Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
CONNOR
I get off the subway in Midtown and walk toward the hotel where I’m supposed to meet my boss, Rick. My eyes are glued to the sidewalk under my feet and my hood is pulled up over my head to keep out this last blast of winter.
After dinner last night, we had another session of Remedy Donnie’s Woeful Knowledge of Popular Films and watched Casablanca. No more giant bowls of popcorn to cock block us. We curled up nice and close on the couch, me big-spooning Donnie, tucked in under a blanket.
Donnie fell asleep halfway through—slacker.
There was a moment on the second-floor landing when we were on our way to bed. I was in front of my room and Donnie had one foot on the step leading up to his on the third floor. I held my breath, heart racing, waiting for Donnie to decide what to do.
We hadn’t done anything more than some kissing and cuddling all evening, but that was enough for my dick to get presumptuous. It’d been more than a little chubby during the movie and there was no way Donnie hadn’t felt it on the couch.
Still, I wanted him to initiate. Things aren’t at all cut and dry between us. I’m not so na?ve to believe that just because I broke up with Miles, I don’t still have shit I need to work through. And then, there’s Roger.
I feel a lot more comfortable in the house now.
It’s starting to feel like home. Every now and then though, I’m reminded of Roger and how his presence still lingers here.
In the wedding ring Donnie hasn’t taken off.
In the office across from my room. I don’t know how Donnie feels about all that. I’m a little afraid to ask.
Donnie gave me a goodnight kiss before he went upstairs.
It was sweet, with just enough heat that I melted in his arms. When he pulled away, there was a promise in his eyes that settled my heart and let me breathe.
I lay in bed afterward with the lights off and the door closed, wondering what Donnie was doing upstairs.
I woke up this morning wishing I had him in my arms. He met me downstairs with a bowl of overnight oats and a thorough good morning kiss.
We have time. There’s no rush. Neither of us is going anywhere.
A hand grabs my arm and I spin around, hand raised to fend off my attacker.
“Hey, it’s just me.”
I sigh, heart pounding, all senses on high alert. “Jesus, Rick, you scared the crap out of me.”
He shrugs like reaching out and grabbing random strangers is something he does every day. “I called your name. You walked right past me.”
I look up and see the hotel’s entrance is half a block behind us. “Oh, sorry. I was distracted.”
“Yeah, no shit. Come on.” Rick leads me back to the hotel and the dimly lit lobby.
The place is sleek and trendy with shiny white tiles on the floor and shiny white panels on the walls. Oddly shaped lights hang from the ceiling, glowing pink, then blue, then purple. White stuffed couches sit next to several of those giant egg-shaped chairs.
A hotel manager meets us by the reception desk.
We were hired to produce new videos and photographs for their website, and now we’re here to scope out the place and design a production plan.
Jackson, the manager, takes us up to one of the guest rooms. The suite we’re in is large and has the same vibes as the lobby.
All white. Space age-y. Kinda bland except for the view.
It faces west out over the Hudson River toward New Jersey. The late winter sun reflects off the water, making it shimmer. The sunset from here would be amazing. If I put a couple actors by the window, I’ll get some fantastic silhouettes.
My phone buzzes and I pull it out of my pocket. Maybe it’s Donnie, checking in. Maybe he wants to see if I want spaghetti squash or zucchini noodles for dinner.
It’s Wyatt. He must be fed up with waiting for me. Well, he can wait a little longer. I send it to voicemail.
Two seconds later, a text message comes through.
Wyatt
You can’t ignore me forever.
I know I can’t, but I haven’t figured out what I want to do yet.
Wyatt
If I don’t hear from you, I’m going to respond to the granting committee and take the interview myself.
Wait a fucking minute. He can’t do that. It’s my script. I wrote most of it. I’m the creative brains behind the whole thing. I smash my finger on the call button. Wyatt picks up on the second ring.
“Thought that would get your attention,” he says by way of greeting.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” I escape to a corner of the suite so Rick and Jackson won’t hear me.
“Connor.” Wyatt sounds like he’s speaking to a toddler throwing a temper tantrum.
“That script is mine. There’s no fucking way I’m letting you steal it from me.”
“What? I’m not stealing anything. The script is ours. We’re partners. I want us to do the interview together.”
I laugh, hard and bitter. I was on the fence about whether I could keep working with Wyatt, but hearing him act like nothing happened, I know there is absolutely no way.
“I’m not doing the interview with you and I’m not letting you do it alone. First, you steal my boyfriend, now you’re trying to steal my script. Who knows what else you’ll steal next.”
“Jesus Christ, Connor, I’m not stealing anything.”
“Then why were you fucking my boyfriend behind my back?” I’m doing a bad job of not shouting. The suite is silent behind me. I stuff myself deeper into the corner.
“It’s not what you think.”
I scoff, disgusted. “That’s a tired line.”
“It’s true.” Wyatt sighs heavily into the phone. “We love each other.”
I stare at the white wall in front of me, feeling like I’ve taken an icy cold knife deep into the softest part of my gut. I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I’m paralyzed, my brain caught in a do-not-compute over what Wyatt’s saying.
What does he mean they love each other? How? Since when?
It comes to me piece by piece. Me coming home to find them hanging out together, watching movies on the couch, laughing in the kitchen, reading quietly next to each other. They were always so understanding when I needed to work odd hours or got called in unexpectedly. They never complained.
Wyatt turning away when I went to kiss Miles. Miles keeping his hands to himself when Wyatt was around. I thought Wyatt was just giving us some privacy. I thought Miles didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.
All that time, they were in love with each other and trying to hide it from me. I’m the dupe, the delusional one. I was living in my own little make-believe world. It’s so obvious now that I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.
“Connor?”
I start like Wyatt smacked me in the face.
“Connor, say something.”
There’s nothing to say. They have each other now, they don’t need anything else from me.
“No, it’s over. Tell the granting committee we’re pulling our application.” I hang up and collapse with my shoulder against the wall, trying to keep down the breakfast Donnie made for me.
“What’s going on?” Rick comes up behind me.
I straighten, swallowing down bile. “Nothing, sorry. I’m fine.”
“Clearly, you’re not fine. What the hell was that?” Rick gestures to my phone.
“Wyatt.”
Rick stares at me blankly.
“My best friend.” I cringe at the words. “Ex-friend. Ex-creative partner.”
Rick seems to pick up on the “ex” part and some of the annoyance drops from his tone. “Is this going to be a problem?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“Good.”
I follow Rick and Jackson through the rest of the tour, taking reference photos with my phone and jotting down notes about lighting and camera angles.
It’s a good distraction that keeps my mind off the call with Wyatt.
But by the time we’re done, Wyatt and the grant is the only thing I can think about again.
Why did I tell him to pull the application? I’ve just tanked my career before it’s even started. I’m never going to get another grant after this.
“Hey, Rick,” I say when Jackson leaves us in the hotel lobby. Anxiety skitters across my skin and I’m all jittery and antsy.
“Yeah?”
“Can I, um, talk to you about something?”
We go to a Starbucks down the street and grab the last empty table in the corner. I can barely sit still.
“So, um, how bad is it if I’ve applied for a production grant and then pull my application halfway through the process?”
Rick cocks an eyebrow. “Huh? What do you mean?”
Fuck. I don’t want to go into the whole backstory with Miles and Wyatt. I just want to know how much of a self-sabotaging idiot I am.
“Does this have anything to do with the call earlier?” Rick asks.
“Yeah, it does.”
“Okay, so spill.”
I don’t know how else to spill without telling him everything. It’s humiliating, but I do, starting from the script Wyatt and I were working on, straight through the cheating and the email from the granting committee, ending with the call he overheard.
Rick’s silent the entire time, his expression inscrutable.
“So… I guess I’m wondering… how fucked am I?”
Rick takes a long sip of his flat white. “I dunno what to tell ya. Life’s hard. This industry is harder. Shit is going to hit the fan every other day. There are assholes around every fucking corner and you don’t always have the luxury of choosing who you work with.”
I frown, my stomach twisting into knots so tight I think I’m going to be sick. “So I’m really fucked.”
“Is anyone ever really fucked?” Rick shrugs. “I mean, yeah, this grant sounds like it’s a big deal. But guess what? There are hundreds of grants out there.”
That’s kinda exactly what my film school instructor said. Kinda what Donnie said too.
“Listen, kid. There’s never a clear-cut answer to any of this. Is this the big break you’ve been waiting for? Maybe, who can say? Is it worth it if you’ve gotta work with someone you don’t like? Only you can answer that. The only way you’re ever truly fucked, is if you stop trying.”
Rick checks the time on his phone. “Hey, I gotta jet. I’ll see ya tomorrow, ‘kay?”
I stay behind to finish my latte with a double pump of hazelnut syrup. I know everything Rick said is right. Donnie too. In my head, it makes perfect sense. If anyone else came to me, I’d tell them the same thing.
So why doesn’t it feel right? Why does it feel like everything is slipping through my fingers and the harder I try to hold on, the less I have to grasp?