Chapter Twenty-Two #4
‘Yes,’ he quietly admits for the first time.
‘I’ve got a couple of script treatments.
Like a proposal or synopsis of a few films or shows I’d like to work on.
It’s all pretty amateur stuff, but I think they’re good ideas.
I still want to work on romcoms, but not as the leading man.
I want someone else to act out the stories I tell, and I want to make space for other actors coming up the ranks. ’
His mouth feels dry. Talking about his writing makes him realise how different it is from acting.
When he acts, it’s all about embodying someone else.
He’s not really Nash when he acts; the disappearing is the point of it.
But when he writes, it’s all him. He has to be himself, and that is both thrilling and terrifying in equal measures.
‘Basically, I want to try something new, and I worry that if I sign that deal, I’m locked into this life that doesn’t fit for so much longer.’
‘What does your agent say?’
He shuffles. ‘I haven’t spoken to Kurt about it. The execs pushed the deadline until after Christmas, which saved me from having a conversation about it.’
‘Wait a moment, is that why you’re here? To avoid all this?’
Nash can feel his cheeks redden, and he’s grateful that the lights are off.
‘Nash. That was a very silly idea,’ Christopher softly admonishes.
‘Perhaps, but if I hadn’t come, I wouldn’t have been roped into this Christmas-movie-come-to-life, would I?’
There’s so much else he could say here, words that sit on the tip of his tongue but that he refuses to acknowledge. If he hadn’t come, they wouldn’t have met, and while Nash is still trying to work out what that means for him, he knows it isn’t nothing. And that scares him a little.
‘Speaking as someone who is truly terrible at talking about things,’ Christopher says slowly, ‘I think you should probably talk to Kurt about it.’
‘I know,’ he says, his voice quieter than he expected.
‘I’ve spent the last, like, decade and a half of my life always pushing forward, looking for the next thing and hustling for more work.
It feels against my nature to stop and say, actually this isn’t it, especially when so many people’s employment is linked to this deal. ’
‘Like Kurt’s?’
‘Well, yeah, he does get some money from my work.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’d rather that money came from something you wanted to do, rather than something you were doing just for him. Don’t you think? Doesn’t he get a say in it?’
Nash narrows his eyes. ‘You know, it’s quite annoying when you’re so unusually perceptive.’
‘Am I not usually?’
Nash makes a teasing hmmm noise, and Christopher tickles him. He actually tickles him, and he can’t help but laugh. All the pent-up anxiety flowing out of him as he tries to escape the gangliest man alive. ‘Please, no more!’
‘Only if you’re going to talk to Kurt about it.’
‘Sure, but after Christmas. I have some boundaries.’
Christopher lets him go, and Nash feels the cool air rush in where Christopher’s touch leaves him. Christopher yawns and stretches his body out in a way that reminds Nash of the puppies.
‘We should get some sleep. We’ve got another full-on day tomorrow.’
Christopher starts launching into sleepy scheduling for the next day, and Nash shushes him with a hand over his lips.
‘Shush. I’m already starting to regret it,’ Nash says.
‘What are you going to do? Hide? Shaz is like a bloodhound. She’ll find you.’
‘Nah, I was thinking something more sophisticated like turning the truck into a teleportation machine. I’ve probably got enough time if I get started now.’
‘You could just make it your Christmas Wish.’
‘My what?’
‘Oh. It’s a Calloway tradition. Kit and I would always make a wish at midnight on Christmas Eve, like on a star in the sky or the one on the tree if it was too cloudy to see any.’
‘Is it like a birthday wish? One of those you-can’t-tell-people-or-it-won’t-come-true situations?’
‘Yeah, I suppose so.’
‘I can’t believe you didn’t come up with any new wish rules. That’s very unimaginative.’
‘Oh sorry,’ Christopher scoffs. ‘I’ll use that teleportation truck to go back and tell five-year-old us that we need to do a second draft.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Calloway, you’re talking about a time travel machine. That’s something completely different.’
‘Now look who is being a nerd.’
What a funny man he is. Who would have ever guessed that such a buttoned-up man would hold onto his childhood traditions quite so tightly.
But then, Christopher definitely has some kind of whimsical, childlike side, what with the Paddington Bear, the gingerbread houses, and his general love of bickering.
In a swift move, Nash stands up on the bed, opening the curtains for the skylight above it. The sky above is deep navy peppered with silver, and a bright shining moon fills the bedroom with soft light.
‘Well, come on then. It’s wish time.’
He pulls Christopher up to stand next to him, and of course he has to crouch a bit because the ceiling is too low.
‘I’m not going to say it out loud,’ he says, a little indignantly.
‘This was your idea.’
‘Yeah, and my rules. You don’t share the wish.’
‘Fine.’
Nash cracks open the window a little, as though they might need a direct line to the sky to make it work.
It’s cold but the air is so fresh that he could gulp it down.
They stand together in silence, watching the stars, and Nash wishes he could remember any constellations.
Is the sky here even the same as the one in LA, or above his childhood home?
He’s not sure what to wish for, if he’s honest, and perhaps it’s a cop-out, but he wishes for happiness and for clarity, whatever those two things mean.