Chapter 10: Method Acting

When the moving van pulled into the large driveway of Eddie's Bel Air mansion, Waylon stared in confusion. An identical truck, just as gigantic with an identical logo, was already parked there.

One of the workers opened the door and helped Waylon down from the truck's cab. He scurried out of the way to avoid tripping up the workers. The sound of the front door opening signaled a sigh of relief, but when he turned it wasn't Eddie Gluskin walking out of the house.

"WAY!"

"Helen?!" Waylon waved enthusiastically as Helen walked over with quick, short steps due to her heels. She wore a hot pink tube top, black capris, and a pair of strappy gold sandals.

"I couldn't believe it when Eddie said you were moving in, that's really good news," said Helen, grinning.

"Ah, yeah, um, I'm sorry you guys broke up," said Waylon, fighting a blush. "I didn't mean…"

"Hey, no big deal, I'm just grabbing the last of my stuff right now," said Helen, gesturing at the two gigantic moving trucks. "Figures Eddie way over thought this. When I moved in, I had one suitcase, and he somehow thinks in the last months I've upgraded to needing a full-sized moving truck."

"Yeah that was confusing as hell," said Waylon, looking back at the trucks. The one from his apartment is open, and the men are easily handling his meager belongings.

"I'm actually kinda excited that you're the one moving in because at least now I have someone I can talk to about all the weird contract stuff," said Helen, looking around Waylon, watching the men as they carried out her luggage. "How are you dealing with everything?"

"With, what exactly?"

"I don't know, shit, the gag order, the NDA, it can be scary moving in here by yourself, I know Eddie's kinda intimidating. I'm assuming since we have the same contract situation, surely it's alright for us to discuss it together in private, right?"

"I don't know what you're…"

"Aren't you with Eddie now?"

"Oh," said Waylon, blushing. "I, uh, well, I would like that, but I don't think Eddie is ready to take that kind of step, but I keep hoping…"

"You have a contract, right?" asked Helen.

"I have a contract with Murkoff for the film, you mean?" asked Waylon.

To her credit, Helen's face barely changed as she seemed to brush away whatever thought had been distracting her. "Nevermind," she said, smiling and shaking her head. "I guess the gutterflies got it wrong after all. They'll make a story out of anything, ya know?"

"Yeah, I suppose," said Waylon, smiling. He felt like he had missed some key part of the conversation. "How's the movie coming along?"

"Excellent," said Helen, beaming. "So exciting. Not shooting for another couple months, I even have an action sequence! I'm going to be on wires and stuff! Stunt doubles, of course, but I'm going to have to get suspended for at least some of the face shots, even if it's just in front of a green screen."

"Awesome," said Waylon, laughing. "Man, I wish our film had more actions scenes."

"I thought there were too many actions scenes," said Helen, smirking. "That was the last story I read, some article about 'what is Mainstream actually about?' and it went on and on about all the graphic sexual acts in the script."

"Oh no," said Waylon, frowning.

"Oh no?" Helen laughed at Waylon's horrified face. "Oh yes, you should be saying. Nothing draws in an audience like a promise of gratuitous sex scenes."

"But it's male on male."

"Did I stutter?" Helen laughed. "Dennis has a really good reputation, he'll show it real—tasteful, but real, and that'll fill the seats, even if the script is shit."

"The script is amazing," said Waylon.

"See? Even better, "said Helen, grinning. "I'm really pulling for you guys, truly. I gotta run, was just grabbing my stuff, my gym schedule is a total bitch right now, they need me to lose another ten pounds and get some definition before filming."

Waylon glanced up and down Helen's perfectly trim body. "Where are you losing it from? Planning on taking off a limb?"

Helen laughed and leaned in to peck Waylon on the cheek. "Give me your phone. I'm going to put in my information. You need anyone to talk to about Eddie, about the business, about anything, hell if you just need someone to show up to a photo-op nightclub downtown you call me. We're friends."

A familiar black limousine pulled up into the driveway while Helen entered her information. David stepped out of the car and waved at Waylon.

"Okay, that's my number me, text me anytime, let's do dinner, we always have fun when we go out."

"You got it," said Waylon, tipping his head to Helen before jogging to meet David. "Hey, is Eddie in there?"

"Mr. Gluskin had an appointment this morning, he'll meet you on set later for shooting," said David, smiling in a way that was more friendly than strictly professional. "He sent me to give you a ride into work."

"But I just got here? Eddie isn't home?"

"No, Mr. Gluskin will be here after you're done at the studio today, he has scheduled to discuss terms of the living arrangement at that time, and strongly encourages you to invite your own lawyer."

"I don't have a lawyer?"

David shrugged, his smile unfaltering. "Only relaying a message, Mr. Park. Just let me know when you're ready to leave."

Waylon bit his lower lip. Everything was too strange. And as tempting as it was to explore the house without Eddie around, there were things they really needed to discuss before Waylon made himself at home.

Eddie stepped out of his hired car and stalked across the lot of Murkoff Studios. The paparazzi were out in force, cameras clicking like angry insects. They screamed at Eddie, but he only pulled the collar of his overcoat higher. Security rushed to his aid and Eddie made it through the crowd, safely.

Inside, the atmosphere on the set was different. The assistants danced music playing on someone's iPhone, the extras cracked jokes, and Dennis glowed.

"My phone is ringing off the hook," said Dennis, grinning so wide Eddie worried it must be painful. "It's a good thing I work best under pressure. This is gonna be huge for me! My last two films got praise, sure, but no one really saw them. I was worried this one could end up the same way, but if it's got this much attention before wrap? Shit. By the time it's released, we're all gonna be schmoozing the Academy."

"We should focus on making the movie, first," said Eddie.

"Don't be so grouchy! I know you're a private guy, but, Waylon, come on, you two have undeniable chemistry. And look at the guy, I consider myself straight as an arrow, but I kinda wanna fuck him."

Eddie took a menacing step forward. Dennis chuckled, and held up his hands.

"A joke, man, I'm not going to make a move on your boyfriend."

"He's not my…"

"Eddie!"

Eddie turned in time to see Waylon walking up wearing a white, terrycloth robe. His makeup and hair were already done. His skin glowed bright, and his hair was perfectly tousled. Dark eyes dilated when they landed on Eddie in his black suit.

"Are you ready for today?" asked Waylon, smiling. He looked at Eddie as though he were the only person on the crowded set.

"Of course, I'm a professional, darling," said Eddie. "I mean, Waylon."

"My stuff got dropped off at your house before I went into work," said Waylon, bringing up a finger to fidget with a loose curl. "David said we would talk tonight?"

"Yes, I prefer to keep my business and personal life as separate as possible, considering how they're already so intermingled."

"Understood," said Waylon, a cute smirk twisting his mouth. "See you on set."

Eddie grumbled as he walked toward his dressing room.

"Could you please look less angry?" chided Eddie's makeup artist. It was a struggle to sit with his face neutral while the woman prodded and brushed his face.

It was unprofessional to bring personal feelings into work. Eddie needed to focus on Felix's feelings—not his own. The scene that day was another emotional one.

It wasn't difficult to conjure up sad memories.

In private, Eddie hated crying, but for the cameras? He never failed. The only trick was ensuring the amount of tears met only what was required for the scene. Some memories were more traumatic than others. Eddie could not devolve into a sobbing mess if the scene only required a solitary tear down the cheek.

The day's wardrobe was a white tank with the same tired, gold chain. Eddie's makeup made him look considerably more tired than he even felt. The set was a dingy, unmade bed seemingly in the middle of a barren apartment. Eddie accepted a prop bottle from an assistant before sitting heavily on the bed.

Eddie focused on reviewing his lines when his attention was stolen away. Waylon entered the set and let his robe slip from his shoulders. It floated to the ground with a whisper.

The set's lighting mimicked a dark apartment with city lights filtering in through crooked blinds. It cast a dusky glow onto Waylon's silky nightgown. The costume department had either found it in the bottom of a rag bin or purposely destroyed it. The silk was threadbare and stained, one strap torn until the entire nightie lay crooked across Waylon's chest, and the lace trim was frayed.

As they moved through their marks with the crew making adjustments, Eddie kept staring hard at that tattered strap, willing it to fail. A tantalizing flash of matching silk panties underneath the garment teased Eddie, always just out of view.

"Alright, Felix's solo scene is later, let's get the heavy scene done," said Dennis, walking behind the camera. "Waylon, do the lead in, hit the first mark, Randall expects to be shoved away so I need to see the heartbreak, alright, from the entry, places…"

Eddie stared at the ground, delving into Felix's psyche and barely recognizing that Dennis had called action.

"Okay, the door opens, and…"

Waylon entered the area, arms wrapped around his torso, chin kept close to his chest. Eddie flicked his eyes without moving his face, then purposely turned away.

"I'm sorry," said Waylon, as Randall.

Eddie exhaled through his nose, flicking his eyes back briefly, but still unmoving.

"Felix…"

"You dunno tha meaning of tha word," said Eddie, as Felix. "You prob'ly don't even think what you did was wrong."

"It was wrong," said Waylon, voice already strained. "It was wrong, it felt wrong, I hated myself while it happened, the whole time…"

"Because if there's one thing I know about you, it's that you just hate sucking big cocks."

"Don't…"

Eddie tossed the fake bottle toward the prop wall as rehearsed. The idea had been for the prop to shatter harmlessly, but instead, it only produced an extra loud thunk. Eddie slammed his hands on his knees and glared at the ground. Waylon moved forward, closer to the second mark beside the bed.

"Please, just talk to me, I feel horrible enough…"

"How could'ya do it then, Randy?"

"It's the only way," said Waylon, voice breaking quite convincingly. "If I don't wanna keep doing porn forever like you said, I gotta get this part, I gotta…he said I had to convince him how much I wanted it, I had to..."

"Did he force you?" asked Eddie, head snapping up to stare at Waylon. Those were real tears overflowing from brown eyes.

"Not physically," said Waylon, sniffing. He crossed his hands over his chest tighter. "What was I supposed to do? Just tell him, oh wait, nevermind on the movie part? It's different, don't you understand? That wasn't sex to me, it was just playing a part, just an act, so I could make it ahead in this profession, I don't want that guy, I only want you."

"How am I supposed to trust you?" asked Eddie, voice quaking. "How can I…"

His mother was always on the set—always close by. It was in his contract, and it was part of the union's policy for child actors. Eddie saw movement out of the corner of his eye. He couldn't turn his head, not with strong hands gripping his face with bruising force.

But he saw his mother. And she saw him. He saw the sorrow there—the pain. And he watched as she ducked her head and pulled the door shut as quietly as possible.

A thick tear ran down Eddie's face. Right on cue. He blinked wetly for a moment before turning misty blue eyes on Waylon.

"I can understand if you're hurt but this is hurting me much more," said Waylon, an open sob coming up, obscuring his next words, "I didn't want it, and I hate myself for doing it, but I did it, and I'm sorry, and I don't want to lose you, but…"

"You yelled at me before, said you're not a whore," said Eddie, blinking away another fat tear. "If that's true, when are you gonna stop letting people treat you like one-stop treating yourself like one."

Waylon cried, shoulders shaking, and he had to bring his hands up to cover his face.

"Waylon, turn more toward camera two, and don't cover your face so much, through the tears Randy can't stop staring at Felix's disappointment," said Dennis from behind the camera.

"I'm snotty again," said Waylon, speaking plainly through the continued tears. He sniffed loudly, staring at Dennis for direction.

"Play through it, I want this film as snotty and raw as possible, keep that energy, Waylon, start from the tears and into the next line."

Waylon nodded at Dennis before turning back to Eddie. He stared hard, eyes glittering in the lighting. A fresh sob bubbled up and he turned toward the camera, rather than away from it.

"Maybe I was wrong-maybe I am a whore," cried Waylon.

"No," said Eddie, fighting to keep his voice from breaking. "You're not, Randy. You're gonna get a part on your own skills, not because of some sleazy asshole. This shitstain is about to regret the day he pressured my client into sex."

Waylon laughed, a broken, tremulous sound. The script called for him to approach the bed, but Eddie was unprepared for Waylon sprinting and jumping into his lap. An oof exhaled from Eddie as he almost fell backward into the false wall.

"Ack," said Waylon, laughing through his tears.

"Try that again, don't lose frame guys," said Dennis.

It took two full attempts and some camera repositioning before Dennis was satisfied with the leap. He carefully choreographed their positions in the frame. Waylon straddled Eddie's lap, arms around his neck, and Eddie sat stoically, not having reciprocated.

"Action…" followed by the loud slap of the clapperboard.

"You're alright, Randy," said Eddie, softly. "I won't let them hurt you like that no more. What kinda agent would I be if I let them hurt you like that…"

The comic jumping mistakes had lightened the mood considerably, but the weight settled back onto their shoulders.

"I didn't want it," Waylon began a quiet mantra, almost a whisper, "I didn't want to, but I had to…"

Eddie gripped Waylon tight to his chest in a crushing hug and felt him devolve into a shuddering, sobbing mess.

Mother saw, and she turned away.

A fresh stream of tears fell down Eddie's face as he stared just to the right of the camera. "I know," said Eddie, softly shushing against Waylon's curls. "I know."

"I hated it," said Waylon, through sobs. Eddie continued to hold him, staring blank-eyed toward the camera. "I hated it, I hated it," Waylon broke off in a high, keening sob.

"I know, baby," said Eddie, rubbing his hands up and down Waylon's back, feeling the silky material bunch and move. The motion was too pleasant not to repeat.

"I did it for you, I did it because I wanted to stay with you, I shouldn't even try, I don't deserve you…"

"Randy, it's okay," said Eddie.

"I'm…," the words choked out raw. Waylon rubbed his face into Eddie's bare shoulder, leaving a wet trail. "No one like you could ever want someone like me."

"You're wrong," said Eddie, softly, nosing against Waylon's curls and smelling styling product and citrus shampoo. He pressed a hard kiss against Waylon's head. "You're wrong, I'm here for you."

"I'm sorry, Eddie," whispered Waylon.

"You're okay," said Eddie.

"Cut, great energy, let's shoot it again using the second version…"

Waylon pulled away just enough that his wet cheek rubbed against Eddie's. He turned his chin enough to push a soft kiss again Eddie's cheek, before pulling away and accepting a towel to wipe his face as another woman crowded in wielding a makeup brush.

Eddie walked to the edge of the stage and accepted his own towel. He wiped himself clean, then paused to look back at Waylon. He sat on a stool as the makeup artist dusted his face with powder, and he was laughing and smiling at an assistant. Eddie stared longer than appropriate.

The silence in the limousine on the drive home was stifling. The emotional shooting had continued for hours and Waylon had looked almost like a zombie when he shambled out of his dressing room toward the car.

Eddie sighed and turned his entire body on the bench seat until he was facing Waylon. "I apologize, for the strangeness of this situation. If you are having doubts or changing your mind, I am open to discussion."

Waylon turns away from the window, eyes wide as though surprised Eddie was sitting there. "Wha-oh, no, I still want to move in."

Eddie's brow creased in confusion. "You don't seem as agreeable as before."

"Sorry," said Waylon, blowing out a long exhale as he slouched back on the bench seat. His body faced forward, but he turned his head to stare at Eddie. "Just, work, sometimes."

"Work?" asked Eddie, thinking over the scene. It had been rather painful—but they had shot emotional scenes before. Similar scenes, in fact. They always seemed to agitate Waylon.

"This script, man, sometimes just leaves me feeling, I don't know, hopeless," said Waylon, turning his head back toward the window. He had to look up and out due to his poor posture.

Eddie gave a thoughtful hum and prepared to let the topic drop until…

"Do you think what that guy did to Randall was really wrong?" asked Waylon, glancing only out of the side of his eyes. Palm trees and buildings continued to pass by outside the tinted window.

"The…scene from today, the producer that forced Randall into sex in order to get the job?"

"Yeah, but that's the thing," said Waylon, sitting up straighter and turning back toward Eddie. "Forced him? No one forced him, ya know? He wasn't tied down or handcuffed, no one threatened his life, or put a gun to his head. They just told him to do something, and he did it, he didn't even try to talk his way out of it, even though he didn't want to. Instead of walking out, instead of saying 'no,' he just…did it. Is that really forced?"

"Waylon, when someone has leverage over you, and they pressure you into something you did not want to do, that's still coercion. They didn't threaten Randall, physically, but the threat of losing work, or being blacklisted and unable to follow his dream, the monetary hit of being passed over—those are still threats. It's a classic Hollywood quid pro quo. It's near impossible to make it in this town without connections, and if those people hiring or auditioning you are pressure you to do something you don't want to do, it's abuse."

Eddie spoke from a place of experience. An experience that everyone in the world knew about thanks to the press.

Waylon's eyes grew dewy before he turned away and stared back out the window. Eddie considered reaching out, giving Waylon a friendly past on the back. Maybe a half shoulder hug. He would do it for anyone else, but he hesitated. The trailer was suddenly hot in his mind. He needed to behave for this contract to be feasible.

"What's the answer, then?" asked Waylon.

"I'm afraid I don't…"

"What's the answer, for people like Randy? Like, they wanted him to do this stuff, but if he says 'no' then, he just can't even be an actor, he won't have a choice, but if he says 'yes' he gets the job, but he hates himself, and betrays Felix, and himself…"

"I think Randall handled it appropriately," said Eddie, nodding when Waylon's brow ceased. His eyes were wet, but Eddie politely ignored them. Actors tended to be emotional people.

"He handled it well by smiling, and taking it?"

"No, he handled it well by telling Felix, so Felix can drive over there and kicks their asses."

Waylon laughed while reaching up to swipe away a barely noticeable tear. "Yeah, he was lucky to have someone like that."

Eddie frowned as Waylon continued to stare away, wiping his eyes. His shoulders slumped much more than usual. The scene that day had not felt as psychologically challenging to Eddie—but everyone was affected differently.

"Waylon," said Eddie, waiting until Waylon turned his head and met his eyes, framed with wet lashes. "Did something happen?"

"Happen?" asked Waylon, shaking his head and blinking his eyes rapidly. "No, of course not, everything's good."

"Please, listen to me," said Eddie, leaning over to put his hand on top of Waylon's where it rested on the seat, "this is nothing like that."

"What is nothing like…"

"This agreement that we're going to discuss, you living with me, the relationship, it's nothing like that, do you understand?"

Waylon sniffed again and nodded, "Yeah, sure Eddie."

"I'm serious," said Eddie, scooting closer before he could think it through. Perhaps Waylon would see his proximity as intimidating rather than comforting. The soft sigh as Waylon leaned into him dispelled that thought.

"You'll know everything once we arrive at the house and discuss the contract, but you are not expected to do anything you don't want to do," said Eddie. "There's nothing sexual about the agreement. I would never ask you to have sex with me as part of the relationship. I can't apologize enough for what happened in Nevada, it was inappropriate."

"Why was it inappropriate?" asked Waylon, wiping away the last remnants of tears, new focus in his gaze.

"Because we are coworkers, and because I am someone you look up to as a mentor, and perhaps you felt obligated to perform for me because of those reasons, but I promise, it won't happen again."

"That's not what happened, you realize that, right?" asked Waylon, quirking an eyebrow as he leaned until his shoulder was pressing into Eddie's. "I do respect you and all that shit, but like, I wanted that. I want more."

Eddie frowned, leaning casually back against the door opposite Waylon. "I'm hesitant to discuss this without my representation present, but seeming as we're almost to the house and everything will be laid bare in plain language, I'll just let you know now, I don't have romantic relationships."

Waylon's one quirked eyebrow turned into an entire forehead of wrinkles. "Are you trying to be funny?"

Eddie looked out the car window, instead of answering. "We can discuss it at the house."

"You don't have romantic relationships with men?"

"I don't have romantic relationships. Period."

"We had sex…"

"You're in the porn industry, surely you know the difference between sex and romance…"

"Yes, I know the difference, but you're…I mean, Helen, you two seemed happy together, you've dated a new leading lady every year for the past decade, it's always in the magazines, so why would you sit here and lie…"

"I have been in this industry for a long time," said Eddie, clearing his throat. "I have found what works for me, and what doesn't. This works for me. It's not an offer I make to just anyone."

"You're extending the offer to me, though?" asked Waylon.

"Yes."

"Because Jeremy's making you."

"No," said Eddie, smiling softly. "Because you're an actor with a lot of potential that could benefit from the arrangement. It's mutually beneficial for our project, I already know we can spend time together comfortably, and I trust you would be respectful of the contract."

"Helen," said Waylon, mouth going slack. "Helen had a contract with you, you two weren't dating?"

"Correct."

"So you didn't cheat on her with me?" asked Waylon.

"I was in breach of contract if there is a suspicion that either party is being unfaithful it defeats the purpose," said Eddie, sighing. "But I was not cheating on her in a relationship sense, no. We parted on good terms."

"So it's totally fine if we date for real!"

"Which part of this is confusing for you? It's an agreement. There's paperwork involved. Witnesses. Money exchanges hands, no one's dating…"

"You don't have to pay me, I would date you for free."

"The relationship is for our mutual benefit, and the benefit of our project as well. It's a business agreement, it's not romantic in nature."

"But don't you like me?" asked Waylon. The limousine pulled up the driveway to Eddie's estate. The car purred to a stop and David walked out in his suit to open the door.

"I do like you, as a friend and colleague, but I do not date romantically."

"And you're really going to make me sign a contract?"

It turned out, he really did.

Eddie's dining room in his house was huge with a dark oak table that could seat twenty and cream colored wallpaper on all the walls. Waylon occasionally glanced at himself in an ornate, gold framed mirror that dominated the largest wall.

He looked out of place.

Across the table, Eddie sat with his schooled, neutral expression on his face. His agent, Andrew, watched with sharp eyes and the bad habit of sticking his tongue out as he waited.

Waylon skimmed the document again.

It was different than his contract with Murkoff, or the lease he and Miles had signed. This document was printed off of a home computer it seemed. There were several different pages. Waylon shuffled between them, buying time.

The language was plain. So plain that Waylon worried he was somehow missing some underlying meaning. Something sinister just out of reach. Otherwise, why would Eddie Gluskin need people to sign a business agreement before moving into his house? Some kind of, prenuptial agreement for roommates?

"You seem perplexed," said Eddie, his face still that annoyingly blank expression. The one that tried too hard to hide things.

"Well, yeah the whole thing is perplexing," said Waylon, snorting to himself as he flipped another page on the document.

The contract was simple. Waylon would be given a room in the house, to decorate and use as he chose. His own bedroom and bathroom. In addition, he had freedom of the entire house excepting Eddie's bedroom and office. He was also given an expense account for anything relating to his living and business costs. The wording indicating that Eddie would be offering support, financially and professionally, for the duration of their contract, and following its positive conclusion.

"What do you get out of this?" asked Waylon, meeting Eddie's eyes and ignoring Andrew completely.

"Eddie is a man who values his privacy," said Andrew. "This agreement allows for Eddie to have someone help with that, without taking on the risks of a romantic relationship."

"What's risky about romantic relationships? Afraid you'll what, like the person?" asked Waylon.

Eddie looked to Andrew instead of answering.

"Why not just stay single if you don't want to be hounded?" asked Waylon.

"In the past, when Eddie was single, we experienced our largest spike in interest," said Andrew, his speech sounding almost memorized. "The news agencies assume anyone he appears with is a new romantic interest, there is speculation, prices on his pictures go up, it's uncomfortable. As long as there is an official partner, the press initially stirs, then the interest dies down. Reporters at interviews focus on the relationship, rather than questions that might be less comfortable. And the contract is to ensure that both parties receive benefits without the risk of negative exposure."

"So that's all he gets then, someone to take the heat off of his personal life by putting on some fake show?"

"It's enjoyable to have someone else in the house, as it's quite large," said Eddie, offering a shy smile. Waylon couldn't help his own matching grin. It was the most open expression Eddie had made since they arrived at the house. Though that was likely Waylon's fault, for getting so weepy in the damn limo.

"Can I have visitors over?" asked Waylon.

"Of course," said Andrew, turning a few pages, "all the rules are listed on page three, visitors are all encouraged and allowed, large groups, you just check the master schedule if you plan on being disruptive, and of course, it's imperative that you not date anyone else while under this agreement. You can dissolve the agreement at any time if you decide to enter a relationship with someone else."

"Can I date you?" asked Waylon, smirking at Eddie.

"I wish you would take this seriously," said Eddie, mouth turned slightly down.

"I am taking this seriously, I'm just trying to figure out what the catch is," said Waylon. "I live here, you pay for everything, and the only inconvenience to me is I have to pretend to like you? I mean, I told you already, I do like you, I want to date you, you wouldn't even have to pay me."

"I feel more comfortable knowing the contract is there to protect my interests."

"Your interests because you're afraid your partner might what, sell you out?"

Eddie's grave expression answered for him.

"I wouldn't talk about you to the press, or try to blackmail you or something, I wouldn't do that, I don't want you to hate me, I want you to like me…"

"I am not interested in any long-term romantic relationships."

"What's crossed out on this page?" asked Waylon, tapping the table through the paper.

"You can make any modifications you need before you sign," said Andrew, clearing his throat as he turned to the page in question. His own copy did not have anything blacked out, though Sharpie had been used to erase a sentence at the end of the bottom of the paragraph about house rules. "In the past, some roommates were agreeable to terms regarding closer quarters, bed sharing at times. It was a comfort measure."

"Don't like sleeping alone in this big house, huh?" asked Waylon, his grin sinking into something suggestive.

"There is nothing sexual in the contract, Waylon," said Eddie, frowning. "I share a bed with some of my roommates as a comfort to us both, out of friendship. You would not be faulted for refusing. In this case, I removed it because…"

"Because I'm a dude, and you don't wanna snuggle up to a dude, is that it?"

Eddie opened his mouth then closed it. Then opened it again. Then frowned.

"What if I want to share a bed? I don't like being alone either, I'm used to having a roommate in a tiny one bedroom apartment."

"I thought it would not be prudent, not because you are a man, but because of our…history."

"Because we fucked in the trailer?" asked Waylon.

Andrew had chosen the wrong moment to take a sip of his glass of water, and he erupted into a choking, spluttering fit.

"I did not want you to think this was anything inappropriate," said Eddie, frowning.

"What if we fuck again though? I mean, does that void and null the contract or something? Are you telling me you share your house—your bed, with all these actresses and you don't have sex with any of them?"

"Sex between consenting adults is fine, but it is not reliant on the contract, and any of those encounters also fall under the non-disclosure protection."

"So you do sleep with them?" asked Waylon. Eddie's eyes narrowed, just slightly. "Did you sleep with Helen?"

"Even if I were not under an NDA order for the protection of everyone's privacy, a gentleman would never kiss and tell."

"Uh huh," said Waylon, snorting to himself. A gentleman with his own celebrity sex tape released. Whatever. "I want it added back, I want the option to crawl in bed with you."

"The line was there as an option for later, you can both choose to never do it, or only through agreement by both parties, if Eddie doesn't feel comfortable, then…"

"It's fine," said Eddie, interrupting Andrew. When Andrew gave him a pleading look, Eddie took his own copy of the contract and slid it across the table to Waylon. "This version is the same, minus the blacked out sentence. But it really doesn't matter, it's only an extra precaution in case it becomes an issue in the future. I do not feel comfortable sharing a bed with someone I hardly know."

Waylon shrugged. Hey. Small victories. He accepted the new contract and quickly skimmed it, comparing the paragraphs and spacing with his own copy to ensure Eddie wasn't lying about it being the same.

"So, live here, pretend to date, I don't get the part about the schedule…"

"It's in the kitchen, Mrs. Shields upkeeps it for me, and you can view it anytime or call her," said Eddie.

Andrew glanced at his phone and cleared his throat. Waylon's ass was falling asleep having sat for too long in the uncomfortable dining room chair.

"So you always do this with your partners? You never dated anyone?"

"I haven't dated anyone, without something written and signed, in over ten years," said Eddie.

"Why?" asked Waylon.

"This is what works for me," said Eddie.

"You're only doing this because of Jeremy?"

Eddie sighed and placed his palms flat on the table. "I'm making you this offer, which you are free to refuse. You may stay here tonight, and I will return all of your things in the morning. I am making this offer, not because Jeremy told me to, but because what Jeremy said makes sense. I want Mainstream to be a success, I want it to be considered for an Academy Award, I want this movie to receive the attention it deserves. And if being close to you achieves that goal, then, well," Eddie paused, turning his hands palm up, "there are worse people to have to share a house with."

"You mean it?" asked Waylon, his voice barely audible in the cavernous room.

"Yes," said Eddie, holding eye contact until Waylon felt his insides curling with heat. Their eyes remained locked as Waylon picked up the pen laying on the table near his hand. He clicked it loudly and glanced down at the contract.

"I think you're going to like me as a roommate," said Waylon, the pen scratching as he signed his name to the first of many dotted lines in the packet. "I'm hella fun."

A/N: I know, this contract seems weird and why does he even need it and how come no one's gone running to the press about how weird it is and what are the finer details but like, much more is answered soon. This chapter was redone to make it REALLY CLEAR what happened with the Jeremy Blaire thing from last chapter since there was a ton of questions. Next chapter: Waylon's first days as a roommate, Waylon and Helen do lunch, and Waylon and Eddie get their first public date!