THEY’RE QUIET ON THE stairs, and Alex feels no less awkward when they get to Paul’s bedroom. The room, now that he’s letting himself look at it, doesn’t give much away: pale yellow walls, dark blue comforter, white trim around the windows and doors. The airiness of it is all California, but it lacks the blunt excess of his costars’ massive and ugly houses. He likes it. Even so, the contrast to his own apartment remains immense and fills Alex with a certain degree of shame over his choices. Alex thinks about the nights Paul spends alone. He’s fascinated by the mystery of normal adult life.
Paul sets down the wine and glasses on the little table next to the armchair that resides in the corner of the bedroom. The silence stretches, snapping only when he finally takes a step toward Alex.
Ale
