Part 1: L.A. Story
"I think I'm too old for this," Ryan says. "I
remember when I could do eight hours of
improv and not break a sweat. I've grown old before my
time."
"You'd miss it if you stopped." I say.
Ryan pulls his baseball cap over his eyes. "I suppose you're
right."
We are in the green room of the studio, collecting our stuff
before heading out. Or,
more to the point, we are wasting time.
"Where's Drew and Wayne and Greg?" I say. "Are we
the only ones left?"
"Drew and Wayne are talking to Dan, and I don't know where
Greg is." Ryan slings his
body into a chair, crossing his legs at the ankles.
"He's probably on his phone," I say. Ever since Greg
and his wife separated, he's been
fielding phone calls from lawyers. "You going to be heading
out?"
"Not for a while yet. I got producer `duties' to attend
to." Ryan rolls his eyes. He takes
his hat off and runs a hand through his hair. "Greg didn't
have a good show today," he
says finally.
I consider the array of snacks on the craft service table before
saying, "No." Greg had
been off. That quick, sarcastic humor was dulled. Sometimes I'd
glance at him during a
scene and his eyes would be turned inwards, not concentrating.
Distracted was the best
word for it. "We've all had our bad days."
"I guess. Hell, you have one every day." Ryan grins.
"At least I don't have to live in Liberace's house," I
say cheerfully.
As if on cue, Greg comes into the green room, snagging his jacket
from the rack. He
looks at us, smiles, and says, "Hey."
"Hey, Greg." Ryan says. I smile at him.
"Why are you two still hanging around?" Greg pulls his
jacket on. "I'd thought you'd both
be heading back home."
"We're stalling." Ryan says. He's right. In truth, I
have no desire to go back to the hotel.
I really hate L.A. Hot, dirty, plastic...It makes me long for
Toronto.
I say, "We're getting motivated to move."
Greg smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes, which still have that
far-off, distracted look.
He says, "You guys going out after this? Have some
dinner?"
I shake my head. Ryan says, "I think I'm just going home.
Play with the kids, try to get
some sleep. You should too," he adds, looking at Greg.
Greg rolls his eyes. "I think I've conquered the need for
sleep. I'm running on caffeine
and cigarettes right now."
Ryan says, grinning, "Maybe that's why you did badly today.
Too jittery."
I know he just means to tease, but Greg looks like he's been
punched. Ryan instantly
realizes it and says, "Greg, I didn't mean it like that,
man."
"I know exactly what you meant," Greg says and walks
out.
"Oh, fuck." Ryan says. He puts his head in his hands.
"Why the hell did I say that?"
I say, "Ryan, it's okay. He'll get over it." It amazes
me sometimes how alike Greg and
Ryan are, both more sensitive than they let on.
He says, "It was still a shitty thing for me to say."
He groans. "I should go apologize...
No, I shouldn't, he's pissed off at me. Oh, Christ."
"Calm down, tall guy," I say. "I'll go talk to
him."
"Would you?"
"Sure. Don't worry too much. He's going through a rough time
right now with the
divorce, he's more prickly than usual."
"I still feel like an asshole."
"Well, that's only because you are," I say. He laughs.
I punch his shoulder lightly and go
after Greg.
I find him in the parking lot, waiting for the valet to bring his
car around. I tap his
shoulder. "Hey," he says, startled.
"Hey," I say. "You all right?"
"Yeah. I'm fine."
"Ryan feels horrible. He really didn't mean to say anything
harsh."
He shakes his head. "It's okay. I overreacted, anyway."
He looks away from me,
shading his eyes as he scans the parking lot.
"I just wanted to know if anything was up with you."
"No. Nothing."
It strikes me how thin Greg's gotten in the past few months. He
looks pale and breakable.
The Californian warmth that I always got from him seems to have
dissipated. I say,
"Nothing?"
"Yeah, nothing. Jesus Christ, are you gonna get on my dick
too? I'm so fucking *sick*
of this."
I take a step back, wondering what I did wrong. He looks at me
finally; his shoulders
slump. He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes. "I'm
sorry, Col. That was uncalled
for. I'm fine, really."
"You sure?"
He nods. "I'm...I'm tired and I'm not feeling that well. But
it's okay."
"All right." I say. "If you're sure."
"Oh, totally." He tries to smile. The valet brings his
car around and he drives off.
Unnerved, I drive back to the hotel and open up the minibar.
Except the only beer they
have is cheap, watered down American beer and I don't feel like
touching the hard stuff.
I call Deb back in Toronto, trying to remember the time
difference and whether or not
she'll be in. Luckily she picks up.
"Hi," I say.
"Hi!" She sounds chipper. "How did the taping
go?"
"Not so good."
"What happened?"
I think for a second, decide she really doesn't need to know
everyone's little problems.
"Nothing, really. Just off. How are you?"
"Good." She pauses. "I'm going out with Michael
later. That nice girl down the street,
Teresa, she's going to babysit Luke."
Michael is my wife's boyfriend. Years ago when Deb and I first
met, we agreed that it
was better to be honest with each other, and keep jealousy out of
the picture. So we
allow each other these...diversions.
"Oh, good." I say. "Is Luke there? I'd like to
talk to him for a second before I go."
"I believe he's here." I hear her calling my son's name
on the other end. She comes back
on. "He's coming. So, have you been having fun in
L.A.?"
"No. It's horrible."
"You should go out." Her voice is sad. "I miss
you."
"I miss you too. I'll be home in a few days."
"Well, hurry. Here's Luke. I love you, Mochrie."
"I love you, McGrath." A brief silence on the other
end. Then my son's voice, saying,
"Dad?"
"Hi, kid. How are you?"
"Good."
"How's school?"
"Good."
"How's life in general?"
"Good," he says calmly. He becomes more and more of a
teenager every day. It's
somewhat frightening.
"Got any news?"
"Brian broke his leg in gym."
"How'd that happen?"
"Fell off when he was climbing the rope." Luke sighs.
"He was showing off for the *girls*
in the class."
"Well, that's a ridiculous thing to do."
"Yeah. Dad?"
"Yes, son?"
"When are you coming home?"
My heart aches. "Soon."
"I got to go," he says.
"I love you, Luke."
"Dad..." I can see him shifting his feet, rolling his
eyes. Deb keeps saying he looks just
like me, only with hair. I can't see it.
"Well, I do." I say.
"Okay. Um, I love you too. Bye." He hangs up.
Oh, Jesus. I've got to get out of L.A.
Part 2: Falls Apart
I turn on the television. The thought of staring at it makes me
feel tired, but the thought
of actually going out and trying to meet someone fills me with
horror. My palms start
to sweat just thinking about it.
I wish I could be like Deb, who can easily go out, choose a
lover, and just have fun.
She's never worried about actually going out and choosing one,
getting turned down
and slinking back to the hotel in shame. I prefer my lovers to be
more like companions,
but it means getting more involved. And the thought of being
turned down is terrifying.
The problem is, I'm also extremely horny. But not for some rough
trade. I'd like a friend...
someone who knows me, someone who I can talk to for a bit.
Someone like Greg,
maybe.
Deb once asked me, "Why don't you and Ryan get together? You
know each other so
well." But that's where the problem is. I've known Ryan for
so long that sleeping with
him would be like sleeping with my brother. Besides, the one time
Ryan and I did have
sex, we were both drunk in an overly air conditioned hotel room,
and it was one of the
least sexy nights of my life. Ryan's too. Greg, on the other
hand, even though he's been
acting like a complete prick these days, is exactly the sort of
man I'm attracted to: he's
everything that I'm not. Outgoing, sharp dresser, quick, sexy.
I've become used to
desiring those very beautiful eyes...Oh, knock it off, Mochrie,
you horny bastard. He's a
co-worker, and he's straight. Bad combination. It took Ryan and I
months to get back
on an even keel after we slept together, and I've known him
longer than I have Greg.
Oh Lord...get me out of California, please.
I finally fall asleep in front of a hockey game on television. I
am dreaming of sitting at a
piano and trying to play a song. The keys sharpen under my
fingers every time I hit a
wrong note, until my hands are bleeding. The keys are turning red
when I get woken up
by the phone ringing.
I pry my eyes open. It's two in the in the morning. What the
hell? I clear my throat and
pick up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Colin?" A familiar, slightly nasal American voice.
"It's Greg. Did I wake you?"
"Oh, no, no, you didn't." I realize the ridiculousness
of my answer. It's two am, why
wouldn't I be asleep? "What's going on?"
"I just wanted to apologize." There is a strange, thin
quality to his voice; he sounds a little
drunk.
"It's okay."
"No, it's not." He takes a deep breath. "I
acted...I haven't been myself lately and I've
been a prick to everyone."
He doesn't just sound drunk, I realize. He sounds...bad. There's
something scared and
desperate running underneath his voice. I've never heard him
sound this way before.
Worried, I say, "Maybe this would sound better if I came
over to your place."
"You don't need to come over here..."
"No, I want to. You still live on First Street?"
"Yeah. You really don't need to do this, Col..."
"Come on, I'm already up."
"Okay."
I shake myself awake and drive over to his house, a nice white
bungalow type place.
He opens the door, barefoot, wearing jeans and a black T-shirt,
his hair rumpled. He
smiles sweetly at me. My heart flips.
He says, "Thanks, Colin. Do you want a beer or
anything?"
"Not your American beer."
"I've got some red wine and some vodka."
"Sounds okay."
I follow him in. He's weaving a little but that desperate edge of
twenty minutes ago is
either gone or being hidden. There are a few empty bottles of
beer on his coffee table.
He brings out some vodka and pours me a shot. "Just plant
yourself anywhere."
I sit in the chair adjacent to his couch. He sits on the couch
and lights a cigarette. He
takes a long drag and says flatly, "I was dragging ass at
the taping today."
"It wasn't that bad."
"Wasn't good, either." He leans forward and puts his
elbows on his knees. "Ryan was
right."
"Have you been beating yourself up about this all
night?"
"No." He takes a drink. "Oh, no. Well, maybe a
little." He smiles. "It's just my nature."
"Everyone can have a bad day, Greg."
"Not when you're on TV," he says. "I mean, I'll
probably be edited out of most of the
final product anyway. So it's not as big of a deal as I'm making
it. I think I'm just a big
drama queen." He shrugs.
"You know," I say, "sometimes when something's
going on in my...life, I guess, it keeps
me from focusing on performing."
He raises an eyebrow. "Is that your quiet Canadian way of
asking me if anything's
wrong?"
"Maybe."
He stubs his cigarette out and lights another one. "I am so
fine, Colin. I am just beyond
fine."
I know I'm being cruel but I know unless I push him he'll keep
brushing me off. "Have
you heard from Jennifer lately?"
It works. He winces. "Yeah. Well, I heard from her lawyer,
which is the best I can do
these days." He shrugs. "She wants to make the
final...break, I'd guess you'd call it.
She's sending papers over next week. Then I can sign them, and
whoo boy, I'm free."
He grimaces.
"I'm sorry."
"It was a long time coming. Now I've got to get used to
being single again. So I guess
it's nothing but booze and whores from now on."
"You miss her?"
He takes a drink. "Yeah."
"There's no chance of getting back together."
"No." He lifts his glasses and rubs at his eyes for a
second. "We just ran out of steam."
"It must be hard."
"Not really..." For a second I think he might make a
joke, but his face twists. "Jesus,
Colin, do you know what a relief it was to finally find someone
to spend what I *thought*
would be the rest of my fucking life with? And now..." He
shrugs. "Now I'm forty one
years old. I'm not a kid anymore. I don't know how to start
over."
"It just takes some time, Greg. You'll find someone else.
You're a great guy. Hell, I'd
fuck you if I could." I think I may have said too much, but
he doesn't seem to notice.
"I don't think so."
"Why?"
"Because..." His voice cracks. He turns away from me
and bring his hands over his face.
He takes a few deep breaths. "Because..."
"Because what?"
"Because I'm ugly," he says. He takes his glasses off
and throws them onto the coffee
table. "Because I'm ugly, okay?"
"Oh, Greg." I say. I don't know what to do. He looks
like a kicked dog. If I say the
wrong thing I think he'll burst into tears. "Greg, that
isn't true."
"Colin, have you ever *looked* at me? I mean, how'm I
gonna...Oh, Christ." He begins
to cry. "I'm sorry."
"Oh, Jesus." I say. "Greg, I'm no good at
this."
He shakes his head, biting into his knuckle. He doesn't look at
me.
I am so baffled it's not even funny. The only other grown man
who's ever cried in front
of me is Ryan, and that was years ago. Finally I stand up, sit
next to him on the couch.
He tries to pull away but he's got no room to move. As though I
were comforting my
son, I put my arms around him. He feels stiff, almost brittle.
I pat his head awkwardly. "It's okay. Don't worry so
much."
He gives a small, choking laugh. "This so *sucks*."
"Yeah, it does. But it'll get better."
He relaxes a little in my arms. "Will it?" He sounds
small and scared.
I tilt his head up to look at me. Those warm brown eyes are
swimming with tears; his
face is pale and swollen. I kiss his forehead gently, then a
second time.
And then he kisses me.
He tastes of salty tears and a faint, pleasantly bitter tang of
tobacco. His mouth is thin
but his lips are soft. I never thought this would happen.
His head finally drops onto my shoulder. I open my eyes and look
down at him. He's
either asleep or passed out. I don't think I can carry him
upstairs, so I lie him down on
the couch and start to get up.
He opens his eyes and says, very softly, "Stay with
me."
I fall asleep on his couch, his head on my chest.
When I wake up my neck is aching and my arm is asleep. Greg is
sprawled on top of
me. I grunt; he stirs and squints at me myopically, his eyes
bloodshot. "Colin? What're
you..." His eyes widen. "Jesus. You were here last
night?"
He doesn't remember. I feel my stomach twist. I say, as casually
as I can, "Yeah. You
were pretty bad off."
"Jesus." He shifts off of me. "Ahhh, my fucking
head...Jesus, I'm a nuisance. I am so
sorry, Colin."
"No, it's okay. I figured you needed someone here last
night."
"Col?"
"Yeah?"
"Was I...Did I try to kiss you last night?"
"Yeah, you did. You succeeded."
Greg turns the color of chalk. "I...did?"
"I'm gay, Greg." I say simply. "And you're a great
kisser."
"But..." He rubs his forehead. "Um...you're
married, Col. You have a kid."
I think for a second. "Deb and I...we understand each other.
We have a great son
together. She's one of my best friends. We...we just understand
each other."
He fumbles for his glasses and puts them on. "I'm really
confused."
I shrug. "That's natural. Greg, I care for you. As a
co-worker, as a friend. And I want
to continue having you as a friend. I always said to myself that
I wouldn't go after you,
because you were straight. And now...I don't want to stop being
your friend."
He looks up at me. "I really have no clue what's going on.
I'm still trying to understand
what's going on with me, with everything. But I don't want to
lose you. And last night...
it was good."
I grin at him. "So you want to get together and..."
"Fuck like bunnies? Not just yet. Give me some time."
"How about we just go get some breakfast then?" I say.
For the first time in a long while Greg throws his head back and
laughs, a real laugh.
He smiles at me. "Bring it on," he says. "I'm
starving."