The Art of Three

Chapter 2 - Callum solves everyone’s problems but his own-1

Chapter 2 - Callum solves everyone’s problems but his own

Having spent most of his adult life in the business, Callum had found that the trick to enduring long days on set was to have a life outside of filming. Which meant limiting his social time with the cast and crew and spending as much time as he could with his friends, family, and flings.

The flings, of course, he conducted within the agreements he and Nerea had for their extracurricular activities. Sometimes they were frequent; sometimes they were few and far between. At the moment Callum was only contemplating such a relationship, with a blue-eyed freckle-faced Irish boy too young for him by half.

Family was also difficult to come by presently. Nerea was at their home in Spain, having learned early in their marriage that her enjoyment of Callum’s life on set was inversely proportionate to her proximity to it. Their middle daughter, Devon, lived in Spain too, just half an hour away from Callum and Nerea’s house. Leigh, their eldest, and Piper, their youngest, both lived in London, but had their own busy schedules and complicated lives. Which made tonight a friend night.

Thom Abbot was Callum’s latest best friend. Callum went through best friends at the rate of one or two a decade, which was far better than the turnover rate on his lovers. They had met while working on a movie and they’d quickly bonded over odd films, obscure books, and the raw incompetence of their first-time director. Now, five years on, here they were at a gastropub of the sort that had recently been taking over London. Callum appreciated the food — few things were not improved by being fried in duck fat — but he appreciated the dim lighting and relative quiet even more.

“God, you’re getting old,” was Thom’s first response when Callum finally told him about Leigh.

Callum was working up to a clever retort when someone approached their table to nervously-yet-politely ask for a selfie. Callum winced but obliged.

Thom waited until the fan had gone to give a heavy sigh. “This is ridiculous,” he complained. “How am I supposed to mope with your good news and all your groupies around?”

“They’re not groupies; they’re not my fault; and it was only one,” Callum replied.

“That’s how it starts.” Thom toyed with a chip. “And you love it.”

Callum started to protest, then gave up. Thom had half a point. “Not when I’m eating dinner. Or trying to have a conversation with you.”

Everyone Callum was close to teased him about being unable to go without human contact for twenty-four hours. No matter how often he denied the accusation, they weren’t wrong. Callum loved people: Their stories, their foibles, their failures. And yes, he adored their eyes on him. But just as much, he loved looking at them when they were engrossed in their own lives, unselfconscious and unaware. Even Thom, in the midst of a messy divorce that was incredibly awkward for their social circle, was fascinating to him. Sure, he’d been yo-yoing between clinginess and refusal to communicate for months, but Callum loved him all the same.

Thom was nearly as tall as Callum but rail-thin where Callum tended to broadness. Since the divorce process had started, Thom had kept his hair buzzed short to hide that he was rapidly going bald. Callum had wondered if Thom was mourning his marriage or trying to get laid again when he’d made the change, but didn’t have the heart to ask. Thom reminded him of the friends he’d had as a boy: Loyal, absurd, and desperately kind. Callum always enjoyed the time they spent together.

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