“I do my homework.”
“You said you watched some of my work?”
He glanced over his shoulder. “All of it. Even your commercials. The dead body you played in NCIS. All of it. Great makeup by the way. I poached the artist for this project.”
I blinked once. Twice. “But you called me back by the time I got to my apartment…”
“What did it take you, two hours in traffic?” he asked, amusement showing in the lines beside his eyes. They were real laugh lines.
“Probably.” Since it had been a month, I couldn’t remember. I remember the stop for ice-cream, so maybe longer.
“I got through a good bit of your parts. I didn’t need the whole movie or episode. Just your parts.”
“Were you fast forwarding like a fiend?” I asked taking another sip of the whiskey not sure why I was still drinking the stuff. It was going to go to my head.
“This is what production assistants are for. I have them find all the footage of you.”
I rolled my eyes and he smiled again.
“It pays to be a producer.” He leaned against the counter. “We both started in theater you know.”
I nodded. I didn’t want to deny it because I knew he had but it was still strange to admit knowing how his career had progressed. I’d done my research before showing up for the audition. You never knew who they’d call in to a room to see you.
“Not exactly the same,” I said.
“Luck my friend.” He set his glass down and checked his watch. “How many more scenes are they trying to get you in today?”
“Just one. Ella is waiting until the light is lower.”
“Sure, has to be picturesque to get you out on that damn boat.”
“They didn’t rent the titanic set for nothing.” I got to my feet, feeling weird about sitting while he was standing.
“Next they’ll be asking me to lift you in the air.”
“It would be me lifting your prince ass.” I set my drink next to him, already feeling the effects.
“You think so?” he asked, leaning against the counter.
“Sehver tops Flint. Come on. You knew this.” Did he? Maybe straight guys didn’t think about these things.
“They never specified in the books.” He brought his glass to his lips but didn’t drink. He was studying again. “Tell me what makes you think so?”
“You want to hear this?” Most guys who didn’t like dick didn’t want anything to do with a conversation like this.
“Yes, of course. I want to know Flint better.” He said it so matter of fact, like what other reason could he have for wanting the information?
I really didn’t have any kind of fantasy of him being a closeted bi. He was happily married and that was never my thing. Guys had to be out for me to date them. There were plenty of in the closet guys in acting because they thought they wouldn’t work if the industry knew and I couldn’t do it. I felt dirty being a secret.
“It’s in his character. He would want to be in control. Flint is stronger than he is magically, and physically after the accident where Sehver nearly lost his leg, but Sehver won’t let anyone see it. So he’d never be vulnerable with someone. More so in the beginning when Flint is a toy to him. Maybe later Sehver is a switch and lets Flint fuck him, but I don’t see that until much later and it would be a couple seasons with the way Flint betrays him at the end of season one.”
The entire time I talked Quell never took his eyes off of me. He was so intense, I had to break the eye contact. I looked at my drink.
“Make sense?” I asked when he didn’t say anything.
“Yes, I was mulling it over in my mind and thinking about the script. We will have to work in Sehver’s insecurities about his injury and I’m going to make sure the topping is portrayed and jot down ideas about it changing for season two when Flint comes back.”
Had he actually listened to me and taken what I said to heart? He had to be blowing smoke up my ass.
“This gives me so much to think about,” he went on, coming over to take a seat next to me. He set a hand on my arm. “Thank you. We have some queer people on the writing staff but sometimes I think people are afraid to say some things to me. Well, you know how sex is treated in general. It’s all—” He held up his hands. “Taboo. Even for a subscription service like this.”
“At least it’s not network.”
He laughed. “No way we could do the love story the way we wanted if it was network.”
“Too true.”
“Can I ask you something else?” he said.
“Sure.”
He leaned in a little, but before he could ask his door burst open.
“Quell they need you. And you in a couple, too,” the production assistant said.
I pressed a hand into my chest. I wasn’t sure what I thought was going to happen, but hell.
Quell laughed. “Next time knock, man. You scared the shit out of us.”
The assistant looked sheepish. “I’m so sorry. Mel sent me to find you and…”
Quell cut him off. “I’m not mad. It will be our secret. You won’t get in trouble.”
The assistant looked relieved. “Thank you.”
Quell set his glass aside and waved me off when I started to get up. “Stay if you’d like.”
“No, I should go get touched up. I’m sure they’ll need me soon.” Was it weird for me to not want to stay here while he was gone? I didn’t know. “What were you going to ask?”
“Well…” Quell closed the door behind us. “I don’t remember.”
It seemed like there was something he wanted to say, but I wasn’t going to push. I didn’t know him well enough.
Four
QUELL
April in Vancouver in the ocean is a disaster. But filming stops for nothing. I was used to it. I’d been in the business long enough to put up with my share of terrible and great locations, long hours, and grueling film schedules. Long enough to push my own pain aside to enjoy Hale’s suffering. Only a little. I’m not a monster. Ella wasn’t happy with the lighting and look of anything we did so we kept having to do it over. I wanted to talk to Hale more. Be friends with him. After that day in my trailer, we had an easy rapport but there hadn’t been an opportunity to hang out. I’d been a little scared to see him again. I feared he’d ask me about what I’d nearly confessed. What I was dying to get off my chest. But I couldn’t. I’d made promises.
“I think my goose bumps have goose bumps.” Hale stood hugging his arms to himself.
“I think the clothes make it worse. They cling to you and the wind.” I replied, looking down at the thin soaked linen pants they had me in.
“At least yours aren’t white.” He gestured at the see-through attire I’d been trying not to look at.
He looked entirely his part—a rugged well-dressed pirate, eyeliner included. I enjoyed the sight of him. I’d pictured it, costume and everything when he’d come in to read, but seeing it was something different—more. His breeches were slung low and tight, hugging his hips and giving away more underneath than his skinny jeans had. His shirt was lacy and billowy under a navy jacket with gold buttons. The details were astounding. I was going to have to thank the costume department for the visual. I would enjoy it while we were filming.