“I love you too.” Victor let him go, and Andy stepped back. “God I hate to leave you.”
“I hate it too. Get moving.” Victor watched him all the way into the checkin area. Then a cop beeped at him. He did a ‘yeah, sorry’ thing, got back into the car, and drove home.
Seven hours later, he finally got the call. He and Molly were cuddled together on the couch; he was reading, or sort-of reading, a script his agent had sent. Music was playing. It should have been a nice relaxing evening.
When the phone rang he snatched it up. “Andy.”
“Hi sweetheart. It’s raining like somebody ordered an ark over here.”
“Aside from that, how was the trip?”
“Eh. It was a cross-country flight. I’m heading over to the house pretty soon, having a snack here at the hotel first so I can legitimately tell Mom she doesn’t have to cook. What are you up to?”
“Reading with Molly. She thinks this script is crap.”
“Why are you even reading a script?”
“Because I read some Shakespeare earlier today and I was having ideas about your thing and thought I’d better step back.” He was hoping Andy would tell him not to.
“Why would you do that?” Andy sounded surprised. “Don’t do that.
You’re good at this shit. Have all the ideas you want. I want your ideas, okay?”
Victor was pleased, and let that come through in his voice. “Yeah, okay.
So Parker sent me this thing, Pop Quiz wants to do a follow-up about the movie and the shooting and all that. Did you get anything on that?”
“Haven’t checked. Hang on.” Victor waited. He knew Andy usually started up the laptop as soon as he was properly inside a hotel room. After a minute, Andy said, “Sure enough. They say a sit-down, one-on-one thing. Is that what yours says?” Victor made a sound of assent. “Why the fuck wouldn’t they want both of us. Well, huh. Do you want to do it?”
“Not especially.”
“Which means absolutely not. Me neither, but one of us should, so I’ll do it. Maybe it’ll be Sherry again. Hey, maybe I can swing it over to being all about me and dancing, we can end the whole conversation about the shooting. I know you’re tired of talking about it.”
Victor really was. There had been far too many questions about that for the past six months. “If you don’t mind, that would be great.”
“Anything for you, catnip. I’d better get moving, though. Ping me anytime.”
“I will. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Andy was back in Los Angeles four days later, earlier than expected but none too soon. After a long embrace in baggage claim, he walked out with Victor. Both of them ignored the people whispering, pointing, and taking phone pictures. They weren’t there for publicity. Andy waited until they were outside before he said, “We almost had a fight. Me and Pop. He was all, did you suggest your mother should move out of here when I’m gone, and I was all, yes Pop I did, because for one thing this street is under water at high tide and for another she is also almost eighty and in case you haven’t noticed this place needs a lot of work. He got so mad.”
“Thought it was a criticism?” They were in the parking deck now.
“Exactly. Which it kind of was. You know ever since I started making TV money I’ve been trying to get him to hire some of that work done. Told him I could help. He was always no, I can handle it. Well of course none of it ever got done.” Andy made an impatient gesture. “If Miami takes a direct hit from another hurricane, their roof is going to end up in the fucking Bermuda Triangle.”
“So how’d you leave it?” Victor glanced over his shoulder. Yes, there was someone walking the same direction, about twenty feet behind, carrying a gym-sized bag. Just another traveler, he told himself.
“We argued for an hour, we had a beer, he said yeah you’re right.
Goddammit.” Andy stopped walking. He didn’t shout, but he put all his stage training into his voice; his “What the hell do you want?” rang through the parking deck. He turned as he spoke.
The person following them jerked back as if someone had yanked on a leash. “I, what? I’m sorry, my car is this way. I wasn’t trying to listen. I wasn’t going to bother you.” Andy stared at him for another second. Victor was staring at Andy. “Look, I’ll go around this way. I’m sorry.”
Andy sighed. “No, never mind. My husband got shot in the back last year. I’m a little touchy about people coming up behind us.”
“Yeah, I get it. Um, I’ll, yeah.” The guy walked around them, giving them plenty of space, and moving as if he thought there might be land mines.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s okay.” The guy gave a half-assed wave and headed for a car.
Pulled keys out of his pocket. Got into the car. Andy and Victor were still standing there when he drove away.
“Are you actually okay?” Victor said quietly. He was having one of those moments of seeing Andy with fresh eyes, letting the soft-focus lens of
‘friends, lovers, married’ clear. Really seeing the fatigue, the grim expression, the need for some kind of violent release. Victor didn’t think Andy had ever hit anyone in his life. Yelling at that guy was probably the closest he’d come.
Andy lifted his chin, stared at the concrete above them, took a visibly deep breath, let it out slowly. Then he looked back at Victor. “Not, actually.
Let’s get out of here.”
They didn’t talk much on the way home. The traffic was horrible, Victor needed to pay attention, and he wasn’t sure how best to proceed with the next part of this. They absolutely had to talk, which meant his original intention of going straight to bed was on hold. After parking at home, he didn’t get out of
