4-2
932 Words
THERE ARE A LOT OF things Zach does that Alex would never in a million years do. Some are little things, like how he dresses. Some are bigger things. Like voluntarily visiting a prison to interview inmates.
Alex thinks he’s going to be fine until he gets to set and finds a reasonable replica of a prison visiting room. The fluorescent lights, metal chairs, phones, and Plexiglas panes are all too spot-on for his comfort. But there’s no way to say that or show that he’s ill at ease. Not without raising questions Alex doesn’t want to answer about his sister and Indiana and weekends spent driving to Putnamville with his mom until he finally refused to go anymore. He takes a breath the way he used to on those not-long-enough-ago trips and braces himself.
When he has the mechanics of the scene and the equipment of filmmaking to focus on, he’s fine. It’s during the frequent stops and hurry-up-and-waits that the institutional setting starts to get to him. The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness. After three hours, Alex can’t take it anymore.
“I’m sorry, I need a minute,” he says when they’re called back to start the next page. He needs to get out in the hallway at least and breathe something like fresh air.
“You just had a break, we don’t have time to wait on you,” someone from the crew snaps.
“Then make some,” Alex snaps back. He knows he shouldn’t even as he speaks. He is talent; it’s not his job to make anyone else’s more difficult. Lashing out is also a very good way to show exactly where his vulnerabilities lie. But he feels like he’s suffocating, and his rational mind is not in control. He has his limits, no matter how often he gets the message that such things are, for him, not allowed: Because he’s not a real actor and because America thinks it owns anything it can see on its TV screens.
Before the guy can say anything back — or Alex can dig himself any deeper — Victor is there. He doesn’t look at Alex as he pulls the guy aside.
To tell him what, he doesn’t know and is afraid to contemplate. Victor knows about his sister; there is no information about any of his people Victor doesn’t feel entitled to. Despite his apparently uncontrollable little outburst, Alex doesn’t want that information to spread further or get more attention than it already has. It’s bad enough being the gay kid from Indiana. He doesn’t also want to be the gay kid from Indiana whose currently incarcerated sister tried to stab him in the ramshackle kitchen of the ramshackle house they grew up in. Twice.
His mom only knows about one of those times. Victor had somehow gotten both out of him.
After Victor releases the guy — looking shaken and subdued, back to the crew — Alex expects Victor to round on him next. Victor does meet his eye. But instead of crooking his finger and telling Alex he had better come with him, he nods and moves along.
Somehow, Alex manages to get through the rest of the morning. Once they break for lunch he peels away from the group headed for catering. He needs some time alone and to be nowhere near anything that resembles an institutional setting.
He finds a nook behind a bunch of the set flats, out of the way and certainly out of sight to any casual passersby. He sits down with his back against the wall, puts in his headphones, and closes his eyes.
Five minutes later he’s startled out of his solitude by a shadow. Someone has rounded the corner of the flats and is now looming above him. Alex opens his eyes, fully ready to snap again, only to find that it’s Paul.
“It’s you.” Alex hopes he’ll go away.
“It’s me.” Paul smiles and sits down on the floor next to him.
Alex pauses his music and looks sideways at the other man. He can’t help but wonder if he’s been sent by Victor and, if so, for what incredibly intrusive purpose.
“I need to talk to you,” Paul says. “So I can write for you.”
“Again?” Miserable and shaky as he might be right now, he doesn’t want to offend anyone else by being today’s bad attitude bear.
“Mhmm.”
“We already did that.”
Paul smiles. “I know.”
“Did you need something else?” Alex still doesn’t get why Paul is here.
“It’s been a while. I wanted a refresher.”
Paul doesn’t look like he’s being deceitful, but still, Alex is twitchy and annoyed. “Why? If you need to watch me, you can stream the episodes now.” It’s an obnoxiously cocky thing to say, but it’s true, and Alex would really prefer to be alone.
Paul frowns in thought. The gesture makes his forehead crease and his eyes look even kinder. He might be a writer but he’s built like the guys Alex and Gemma still only talk about. He’s fit, with pale skin a little tanned from the sun. His hair is blond and his gray eyes are completely intent on Alex.
“That’s not remotely the same. You’re more than some small talk and a collection of edits, no matter what marketing tells you. People change and grow all the time, show me how that works for you. Or, you know, be grumpy,” Paul says with a shrug. “It’s all data.”
Alex doesn’t quite know what to do with any of that, so he snarks something about clichés. Paul snarks right back, smiling the whole time. Like everything else for Alex lately, it’s a dare, but it feels different — and better — than most of the others.
When Paul gets up five minutes later, Alex feels more like a real boy than he has in a while. Maybe he can resume this day from a place resembling neutral.
Also, Alex notes after Paul disappears around the corner that for a writer, Paul has a great a*s.
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- Writer
