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~ Massive Attack

It was always at publicity events or other industry functions that it became clear to me just how weird Gale can be. And I don't just mean weird with his strange jokes and handstands, but weird when it came to me. I don't know if it 's because I'm younger, or because I'm smaller, or if it's just that he knew how uncomfortable those events made me, but he just sort of…hovered. Even if he was across the room, he was hovering. I'd be standing at a party having a martini or a beer, talking to some hot guy or a random chick, and look up to see his eyes on me, his expression concerned and measuring, as though he was watching for any signal that I needed to be bailed out.

Like take the Vanity Fair photo shoot, for example. I was tired and nervous, a little strung out from too much drinking the night before, and, okay, yeah, a little excited to be meeting everyone, and Gale sensed that. He stuck by me through most of the day and whenever anyone else came close, he watched them like a hawk. It was as though he was afraid they'd either suddenly attack me or devour me whole on the spot. He eyed each new person suspiciously and, depending on how he sized them up, he'd either relax and look away, throw his arm over my shoulder protectively, or glare them down. Kyan joked that I needed to tell my boyfriend to back off before real rumors got started, as though the ones already floating around about us weren't real enough.

I think the worst incident, though, was when a rather forceful group of paparazzi chased us into a stupid publicity function in LA. I don't even remember what it was for. What I do remember is Gale grabbing my arm, forcing me through the crowd, and nearly taking some photographer out in the process. When we made it into the lobby, I swear to God, I thought he was going to strip me and check for damage. Maybe he would have if some idiot reporter for fucking E News or something hadn't hustled over with mic in hand. Gale pushed me half behind him, fumbled ridiculously through some short questions, and then hustled me down the hall. Talk about starting some rumors.

It's kind of nice in one way, flattering and stuff. It made my heart beat faster and my knees go weak. But then I would remember that he was straight and I'd get kind of pissed off about it. When I could fool myself into believing that it was the over-protectiveness of a man toward his lover, I got pretty hot and bothered by the whole thing. I'm enough of a queen to get off on that. But when I remembered that it was really the over-protectiveness of an older sibling for his little brother, I tasted sour grapes. It was the hurt of the let down all over again, just like when I first read that article, when I first found out for sure that he wasn't gay.

I mean, I guess I always knew. As he said himself: "All the gay guys I work with assume that I'm straight, so…." He's right. I had assumed. But I had also hoped. We were always so playful together, so affectionate--back rubs and casual touching, so I'd let myself think that maybe, just maybe.

I never understood his reticence to just be upfront about his sexuality. He seemed to think that if the public was going to accept Brian as a gay male predator, they'd need to believe the actor was gay, too. I didn't know about that. Sometimes when I would read over that article, and, yeah, I read it pretty often because I was a masochist like that, I focused on the descriptions surrounding his answer and I could just see him. His boots up, his head back and his eyes anywhere but on the reporter's face as he tried to figure out just what he wanted to say, as he tried to side-step the whole issue. I could imagine his expression, the way he'd dodged and while I wouldn't have called it conflicted, I would probably have called it beyond reluctant, beyond the norm as far as trying to keep things private. It was enough to keep some sick hope alive inside of me, anyway. Wishing that one day-

But no.

It had been said. It had been laid out in print and that was the way it was going to be.

When I remembered all of that, I got angry. Angry with myself for wanting him and angry with him for giving me signals, for taking care of me, for touching me like I was his or something-and for running off all the hot guys who actually were interested, for Christ's sake.

I always tried to keep perspective, but sometimes it would get lost when he'd take over my space with a long arm or a leg thrown over mine in just the right way to ward off anyone's advances.

Sometimes I was grateful, like at the pre-Oscar party when the fat-director-who-shall-remain-nameless would not stop propositioning me. Gale came over, sat down, pulled me into his lap and kissed my neck, whispering, "Let's get out of here." Fatty smiled lecherously, but backed the fuck off. When it came to protecting me, Gale had no shame and no concern for the rumors.

The other cast members teased him about it, making jokes about what people were saying about us and otherwise taunting him. But Gale would just pull me close and half-grin, half-glare at them, as though he might have to protect me from them, too.

And I admit that it made me feel special.

Until the summer hiatus after season four, that is. I started seeing the photographs of Gale with his latest co-star. A girl named Beth. I chose to block out her last name. But there it was: the territorial stance, the hip slung over in just the right way to make contact at all times, his arm around her shoulder, glaring down the photographers who dared to follow them to their car. Jealousy cut through me so hard and so hot that I nearly buckled over in the bookstore. My friend Maria thought I was going to faint. I can really be a queen sometimes.

She grabbed my arm and asked, "What's the matter? Are you okay?"

I nodded but she saw what I was looking at and pulled me close, hugging me so tightly that I couldn't breathe.

"I'm sorry, Randy. God, I'm sorry."

I shrugged and pulled away, purchasing the magazine because it had been crushed between us when Maria hugged me.

I should have thrown it away when we left the place, but I didn't. I kept it and cut the picture out, tacking it on the bulletin board above my desk and at night I'd meditate on it, thinking it through, turning everything into a black and white nightmare.

Either the protective stance meant nothing or it meant everything. One second I was convinced that the over-protective way he treated me was nothing more than a friendly, brotherly thing, and, therefore, I could conclude that there was nothing more than friendship between him and Beth, right?

But then I'd see his giant hand on her shoulder, look closely at the way he was holding her and I just knew in my gut that they were more than friends. Did that mean, then, that he felt more than just friendly towards me? Or was this the difference between straight men and gay men? Was this behavior towards me just friendly, but toward her it meant love?

I became a little obsessive. I started to search all of the magazines looking for snapshots of the two of them. I even got online and anonymously joined some QaF fan communities because I knew they would know Gale's every move a month before he even did. I was right. I hit the mother-load of photos and information. A simple request posted in a live journal and the next thing I knew I was gazing at picture after picture of Gale, of me and Gale, of Gale and various cast members, Gale with Jennifer, Gale with Beth. There. That was what I was searching for.

I'm ashamed to admit that I printed off the pictures of me and Gale and the pictures of Gale and Beth. I put them side by side and tried to create a list of what was alike about them and what was different. Who was Gale more comfortable touching? Who did he look more relaxed with? What did his eyes say? His lips? The way his fingers gripped or caressed?

I'm even more ashamed to say that I hated Beth with the fire of a thousand suns. I'm sure she was a very nice girl, but I was ravaged with jealousy. Not only was the guy I was hopelessly, sickly in love with not gay, but he was no longer treating me like his only prized possession. No, he was hanging himself over a gorgeous redhead with a pussy. For five brief seconds I was so jealous that I actually wanted to be a woman. That was terrifying. I hope I never go that low again.

I'm not sure that I ever concluded anything of any import from my analysis of those photographs. I think the only thing I came to know for certain was that I was a goner and that I was fucking insane. But, I'd known that for awhile.

The characters in my head told me that I was insane all the fucking time.

Hiatus ended and we were going back for what looked to be our final season. I certainly hoped that it was. As much as I loved what QaF had done for me as an actor, I was ready to be anyone other than 'the adorable Justin Taylor from Queer As Folk'. And the characters in my head agreed with me.

Especially Johansson, the middle aged gardener from Vermont. He kept telling me that I was only young once and to take advantage of my opportunities while I can. Sometimes the characters in my head are helpful, and sometimes they just need to shut up.

I also couldn't help wanting to get away from Gale. I loved him. No, I was in love with him and it really hurt. I hadn't been that young when I started on the show, but I'd been young enough to be too open, to let someone inside my heart who would never be able to return my affection in the way that I desperately wanted. Sometimes, I sensed that Gale knew how much I loved him, truly and deeply, and that is part of the reason why he'd been so reluctant to disclose his sexuality. I think he didn't want to hurt me.

It's like Gale to do that sort of thing. He was always subjugating his own needs and desires to spare others, well, to spare me, pain. It was part of his protective side. If he could, he would protect me even from my own delusions. But sadly, he couldn't fight the wars inside my head.

Things were going fine. Shooting was tripping along without a hitch and I managed to avoid spending time alone with Gale after hours. I could tell that he was hurt. I'd never really turned down an invitation from him before, much less turned down five in a row. He finally asked me one day, his voice edged oddly, "Are you hiding a boyfriend at your apartment, Randy? Are you ashamed to let us meet him?"

I rolled my eyes as a reply.

"And who are you ashamed of? Your friends or him?"

"There's no boyfriend," I said calmly, using a make-up wipe to clean off my face.

Gale just looked at me like he didn't quite believe me. I should have paid more attention to that look. I should have realized that his protective streak would kick in.




I was just out of the shower and putting on some comfortable sweat pants and a t-shirt when the banging on my door began. Hair still dripping down into my eyes, I quickly grabbed some socks and tried to pull them on while hoping to the door. The pounding came again, rough and hard.

"Wait a fucking minute! Jesus!"

I have a foul mouth when I'm pissed. My mother isn't very appreciative of it. She says it's low class. I think talking about class is low class. Obviously, we differ on this subject.

I looked through the peep-hole because, hey, you never know when a demented fan is going to show up with a gun, demand that I go straight for her, or she'll shoot me in the head. And while that may sound funny, it really isn't out of the realm of possibility.

It was Gale.

Well fuck the fucking fucker who thought he could fucking avoid that fucking fuckhead. That'd be me. So, fuck me!

I wish.

I opened the door, already glowering because there is nothing more obnoxious that someone pounding on your door relentlessly after you've yelled that you're on your way. And there was absolutely nothing more obnoxious than the friend you turned down for a drink after work showing up on your doorstep with beer and a pizza, and obviously not going to take 'get the fuck out of my doorway and go the fuck home, because I'm in love with you and I can't take the pain' for an answer.

"Hey. I told you that I had plans tonight."

Gale's eyes trailed over my luxurious sweat pants and t-shirt ensemble, my sock half on my left foot, and my right pant leg up around my calf, and nodded. "I can see that."

"Fuck you."

Gale frowned, his eyes flashing wounded and angry all at once. "Why? What have I done, Randy?"

I rubbed my hands over my eyes hoping for some clarity, but only getting black and blue dots behind my lids. There really wasn't anything I could say to make him go away without making everything we both already knew completely un-ignorable.

"Nothing. I'm just stressed out." I backed away and made a sweeping gesture with my hand. "Come on in."

Gale didn't look convinced, but he didn't waste the opportunity to get inside my apartment, either. As soon as I had the door shut and locked, he peered around the apartment. It was a small place. I was only there for a few months of the year, anyway, and I didn't need a lot of room. He frowned and stated, "There's no one here."

"I know," I replied in my best smart-ass voice.

Michi, the main character in the novel I was writing, snickered. I perked up at the sound of her voice. She hadn't been talking to me much lately and I was kind of stalled.

"Randy?" Gale gestured around with the pizza box and beer.

"Sorry, um, here--" I took the pizza from him and crawled over the back of the couch, dumping it on the coffee table.

Gale toed off his shoes and climbed over the back, too. He dug into his pocket and brought out the swiss army knife he usually kept there. Some sort of throw back to his grandfather's habits, he told me once.

I would have volunteered to go to the tiny kitchen for the bottle opener, but Gale used the knife's opener to pop the lids off of two beers with no trouble. He handed one to me and eyed me carefully. I felt him taking my measure for a long time until he turned to the pizza box and pulled out a still steaming piece.

I wasn't all that hungry, but it smelled good, so I got a piece too. We sat and chewed and drank. We said nothing.

It started out tense, but then it became comfortable.

"I missed you this break. A lot. I thought we'd see more of each other when I got back, but it seems like you're avoiding me."

"Nah, I'm not avoiding you," I lied. "I've just been working a lot on that novel I told you about," I lied even more.

"Really? Cool." Gale leaned forward in interest. "Tell me more about it. That Michi girl talking to you yet?"

That was something that I loved about Gale. In fact, that was the thing that made me fall for him so hard right from the start. He was the first person I'd ever told about the characters that live in my head who hadn't suggested medical attention might be required. In fact, he said he knew just what I was talking about.

"Well, not so much, no. She's being very reticent for some reason."

Gale's brows knitted together and asked, "Is she mad at you for some reason?"

"No," I said. Yes, I heard in my mind. "Maybe."

Gale finished his first beer and popped open a second. "Well, you know she hates it when you lie. Are you lying right now? You know, with your life?"

I sighed and took a long drag from my beer. Why had I ever told Gale these things? He knew my innermost secrets. He knew the source of my creativity; he knew that Michi got pissed at me last year when I was trying to convince myself that I should take that movie project instead of the play in Manhattan. He knew that Michi had very high standards for me. And, so, he also knew that I was doing something untrue to myself if she wasn't talking.

"Yeah. I guess I am."

Gale just leaned back and reached into his pocket, pulling out two joints and a lighter. "Want one?"

"Nope," I said, as usual.

"Okay." He lit up and the sickly sweet smell of marijuana filled the space between us. It was a smell that I'd grown to love because it meant that Gale had been here.

He took a few puffs, carefully blowing the smoke away from me, even so, I was already feeling the start of a second hand buzz.

"So, what kind of lies have you been living, now? Fucking girls? Taking on projects that force you to sell your soul? Killing infants, again?"

I laughed and reached over for the joint. I'd said no because Edmund, Michi's lover, gets pissy when I do drugs. But fuck it, sometimes a guy's got to ignore the make-believe people and just do what the fuck he wants, you know?

Gale willingly relinquished the toke, but tsk-ed under his breath. "Edmund will have much to say about this, young man. You should be ashamed."

I puffed away and ignored him. Yeah, he knew way too fucking much.

"So, lies," he prompted.

"Well, I think it might have to do with the bodies I bricked up in the closet of my apartment in New York," I said thoughtfully.

"Yeah, shit like that bugs the hell out of muses."

I nodded, took another hit and passed the joint back to Gale. "They didn't understand that I did it for them, you know? To keep them safe."

Gale hummed as he smoked and I let my head fall back on the couch. I knew he'd come back for another try. He seemed laid back, but he was a persistent little shit.

"Does the lie have to do with your love life? You never date anyone. Is there something that you're ignoring or neglecting?"

Direct hit.

Panic. Panic.

"Um, maybe. I don't know. I try not to think about it. Work is really what's important to me at this point in my life." Liar, Michi said.

Gale twisted to get a good look at me and said, "Everyone has needs."

I shrugged. "I can get those met with any number of extras from the set."

Gale finished up the joint and reached for another slice of pizza, popping open another beer. "That's not a relationship and you're not a one night stand kind of guy."

"I live in fucking Toronto half the year. I work sixteen hour days most of the time. I don't exactly have--"

"Yadda, yadda," Gale finished.

I shrugged and let my eyes drift closed.

"I worry about you." Gale did sound worried.

I smiled, my closed lips drawn against my teeth. "Don't. I'm fine."

"That's not what Michi says. She tells me that you're pining and that you're not letting the person you care for get close."

Fuck you, Michi, I raged in my head. What the fuck are you doing in his mind? Get the hell out!

"Michi's a slut if she's brain hopping like that."

"I like sluts." Gale blinked at me in feigned innocence.

I laughed. I couldn't help it. He was too adorable with his eyes all dilated and his lips twisted into a cute little smile. I found myself leaning toward him and I just let it happen. I slid over until I was tucked under his arm.

"I'm a slut," I said, raising a brow in exaggerated enticement.

"And I like you."

I was shocked that he kissed me. He took my chin in his hand, tilted my head up and just--kissed me. No tongue, but more than a peck. Then it was over and he'd tucked me neatly back beneath his arm.

"I think you should tell whoever it is that you're pining for that you want him and just be done with it. You never know what might happen." He paused and my heart tripped in my throat. "Besides, I have it on good authority that J.T. Leroy is interested in you, too."

Gah.

Fucking tease.

I sat as still as possible, irritated and irrationally pleased. I was also sporting a nice erection and that pissed me off the most. No fucking self control. None at all.

Gale shifted so that I could feel his breath in my hair. "I like your shampoo. What brand is it?"

"I dunno. Some shit that they gave me at the studio. Make-up said it would be good for my hair in this cold weather."

"Oh. Huh. They didn't give me any. I wonder why." He sounded genuinely puzzled as to why make-up would give me shampoo and not him. "I don't want to buy shampoo if I can get it for free from Cowlip!"

I laughed. Jesus Christ. "You're a fucking tightwad."

"I'm a starving artist!"

I laughed even harder. I loved him so much in that moment that my heart hurt and I wanted to cry at the same time.

He laughed, too, and turned us both so that we were now lying down together, with me trapped between his side and the back of the couch. He smelled good. He felt good. I let my head rest on his chest.

"Let's play a game," he said.

I was comfortable and the thought of breaking out the Boggle really didn't appeal to me. "Nah, let's just stay here."

"No, no. I mean a game that we can play right here." His voice was so sultry that my cock grew hard again and I pressed my ass back against the couch in hopes that he wouldn't feel it pressing into his thigh.

"What kind of game?"

"I want to ask you questions and then you tell me the honest to God truth. And then you can do the same for me."

"Isn't this a game that ten year olds play on the school bus?"

"Yes. But I'm ten on the inside."

"Oh, well, then in that case."

"Right." Gale reached around, grabbed my ass and pulled me close against his side. "Let's go for an easy one, first, okay?"

"Sure." It sounded much more gaspy than I'd intended.

"Do you find me sexually attractive?"

Fuck. That was an easy one? And he didn't waste time getting to the dirt, did he? I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. I pushed against his leg as hard as I could, grinding my erection into his thigh, biting off a moan, and saying, "What do you think?"

He was quiet for a second and then shifted just minutely away from me. My blood ran cold. That had to have been the wrong answer.

"You're turn," he said, softly.

My mind was paralyzed with humiliation and fear. The small move away told me worlds of information and I fought back tears as I tried to think of a question to ask. But all I could think was, How could you trick me into admitting that? Why did you have to make me say it?

"Randy? Your turn."

Michi hissed in my mind, Ask him if he would prefer to fuck you, or if he wants you to fuck him.

I closed my eyes and wanted to kill her. But she wasn't real, so that wasn't possible.

Real enough to torment you, she murmured. I have a story I want to tell. Don't you want to hear it?

She knew that I did.

Then ask him.

"Um, do you..have you--" I gasped, trying to catch my breath. A new question came to my mind and I knew it was my own and it was one I'd wondered about for a long, long time. "Have you ever had sex with a man? I mean, real sex."

Gale was silent. And silent. And silent.

I knew exactly what expression would be on his face if I lifted my head to look. It would be that dark, deep expression that meant he was pondering all sides of his answer before giving it.

"Yes."

Yes. He'd said yes. Yes. "Yes?"

"Yeah, I said yes."

"Oh."

Gale laughed. "Oh, huh? Okay. My turn."

"W-wait a minute," I twisted and tried to sit up, but Gale rolled a little to pin me in place. "I want details. When? Who? How? Why?"

Gale snorted. "You can ask on your next question, okay?"

"I hate this game. I quit. I'm not playing anymore." I struggled against him but he held me and scooted down so that we were now face to face.

"Why are you so surprised?"

I tried to stay calm, but inside I was a fever and a war all at once. "Why? Because you adamantly claimed to be straight on more than one occasion!"

"I never adamantly claimed to be straight. That'd be Hal. I just made statements. That's all."

I stared at him. I couldn't breathe or talk, really. My mind was a whirl.

"Okay, I can see that I'm going to have to tell you about it." He didn't sound thrilled with the prospect. "I guess I shouldn't mind telling you. I just--" He fluttered his eyes and then looked at me and said, "I've had sex with three different guys. Not all at once," he added on hastily. That made me crack a smile.

He smiled back and seemed to relax a little. He put his hand on my hip and sort of rubbed with his thumb.

"The first time. Okay, let's see. His name was Alex and I was sixteen. He was, um, twenty-two, I think. I totally had a hero worship thing for him and he knew all about it. I harassed him all summer. He was one of the best soccer players at Princeton at that time and he lived in my neighborhood. I thought he was just the shit."

I nodded and shifted so that my arm was a little more comfortable. He shifted, too, until I had a better spot.

"So, he had me over to his house. We had beers. I gave him a blow job. He fucked me. The end."

I blinked. There was more there than that, but the tight quality to Gale's face told me that now was not the time to ask.

"Guy number two: Monroe. Freshman year in college. My roommate. We got high, we got drunk and we fucked. We liked it so we did it off and on all year. He didn't come back for sophomore year."

Gale sounded almost removed from this recitation and I was fighting my shock at the depth of his experience. I would have thought only once or twice, not...many times.

"Guy number three: Jesse. Five years ago. Just before I agreed to play Brian Kinney. He wanted a relationship. I wanted a fuck. We didn't share the same goals. The end."


"But--" I started. I cleared my throat. "Um, then why--"

"Do I identify as straight? Because I've had sex with three guys, but I've had sex with forty or fifty women. I lost count sometime a few years ago. Women are my main interest."

If conflicted is a physical state, then my atoms were coming apart, because I couldn't stop the alterations between hope and utter desolation. He does fuck men, high as the sky. But women are his main interest, lower than the depths of hell.

"Randy? Hey, hey. Breathe, okay?"

He cradled me close. When I could finally breathe again, he muttered, "Now comes the hard part."

I was so delirious that I cackled at his phasing. He didn't laugh, but simply waited for my hysteria to pass.

"So, I was talking to Michi, and she tells me that you're in love with me."

Fucking whore! I screamed mentally. I will find a way to kill you! I'll kill you in the fucking novel! You're never, ever going--

"Stop bitching her out in your head."

"I wasn't."

"Sure. So, anyway, that's what she had to say about it and I thought we should get some things out on the table."

Oh, I knew what that meant. That meant badness was on the way.

I sat up and he let me, rolling into a seated position himself. "Okay. Get it out on the table, then."

He swallowed, blinked his eyes in that way that meant he was going to say something that hurt. "I know how you feel about me and I want to tell you that I feel the same way, but--"

I stood up. I held up my hands. "Just, please, before you say anything more that will make our working relationship difficult. Please just leave." My throat was so tight that I could barely make out the words, my voice gravely and raw.

Gale took a slow breath and grabbed the second joint. He lit it and leaned back on the couch, propping his feet up by the pizza box on the coffee table. I knocked his feet off and said, "Stop it. You're not Brian Kinney."

He laughed. "I'm going to tell you and you can't stop me. If you don't let me say it, I'll tell Michi and send her to tell you. And you know as well as I do that once she's talking you can't shut her up."

I narrowed my eyes at him and tried to decide if this whole Michi business was bullshit. Sometimes I let fantasy become too real.

It's real, she whispered.

"Fuck you."

"No. Not right now. I was going to say that I want to tell you that I feel the same for you but I can't because I'm in a relationship right now with Beth and that wouldn't be fair to her."

I blinked at him. His words made no sense. None whatsoever. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about the dynamics of a relationship and that despite the fact that I would like to tell you that I'm in love with you, too, that wouldn't be fair to Beth."

I blinked some more. "Wait. Are you saying you're in love with me?"

Gale sighed dramatically. "No, I'm not saying that because it would be unfair to Beth."

"Get out." I grabbed the joint from him, stubbed it out on the pizza box and grabbed the front of his shirt, trying to haul him up off the couch. "Get the fuck out."

He seemed genuinely confused and only resisted a little. I pushed him toward the door and he let me push him on out. I slammed the door, covered my face with my hands and tried to breathe. I was going to die of lack of oxygen. I was going to die because Gale was the cruelest, most evil son of a bitch in the universe. I fought back tears and scrubbed my face. Then I spotted them. His shoes.

I picked them up and opened the door. Gale stood by the elevator, his shoulders hunched, his hands in his pockets, just in his socks. I threw the shoes down the hall toward him, yelling, "You forgot your goddamn shoes!" Like I said, I can be huge queen sometimes.

I didn't look to see where they landed, slamming the door and engaging the locks.

What was that old saying, "Be careful what you wish for because you just might get it"? Well, I'd wished. I'd gotten. And it was nothing like what I'd wanted.



I didn't sleep at all that night. My heart was broken and I felt utterly betrayed by Gale. If he was going to hurt me, why did he have to do it in a way that would ruin our friendship, too?

The next morning I ignored the phone. I ignored the pounding on the door. I ignored him screaming that he wanted to talk. I ignored it when I looked up and found him on the fire escape staring in the window at me. Stupid Toronto. Why hadn't I picked a newer building and chosen an apartment on, say, the twentieth floor?

As if Gale wasn't enough to deal with, Michi was in fits. I tried to soak in the tub but her ranting drove me crazy. I couldn't sleep for her constant needling. And maybe Gale was right; maybe she was going to visit him, because she said a lot of shit that sounded like his phrasing. Fucking whore muse.

And Edmund joined in the "Randy's A Bad Man" chorus when I downed two Xanax with a shot of bourbon.

Fuck them.

Fuck them all.



I woke up to find Gale standing over my bed. I screamed and hit my head against the headboard as I leapt back.

"What the fuck? What are you--? How did you--?" I gulped and scrambled to pull the sheets up.

"I got the spare key from Peter." Gale looked a little ashamed. "I told him that I thought you might be in trouble in here."

I didn't even know what to say, so I just stared at him, open mouthed and confused.

"I was worried when you wouldn't answer the door. I thought you might have hurt yourself."

I smirked. "You think I'm going to kill myself because you have a girlfriend? Get over yourself."

"No. I thought maybe you'd had an accident. After you took the Xanax and all."

I narrowed my eyes. "How did you know about that?"

"Would you believe me if I said that Michi told me?"

"No."

Gale sighed and rubbed his eyes. "I just know you, okay? I know you like I know myself in some ways. Like, there are parts of you that I totally get, and then parts that I'll never see. Just like with me."

I threw my arms wide in frustration. "What the fuck do you want from me? Why are you doing this?"

Gale sank down onto the bed and I scooted as far away from him as possible. He looked embarrassed, worried and terrified all at once. "I wanted to--" He scrubbed a hand over his unshaven face. "God, this sounds so much stupider today."

"Just spit it out."

"It made so much sense last night."

"That's because you were high as shit. So, just fucking tell me and be done with it. Then get the hell out."

He reached toward me but I didn't move closer. He let his hand fall. "I wanted to ask you to wait for me. You know, until this thing with Beth is through. Wait until it's over?"

I let out a long exhalation and shook my head. What could I say to that? Right now I was so angry with him that I wanted to kick him to death, how could I agree to wait for him? And what if I didn't fucking want to wait?

"No. I'm not going to agree to that."

His eyes fell closed and he nodded. "Then I'll just have to pray that you don't find someone else in the meantime."

Oh, believe me, you won't, Michi hissed.

As usual, she turned out to be right.



It was another celebrity function and Gale had his hands full. He had brought Beth with him and he seemed to be having trouble keeping his eye on both of us. Even Hal commented on it, saying, "He's going to swivel his head off if you don't stop moving around."

I shrugged and decided to disappear into a different crowd. I could hear Hal's laughter as I ducked away.

I really hated these things. I hated all the people and the fakeness and the schmoozing I was required to do. There were parts of fame and show business that really fucking sucked.

I huddled in a corner nursing a drink when a hot-actor-who-shall-not-be-named came up to me, leaning against the wall beside me. I swear to God, I don't think that introductions had been completely made when Gale was there, his arm on my shoulder and measuring hot-actor up, glaring him down.

Small talk passed between us and it was obvious that Gale didn't approve of hot-actor, because he was relentless in his pawing of me, despite my constant battle with his hands. And he was extra-long-windedly stupid sounding, using lots of annoying 'you know's and making no sense at all. He was probably stoned, too.

Hot-actor had enough and left. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. I calmly shoved away from Gale and headed toward the bathroom, and I could feel him at my heels. I gritted my teeth, telling myself that if he followed me into the bathroom, it would be fair game to kill him.

Michi tsk-ed. She didn't agree.

The men's room was empty. Gale stood behind me while I pissed.

"Jesus Christ, Gale. What is your problem?"

"I just don't like you being alone at these things. It worries me. You're uncomfortable and I don't like it when you're uncomfortable."

"Do you know what's making me uncomfortable right this second?"

"What?"

"You hovering over me while I'm taking a goddamn piss!"

He backed off, but I didn't hear the bathroom door close. I finished, zipped up and turned to the sink. He was leaning against the door and looking miserable. A beautiful look on Gale, by the way.

"Randy, I know that you're angry with me. But I just want to keep you safe. These people are vultures around here."

"I'm not some sissy boy who needs your protection!" I snapped.

"I never said you were!"

"Then why the hell are you always climbing all over me at these things? What are you trying to prove?" I finished washing my hands and dried them on a towel.

"I just want to keep you safe," he repeated, coming close and putting his arms around me.

"I can keep myself safe. And right now, I think I need to be protected from you."

I shoved at his chest, pushing him away from me. The expression of hurt on his face cut me to the quick, and I had to fight the urge to reach out and pull him back, to pet and coddle him, to remind him that I was desperately, sickly in love with him.

Instead I steeled myself and turned my back, stalked out of the bathroom and back to the party. I would have fun. I would have some drinks. And I would leave with the cute waiter. Gale could go fuck himself. Or Beth, rather.



Months passed and I didn't see him. I didn't hear from him. I didn't know if I was glad or sad that he'd given up his stalking of me. I supposed he'd finally decided that I could take care of myself.

I found out from Maria's People magazine that Gale and Beth had broken up. Beth what's-her-face. I still had her last name totally blocked. And I refused to see any movie she was in. I could be petty that way.

I started to become morbidly depressed about the fact that QaF was over and that I wouldn't be returning to Toronto in the fall. I wouldn't be returning to Gale.

I started smoking pretty heavily. I liked the way it made my voice sound. I got laid a lot, but I didn't date anyone special. I realized that despite having said no, that I wouldn't wait for him, I had--and I was.

When he finally came to me, I had given up completely. But then, one day when I was walking home with an armload of groceries, grateful for the lack of recognition or fan encounters, I looked up to see him sitting on the stoop of my apartment building, smoking a cigarette.

My heart burst in my chest.

I think I died right then and there.

He was gorgeous. And I loved him madly. And he was waiting for me.



He helped me unpack my groceries. We were careful with each other, asking superficial questions first. Then he asked, "How's Michi? She never comes to see me anymore."

I smiled. "I killed her."

Gale's eyes went wide. "What?"

"She died. I wrote the book and at the end she died and poof. She's gone. Bye, bye Michi. That fucking whore bitch."

Gale busted out laughing.

"Edmund spends a lot of time at her grave crying. I'm really sick of him. I think I should off him, too."

Gale grabbed hold of the kitchen counter wheezing with laughter. I couldn't help but join him. He's got one of the warmest and best laughs I've ever heard. It's hard not to laugh with him.

He looked amazing. His hair was a wreck, his face unshaven for days, and he looked a little stoned around the eyes. But not much.

"I've missed you," he said, grabbing me in a hug. I turned my face into it, nuzzling his neck, as he held me tight.

He moved back a little, grabbed my chin and tilted my head up. "Are you seeing anybody?"

I shook my head.

The kiss was breath-taking. My knees buckled and he held me up. I suppose that I'd like to say that we went to my bed and made love. But we didn't.

We fucked in the kitchen. On the counter. On the floor. Shoved against the refrigerator. Gale couldn't seem to get enough and we didn't stop for a long, long, long time.

I was glad I'd bought condoms at the store, conveniently located in the shopping bag on the counter. Some things are just fated from the beginning.



The Golden Globes are a big deal, so, I was understandably nervous. A few new characters had moved into my head and I'd written a play. I was hoping to meet some people who might help to get it produced.

Gale sensed my anxiety and had his hand on me at all times. I think he actually scared Harrison Ford who came up to tell me he'd liked my recent work. I put my hand over Gale's in a soothing gesture and he backed down a little when the next person came over to talk.

We'd come out in a huge firestorm of controversy. Our friends had even been angry with us, thinking that we'd been lying to them for all the years we filmed the show together. It took awhile to straighten everyone out on the subject.

Gale was still over-protective of me at times, but I loved it now more than ever because I knew those grabbing hands were touching me out of desire, not out of an act of obligation.

After some hours of hob-knobbing and talking to a few of the right people about the play, Gale was whispering in my ear about taking my suit off and licking every inch of my skin. So, I was ready to leave.

Hotel sheets under my knees, hotel pillow between my teeth, I held on as he fucked me. He grabbed my cock and pumped with even strokes. I squirmed against him, so close to the edge. So close to coming.

"It's okay. I've got you. I've always got you."

My knees gave out as I slammed into orgasm, writhing and clutching his hands, my cry probably much too loud. I felt him coming, too. His hot breath on my neck and his cock pulsing in my ass.

"Always got you."

Yeah, he did.



THE END