Back to One
~ Act Four
The east gate of Bel Air was unimposing and decidedly subdued despite the wealth of the residents it held within. Quatre adjusted his sunglasses, shielding his eyes from the blinding Los Angeles sunshine hitting his face with no mercy. It was always sunny, more often than not, with a lack of clouds in the very blue sky. When Heero drove up to security at the gates, they recognized him immediately, phoning his mother to inform her that her son was on his way. Quatre attempted to curl up on his side, regretting the lack of hoodie to keep him safe from the outside world.
"You're not a vampire. Stop trying to avoid the sun."
It was too late to abandon Heero now. He knew he should have run, but Heero was a fast, merciless runner and he could have only gone so far before being caught. He scratched at his arms hidden underneath the crisp dress shirt he wore. He was in no condition to meet his mom. That was for sure.
When the house came to view, it did not get any better. Emilia Seymour, surprisingly the same legend who'd given birth to the guy next to him was already waiting at the front door. She looked lovely in her Sunday dress with her hair and make-up done to the nines. There probably wasn't a day when anyone caught her not at her best appearance. She kissed both Heero's cheeks when they exited the vehicle, receiving a kiss and tight hug from the son in return. All this went on while Quatre watched, uneasily, from the sidelines.
"This is Quatre Winner."
Those were the only words he heard before she greeted him next. She was still beautiful even in her sixties, he noticed, elegant even as Quatre obligingly lifted her knuckles to his lips for a gentlemanly kiss. Her hands were soft and so delicately small, surely a feature enjoyed by the movie going public who'd always envied her gracefulness. Her nails were tinted red, he noted next, and her marriage finger was unadorned as were the rest of those refined digits.
He'd heard that Heero was her only son to her first marriage to a Japanese man, another acting legend. Quatre couldn't quite remember the father's name at the moment, sure that Heero had taken the father's legal surname and not his anglicized stage name, but he wasn't here and that was not the most pressing matter at the moment. What was most pressing were her eyes, the same shade of pretty blue as Heero's, assessing him while his face was held between her soft hands. He couldn't hide and she didn't let him. It reminded him of Heero's infuriating persistence as he looked everywhere but at her face, trying to shield his uncovered eyes from her scrutiny.
"You are a good looking man, Quatre. I don't think I'll be able to figure out why you're still single. Then again, I can't figure out why my Heero is also single."
"I'm seeing someone, ma, remember? And save it for later. He's hungry."
Quatre blinked, processing that new bit of information. He really didn't know that much about Heero aside from the constant amounts of aggravation he put him through every time he came over.
It wouldn't take long for him to meet part of Heero's family including two half-sisters, brothers-in-law and the girlfriend the mother seemed to prefer not to acknowledge. She was Japanese and at least ten years his junior. Carrying herself with a self-confident attitude with her bright and buzzed pink hair and her clearly out of place sun dress, he thought she looked familiar. He must have seen her in a movie somewhere or perhaps she was a co-star of his in one of his most recent projects.
The luncheon went smoothly, almost too similar to his parents' country club lunches with pleasantries and politeness and a fair bit of showmanship. Heero never introduced his girlfriend and he didn't bother asking. He had been too busy occupying the half-sisters and their husbands who were curious about snippets of the show Where Are They Now relating specifically to him. It made him uncomfortable to talk about himself because talking about himself would entail talking about his failures.
More merciful than the son had ever been, Emilia excused the both of them after dessert into a bright white atrium greenhouse filled with giant Ecuadorian roses, a too-elegant chandelier for the setting and comfortable, rustic seats in the middle.
"I invited you to thank you," she said, motioning for him to sit with her. A young lady came in with a tray of coffee and tea which she left in the table before them, leaving them to their privacy without a word. "I wanted to thank you for saving my son."
Quatre's embarrassment was evident as he ducked his head into his chin, a motion his refined sisters would surely scold had they seen him perform it. He was no longer a child, but next to her and with that intense gaze, he was helpless.
"He told me you paid for his rehab," she said, pouring a cup of tea for herself and motioning with her hand for his choice of beverage. He chose the coffee and sipped on it experimentally, enjoying the way the hot liquid lightly scorched his tongue.
"He's still paying me back. I told him he didn't have to."
"I would disown him if he didn't." She looked stern as she said it, as stern as Heero always was with him whenever he was misbehaving. She took his hand then and ran a thumb through his knuckles, pausing a moment in her thoughts before continuing. "It isn't just about the monetary support. You didn't turn him down when he needed help and you have been good for him. I also must apologize for his bad influence."
Alarm bells went off in Quatre's head and he quickly corrected her assumptions, clearing Heero of any wrongdoing in his current affliction. She waved off his protest easily, shaking her head in the process. She stood then, placing his face between her now warmed hands once again.
"Heroin," she said, gazing intently at his eyes. "I'm always right. I've done quite a few varieties in my time."
Quatre nodded but looked away, unable to show anyone his weakness. She let go of his face and took a seat next to him once again. Probably sensing his unease, she moved on to a different topic.
"You look too young for your age," she commented, sipping on her tea. "In this business, age is a valuable asset, most especially for the ladies." If she resented that fact, she didn't look it as she caressed blood red rose petals with her fingers. "My son isn't faring any better, but then again, men gain a certain sort of dignified air with age."
Quatre did not say anything, allowing her to say as she wished.
"Heero tells me you have an audition tomorrow and my invite has taken precious time from your practice."
Waving his hands in front of him frantically, Quatre apologized for the misunderstanding. He stated he'd been anxious to meet her and that was the only reason he'd refused to begin with. Again, she waved him off, smiling a serene one as she gave him the one advice she thought necessary for him going in to the audition.
"There are too many actors for too few roles," she said, dusting non-existent flecks off her dress. "As I always tell my children, Quatre, you've got to take the motherfucker by the balls."
Whatever that advice was worth, it was not apparent as it was two weeks since his audition and there were no callbacks yet. He didn't know if he'd done a good job or not, but it mattered very little compared to the heat wave the city was currently experiencing. Over ninety degrees outside, the thermostat informed him, and this was the cause of his profuse sweating upon his not very comfortable awakening. He took out his damp shirt and tossed it aside. This definitely called for air conditioning. He was in need of cold, artificial air. The whole place was stifling.
It was eight o'clock in the morning, he noted, on his way to the thermostat. Stopping before he'd made it all the way to the device that would be his salvation, the doorbell suddenly rang. It was the door or the thermostat. The door was closer and his neighbor might have been in need of help. Quatre opened it with minor annoyance.
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry I didn't call first. I didn't have your number."
Trowa was a damn early riser, Quatre noted, all dressed and ready for the day when he'd just gotten up, hadn't brushed his teeth or looked the minimal amount of presentable. He scratched an itchy part on his hip, just below the waistband of his drawstring pants, not caring about his current state of undress. Normal human beings did not show up at your door unannounced. Heero was one of those people and those people deserved to suffer the consequences of their actions. This was going to be a day that started out saying: 'Good morning, Trowa. Want to get a view of revolting ribs and scratched up chest this morning?'
"It's hot… outside," Trowa said, seemingly lost for words. That was more like him, not the talkative guy he'd been dealing with the past few instances.
"It probably is. It's hot in here too. Come in. I'll turn on the air conditioning."
He padded his way to the thermostat and set the temperature at seventy five degrees. A few moments later, glorious, cold air came out of the vents.
"Make yourself at home. If you're not in a hurry, I'd like to take a shower first."
There was no answer from Trowa's end and Quatre was not patient enough to wait for it. He took the quickest shower he could, not forgetting to shave and brush his teeth or to put on some deodorant. Such in a hurry he was to attend to his guest that he decided to continue rubbing at his wet hair whilst getting something from the kitchen to serve Trowa.
"Water okay or… vegetable juice?"
Heero had left that nasty concoction behind and he hoped Trowa would be the one to take it off his hands.
"Water," Trowa murmured almost inaudibly.
Quatre retrieved one from the fridge and handed it to him nicely. If this were Heero, he'd more likely toss it to him from across the room with not-so-good intentions of hitting him squarely on the face.
"Pants undone," Trowa said next, pointing at his midsection. He sounded like he no longer had the want or ability to complete whole sentences.
"I was just getting to that."
He placed the towel over his shoulder, buttoned the pants and zipped it up. After seeing his sickly drug body, Trowa might as well not be a stranger anymore. He left afterwards, going back to the bathroom to get rid of the towel and comb his hair. There was something about the heat of the day that forced him to come out of his sweatshirt shell. He slipped dark glasses on anyway to hide his eyes. When he exited the bathroom, he realized his deplorable behavior, finding that he was again, no longer able to address Trowa properly. That bit of regret really had the knack for draining his social abilities.
He stood in front of Trowa for the longest moment, not wanting to look at him. This was not Heero, he realized, and he should have really treated his guest better.
"Cat got your tongue?" Trowa said. It was his turn to do the talking. "Sorry. It's just that… you were starting to open up earlier. A couple of seconds later and you've stopped talking to me again."
He did not answer. What was there to say? He was embarrassed by his earlier behavior and Trowa had seen his not so respectable self. Thank goodness he didn't have contraband items out in the open or that would have been a double whammy.
"I brought your clothes back from the cleaners."
"Thanks."
"And I'm returning the cash you left in my bathroom. The clothes were a gift… and do you always overpay?"
Quatre shrugged but made no move to get the money. In fact, he retrieved his wallet to add another forty to cover the cleaning fee. Trowa sighed.
"I'll just leave it here then," he said, putting what was supposed to be payment on the table. "I also gave Duo the check. He wanted me to give you this letter."
He didn't think people still did that. It was a little too old school, even for Duo. Quatre accepted the envelope and perused of the contents within, picking up a Polaroid photo that had fallen out with the letter. It was a picture of the mangled check he had written, framed and plastered on a wall.
'Thanks for the check, buddy,' the letter read. 'I was thinking of sending this back to you, but realized what an honor it was to receive one one-zillionth of the Winner wealth. I have tacked it on the wall to remind me and yes, it will remain on the frame. Good luck balancing your account. That check is never going to clear... or is it?'
Putting both the picture and the letter back in the envelope, Quatre allowed the hand delivered item to join Trowa's abandoned money on the table.
"I also have news about your audition."
"I could have waited for a callback," Quatre suggested.
"I wanted to tell you in person."
He sat on the chair across from Trowa, noticing how quiet it was. Noam was probably still asleep. He hadn't even noticed him on the bed that morning. There was probably a colder retreat he didn't know about somewhere.
"You did really well for a cold reading," Trowa said, his visible eye twinkling with excitement. At least one of them was excited. "We want you in for a second audition."
He wished Heero had been there to throw up for him before the audition. He didn't think he would be able to go through that again. The waiting room had been unbearable with the number of fellow audition takers whispering about him. Everything from his current joblessness to his recent bouts with addiction came up. They even had the audacity to bring up the non-existent, fan-fueled relationship between him and the director. It wasn't true. He wanted to deny it, but that would only further fuel speculation.
"I can't."
"Quatre," Trowa addressed him with an uncompromising yet desperate tone of voice. "I need you on this film."
That was a long, long way from simply wanting him to audition.
"I'm not going to cheat people out of a job."
He stood, going back to the kitchen to find something to feed Trowa. Finding none save for Heero's collection of diet fads he called food, he phoned the restaurant downstairs for proper breakfast.
"Look, I actually want you to audition," Trowa said, suddenly joining him in the kitchen. "I am not giving you the role. I want you to work for it."
"You've just told me where your preferences lay."
Trowa let out an exasperated breath, following him to the dining room.
"Conflict of interest," Quatre added, retrieving utensils from the cupboard. He wanted out of it and he wanted Trowa out of his place - right after he fed him breakfast. He felt like he was cheating the gossipers he'd auditioned with. He put himself in Heero's shoes and realized that some people worked so hard with no results to show for. Taking their chances away just wasn't his style.
"I shouldn't have said that," Trowa said while continuing to follow him around.
"Yes and thank you. At least now I know."
"You're impossible!"
Quatre stared at his hands holding on to forks and knives. He didn't want to upset Trowa. That was far from the intention, but he didn't understand where he was coming from. An audition now seemed pointless. He was definitely going to back out. Too bad he actually found the script interesting.
"You fit the role." Trowa continued to persuade him. He tugged at his arm strong enough to force him to face him yet Quatre's resolve did not waver.
"My character from twenty years ago fits the role." This caused Trowa to pause and let go of his elbow. "I don't know who you are and you don't know who I am."
It was Trowa's turn to look down on the ground.
"I'm trying to."
"Stop it."
Cruelty was becoming his forte and not for the first time, he realized why at his age, he was still single. He thought of getting out of there, but this was his own home. He'd have to drive Trowa out intentionally if he wanted him gone.
The minutes ticked by uncomfortably until his front door opened and there appeared Heero with Noam. So that was where his dog was. He was beginning to suspect worse. Noam made a beeline for him and he had to kneel to accept the animal's affection. He retrieved his bowl from a cupboard and some food from the pantry to feed him all while singing praises of what a good dog he was.
"Honey, I'm home," Heero said in a bland, even voice.
Quatre looked up to see what had possessed him to say that. He was looking at Trowa and Trowa was looking at him. There was tension in the air and he was sure it was due to Heero acting strange.
"So you're the dog walker?" Trowa said with clipped tones. He was the one who clammed up all of a sudden.
"No reason why I can't walk our dog," Heero responded. Quatre frowned, wondering what had possessed him to say that. Whatever it was that was, it was effective enough to drive Trowa away.
"Goodbye then, Quatre, Heero." He cleared his throat and took the shortest route to the exit without picking his payment off the coffee table where he had left it. Just like that, Quatre had gotten rid of him in exchange for gaining a replacement - a worse replacement.
"Our dog?"
Heero opened the fridge to retrieve a bottle of water. It was easy to see that he was sweating profusely, probably a result of running in the morning heat. Noam's condition didn't look any better.
"I was just testing a theory."
"And what theory would that be?"
"If he's into you and he is. He was oozing competitive testosterone."
Shaking his head in disbelief, he grabbed the bowl of suspicious vegetables from Heero's hand and placed it back in the fridge. Breakfast was coming soon and since Trowa was gone, he might as well have fed it to his replacement.
"Write a story about it, why don't you? Honestly, you're worse than the fans."
"Just saying," Heero said, grabbing the bottle of vegetable juice from the fridge instead. There was a song of hallelujah in Quatre's head for the disappearance of the juice down Heero's throat.
"Please explain your breaking and entering this morning."
"I made a copy of your key and threw out your stash."
The whistle not unlike a boiling water kettle going off in Quatre's head was equivalent to anger. The anger did not dissipate even after the doorbell rang and Heero retrieved their breakfast from the door, grabbing some cash from the coffee table for tip. The food in front of him moments later did not look quite as appealing as what Heero had gotten rid of. He slowly formed his hand into a fist and punched the kitchen counter. The granite did not crack, as expected, but his hand did not register the pain.
"Enjoy my stash, did you?"
"Fuck you."
"Get out of my house!"
He punched the counter again and again in desperation, Noam suddenly appearing next to him to appease him, but he was blinded by anger. He didn't know when Heero had left, but he was sure he was no longer there when he picked plates off the cupboard and smashed them against a wall. In the back of his mind, he remembered Trowa's earlier talk of nonsense and wished desperately he could have thrown that water bottle in his face instead.