Chapter Twenty-One Fallout
He got me away from the set. Then we were on the ferry. I leaned over the side, staring into the water, still shaking. He stood beside me with his arm around me.
“I don’t need the hospital,” I said.
“I know. I said that so we could get out of there. I’m sorry, Craig. It’s not like Jack to get personal.”
“Does he know about...?”
“I never told him.”
“He sounded just like...”
And I started sobbing. It was dark, but we were in public, and I couldn’t stop. He got me into my jacket and put his arm around me, shielding me from people seeing.
“He’s a fucking asshole,” he said.
“He fired you.”
“I’ll get another job. I don’t want to work for someone who’d treat you like that.”
We got an Uber back to the apartment. I’d pulled myself together by then, but I held his hand the whole way home. And when he switched on the lights in the apartment, everything looked normal, and I felt embarrassed.
Maybe he could tell, because he said, “Stay home tomorrow. I’ll take care of you.”
That made me feel weak and pathetic.
I sat on the couch. “I’ve gotta see my therapist.”
He stood in front of me. “I can take you, but you need a break from work. You’re still sick.” He kissed my eyelids.
I didn’t deserve him. “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For standing up for me. For protecting me. For losing your job over me.”
“This was my fault. I talked you into it. I vouched for Jack. I fucked up.”
“Can I get some water?”
He went to the kitchen and brought me a glass.
I drank half of it. “I gotta brush my teeth. My mouth is gross right now.”
I went to the bathroom and washed my face. I was a mess. How could he love me? I’d let him down in the worst way.
I rinsed the stomach acid and puke out of my mouth and brushed my teeth. When I came out of the bathroom, he was sitting on the couch staring at his phone on the coffee table.
“What are you thinking?” I said.
“That I dodged a bullet. Thank god I said no when he asked me out.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Can you eat something?”
“Sure,” I said.
“Stay there. I’ll heat something up. See what’s on TV.”
I put Tap on. I always watched that movie when I was feeling down.
After a few minutes, he came out of the kitchen and sat beside me. I put my arm around him.
“Okay?” I said.
He put his hand on my thigh. “Still feeling sick?”
“I didn’t throw up today because I was sick.”
“I know.”
The “challenge” scene came on, where all the main characters in the movie had a dance-off in the dance studio.
“You dance way better than those guys,” he said.
“I don’t, Eddie. I’m not worthy to kiss their feet. Those guys are icons.”
“Isn’t that the guy on the poster on your bedroom wall?”
“Gregory Hines, yeah. And it’s not my bedroom, it’s our bedroom.”
“So if I want to put up a poster of my own, I can?”
“Sure.”
“What if I want to put up a poster of you dancing?”
“Why would you want to do that?” I said.
“You look hot when you dance.”
I teased my fingers through his hair. He’d been growing it out because I’d asked him to. He turned and kissed me.
“Tapper?” he said.
“Yeah?”
“I wanna blow you.”
I pulled back. “What?”
“And it’s not ’cause I feel guilty about what happened today, or because you’re sick or because I owe you a few, even though I do. It’s because I want to.”
He put his palm on my chest. “Stay put.” Then he slid off the couch, went down on his knees, gently moved my legs apart, and got between them. He put his hand on my zipper.
“Eddie...I can’t right now.”
The truth was, the way I felt, I couldn’t get it up. Not even for him.
“You’re turning down a blow job?” He looked shocked. I guess he’d never said no to one.
“I’m sorry. After what happened, I wouldn’t appreciate it the way I should. I want you to, but just not now. Rain check?”
“Sure.” He sat beside me, not trying to guilt-trip me. “Maybe I’ll blow you at the cottage. Or maybe in the car on the way to the cottage.”
“The things you say.” I kissed him.
After dinner, I showed him the listing for the cottage on my laptop—a two-bedroom place near Haliburton.
“It’s got a fireplace,” he said. “We can fuck in front of that.”
“I could take a vacation day from work. If we go over the weekend, we could have three days together. ’Cause two days is not gonna be enough for all the sex we’re gonna have. I’d like you to fuck me up against a tree at least once.” Right after I asked him to marry me.
“When do you want to go?”
“See what’s happening with your job first.”
“Jack left a message on my phone.”
“What did he say?”
“Didn’t listen to it yet. But I just realized he can’t fire me. We’ve shot so much of the movie already that if he replaces me, he’ll have to reshoot all my scenes, and he’ll go over budget. I signed a contract. He could sue me.”
“I understand.”
“You shouldn’t have to, after the way he treated you.” He kissed me.
“Why don’t you listen to his message and see what he said. If you have to go back to filming, how much longer will it take?”
“Three more weeks.”
“Then you’re free?”
“Yeah. Free to fuck you whenever we want.”
“So, I can book this place and ask for the time off work?”
“Let me see what Jack has to say.”
He picked up his phone and listened to the message.
“Well?” I said.
“Go ahead and book the cottage.”
“What did he say?”
“He apologized. He wants me back on set tomorrow morning.”
––––––––
The next three weeks were hard. Eddie went back to work.
When I asked him how Jack was treating him, he said he was fine, but he was working long hours, and when he came home, it was so late he went straight to bed and got up ridiculously early.
I think Jack was keeping him underslept to punish him.
Once, Eddie told me Jack invited him to stay the night at his house, but Eddie said no.
I trusted Eddie, but I didn’t trust Jack not to take advantage of him.
I used to feel sorry for Jack, because I knew what it felt like to love Eddie and not be able to have him.
I didn’t feel sorry for him now. If he wanted me back for reshoots, he could fuck off.
I didn’t care if I didn’t end up in his movie.
A couple weeks after they filmed my scene, I got a check. I almost ripped it up, but, well, I’d earned it, and I couldn’t afford to throw money away. I felt petty enough to put it aside for the wedding. Assuming Eddie accepted when I proposed.
My therapist upped me to two sessions a week for the next couple weeks after that scene. I wouldn’t say I bounced back, but I worked through it, and realizing what had changed since I was a kid and that it couldn’t happen to me again helped. I was an adult, and I wasn’t alone anymore. I had Eddie.
I kept practicing, because I’d missed tapping so much. I also worked on his Christmas present, writing him a song. I’d co-written songs for Undeclared Mustard before, but I’d never written one by myself for anybody.
While I was gigging and Eddie was shooting his film, we had hardly any time together. Some days, I’d wake up in the morning and know he’d been home because the sheets smelled of him, but he’d be gone. I missed him so much I put a note on his pillow that read “Wake me up when you get home. Please.”
That night, or morning, he did. He woke me up so gently I thought I was dreaming. He was beside me in bed, looking tired, but smiling.
“Hey,” he whispered.
“Hey.”
He turned over so I could spoon him. What it felt like to hold him like that, especially after not seeing him for so long, was like everything was going to be okay. He stroked my arm with his thumb. He liked to do that.
“You’re still dancing,” he said.
I remembered I’d left my tap board out in the living room. I’d stopped putting it away because he was never there for it to be in his way.
“I’m thinking of auditioning for a dance company after we get back home.”
“Will that interfere with your gigging?” he said.
“Yeah, which is why I’m quitting the band. Two days before we go on holiday is my last day. Brian’s being an asshole to me. And Alan’s not taking sides.”
I left out the biphobic shit Brian had been saying because that wasn’t Eddie’s shit to deal with.
“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” he said.
“I haven’t seen you in days, and I didn’t want to put that on you. It’s my problem, not yours.”
“You can tell me stuff, you know.”
“You have too much on your plate already. I wasn’t going to add to that. Anyway, Ben and Bexley aren’t putting up with Brian’s shit. They’re both looking for another band. Brian and Alan can go fuck themselves.”
“I’m glad you’re not quitting dancing.”
I’d dated enough women and had enough friends outside of dance circles to know how rare it was to find someone who wasn’t a dancer but still respected the artform.
“How’s filming?” I said.
I felt him shrug.
“What time do you have to leave tomorrow?”
“Five,” he said.
“Shit. No wonder I never see you.”
“Just one more week,” he said.
He was falling asleep, and I didn’t want to keep him up, so I set my alarm to vibrate at 4:30 a.m., which, not gonna lie, really hurt.
When the alarm woke me up a few hours later, I eased out of bed so I wouldn’t wake him, and I went to the kitchen and made fried bread so he’d have a hot breakfast, and we could have one meal together.
We hadn’t fooled around in weeks, but I was too tired to do anything but cook, and I barely managed that. I kept losing the spatula. I’d put the bread on a plate when I heard him stumbling around getting his coat off the hook by the door.
I put my head out of the kitchen. “I made you breakfast.”
He came into the kitchen, looking absolutely wrecked and bemused.
We ate together, though I was too tired to be very hungry.
We were both too tired to do anything but eat, which sucked.
When we were done, I left the dishes on the kitchen table, which I wouldn’t normally do, but I didn’t have the energy to wash them.
I kissed him goodbye at the door and then fell into bed.
Three hours later, I woke up to dirty dishes on the table and the spatula on top of the fridge.