Chapter 30 Christopher #2
When I finally got back last night, Andrew wasn’t home.
He was staying over at his partner’s house, who he’s been with for nearly six months now, a new record for him.
Andrew and I started out as friends with benefits when we first met two and a half years ago, but over the last eighteen months, our relationship has evolved.
We moved in as flatmates a year ago and now he’s one of my closest friends.
“A roller coaster,” I say, grabbing two spoons from the utensil drawer and the Ben & Jerry’s cookie dough ice cream from the shopping bag.
“You want some?”
“When have I ever said no to ice cream?” Andrew says, laughing. He grabs the bottle opener and two bottles of Corona before heading back into the lounge.
Connie had mentioned that Alexander would be doing a sit-down interview today to shut down all the speculation, but hadn’t given me any further information.
After some investigating, I’d figured out the interview was with Behind the Scenes and would play at eight o’clock tonight.
Which meant I’d be home to view it. I’d hoped watching it would give me some closure, but if my reaction to the song on the radio and the billboard I saw is anything to go by, I don’t think it will.
Then there’s the issue of convincing Andrew to watch it.
I’ve been trying to work out how to approach this, especially since watching the NBA Finals has become a new tradition. It’s something we both do when we’re home during playoff season. Andrew even dons his Laker’s jersey, revealing toned arms that remind me of Alexander’s.
Clearly, I do have a type. Shorter than me, muscular, into sports, and with that pretty bad boy look.
“Do you mind if we flick over to NBC at eight?” I ask, popping the lid off the ice cream and leaning across the couch to offer him a spoon.
“What’s on at eight?” Andrew puts his Corona down and takes the spoon, digging in extra hard to get a large scoop of ice cream.
“It’s one of my sister’s favorite artists. He’s doing an interview, and she wants me to text her all the details as soon as it airs.”
I move myself back, hiding my discomfort at concealing the truth. I reach for the other spoon, taking a scoop of the ice cream and swallowing it down along with my guilt.
“Can’t we just TiVo it?” He looks at me, his face crinkling.
I knew this would be his answer and thank God I planned for this. I have a backup plan that will work. Call it emotional blackmail if you will, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“Remember when you broke up with Michael and all you wanted to do was cuddle up on the couch and watch Disney films? We skipped two NBA games last year so you could pretend to be Jasmine and that Aladdin would come rescue you.”
“What does that have to do with this?” His brows furrow.
“Well, I’m just asking for thirty minutes tonight for you to cuddle up with me on the couch and watch the interview. If not for me, then for Kelly.” I break away from his stare to put the tub of ice cream down and grab the other Corona, taking a swig.
“Okay,” he says after a short pause. “But I don’t want this becoming a habit.”
“It won’t,” I say.
The next twenty minutes pass tediously. I pick at the label on the beer bottle, waiting for the clock on the wall to hit eight, before I reach for the remote.
The program credits start, and I inhale so deeply that it startles Andrew.
He shakes his head as he reaches for his beer and takes another sip.
After a brief introduction from the host, the camera cuts to Alexander sitting across from him, and my heart skips two beats.
His face looks even more beautiful on screen than it does in person.
The white of his shirt brings out his tanned skin and blue eyes.
His hair is on the stylish side of messy, in complete contrast to Tony’s hair.
“Your sister’s got good taste in men.” Andrew raises his brows at me.
“He’s alright. Had better.” I wink and nudge him with my elbow.
Andrew laughs and grabs another spoonful of the ice cream that now sits between us. I lower my head to his shoulder, grateful not to be going through this alone. I’ll do anything right now to make the pain of watching this more bearable. Even if it means flirting with Andrew.
With the pleasantries over, the host readjusts himself in his chair, and I get a sense of where this conversation is starting. My shoulders tense up, bracing like I’m watching a suspense scene in a horror film.
“There’s been a lot of speculation going around the last couple of days about the video that leaked online of you with another man, and I wanted to give you the opportunity tonight to address the speculation directly.” He points his cue cards at the camera.
A ping sounds from Andrew’s phone, and he picks it up, thankfully distracted from the clip I’ve now seen a hundred times of Alexander and me.
The last thing I need is Andrew finding out about this.
I love him, but his lips are as loose as his asshole, and if he were to find out, half of WeHo would know before the night is out.
“Wait, he’s gay?” Andrew asks, when he finishes responding to the message.
“Shh,” I say, whacking his arm.
I’m keen to hear how Alexander addresses what happened between us, and I don’t need any interruptions.
I can tell Alexander is uncomfortable by the way he fiddles with his watch, which helps soothe my racing heart.
“I appreciate that there’s a lot of speculation about my love life, my personal life, but that speculation over this last week has already caused a lot of damage. Rita Watson’s family had to sit by while the press and people online vilified her. She actually needed our support and understanding.”
There’s a sincerity in his voice that pulls at my heartstrings.
To have to go through this. On national television.
I shake my head at the thought of being forced to do the same.
“As for the video that leaked online, what the footage didn’t capture was the camera crew in the ballroom. We were filming a scene I was rehearsing with a movement coach for an upcoming film I’m going to be shooting at the end of summer.”
My heartstring snaps.
So that’s how they’re going to spin this.
I’ve gone from dialect coach to movement coach. From stranger to hookup guy, from boyfriend to discarded, all in the space of two weeks.
“A new film?” the host acts surprised.
Like he’s not in on this whole masquerade.
Three fast blinks and a twitch in his lip, and Alexander’s face shifts ever so slightly. He’s more stoic, more composed. It’s the way he acts whenever he’s confronted by someone he doesn’t know.
“Yes. I wasn’t planning to announce it until we began shooting, but I’m going to be starring in my first feature film, called Disposed. It’s a psychological thriller, set in New Mexico, about a man that’s seeking revenge on a town that destroyed his family.”
That’s it.
That’s all I get.
Is that all this relationship was to him?
I’m barely a footnote in this conversation.
And as for the title of the film! Doesn’t look like he’ll need to do much rehearsing at all to get into character. He’s clearly already skilled in the art of disposing things he no longer needs or cares for.
“You know what, let’s switch back to the finals. Kelly can find out what he says online,” I say, pushing myself up off the couch.
“You sure?” Andrew leans forward to grab the remote.
I look at the TV one more time, and the thought of listening to another word of what Alexander has to say makes me want to grab the bottle of beer off the table and throw it at him.
“Yeah,” I say, picking up the beer and gulping the last of it instead. “Want another one?”
“Sure, why not.” Andrew flips back to the NBA Finals as I make my way into the kitchen.
I grab two beers and a lime from the fridge and take a moment to rest my arm on the door.
The cool air helps cool me down. Maybe it’s for the best. Maybe this wasn’t meant to work out after all.
And at least I still have a roof over my head and I’m one hundred thousand dollars better off. It could be worse.
I close the fridge door and head over to the counter, setting the bottles down and picking up a knife to slice the lime into quarters. I pop the bottles open and slide the lime slices in.
“Chris, your phone’s ringing. It’s someone called Skater Boy?” Andrew says from the lounge, and I freeze. My hands lose their ability to function, and I drop both Coronas. The glass smashes and the beer spills out all over the floor.
“You okay?” Andrew comes into the room, sprinting toward me. “Is Skater Boy the one who has you all up in your feels, buying ice cream and beer?”
I shake my head.
“Sorry, I thought I saw a spider,” I say, stepping carefully out of the mess and grabbing the kitchen roll to clean it up.
I avoid Andrew’s gaze as I try and compose myself. He goes to the fridge and retrieves the last two beers, popping the lids off.
I haven’t heard a word from Alexander in nearly two days, and now he calls me.
Now he decides to get in touch.
Fuck him.
My breath is short and shallow as I pat down the floor and then pick up the glass shards.
“Come on, let’s leave that till the game is over,” Andrew says, pulling at my arm.
I get up and take a beer off him, then follow him back to the couch, settling down and grabbing my phone.
The missed call notification stares back at me from the lock screen. The temptation to call him back is strong, but a bigger part of me wants to just end this chapter with him. Draw a line under everything and begin anew, hard as that may be.
As I put the phone back on the table, another notification pops up.
Voicemail
My whole body tenses at the sight.
I will my body to relax, just as Andrew becomes animated and starts shouting at the referee.
A doctor told me once never to pick at a scab. If you do, it will never heal. But the itch is there, and I need to scratch it. To hear what he has to say.
But what good would that do me?
I’m already a footnote in his narrative, as evidenced by the interview.
I’ve been silenced by Connie and a hundred thousand dollars.
But maybe I should listen to the voicemail. It’s not like I have to respond to him. And unlike a call, it’s not like he’ll be able to ask me any questions and catch me off guard.
I get up and make my way to the toilet, taking my phone with me, and sit down. I open up the voicemail and immediately notice the length. Shit. It’s a long message.
Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.
Maybe I’m reopening Pandora’s box.
I let my finger hover over the red delete button, but I can’t bring myself to do it. The curiosity about what he’s said is too much to take.
I take a deep breath and remind myself that this will help answer some of the questions I have, and maybe give me some closure that the interview didn’t.
I press play.
“Hi Chris. It’s me…”
To be continued…