“Well good, that’s what I was going for, because I started hearing myself. Anyway, we got past it but I know he’s going to remember that when we start working on stuff. He feels that inexperience. Comparatively speaking,” he added, though he knew Dana already understood it. “And he never quite bought that I wasn’t confident as an actor. A for-real actor.”
“Well,” Dana said, still watching him, “was that legit? Or was that part of your non-compete agreement?”
“It wasn’t! I mean it was! It was legit! How was I going to learn how to fucking act when all ‘Vice’ gave me was sympathetic ear or loving wife or damsel in distress?”
“But then you turn around and pull that Alfredo Le Pera out of your ass, and you know it was a goddamned showstopper. What did your agent say?”
Andy sighed. “Raquel said, quote, I fucking hate you.” Dana laughed.
“That was after I told her to stop sending me film and TV scripts for, like, a year.” Dana was still laughing. Andy couldn’t blame her. “You know for three years it’s been nothing but the same. I fucking cannot with that shit anymore. And frankly, I didn’t want to get a ton of scripts that would be like Le Pera, even if Raquel could have dug some up. I did not enjoy that. I still, ugh. Anyway we all know how many people haven’t seen Tanith’s movie.
Most of them.” If that was his defining moment as a film actor, Andy was glad most people hadn’t seen it. The movie was doing respectable business in a few U.S. theaters, but it wasn’t the kind of thing that got a wide domestic release. They all expected it to earn out its modest purchase price overseas.
Dana remembered a role that had given her anxiety. And she knew acting wasn’t Andy’s first love. It wasn’t in the top five. The fact that he’d uncovered a previously unsuspected talent was irrelevant. So she didn’t say anything about the possibility - the likelihood - that the film would become a cult classic. “If you don’t want to do it, then don’t do it. You don’t need to do it. And I know you still think you shouldn’t compete with Victor.”
“He doesn’t care. Or he says he doesn’t. But he’s Latino like me, and he’s gay like me, and those are disabilities in this business, you know they are. He’s basically the one gay Latino movie star, like, ever. I do not need to be out there in his way.” Andy was saying more than he meant to. He shook himself, irritated, knowing Dana would get that he wasn’t irritated with her.
“He’s more famous from that straight role in the ‘Countdown’ things than he ever would have been for ‘Vice.’”
“So you’re going to keep protecting his ego?” Dana was skeptical, and let it show. “Victor is tough. And speaking of ego, I don’t think he would really appreciate knowing you’re deliberately closing doors to do that. To protect him.”
“But that’s not why I’m doing it.” For once there was next to no humor in Andy’s voice. “It really isn’t. Being a screen actor, I don’t like it. I don’t like the process. I don’t like how what I do can get completely turned around or fucked over after the fact, before anyone else ever sees it.” Dana couldn’t help making a sound of agreement to that. “I don’t like the distance from the audience. I don’t like how it takes months or fucking years to know whether what you’ve done even has an audience. I like working on stage. Victor likes working on film.” He had to check himself. “Okay, he likes the stage too. But he’s got a real film career ahead of him, and he knows it, and he likes that.”
Dana finally swung her legs off the lounger so she could lean forward, get her hands on his, and look straight at him. “Andy. It’s good you’re saying this shit. But you need to say it to Victor.” He didn’t say anything. She thought, with a combination of exasperation and sympathy, sometimes you are such a GUY. “Did you not tell him you told Raquel not to send you anything? And that she didn’t drop you as a client in spite of swearing at
you?” That was a guess, but she could see in his face that she’d guessed right.
“No. You’re right. I will. I want to do my own fucking stuff for a while, and if that means doing a one-man show of ‘42nd Street’ here in the backyard then that’s what I’m going to fucking do.”
“That’s the spirit.” She leaned forward and kissed him. “And now I should probably go. Because if I stay, I’ll have another drink, and then it’ll be dinnertime, and Rory will come over, and the next thing you know Vicky and Sharon will be out here, and Victor will get home and think what is the deal with all these women.”
“That all sounds great, actually,” Andy said, smiling. “I’ll text mine if you’ll text yours.”
Victor picked up the text during a break while the crew was re-setting for another take. He didn’t at all mind the idea of coming home to five of his best friends, and sent back a reply saying so. Then he spared a moment to consider how before Andy, he barely even had five friends – friends who truly knew him, friends he could say anything to – and appreciated that little miracle all over again. He still didn’t know how he could have done things differently, aside from the mess he made of his first night with Andy. Being forgiven for that was another miracle.
On the way home, Victor had the usual excessive amount of email to get through. Email from their business manager, from his agent, from their accountant, from their lawyer.
