jake opened his eyes, Chris' body glowing in the waning sunlight, as he fucked himself, his legs flexing with every movement, his arms shaking with strain. Leaning back, Chris ran his fingers through his sweaty hair, hissing as he felt Jake's cock hit him at a different angle, his body shivering as he kept his movements steady. Jake sat up, pressing their chests together as he latched into Chris' ear with his lips, his hand sliding to the small of Chris' back. Jake bit his lip as he got closer and closer, Chris' arms wrapping around his neck, feeling the pressure in the muscles with every breath. Gasping, Chris froze when Jake held him down, his cock deep inside Chris' tight hole. Pushing Chris' head down, their lips collided again as Jake tried to retreat from the brink, his stubble scratching Chris' smooth skin again, the feeling of it bringing shivers to Chris' body. He missed it, missed everything about Jake for so long. Jake's hand wrapped around Chris' cock, feeling Chris' ass tighten, squeezing him with every stroke. Jake gasped, his hips lifting, his body betraying the desire to make this last, to make it worth the month's waiting. Chris rose up again, fucking Jake's fist as his head fell forward onto Jake's shoulder as he picked up his fucking, Jake's sensitive cock still hard inside him. Moaning, Chris's legs were tired but he kept going, his cock swelling as Jake's strokes sped up, pre-cum dripping down over Jake's fist. Jake could feel himself getting closer, his sweaty hands wrapping around Chris' torso as his movements got more irregular. Chris' entire body felt like it was on fire, everything just coming together from his head to his toes, Jake's arms around him, Jake's cock inside him, Jake's mouth on his neck. Chris froze one last time, his cock shooting as Jake's fingers felt every muscle tense and tight. Jake wasn't far behind, his hot cum firing into Chris' tight hole as it squeezed his cock, Chris's breathing ragged, steadying himself on Jake's shoulders. Chris' entire body tingled, Jake's hot body slick against his. He felt Jake breath under him, saw Jake reach for something in the backpack. His eyes felt heavy and his body tired. Pushing Jake's body down, Chris nestled into Jake's body, remembering how perfect they seemed to fit together. He felt a flash of cold on his back, Jake pouring water onto their weary bodies. It was like fire and ice, Chris stiffening under the pour, but thankful for it's cooling. He felt the stream move up his back, onto his hair, the rivulets falling down onto Jake's body. Chris shivered, leaning down to kiss Jake again, throwing his head back when they separated, drops of water scattering over the grass and the tree trunks. Jake grinned, pushing Chris' wet hair back, licking the cool drops off his chin. Laying back down on Jake's chest, Chris sighed, a smile spreading across his face as Jake's arms came up around him. The sun was setting as they got up and threw their clothes back on, the green of the trees glowing in the red-orange light. Chris held Jake's hand tight as they walked back to the trailers, not thinking about the movie, not thinking about his next story, not thinking about anything but Jake. *** Chris had his own chair on set. It only had his name on it, but it was right next to Steven Soderbergh's and he figured that he was the only screenwriter with a director's chair in all of Hollywood. Before shooting every started, he figured he'd either be on the set of Jake's movie or at home, not watching over scenes next to the director. On set, he hung out with Topher talking about Stanford and USC, Topher surprised to find out that he and Jake had a lot more in common than they thought. College dropouts turned actors, talents on the brink, it was Topher's third movie with Soderbergh, so they joked around a lot. Topher even knew Maggie, who he'd worked with before, too. When he hung out with Mischa, Chris was impressed by her regal posture and he almost aristocratic air. She was into fashion and Boccacio, and she'd only recently read Independence Day, so she was eager to talk about it, asking questions that Chris hadn't answered in a long time. How she managed to play her age up, act like she was only a year younger than Topher surprised Chris more than anything else. He and Soderbergh couldn't have asked for a better cast. He may have been the only screenwriter with a director's chair, but he didn't have a trailer or a dressing room. On set, he was a vagabond, messenger bag slung across his shoulder, journals and pens in tow as he went from Topher's dressing room at the soundstage or his trailer on location. Phone to his ear more often than not, he was either talking to Jake or Maggie, the two people he clung to when he was stressed out. "You don't talk about your family much," Topher said, "you actually don't talk about them at all." "My parents died when I was eight," Chris said. Topher instantly regretted asking, but Chris kept talking, his eyes looking down into the spiral of his coffee cup, "I lived with my grandparents, but they died a few weeks before my high school graduation. I've been on my own for a while." "You dedicated your book to your parents though," Topher said, it was all a little too complicated, death and family wasn't something normally reserved for between-take conversation. "It's just something you do," Chris said, "family first, even if they're not there to see it." "You turned out okay," Topher said, "better than okay." Chris nodded, only having told that story a few times in his entire lifetime. He thought it seemed like something that made him vulnerable, and he didn't like that. He preferred to let his work do the talking. "When I see you out there, the trepidation on your face, the way you nibble on your thumbnail when you're sitting in the passenger's seat of that car," Chris said, "it's unreal. It's like I'm watching my book. It's like I'm seeing the pictures that were in my head right in front of me. I don't know if that's how things are supposed to work, but it's pretty magical." "What are you up to when you're not on set?" Topher asked, "you don't hang with the rest of the crew." "When you guys did those few days on location in the desert, I went up to Big Sur," Chris said, "Jake's doing the Kerouac movie." "I read for that," Topher said, "weird how fate works out, right?" Nodding, Chris wondered what Jake would have to say about that. He'd read the script for Road to Big Sur and he'd written the Independence Day script. He knew they were both great, both something new and something refreshing. He knew Jake was sick of stock scripts, mundane bio-pics, and generic action adventure blockbusters. He was sick of them too, but here he read two scripts back to back, two scripts that were dynamic and exciting. If this was where Hollywood is going, Chris was proud to be pushing it in that direction. "Nobody knows this part better than you," Topher said, "I mean, you lived it." "It's fiction, Grace," Chris said, "I lived part of it, the rest of it never happened. It only happened in my head." "And I know from experience that it's a crazy place up there," Topher said. Chris blushed, not knowing what to say. Topher exuded a sort of inherent sadness when he was on set, but as soon as he was out of character, he made Chris blush and laugh all the time. Tension, sexual or not, was replaced with friendship, and Chris was glad. Without Topher, he'd probably be sitting on that chair still, not knowing what to do with himself. Glancing at his watch, Topher got up and smoothed his shirt, "back to the gulags." *** "Hello?" "Hello?" Topher said, fumbling with Chris' phone. Red phone? Green phone? He tapped the space between the two flashing pictures on the screen and hoped for the best. "Chris?" "Yeah, he's asleep," Topher said, "do you want me to wake him up?" "Asleep?" Jake asked, "No, it's alright. Can you just tell him to call me back?" "Will do," Topher said, looking for something to write with. He'd been underlining his script, adding notes to the margins, but his pen rolled off and under the table, "Call was early this morning, I don't think we'll get used to it." "5 am?" Jake asked. "4," Topher said, holding in a yawn, "we've been going through some long days." Hanging up, Topher set Chris' phone back into his bag. Two months in and things were starting to get hard and heavy, the scenes longer and more serious, the hours long, early mornings and late nights. Everybody on set was running ragged. Topher watched Chris shift on the couch, rolling from his back to his side, the tension still visible on his face, even in sleep. He'd spent some nights on set, re-writes and observing, he seemed fascinated by the entire process, just soaking up anything he could. Soderbergh loved it, loved explaining things and hearing Chris ask questions and give feedback, his fingers fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. Chris' eyes fluttered open and he saw Topher, pouring over the days shooting schedule and his lines. He had a habit of crossing out every scene that'd been completed for the day on his copy of the schedule. He always had a look of satisfaction on his face when he crossed off the last scene of the day before crumbling the sheet up and tossing it. Chris watched it happen just about every day before he waved a quick goodbye to everyone and headed to the train station. "Jake called," Topher said, "sounded important." "Really?" Chris said, stretching. He scratched his head and heard his back crack, a smile on his face. "No, not really," Topher said, smiling. He tossed Chris his phone before standing up and stretching himself, "two more scenes, then we're out of here." Chris wasn't paying attention, he was already dialing Jake's number. Topher rolled his eyes and opened up his script again, bending the front cover over to the back, his eyes scanning the page. He heard "uh-huh's" and could see Chris nodding in assent, Jake's voice only a murmur. Chris hung up and patted Topher on the shoulder, "Got your lines down?" "Always do," Topher said, his green eyes sparkling. Chris pushed the door of the trailer open and walked out into the darkening evening, feeling especially energetic after both a nap and a call from Jake. "Show me," Chris said, "let's get out of here early tonight. I hate riding the train when it's practically midnight." "I can give you a ride home if you need it," Topher said as they walked to the set, just a few blocks from where the trailers were parked. "Four hours out of your way? That's generous," Chris said, laughing, "do we have an early day tomorrow too?" "It's early days from here on out," Topher said, "I think. It's 4 am calls for the next week though, I'm sure." "If you guys would got these all in one take, we'd be done," Chris said sarcastically, his body already drained from just thinking about the schedule, "maybe I'll take a few days off." "Maybe you will, but I know you won't," Topher said. The crew was milling around, spraying the asphalt of the street with a hose to make it glisten under the streetlights. Chris saw Mischa, coat wrapped tightly around her body as she tried to stop shivering. He and Topher waved at her, a weak smile forming on her mouth as she waved back. Topher knew all his lines, but Mischa always needed a few takes to warm up, improvising her lines right in front of Chris and Soderbergh. Chris didn't care if they were better than what he had in mind, they sometimes were, but more often, they weren't and she relied on her doe eyes to get things across. She looked the part and sometimes acted the part, but after a few takes, she was the part. "Is it okay if I spend a few nights at your place?" Chris asked, turning to Topher. "You know you don't have to ask," Topher said, his breath turning to vapor in the cold air. Chris rested his head on Topher's shoulder as everyone settled in ready to work. Mischa threw her coat off, shaking out her hair, the makeup crew touching her up. Chris walked towards his chair, hoping that there was coffee around somewhere, "All this hard work, this movie better be amazing." *** "Are all the plants dead?" Jake asked. "No, I water them when I remember," Chris said, "I threw some ice in them before I spent a few nights away." "Well, I'll be bringing some new plants home, if you get what I mean," Jake said, winking exaggeratedly. Chris hit Jake's shoulder, rolling his eyes. "Even when we're both at home they manage to die," Chris said, "they'd run away if they knew what was good for them." A week of working from dawn to past midnight, even if he was just sitting in a chair and watching, tweaking the scenes, and telling Soderbergh that things were how he wanted them. He couldn't imagine what Topher and Mischa were going though, having to actually work. After that, Chris decided to take the train back up to Big Sur, watching Jake improvise his lines without a second thought, snapping in and out of character on command. Chris watched as Jake went from a crazed Kerouac groupie, spouting direct quotes from On the Road and Dr. Sax while the cameras rolled and a second later, he was sitting next to him on the grass and just joking around. Chris was still amazed at how green the grass was and how blue the sky seemed. Lying down in the grass, he rested his head in his hands and watched the clouds float by, Jake's hands lazily running over the cashmere of Chris' sweater. It was colder than it'd been just a month ago, but the sun was still shining and the sounds and smells were all the same. "You smell like cigarettes." "They're for the movie," Jake said, frowning, "I hate it. I have to do it for every other movie and I still can't get used to it. You still smell good though," he said, rolling on top of Chris. He felt himself smiling, remember exactly what happened last time they were here. He felt Jake at his neck, hands running up under his sweater, "Mmmm, laundry...grass." Chris pushed him off, rolling his eyes, "Get out of character. When you get back home, we're going to have to get rid of all your clothes. But for now, I guess we'll have to just deal." Chris felt Jake's body rest on his again, their lips coming together as Jake's hands went right back to sliding up Chris' stomach. Big Sur would always have a special place in Chris' heart. Chris was so grateful to be away from Los Angeles, away from just about anything. No matter how short, vacations always reminded Chris what he'd be coming back to. When he came in Jake's mouth, he forgot about the late nights, Topher's uncomfortable couch, bumpy train rides down to LA, and Steven Soderbergh trying to make him see things through a director's eyes. All he thought about was how soft Jake's hair was, how his hands knew every spot that drove him crazy, and how no matter what, how he'd give anything for more. *** "Do you want me to say it or do you want to say it?" Steven asked Chris, his eyes wide with excitement. "Say what?" Chris asked, reaching for his bag, "I thought we were done." Soderbergh shook his head, throwing his hands in the air, "it's a wrap!" he yelled, his voice booming across the soundstage. Topher and Mischa hugged, everyone reached over and hugged someone, but Chris just sat in his chair, watching the celebrations all around him. "You going to sneak away and tell Jake?" Topher whispered in his ear. Chris turned to face him, Topher's look of excitement and relief something Chris hadn't seen for the past three months. "He's shooting right now," Chris said, "he put the schedule into my phone." He didn't to do anything but tell Jake, he wanted to hug Jake and cry he was so happy to be done. His first movie was in the can, he wouldn't have to deal with anything else until it was released, and even then, Topher and Mischa would do publicity. Who wanted to talk to a writer? He pictured Jake on set, probably filming a scene in a car or staring longingly at a typewriter in a glass case, he wanted to hop on the train and show up, sidling behind that glass case and watching Jake's big eyes get even bigger when their eyes connected. Topher gave him a firm hug, blasting him back to reality, but he appreciated it. He couldn't believe it. Three months of work and soon he'd see posters, see commercials, watch Topher and Mischa talk about the movie on television. He didn't realize it, but tears were dripping down his face. Soderbergh gave him a hearty slap on the back before hugging him too, "Kid, you're going to go far. You'll see, once you hear those words coming out of the theatre speakers, you won't be able to get enough." Chris wiped the tears away with the back of his hand, a weak smile all he could muster. "Thanks for making this happen," he said. The cameramen and sound crew were cheering, Mischa and Topher thanking everyone with a kiss on the cheek or a handshake and Chris knew that even though some of the days had been miserable, he'd miss the camaraderie, miss knowing that he'd see the same people day after day. Sighing, he headed out to let the crew celebrate. Undoubtedly, there'd be drinks, a party, something going on, but he couldn't, not when Jake was wrapping up in a few days and things would go back to normal. He looked back at the set, leaning against the huge sliding metal door of the soundstage. He didn't want to think about the sets being torn down, his memories really, demolished but nobody caring but him. Topher came running up to him, panting when he skidded to a stop. "Wait up, I'll get my stuff and we'll go. I'll take you home." Chris nodded, watching as some of the cameramen were already breaking out beers, Soderbergh and Mischa laughing with each other. Chris watched Topher sprint to his dressing room, coming out with a box in his hands and his jacket on. "We have to stop at my house first though, you have some stuff there." "No, really, it's okay. You can just toss that stuff. It's just like a toothbrush and socks right?" Topher snickered, "Yeah, a toothbrush, socks, your shower stuff, six or seven journals, four or five gray hoodies, should I keep going?" Laughing, Chris followed Topher to his car and jumped in, the bittersweet finality of another project behind still lingering in his head. "I'm sorry about all that, I didn't know it was going to be like this for that long." "It's cool, really. It was nice not being home by myself all the time." Chris was quiet for a long time, his jaw stiff and his eyes forward. "You think you'll miss it but you don't. Well, maybe you'll miss this one, but most times, the crew and cast aren't all chummy like it was here. Think about what you'll do next." "I don't know what I'm doing next. Three months here, a month before that, I've put so much time and energy into this." "We all know it's going to be big," Topher said, "you don't have to worry about it. I've never had so much press on set all the time. There's a lot of buzz, and it's not all about Soderbergh and Mischa. People are talking about you." "Stop reading the Variety, Topher," Chris said, "it's as reliable as a gossip rag." "I'm serious," Topher said, "you're not going to be in the background. Actors, directors, other writers, the town's talking all about you." Chris eyes were fixed on the road, trying to figure out of Topher was dishing out compliments or trying to scare him. "Is your couch more comfortable than mine?" Topher was good at changing the subject, knowing exactly when and what to say. Grateful, Chris nodded, "I'll even let you use the good blanket." *** Jake tossed his keys onto a table entryway, right next to a wilting plant, leaves droopy and yellow. He dropped his suitcases, rushing into the living room hoping to see Chris there, or if not there, through the window in the studio. Independence Day wrapped two days before Road to Big Sur did, Jake not expecting Chris to know anything about the news, but he rushed home to surprise him. But Chris wasn't around, an extra pillow and the cashmere throw on the sofa. He called Chris' phone but heard it buzz against the counter in the kitchen. Chris was running, it was the only thing he ever did without his phone around. Jake pulled his suitcases into the bedroom, leaving them at the foot of the before he pulled the sheets to his nose, smelling Chris on them as he closed his eyes. He missed their little bungalow the entire time he was in Big Sur, how he could wander the house in the dark without bumping into things, how he could see the ocean from almost every room, and how the same two ducks came around when it rained. He heard the door open and two voices come into the house. When Chris saw Jake turn the hallway, he jumped on him, not caring that he was sweaty and that Topher was there. He wrapped his arms around Jake's neck and kissed him, Jake's hands instinctively resting on Chris' back. "I missed you so much," Chris whispered, hands running over Jake's hair, "we wrapped and I wanted to call you and I was crying and everything." Jake pressed his forehead to Chris', smiling from ear to ear. "Grace, how's it going buddy?" Jake asked when Chris let go of him. He was sweaty too, his hair matted from his baseball cap. "Did Chris take you on the beach trail?" He nodded, twisting the cap off his bottle of water, "All four miles." "It's eight, four there and four back," Jake said. "Sorry about that," Chris said, pulling the hem of his shirt up to wipe the sweat from his brow, "I'm going to get into the shower and then we can get coffee or you can tell me about the shoot." Jake nodded, it felt so good to be home again. "He talked about you on set," Topher said, "always wondering what you'd think of this or that. You two have got something good." "I know," Jake said, "every day I think I don't deserve him." "I'll be out of your hair soon, I don't want to be the third wheel," Topher said, "I'll just get going after I shower and stuff." "Hey, it's not like that anymore," Jake said, "back then things were different, but we're all friends now." "I never thought we'd be friends," Topher said, "we want the same roles, we're clawing at parts and scripts, after the same guy, but it is different." "You mean a lot to Chris," Jake said, "I didn't know how much until the movie, but I have to say thanks. You took care of him." He noticed Topher's expression soften, finally relaxing with Jake, the tension disappeared and he felt like there was something there: friendship. No more competing, no more jealousy. Jake patted Topher on the back, "Let me get you another bottle, that trail can be killer when it's hot out." --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com