Chapter 4: Scoop
"You can't do this, Randy," said Eddie, as Felix. The wardrobe that day was a purple suit jacket over black pants with a silky, unbuttoned shirt underneath. Eddie walked closer, grabbed both of Waylon's shoulders, and shook him. "You can't."
"I can, and I have to," said Waylon, as Randall. Instead of shying away, he pushed his chin out and squared off against Eddie, despite his towering height advantage. "Why are you suddenly so against this, huh?"
"It's impossible for you to meet all these demands," said Eddie. "You're pushing yourself past what you can handle. Isn't it too much? Aren't you tired?"
"No," said Waylon, practically shouting in Eddie's face. "I'm not tired. You're tired."
"Now you're just being immature," snapped Eddie. He gasped in surprise when Waylon pushed his hands away and leveled a heated, dark glare.
"Just because you're older, doesn't mean every decision I make is immature. I can decide for myself if the workload is too much. You have to stop treating me like this," said Waylon.
"Stop looking out for you? That's my job, I'm your agent…"
"No!" said Waylon, thumping a finger against Eddie's chest. "You represent me as my agent, but we're in this together. We're equal partners. I don't want to always be seen as a child in your eyes. I'm not looking for a goddamn father figure."
Waylon took a deep breath, reaching for Eddie's hand to lace their fingers together.
"I want you to see me as an adult," said Waylon. "I want you to speak to me like I'm an adult. I want you to..to want me, as an adult."
Waylon delivered his lines with tenderness and an alluring bite of his lip as he stared hard at Eddie's mouth.
"Cut, that was perfect, Eddie, don't change a thing, Waylon, one more time, that last time…"
Waylon sought Dennis' eyes over the cameras.
"Like, I want you to want me, as an adult," said Waylon, putting more emphasis on the last word.
"No, this time emphasis on the want, seduce this old man, sway him over to your side, the only way Randy knows how…alright, take three, action."
Seduce Eddie. As if there was anything else ever on Waylon's mind. As soon as the film slate slapped closed, Waylon took a moment to carefully wet his lips with his tongue. Eddie's eyes tracked the movement, and a soft sigh escaped.
That fleeting look of want, and that noise-that was just Eddie being Felix, Waylon reminded himself.
"I want you to see me as an adult," said Waylon, reaching up to cup Eddie's cheek, making sure to keep the view of the camera unobstructed. "I want you to speak to me like I'm an adult," Waylon punctuated the line with a kiss pressed to Eddie's chin, keeping their faces close, "And I want you to want me, as an adult…"
Waylon flicked the smallest lick against the cleft in Eddie's chin. The sharp inhale boiled his blood.
"You already know I want you more than anything in the world," said Eddie, voice ragged. Waylon grunted when Eddie pulled their bodies together, rougher than expected.
"Then work with me, instead of for me…" said Waylon.
The camera rolled as Waylon stared into Eddie's eyes. So blue. He had often wondered if they were enhanced for the movies or photoshopped in the magazines. In real life, they seemed even more otherworldly than they did in print.
Eddie nodded, only slightly, and the smile on his lips slowly spread to his blue, blue eyes. Waylon smiled back, much goofier than Randall ever would.
"CUT! Okay," said Dennis. "Absolutely, a great day of shooting, we got what we need from you Eddie, take a walk. Great progress, everyone, really. Tomorrow, starting bright and early, we're at a few different outdoor sets, so check your emails, people…"
"Wonderful job today," said Eddie, stepping away from Waylon on the set designed to look like half of an empty dressing room. He reached out to give an encouraging pat to Waylon's shoulder. Waylon's skin burned through the thin, cotton fabric of his off the shoulder gray T-shirt and jeans, cuffed at the ankle.
"Thanks," said Waylon. He watched Eddie walk away. Watched him stop to converse quickly with Dennis. Continued to watch as he strolled out the stage door.
"It'd be easier to stop crushing on you if you weren't so fucking nice to me…"
"Mr. Gluskin," said one of the production assistants, some college intern. They were all completely nondescript and interchangeable in Eddie's mind. "I have the new pages to give you, and also, sir, you have a guest waiting in your dressing room."
"Thank you," said Eddie, accepting the papers and rolling up the script in his hand. He stalked toward his dressing room, already suspicious. No one was allowed in his dressing room. No one.
"Eddie-baby!"
Okay, almost no one.
"Darling," said Eddie, most of the stress leaving his shoulders when he sees Helen standing in his dressing room holding a champagne bottle. Her blond hair is twirled up, and she wore a short, white dress with an elaborate gold and turquoise necklace dangling across her chest. "What's the occasion?"
"I got the part," said Helen, squealing in a way that made Eddie grit his teeth. "I was going to have champagne waiting for you, but I can't open it."
Eddie chuckled as he walked over with his hand out. He leaned in for a quick peck while accepting the champagne bottle. It only took a moment for a loud pop to sound in the room and echo down the hallway.
"Hey, somebody's having a party," came a voice outside the door. Waylon peeked his head through the slightly open door.
"Waylon!" Helen held up a clear, plastic cup. "Come in here! We're celebrating! I got the part!"
"Wow, that's awesome," said Waylon. "But also I have, absolutely, no idea what part we're talking about, but I love me some champagne."
Eddie poured three cups for everyone present. He handed the first cup to Helen, who accepted with a gracious bow of her head. The other went to Waylon before Eddie raised the last one up.
"A toast," said Eddie, clearing his throat, "to a talented actress, and a wonderful person. No one deserves it more than you, darling."
"Cheers!" said Helen, giggling as she attempted a sip too quickly, causing bubbles to froth on top.
"Can I ask what role it is?" asked Waylon. "I'm not sure how it works is it like, top secret?"
"It does involve some top-secret stuff," said Helen, giving a very obvious wink, "but I'm not restricted from telling people. So, I've been in callbacks for weeks now, but the studio confirmed today that I got the part! It'll be announced in the industry news soon, I'm sure."
"You have the honor of drinking with the next Bond girl," said Eddie, beaming at Helen. She gave another squeal before draining her champagne like a shot.
"Holy shit are you serious? I know a Bond girl, that's, what the fuck, that's amazing," said Waylon, laughing before sipping his own glass.
"My agent got us a room at Trager's tonight," said Helen, cheeks glowing from smiling, and the bubbly alcohol.
"I'm afraid I'm stuck here until late," said Eddie, frowning. "There are early morning shoots tomorrow, as well."
"No, I actually just walked back here because Dennis has some new pages for tomorrow, he called it quits for the day for crew meetings," said Waylon, excitement causing his words to tumble into one another. "And those morning shoots are only for me and Casey, you're not even scheduled until after lunch!"
Eddie leveled a steely blue glare at Waylon.
"Oh, I mean, none of that is true, I'm a compulsive liar," said Waylon, trying to bury his face in his cup. He immediately flinched away as the bubbles assaulted his nose.
Eddie brought his hand up to his face, closed his eyes, and shook his head. "How is it possible you can be this bad of an actor in real life when you make it look so effortless on camera…"
Helen laughed, grabbing the bottle from the dressing table and pouring herself more champagne. "Don't worry, Way, I knew Eddie wouldn't want to go, but I like to invite him, anyways. Anything that isn't on the master schedule a week in advance gets shot down. But, since he's so important to me, I rushed here first."
"I am very happy for you, darling," said Eddie, before releasing a dramatic sigh. "Since I'm free, I suppose I should provide you a proper escort. I'll be there."
"Seriously?!" Helen squeaked, jerking her hand so quickly some champagne spilled onto the floor. "Oops! I'm just, so happy! Yay! Eddie is coming out, Waylon, you're coming, too!"
"Oh, you don't have to invite me," said Waylon, looking at Eddie out of the corner of his eye. Eddie shrugged.
"I insist," said Helen, setting down her already empty glass. "Just make sure to wear a suit! It's 007 themed!"
"The GPS says this is the place," said Miles, slowing down to stare out of the right side of his Jeep as they passed the restaurant. "Where's the parking?"
"No idea," said Waylon, biting his cuticle. "I shouldn't go."
"Fuck yes, we're going, don't ruin this for me, you donut hole," said Miles, turning the wheel. "Come on, we'll park around the block."
The closest parking was quite a walk from Trager's, poorly lit, and directly in front of a "Trespassers Will Be Towed" sign. Miles walked toward the restaurant, fingers styling his shaggy brown hair.
"Helen said it's James Bond themed," said Waylon, adjusting his own cheap black suit. Miles wore his favorite brown leather jacket over a nice, gray shirt and dark jeans.
"Yeah, and you know I don't do theme parties," said Miles, tugging on his jacket. "Let's just see who's getting laid at the end of the night, me in my leather jacket, or you dressed like a fucking mortician. Where'd you get that suit anyways?"
"I borrowed it from Frank's storage," said Waylon, trotting to keep up with Miles' quick pace.
"I'm gonna go ahead and assume those stains aren't from the ranch on your salad earlier?" asked Miles.
"What? Where!?" asked Waylon, staring down at his crotch in time to watch Miles' hand dart in and nut check him. Waylon whined and held his hands in front of his groin.
"Bagtagging, you fall for that every time," said Miles, adjusting his jacket as they turned the corner. "Stand up straight, quit whining, we're almost there."
"Gah, ya dick," muttered Waylon, grimacing as they approached the main entrance.
Waylon had heard of Trager's. The restaurant was an old staple of Sunset Boulevard. Huge, bay windows extended into the sidewalk where people waited. There was a black canopy over the main doorway with a galaxy worth of fairy lights stuck through the dark canvas material. Inside looked even more crowded, wall to wall people, mixing around tiny tables with white tablecloths.
A long line of people stood in the cool night air outside the restaurant. Muscle bound men with fake tans, and an endless stream of beautiful young women in short dresses and sky-high heels. Quite a few people glared at Waylon when he walked past the line, directly to the podium at the entrance. Large, muscular bouncers in black suit jackets pushed in close together, watching him carefully.
"Um, hi, Waylon Park," he said, smiling nervously at the doormen. Sweat dripped ominously down the back of his neck. Damn Miles for walking so fast. "I'm, uh, here to see, a party, with Eddie Gluskin, and Helen Granat."
No response. Only a long, level stare that made Waylon fidget. The doorman finally glanced down at the large book open on the podium in front of him. A small nod toward the bouncers. Someone opened a velvet rope, and the entire line of waiting people erupted in a chorus of groans.
"Wait, who are you?" asked the doorman, pointing a pen toward Miles.
"I'm his plus one," said Miles, slipping an arm around Waylon's waist.
"Plus one," said Waylon, smiling like a fourteen year holding out an obviously fake ID.
The doorman shrugged and wrote something down. Miles and Waylon rushed inside before the rope could be clipped back into place.
Miles walked in first, with Waylon clinging to his jacket. The restaurant was cramped with tables, and a large bar in the back area. A huge, spiral staircase led to a second story. Flashing lights on the ceiling suggested there must be a dance floor, somewhere.
"Where do we go?" hissed Waylon.
"We? Oh, no no no," said Miles, turning to pry Waylon's hand from his jacket. "I'm working, creampuff. You go find your boyfriend and his wife."
"They aren't married," said Waylon. Miles smirked. "Oh, and he's not my boyfriend."
"Yeah, whatever, just don't blow my cover, alright? I think I already saw one of the Kardashians over there," said Miles, grinning like a shark prowling through the shallows of a New England town on Fourth of July weekend.
Miles evaporated into the crowd. Every table was full of people drinking garish cocktails and eating small plates of fancy cuisine. Though everyone was dressed in flashy clothes, nobody looked spy-chic. Waylon decided to try the stairs.
A completely different scene awaited him at the top of the stairs. A long, wooden bar dominated one side of the room, an empty dance floor the other, and a few booths tucked away in dark corners. All the men upstairs wore fine suits, and the women wore clinging gowns. A man at the top of the stairs looked Waylon up and down before stepping out of the way, allowing him into the private area.
Waylon walked around, glancing over the edge of the balcony that opened to the restaurant below. Miles stood out, prowling around, not sitting down. He had acquired a drink, somehow, and was chatting up a table of women. Waylon should never have brought Miles.
"Way!" Helen threw her arms around his neck from the back, hugging him. "You came! Yay!"
Waylon turned around, and Helen fell into his side, knees buckling. She laughed as Waylon struggled to help her find her balance.
"Helen, great party, almost didn't think they were gonna let me in," said Waylon.
"Of course you got in, I put you on the list, I knew you'd come," said Helen. "Come buy me a drink."
Waylon doubted Helen needed anymore to drink, but he accompanied her to the bar, anyways. Her blond hair wound up in a complicated bun of curling tendrils. Her dress was skin tight, black, with a long slit up both legs and a plunging neckline that stopped just above her naval. She looked every bit a Bond girl.
The bartender made two Cosmopolitans when Helen approached, without every mentioning money or identification. Waylon usually preferred beer, but he felt fine holding up the martini glass with its vodka mixed drink and curling orange rind garnish.
"You must be having the night of your life," said Waylon, taking a sip of his drink.
"Eddie showed up," said Helen, sighing. "He usually doesn't come when I invite him to these things. But apparently, the studio guys all know him, so they're in the back, drinking Scotch, and talking shop. Boring."
"Well, you don't have to sit back there, you can dance out here," said Waylon, smiling.
"No one's dancing," said Helen, sighing into her drink.
"I'll dance with you," offered Waylon.
"No thanks," said Helen, sighing again. "It's supposed to be my party, announcing my big role, I won't look very professional if I'm alone out on the dance floor, tipsy."
Waylon nodded. Tipsy. Sure, Helen.
"I gotta get used to that, I guess," said Waylon, chuckling. "Everything's image in Hollywood."
"Oh, please, like it's not all about image in the porn industry," said Helen, snorting as she laughed obnoxiously. "I've seen your penis."
"That's old news," said Waylon, grinning.
"Everything's image everywhere," said Helen, smirking. "Don't let anyone tell you different. Fake it 'til you make it." Helen pushed her martini glass into Waylon's, causing a clink, and a sloshing exchange of liquid. "Whoops." Helen's giggle was infectious. Soon, Waylon joined in.
"How's filming going?" asked Helen.
"Good," said Waylon. "I mean, we're on schedule, getting ready to go on location soon, the director seems really happy with everything."
"How's Eddie doing?" asked Helen.
"Good, he's a pro, seriously, it's a treat to watch him in action," said Waylon.
"He's not having a hard time with the man-on-man, thing?" asked Helen.
"No," said Waylon, frowning. "Why would he have a problem? Does he talk to you about it? He says he has a problem? I mean, the bulk of the movie…"
"Slow down, whoa, he didn't say anything, I just wondered," said Helen, shrugging. "Considering his past. I thought it was a possibility he'd struggle to even fake liking a man's touch."
"A…oh, you mean because of the…childhood thing…"
"Obvs," said Helen, shrugging. She drained her glass and set it on the bar behind them.
"Does he talk about it, often? Is he still hurting?" asked Waylon. The idea of Eddie still suffering from his childhood trauma made Waylon's chest ache.
"He doesn't talk about it ever," said Helen. "He barely talks to me about dinner plans. We don't talk."
"But…you live together?"
"Weird, right?" Helen's words slurred.
"Surely you talk about some things, just nothing personal about his past…"
"Nope," said Helen, shaking her head, dislodging a new blonde tendril. "I tried, in the beginning, to get to know him. To ask the questions you ask when getting to know another person. He never opened up. Always changed the subject. Finally, flat out told me he didn't wanna talk about 'sensitive subjects' which seemed to include anything a person could talk about. And then, the contract, so…"
"Then what do you guys talk about?" asked Waylon.
"The weather?" Helen laughed. "Um, work. Plans we make, work, trips we go on for work, work, work. Sometimes, he tells me stories about past movies he did." Helen snorted another laugh and brought her hand up to cover her face.
"Sorry," she said through her laugh. "Just, remembering the time he told me about the stunt guy in Executioner II who was required to wear a green suit during all of his serious scenes, and the guy was so damn muscular, during the dramatic finale, he just split the suit completely up the back, and wore nothing underneath. Why he thought that was appropriate…"
Waylon laughed, shaking his head. "Thank God there are no special effects in this film…"
"There's gonna be tons in this Bond movie, I offered to do my own stunts, and got laughed out of the room," said Helen, grinning.
"Eddie never talks about any of the years on A Family of our Own?"
"No," said Helen, before pausing. "Well…there was a child actor on the set of Shallow Tides when we were filming together. Eddie always went out of his way to talk to the boy. Told him that he was an actor at his age, too, and he remembered it being difficult. He's alway doing that—looking out for kids on set. I thought it was because he wanted a family. But, that's not even…"
"Poor Eddie," said Waylon.
"Yeah," said Helen, sighing. "Speaking of Eddie, we should go check on him. Come on!"
Helen pulled Waylon's hand, leading him toward a large, circular booth in the back corner. Four men in suits dominated the table, but Waylon only recognized one.
"Eddie-baby, look who I found," said Helen, sounding far from sober.
"Darling, are you feeling alright?" asked Eddie. "Perhaps you'd like to sit down?"
"No way, people are just starting to dance, the night is young, old man," said Helen, snorting at her own joke. Eddie's face remained less than amused.
"Hi, Eddie," said Waylon, smiling. Eddie always dressed nice, but that night he wore a classic black suit, white shirt, and black bowtie. Waylon wondered why no one ever thought to cast Eddie as James Bond. He looked perfect.
"Glad to see you made it," said Eddie. "These are the Misters Borsch and Lamb, from Lambo Studios, and this gentleman beside me is the owner of this establishment, Rick, allow me to introduce you to…"
"No need, I'd recognize that face anywhere," said the man seated next to Eddie. He had a long, gray ponytail slung over his shoulder, and wore a black three-piece suit and spectacles. He reminded Waylon of a Bond villain.
"You know Rick?" Helen asked Waylon, eyes going wide.
"We haven't been formally introduced," said Rick, standing up. He wiped his hands on the tablecloth before sliding out of the booth and extending a hand. "Rick Trager, this is my restaurant. You're Benny, right?"
Waylon's face fell, and he struggled for a moment, blushing horribly. "I'm working under my given name, now. Waylon Park."
"Waylon, huh? I think I like Benny better," said Rick, giving a slimy smile. "This guy went by Benny Jetts. Been in some of the best new content to come out of PoundTown dot com in the past five years. Definite star potential."
The two old men at the table turned and nodded to one another. Only Eddie seemed unmoved, staring daggers at Rick. His blue eyes grew even darker when Rick slid an arm around Waylon's shoulders.
"Why don't I get you a drink, and show ya around?" asked Rick.
"Uh, sure," said Waylon, giving a weak wave back to Helen and Eddie as he was led away.
Rick Trager knew the name of every patron at the restaurant that evening, despite the large crowd. Waylon recognized many of the names, minor star from television and movies, at least one professional athlete, and a comedian best known for physical comedy. Waylon was impressed—and flattered that Rick was showing him so much personal attention.
Rick paused at the balcony, staring down below, frowning. Waylon followed his gaze and saw Miles, walking through the crowd, his phone held up in an attempt to look nonchalant. Rick leaned into the nearest bouncer and whispered something. The bouncer walked away.
By chance, Miles glanced up, and Waylon caught his eye. He quickly pulled his finger back and forth across his neck, warning Miles of the impending danger. Miles promptly vanished.
When Waylon turned back around, the Lambo Studio Executive pair were standing, discussing something quietly with Rick. Waylon waited patiently, glancing around. The dance floor was finally full, and Helen was at the center of the floor, dancing with some man Waylon recognized from one of those reality dancing shows.
"Hey, Benny, there's an even more private area in my club, VIPs only," said Rick, putting on a wide, thin smile. "It's a quieter place, where people can discuss business. See, you're not in any binding contract with Murkoff, so Lambo is willing to discuss some terms. In private. In the back room. Look, buddy, you've got definite potential, if you're interested…"
"Of course I'm interested," said Waylon, fighting to keep from throwing his hands up with happiness. "So far, I don't have anything lined up past this film, and my agent is, well, not technically an agent, but Frank knows his stuff…"
"This is all very, very interesting," said Rick, putting a hand on Waylon's shoulder, and pushing gently in the direction of the back wall. A part of the wall opened a door, barely discernible thanks to being wallpapered and paneled to fit seamlessly with the wall around it.
"Holy shit! What a cool door! It's like some kinda haunted mansion from a cartoon, do you have a bookcase that turns around into a secret passageway somewhere around here?"
"What an imagination," said Borsch, or Lamb. Waylon didn't catch which was which, and they both looked so similar being septuagenarians with silver hair wearing black suit and tie.
Rick produced a key from his jacket pocket and unlocked the door. He held it open with a grin. "This way, Benny."
"I think not," said a booming voice behind the group, that could only belong to one person.
"Eddie, hey," said Waylon, beaming.
"I need Waylon to come with me, we have something important to discuss," said Eddie, forcibly grabbing Waylon by the arm and pulling him away from Rick's grasp.
"Hold up, Eddie, can't that wait? We were trying to make Waylon an offer here," said Rick, and the two executives nodded along.
"Waylon's coming with me," said Eddie, narrowing his eyes.
"Wait, can I give you guys my number? I'd really love to speak with you…"
"I'll give them your contact information," said Eddie, squeezing Waylon's arm until it hurt. Eddie dragged him back toward the crowded bar.
Eddie kept his face turned away, making it impossible to gauge his reaction. Was he jealous because Waylon was being offered a job, instead of him? The old talent out to sabotage the new? Or was he jealous because…
Waylon's heart raced faster. It couldn't be because Eddie was jealous of these men getting to spend time alone with him, was it?
"Hey," said Waylon, hissing in pain as he stumbled. Eddie continued to pull him, and Waylon almost tripped flat on his face. Once they were at the opposite end of the restaurant, near the stairs, Eddie finally stopped.
"Seriously, what the hell, Eddie," said Waylon, frowning. Waylon glared up at Eddie, who looked bored. "They were gonna discuss work with me. We're not all huge stars like you with good agents and tons of projects to choose from. I'm starving for connections right now, why the fuck would you…"
"Are you really this naive?" asked Eddie, sighing.
"N-naive? I'm not naive, I've been around, I know my stuff, but how can I learn this business if you won't even let me get into meetings…"
"That room is where talent goes to die," said Eddie, a sad frown on his lips. "Rick, studio executives, they enjoy the sport of getting young, ambitious talent into that room, and seeing how far they'll go for a job."
"I'm willing to do whatever it takes," said Waylon, jutting out his chin. "You're underestimating me."
"They don't have any jobs for you, Waylon," said Eddie, chuckling to himself. "Well, they have a couple of jobs they'd like you to perform on them, but none of them involve acting in front of a camera. They're going to pressure you, for sexual favors."
"W-w…you can't know that, why would you think that?" asked Waylon.
"Because that's what Rick and his ilk do in those rooms," said Eddie, staring back at the dance floor. The strobe lights reflected eerily in his dark eyes. "They're not good people."
"They're not really studio executives?" asked Waylon.
"Oh, they are," said Eddie, nodding. "But they're not nice people. They'll use that status to get whatever they want and leave a wake of destruction in their path. I worried the moment Rick recognized you."
Waylon's laugh was devoid of any real joy. "Wow, I thought you were jealous of me getting some opportunity. You were just nervous they'd try something. And they did. And I almost fell right into their trap."
Waylon shook his head and walked away. He went to stand against the railing, and stare down at the main restaurant below. He needed to find Miles. Time to leave.
"I'm sorry," said Eddie. He had followed and leaned against the railing directly beside Waylon. "I can still get you into that room if you wanted."
"Of course I don't want that," said Waylon, throwing a heated glare up at Eddie. The menacing effect was lessened by the tears. "So it's real, then? The casting couch? It's not just in the porn industry where they force you to fuck for free before you get the job if you're lucky. People taking advantage of young talent."
"Sadly," said Eddie. He stared away, not speaking. He politely ignored when Waylon wiped a stray tear.
"They think because I act in porn, that I wouldn't mind selling my body for a role," said Waylon, sighing.
They weren't even wrong, he thought. Waylon couldn't count how many times he'd fucked or sucked his way into landing a job. Like a disgusting piece of human trash.
"I don't want to have to fuck my way to the top," said Waylon.
"It's one way to go, though it's dangerous, and inevitably leads to ugly fallout," said Eddie. Waylon's eyebrows shot up his forehead as he turned to stare at Eddie.
"You're serious?" asked Waylon.
"Of course," said Eddie, shrugging in his suit. "You stick around long enough, you see everything in this industry. Some people manage it. Not the route I would attempt, nor would I recommend it, but I feel it's important to be truthful with you. Shielding you from these things won't make your next few career moves any easier. I'd be a bad mentor."
"My…mentor, well, that's not me," said Waylon, clenching his fists as he scanned the crowd. It's not me anymore, he qualified to himself. "I'm gonna make it based on my talent."
"I'm pulling for you," said Eddie.
Waylon turned to meet Eddie's eyes and found him smiling. It was a small thing, almost shy. It made Waylon burst out in a huge grin, tears forgotten.
"It's really not helping my schoolboy crush on you when you say nice things like that," said Waylon.
"Respect," said Eddie, chuckling. "It works better, in our work, if we respect one another. I respect you too much to sit by while you are potentially harmed. I hope you'd respect me the same way."
"Absolutely," said Waylon, smiling, "I would rather die than hurt you, Eddie." A flash of brown leather in the crowd below caught Waylon's eye. "I think I'm gonna call it a night. No real desire to be here, anymore."
"I don't blame you," said Eddie. "My car is waiting. I'll give you a ride."
"Isn't Helen going to want to stay, though? This is kinda her party," said Waylon.
"It is," said Eddie, nodding. "We came separately. I can only tolerate these parties for so long."
"Sounds good, but, I live really far away from here, and far from your house."
"I don't mind mind giving you a ride," said Eddie, pulling out his sleek cell phone. "My car is very comfortable."
"I'd like to give you a ride," said Waylon. Eddie paused in the act of typing on his touch screen keyboard. Waylon met his gaze for several moments before blushing. "I'm guessing I said that out loud…"
"You did."
"Sorry," said Waylon, "uh, I have a weird sense of humor."
Eddie narrowed his eyes but resumed texting. Waylon pulled out his own phone and quickly texted Miles.
No need to drive me home I got a ride
"Ready?" asked Eddie. He pocketed his phone into his breast pocket, reminiscent of how James Bond might conceal a gun. Waylon nodded, much too quickly, and far too long. Eddie raised an eyebrow. "Car's out front."
Waylon's phone buzzed as he walked down the stairs. He followed close to Eddie as they navigated through the crowded restaurant, and out the front door.
Is it a hot ride? Does it have a friend? I'm horny
Waylon glanced at the text and chose to ignore it.
Eddie walked up to the black limousine parked in front of Trager's. He waited as a man in a chauffeur's uniform came around and held the door open. Eddie climbed into the back seat, and Waylon felt suddenly nervous.
Limousines weren't a common occurrence for Waylon, and the ones he had been in were always crowded and full of house music, liquor, and drugs. He was so distracted by thoughts of Eddie luring him into a limousine for drinks and dancing, that he tripped on the edge of the car. Waylon landed with his head dangerously close to Eddie's lap.
"Shit, sorry," said Waylon, scrambling to get out of Eddie's lap. He crawled to the far end of the bench that ran up the length of the limo. "I'm, uh, not used to limousines."
"Obviously," said Eddie as the driver closed the door.
Waylon waited in embarrassed silence until the car began to move. Tinted windows dim the city lights in the distance. The limousine was quiet, not even the usual engine noises were audible. Peaceful.
The silence was broken by the electric whine of the partition between the front seat and the cabin lowering.
"Excuse me, Mr. Park? Can I get an address for your place?" asked the driver.
"Sure, it's, uh, 8403 Edgewater, it's uh, a bit of a drive, maybe you can drop Eddie first, and then me, since…"
"Thank you," said the driver. The electric whine returned until the partition was back in place.
Eddie sat in the backseat, leaning against the side of the car, staring down at his phone. The glow from the screen illuminated his face in the dark cab.
Even after a month of seeing Eddie every day, Waylon still felt a sense of awe. His angular face was attractive and expressive. Eddie created every array of emotion with his facial expressions. But Waylon found himself growing fond of the one he made when he wasn't acting.
The real Eddie Gluskin.
At first, Waylon assumed it was because Eddie was bored, or possibly looking down at those around him. His face could take on an elitist sneer that was difficult to describe. Waylon began to recognize the expression as Eddie being, well, Eddie.
Serious. Quiet. Contemplative. Eddie saw everything but gave nothing away. His most natural, resting face was cool and controlled. Waylon silently thanked the darkness for providing him an uninterrupted chance to study him.
As the car continued to sway, Waylon began to feel strange. How many drinks had he consumed at the party? Was it possible Rick slipped him something, after all? No, no one had gotten him a drink, except himself. But Waylon was definitely feeling ill. He let out a pained grunt.
"Are you alright?" asked Eddie, eyes canting up from his phone screen. "You look pale."
"I feel kinda dizzy," said Waylon.
"Did you have much to drink?" asked Eddie.
"N-not at all," said Waylon, pausing to take deep, cleansing breaths. "Sorry, I don't know what…"
"You're motion sick," said Eddie, switching his phone off. "It can happen in a car like this. You need to face forward. Come back here, and sit next to me."
Waylon stumbled as he had to crouch over to move through the cab to the bench seat across the back of the limousine. His stomach lurched and rolled with every movement of the cab. He whimpered as he finally landed in the seat next to Eddie.
Eddie leaned forward, opening a compartment in the car, and pulled out a bucket of Ice. Within moments, Eddie had a napkin, wet from melted ice in the bucket, and held it out to Waylon.
"Here," said Eddie. "Sometimes, this helps."
Waylon slapped the wet cloth on his forehead and shivered. It did help a little. Once Waylon stopped feeling so warm, he was able to look straight ahead, and his sickness subsided.
"Thank you," said Waylon, once he felt strong enough to carry on a conversation without gagging.
"Don't mention it," said Eddie.
Waylon became acutely aware of Eddie at his side. Maybe it was because of how dark it was in the limousine—the only lighting was fiberoptics in the ceiling, evolving patterns imitating a starry night sky.
"No wonder all your costars end up falling in love with you," said Waylon, chuckling to himself. He felt Eddie shift uneasily in the seat at his side. "You're a really nice guy. You watch out for me. You encourage me. You take care of me, even when there's nothing in it for you."
Eddie made a soft, humming noise, and Waylon felt emboldened to continue.
"I mean, I'm not a girl, we're not going to date, but you still treat me with so much care and respect," said Waylon. "They all fall for you—because of that."
"It's a sad state of our world that common courtesy is considered exemplary treatment."
"That's such an old-fashioned thing to say, jeez," said Waylon, chuckling. He leaned into Eddie. "I find it really hard to believe you're actually that old-fashioned."
A passing streetlight outside the dark tint backlit Eddie's confused expression.
"When I was a kid, I remember you had a reputation," said Waylon. "I mean, women, drugs, booze, the tape, getting into fights at ritzy after-parties…"
"I had a lot of issues to work through when I was younger," said Eddie. "A couple stints in rehab, two hundred hours of community service, and some good therapy. I'm proud to say, I have been an upstanding citizen for over a decade now. That life isn't me, anymore."
"Well, except for the women," said Waylon, grinning.
"Why do you say that?"
"Are you serious?" asked Waylon, laughing. "You are always in the gossip rags, new girl here, new girl there, and yet, they never stay—never last, and you've never been married. The eternal bachelor, everyone's always writing about it…"
Eddie exhaled an empty laugh before staring away from Waylon. Street lights continued to pass, lighting up Eddie's face as he gazed out the window.
"I stopped caring what people wrote in those things," said Eddie. "I've been dealing with it all my life."
"Yeah, because of the childhood thing," said Waylon. A soft hum was Eddie's only answer. "Sorry, I know you don't talk about it, but, I guess I just wanted to tell you that, growing up, you were a real inspiration to me."
Eddie straightened in his seat and turned his head to stare at Waylon. A huge smile bloomed across Waylon's face in the darkness. Eddie's eyes were so blue, even in the dark. Just the way Waylon remembered from all of his favorite movies. And this time, they were focused on him.
"I didn't have the, um, best home life, growing up," said Waylon. He chuckled to break the awkward silence. "I found out you got emancipated from your parents, and I wanted to do the same thing."
"What stopped you?"
"No cash," said Waylon, shrugging with a grin. "But it's whatever, I got away from them in the end, and we still have a relationship, so everything's fine."
"If it was an unhealthy environment, then, I am relieved you were able to get away."
"Well, yeah, more like thrown out of the house, but, same difference," said Waylon, grinning. The limousine slowed, and Waylon recognized the rundown signs announcing Melrose Apartment Block. "Ah, mi casa."
Eddie grimaced at the scene outside the window. "I was under the impression that you were successful at your…chosen career path. Um, adult videos."
"Oh, I was," said Waylon, grinning. "You trying to ask for some porn recommendations? It's mostly gay, but I do a little bit of everything, ooh, there's this one, Benny Benches Bradly that I'm particularly proud of, it's very hot…"
"Please," said Eddie, holding up a hand. "Please, stop. I only asked because this place seems rather worn down for someone successful at their job."
"Ah, yes, well, the thing about that," said Waylon, laughing nervously. "Ya know, debt, family stuff, uh, bad decisions." Waylon pushed his hand through his curly hair, grinning. "But I'm alright. This movie cut me a good check, so I'll be able to hopefully move somewhere nicer. And if the movie does well, who knows, I could even get more work, I can start building something for myself. It'll be good."
"I believe in this movie," said Eddie.
"Me too," said Waylon. He startled when the door beside him opened. The chauffeur held the door open, waiting silently outside the car. "Thanks for the ride."
Waylon tumbled, gracelessly, out of the limousine. He watched as the taillights disappeared beyond the apartment gates.
Like a dream. A real conversation. With Eddie Gluskin.
Waylon fumbled through his suit pockets for his phone. The number of texts was alarming. Waylon quickly unlocked the phone and stared at the messages. His stomach dropped to his feet.
Definitely got my scoop
The picture attached was taken from a cell phone. It showed Waylon draped over Eddie's legs with his head tucked into Eddie's lap. It was taken the moment Waylon fell into the limo.
Waylon sighed.
"Goddammit, Miles."
A/N: R-P I also love Dennis lol there's a lot of other characters that pop up later too, since this world was so big there was just, room for everyone I guess? lol Going to try for a double update next week to hurry this slow burn along ;)
