Chapter 15 Rama
CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Rama
I’m surprised when, on the morning of my flight to New York, Pravat insists on taking me to the airport.
Part of me wishes he wouldn’t because it makes leaving him so much more difficult.
Since the final fan meeting, I’ve tried to put distance between us so my departure will hurt less, but Pravat hasn’t allowed it.
He’s messaged me or invited me out every day, and I simply couldn’t turn him down or leave his texts unanswered.
I think I’d rather cut off my arm than hurt him that way.
The fact is I hate goodbyes. I’m not good at them, and God knows I don’t want to say goodbye to Pravat. Now that the moment’s come, it scares me how I suddenly wish I’d turned down the internship. I would rather face my father’s anger and disappointment than leave this man, and that’s a problem.
You’ve become reliant on him—something you’ve never done with anyone before. You’ve made yourself strong over the years, and he’s torn all that down, an inner voice berates me.
“What’s wrong?” Pravat asks. We sit at a bar in the airport, waiting for my flight to be called.
Taking a swallow of my gin and tonic, I try to calm my mind. “Just not looking forward to the long flight, that’s all.”
Pravat tilts my chin with his finger, forcing me to look him in the eyes. The gesture is all wrong for who we are to each other now, and as though realizing it, he withdraws his hand. “You’re excited about this trip, aren’t you?”
I bite my lip until it hurts, trying to keep the truth from spilling out of my mouth.
Curling my fingers around his hand, I say carefully, “It’s just nerves.
And…” I leave off, shaking my head, hating how weak I’ve become.
Belatedly, I let go of his hand, telling myself that this trip is exactly what I need. Clearly, I’ve become too attached.
Pravat doesn’t let me off the hook. Trapping my hand between both of his, he says, “Tell me.”
Studying his face, I memorize his features. “We’re going to grow apart.”
Pravat frowns. “No. We’ll stay in touch. I promise.”
Lowering my gaze to the table, I fight the urge to throw myself into his arms and cling to him, something I would never have done with anyone not too long ago.
“We’ll start out that way, but eventually we’ll lose touch,” I say. “It always happens. And…it probably should. We’ve grown too close.”
The way he withdraws at my words sends my heart plummeting.
“I mean…” I shake my head, words left hanging in the air.
“We’re friends, P’Rama,” he says.
“Nong—” I begin, but that doesn’t feel right. He’s never felt younger than I am. I shake my head. “Pravat. I-I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me. I couldn’t have gotten through it all without you.”
Pravat’s smile is soft. “Yes, you could have. You’re an excellent actor. Are you going to keep it up?”
I swallow. “I don’t know. I have to do this internship for my father. Unless I take it, I won’t be able to confidently tell him working for him isn’t what I want.”
My flight number is called over the loudspeaker.
As Pravat moves to rise from his stool, I grab his arm, suddenly frantic to make him understand something I can’t even put into words. “I owe you a debt. You have helped me tremendously. I…I don’t do well with people. And all those love scenes…I couldn’t have done them with anyone but you.”
Looking into my eyes, Pravat says, “You could. You’re better than you believe, Rama. There’s nothing special about me. All that you’ve accomplished, you’ve done on your own merit.”
My eyes mist over. My flight is called again, and I suddenly feel as though time’s working against me.
Tugging me to my feet, Pravat says, “You’d better hurry. You don’t want to miss your plane.”
Yes, I do.
The gate is just around the corner, and it’s too close. I need more time, but in an instant we’re there. The last of the line of travelers are handing over their tickets. Mine is crumpled in my sweaty palm.
Unexpectedly, Pravat presses a kiss to my forehead. “Text me when you arrive in New York. Promise me.”
I nod dumbly and turn to go. I take a step away feeling as though sand weighs down my shoes. Then, dropping my carry-on, I turn and launch myself into Pravat’s arms, hugging him tightly.
“Don’t forget me,” I whisper to him before turning blindly away. Retrieving my bag, I hand the ticket to the attendant.
I don’t look back as I walk into the jetway.
The flight is nonstop, and I spend much of the eighteen-hours in first-class catching up on the sleep I’ve lost the past couple of weeks.
When I’m not sleeping, I’m obsessing over recent publicity photos.
In one, Pravat has ripped open my shirt, baring one shoulder.
In the foreground, his hand rests on my chest, long fingers pressed into the skin.
If I concentrate, I can almost feel the warmth of it.
But what really captures my attention in the photo is the expression on my face.
Who is this man? I wonder, tracing my finger over my image on the screen.
I’ve had the same thought when watching the final cuts of the love scenes we filmed.
Edited together with music added, it feels like I’m watching Pravat with a stranger and find myself jealous of myself.
And that doesn’t make sense. Jealousy used to be a foreign concept to me.
I’ve had girlfriends become irritated when they couldn’t get a rise out of me in that way, claiming my lack of jealousy as proof I didn’t have feelings for them.
Maybe it was. Does that make me a bad person?
Or am I just emotionally stunted? I’ve always told the women I date I’m not looking for anything serious, and they’re quick to assure me they feel the same way, yet sooner or later they expect me to have changed my mind.
If I really am emotionally stunted, what are these feelings Pravat stirs in me?
Perhaps it’s because he’s the first true friend I’ve had in my adult life.
That must be the reason I feel threatened when I see him with his friend Kiet.
And the fact that my body responds to him—that must be due to the skinship we’ve developed.
All of these things can be explained away if I try.
Thumb brushing over the image of Pravat and remembering how it felt to have him hold my head in his hands and press his mouth against mine, I can’t help but wonder what it would be like to sleep with him.
Women have always been an accessory in my life, something I need on my arm because it’s expected.
I could perform with them in bed, but in many ways, sex was just a task with no emotional connection, no meaning, just brief physical pleasure that left me wanting to push them away.
But, although the lines between genders have blurred considerably for me lately, I’m not gay.
I don’t look at men as potential sexual partners.
My gaze roams over the cabin, fixing on the youngest of three men sitting nearby.
He’s fit and handsome, but I don’t have any desire for him.
Yet I can’t deny my body responds to Pravat Benjawan. From the start, he’s had the ability to completely wipe my mind of all thought just by entering my personal space.
“I’m sorry to intrude,” the young flight attendant says, “but you played Atid in My Doctor, My Love, right?”
Surprised, I take the dinner tray from her before answering, “Yes. You watch bl dramas?”
“Oh, yes. I love them. You and Pravat Benjawan are awesome together, even off screen. It’s hard to believe you aren’t really a couple.”
The warmth that envelopes me at her words catches me off guard. Stuttering out a “Thank you,” I watch her walk back to the food cart before turning away and popping in my ear buds, hoping some music with my meal will help take my mind off Pravat.
It’s late in the afternoon New York City time when the plane lands.
After the long flight, I’m eager to get to my cousin’s house.
Pete is the son of my father’s older brother, and we’ve always been close.
It was Pete’s boyfriend, Alex, who arranged for me to join his theater group while I was stayed with them the last time.
As I wait for my luggage to come off the plane, I text Pete that I’ve landed and then dutifully text Pravat the same, although he’s probably forgotten he asked me to.
As I stand staring at our last text conversation, the almost nine thousand miles between us feels like a million.
I don’t hold out much hope for the two of us staying in touch for long.
We both have lives to lead, and soon the next actor will take my place as his co-star.
I wince, the thought like a physical blow.
I’m surprised when, although it’s just past three in the morning in Bangkok, Pravat immediately messages me back that he’s glad I made it safely to New York. I smile when he adds to be sure to eat something and not to let myself get run down.
Despite how much I slept on the plane, my body struggles to adjust to the eleven-hour time difference. According to my phone, it’s four in the afternoon of the same day I left Bangkok.
As a red light flashes and the conveyor belt starts to move, I get a text from Pete saying he’s outside waiting in short-term parking. Spotting my bags, I step forward and drag them to the floor before heading for the exit at the front of the airport.
Pete looks much the same as he did when I visited him last year. As I do, he’s got the heavy brow of the Sathianthai family, but not the “resting bitch face,” as Chinda calls it. After a quick hug in greeting, Pete helps me load my bags into his black Chevy Tahoe and we get underway.
“You look good.” He glances at me before turning his attention back to the road. “Much more robust than when I saw you last year.”
“Really?” I ask, surprised because I haven’t been eating well lately. “What do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You were paler then. A little thinner.”
“Are you calling me fat?” I ask with a laugh.
“God forbid you could ever be anything less than perfect,” Pete teases. “Tell me all about the series you filmed. Your texts have been spotty at best.”
Leaning back, I stare out at the heavy traffic. “Sorry. My schedule was packed. It feels so weird to have free time now.” I tell Pete about the workshops, the long days of filming, the fan meetings, and the publicity shows.
“I have to say, Rama, I wouldn’t have thought you would succeed in this type of thing. Not that you aren’t a good actor, you are—just that this sounds like you had to play your part on and off camera for months on end.”
I consider his words. “It’s not really that bad. I’m fully aware that some of the production companies are exploitive and strict, micromanaging every moment of their actors’ time, but Hearts Productions isn’t like that. They’ve been nothing but fair and accommodating.”
“But you still have to play like you’re enamored with your co-star everywhere you go, right?”
Shaking my head, I say, “Yeah, but that wasn’t difficult. We’ve become good friends. Remind me to show you some videos of fan meetings and workshops.” I change the subject, asking him about his job and about Alex.
Pete and his boyfriend live in a condo in Manhattan overlooking the Hudson River. It reminds me of Pravat’s place in that regard. Stop thinking about Pravat.
When we arrive, Alex isn’t home yet, and Pete encourages me to rest before dinner. Stripping to my shorts, I lie on the bed in the guest room, gazing out at the complex’s Olympic-size swimming pool a few stories below.
Despite all the sleep I got on the plane, I drift off and awaken sometime later to the muted sound of Alex and Pete talking in the other room. Heaving myself from the bed, I slip into a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt before seeking them out.
“Something smells really good,” I say when I enter the kitchen.
“It’s almost ready,” Pete says.
Shaking Alex’s hand, I ask, “How are you? Pete told me on the way here you’ve started a new production.”
“Yeah, it’s comedy. I hope you’ll have time to see it.”
“I should. The internship will be a nine-to-five thing.”
“Pete’s been telling me all about the series you filmed.”
I nod. “Without everything I learned from you last year, I probably wouldn’t have landed the part. Thanks again for that.”
“It was my pleasure. What kind of audience do bl dramas attract?”
Leaning against the counter, I say, “Many of the fans are female, although some are gay males. All the stories come from popular books in the genre.”
“I was telling him about the fan meetings. That’s what really blows my mind,” Pete said.
Taking my phone from my pocket, I pull up a video of the last fan meeting we did and hand it to Pete, pouring myself a glass of wine as they watch it.
“Look at that crowd!” Alex says.
“They’re going nuts.” Pete glances at me. “I’ll bet you have women throwing themselves at you.”
“I get my share of attention,” I mumble.
“Holy fuck, your co-star’s hot,” Alex says.
They fall quiet as they continue watching.
“This is what I was talking about.” Pete points at the screen. “Look at the two of you. It must be exhausting to keep this up all the time, especially for you. You aren’t exactly the touchy-feeling type, and this looks so real, man.”
I shrug. “It was real. I mean, we’re playing up to the fans, sure, but that’s the real us. Like I told you, we’re good friends.”
Pete gives me a disbelieving look.
“What? I can have friends.”
“Not since we were kids.”
“I had lunch with Kris just recently.”
“You’ve known him since you were in diapers. And you two don’t hang out or talk on the phone all the time, right? Did you even hug him when you saw him?”
Scowling in answer, I sip my wine before replying. “I just mean being that way with Pravat isn’t work. We spent a lot of time at workshops getting used to being intimate. Anyway, Thailand isn’t full of toxic masculinity like America is.”
I’ve always thought of America as the ultimate place to live, particularly New York City. My visit last year only underscored those feelings. Now, though, I wasn’t so sure. On the ride home, the city didn’t hold the appeal it always has in the past.
Pulling himself away from my phone, Pete plates the food, and we sit down to eat at the small table.
“I want to hear all about these workshops and being intimate,” he tells me.