Chapter 8

 

Margaret finds Alex an assistant named Yancy Eckert. She's in her early thirties and is an actual professional, not another one of those barely organized recent L.A. arrivals doing the work for the money or the connections. Alex tells her point blank that he's glad they're not peers -- not in age or circumstance -- because it means they can actually be friends. He also asks her to remind him when stuff is going on he's supposed to go to her for help with, because of all the things he's done in L.A., having an assistant actually feels the most morally dubious. Certainly, it's the thing that would most puzzle and possibly upset his mother.

At least Paul, when Alex tells him, approves, happily telling Alex it's about time, and confessing that with the hours he works and the ambitions he has, that he's teetered on the edge of hiring someone for five to ten hours a week himself for years. Alex has to actually stop himself from offering him Yancy's services in response and then winds up processing that for an evening of curious confusion with Gemma as she paints her nails a particularly off-putting shade of pale blue.

Of all the things of his that Gemma has always helped herself to, she makes no assumptions about Yancy's time or interest in picking up her dry-cleaning. It puzzles Alex enough to ask for an explanation, but Gemma brushes off the question, saying he'd understand if he were a girl.

 

***

 

The first time Alex stays the entire weekend, Paul watches him amusedly on Saturday afternoon as he pulls a notebook and a battered textbook out of his bag and cracks them open.

"What's that?" he asks, and squints at the cover, which he can't actually read, because that's not even a Roman script.

"Farsi book."

"You're learning Farsi?" Paul isn't surprised, exactly, because if he'd stopped to think about it this is exactly the kind of thing that Alex, intellectual actor that he is, does, but he's still a little stunned. This is no small commitment of time or energy, and Alex has boundless reserves of neither.

Alex nods, and flips the book open to a dog-eared page. "Zach speaks it, so I need to -- want to -- at least a little, especially if he's going to get his ass into Iran in the next couple of months."

"Why the fuck didn't you go to college?" Paul asks. It's a thought that's been niggling at him for months now, even before they started this thing. Alex is so sharp, and takes such obvious pleasure in using his mind. Fairytale aside, what Paul knows of his path makes no sense to him, and he's fascinated.

Alex gives him a look that means don't, but he answers, at least in part. "I didn't go to college because three weeks after high school graduation I got in my car and drove to L.A."

"But before that?"

Alex leans over to fish a pen out of his bag and then looks right up at Paul with a gaze that's loaded. "Don't think that just because you went to college and I didn't doesn't mean we're not both from some hick-ass towns in the middle nowhere."

"I know where I'm from," Paul says, but he doesn't know whether he should be offended or amused. He's only named the town that he grew up in, not told any stories about it, and Paul wonders if Alex went ahead and researched that, too, or is just making not entirely incorrect assumptions about Southern and gay. But Alex sounds upset, and this goes on the list of things Paul's going to have to pry out of him, someday, when Alex is ready.

"And where are your wrists from, Paul?" Alex says, but it's a little singsong and under his breath.

Paul sighs. They haven't talked about that since their first night together, and Paul's going to have to tell him eventually, but that isn't a conversation that needs to happen in a pissing contest of my life was worse than yours. Especially when he still doesn't know all, or even most, of Alex's story.

Instead Paul asks, "What does your name look like in Farsi?"

Alex glances up from his book with a look that's as wary as it is pleased.

"Like this," he says. He tears out a page of his notebook and starts to write. And then, on the line below it, with a glance up at Paul that's a little bashful and incredibly gorgeous, he writes something else. "And this is yours."

 

***

 

House hunting is peculiar.

Gemma gets mistaken repeatedly for his assistant (possibly explaining her reluctance to avail herself of Yancy's services), and, a couple of times, for his girlfriend. Realtors speak down to him more than once. Alex is never sure if it's because he's so damn young, or if they just assume that all actors are stupid.

Either way, it irritates him because of the truth in it. He has no real idea what he's doing, and having houses talked up to him as investments or party spaces isn't useful when what he actually needs is a place to live that's extravagant in terms of what he's come from, but not extravagant in terms of what he is.

When he says as much to Gemma, it comes out as, "I don't care about hot tubs."

Gemma, in turn, informs him that she totally cares about hot tubs.

 

***

 

"So you know Alex is going to be gone for like, two months, right?"

Paul regards Liam over both the top of his laptop and the top of his glasses -- it's been that sort of week -- and is glad the office is empty aside from them. "Are you supposed to be here?"

"Relax, I'm off the clock. Also, I know he was just in here, so spare the lecture."

Alex was in the building for a meeting and had stopped by to say hello, not for clandestine sex, regardless of whatever Liam is trying to imply. His appearance had been surprising and brief, and Paul is now just watching the clock 'til it's time to go home and spend another weekend with him.

"Consider it spared," he says, wanting Liam to just get to the damn point.

"Mhmmm. But yeah, he's--"

"I know what his schedule is, Liam," Paul says.

"Oh. Oh, Great. So what are you going to do about it?"

"What do you mean?"

"He's gonna be on location for a long time. And I know how stupid you are for him, so. He's got a couple of days free in New York. Even if he didn't -- you should go see him."

Paul sits back in his chair, and flicks a pencil between his fingers. "You think that's a good idea? And you think you're the person who should be telling me it is?" Usually it's Carly who calls him out on his shit, if she believes there is shit to call him out on. Since it's highly unlikely she's subcontracted her advice giving to her ridiculous boyfriend, this particular brainstorm is all Liam's.

Liam shrugs eloquently. "Dude, if you don't, I don't want to deal with your pining."

"You also don't need to spend time in this room," Paul points out, although they do see each other socially often enough.

"Yeah. Well, or his, 'cause I have to put up with him in D.C., and comforting the lonely and lovelorn is not part of my job description."

"Really?" Paul says, because he knows damn well that comforting the lonely and lovelorn is in fact one of Liam's many hat tricks. He points the pencil at Liam. "And is this part of your job description?"

Oddness of the messenger aside, Paul's actually thrilled at the idea. Those two months are approaching quickly, and the idea of a separation that long has been daunting -- too daunting for him to really even try to think about a solution other than enduring it. Terrible schedules are, if nothing else, the nature of their business.

Paul is also aware that's he's being more than a little pathetic, especially considering that right now he and Alex have hardly been together for even two months.

"Oh, no, man. This is just 'cause you're awesome together."

"Thank you," Paul says curiously, still not quite sure what Liam is up to. He may be sincere, of course, but he may also be here at Victor's request or out of some weird misguided thing because of Carly, and wow, Paul's life is awkward. Alex may not know the half of it yet, but Liam sure as hell does.

"So, you're gonna think about it?"

"I am going to think about it a lot," Paul says. "Now get out of my office." Paul waves a hand at him and returns to his computer.

Liam laughs as he goes. "Not your office, Paul," he calls as he goes. "Yet."

 

***

 

Eighteen prospects later, Alex finally finds a house he's interested in. It's on a dead-end road, has some awesome outdoor space, a decent but not military grade security system (some people in L.A., he has learned, are just paranoid and creepy), and has a massive living room and open kitchen. There's a loft-like space at one end of the common area that contains another, smaller living space and a bedroom and bath that would be perfect for Gemma.

Aside from that, there's a proper, and separate, second floor with a master bedroom and bath. More importantly, he can afford it without freaking out entirely, because no matter that his financial advisor tells him he can easily go for seven figures, no fucking way. The thought gives Alex hives, even more than the fact that he's looking at a house on foreclosure. It feels, on some level, shady, or a betrayal of being from Indiana and poor.

He tells Paul as much that weekend, as he gets ready to start the process of actually buying the place on Monday. Paul answers carefully, and Alex can understand that. He considers how awkward a position he may have put Paul in by having talked numbers. Paul may already own a house, but Alex certainly makes more than he does.

Then Paul broaches the subject of Fourth Estate and the onscreen adventures of Zach and James. It could be retribution, but isn't. It's just that the long-awaited romance plot is finally approaching and Paul wants Alex to have a heads up before he has to start dealing with the renewed enthusiasm of the fans, and, for that matter, Liam. Alex may be appalled at the existence of his own public life, but Liam will flirt with furniture if it'll get him petted and cooed over by yet another talk show host or hostess delighted to be anything but impervious to his charms.

Alex is unconcerned, though, and faintly amused that Paul was actually worried about Alex's feelings regarding playing an onscreen romance with a coworker who he's fond of but who mostly just drives him nuts.

The Zach and James relationship has clearly been coming for a while, Alex states; it makes sense and he and Liam have good chemistry together, god help them all. Alex has no illusions about that; he knows, even with his relatively limited data on the matter, that the way he connected with Liam on camera is part of why Victor reordered the world for him. Let the Internet go crazy. He's a professional, he says, and he can take care of himself.

The conversation ends, as all conversations should, with them making out on Paul's couch.

 

***

 

It's not just Zach's personal life that's about to change. He's trying to break out of old habits and his ongoing professional rut -- if anyone can be in a rut at his age. It would feel more momentous to Alex if they shot anything in order. It shocks him, even over a year later, how much of acting isn't about memorizing text, but is about emotional memory and physical repetition.

Sometimes it's heartbreaking for Alex to know so much more about the future than his character does. It's one of the costs of table reads and also just understanding how made up stories work. Because Zach doesn't know it, but he's about to get played out of a story. Again. He's not as vicious as he likes to think he is, and because he's so focused on the little scandals -- mismanagement of military contracts in D.C., who really cares? -- that he's always missing the bigger story unfolding much closer to him.

James is starting to see it, but James is more worried about Zach at the moment than whether rival reporters' stories are all actually based in fact.

Alex almost feels jealous, not of the circumstances or the people, but the clarity that a life written to forty-seven minutes plus commercials on a weekly basis necessarily provides.

Which isn't to say that Victor's creations don't still have ridiculous blinders on, not just about the futility of their schemes -- any plan that requires another person to do exactly what you expect is a bad plan -- but about the gravitational pull they increasingly exert on each other.

As an actor, though, it is Alex's job is to be patient, and not write the future of a story that isn't actually his to tell.

 

***

 

For all of the drama when they're rolling Liam is as cheery and chipper as ever in between takes until Alex wants to kick him as he paces by his chair again, because his constant need to move is distracting as fuck.

"Stop," he finally says shortly, when Liam circles him on his third time around a winding, circuitous, and strangely unwavering route.

Thankfully, he does. Less thankfully, he stops right in front of Alex.

"You're not in a good mood," Liam says carefully.

"Is that a statement or a question?"

"What's wrong?" Liam asks.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Bullshit. I know you like to get into Zach's pissy head and all, but you've been glaring at me for like the last twenty minutes and I don't think I did anything wrong?"

Alex sighs. "It's not you," he admits, as fun as it would be to blame this day on Liam.

"Boy troubles?" Liam asks ridiculously.

"No," Alex says. Even if that answer's not exactly true, he's not going to discuss these things with Liam on set of all places. Things with Paul have been so good, but Alex can't stop looking at the calendar and counting down the days he has left. There aren't that many now, and the prospect of the end is starting to wear.

"You know you can talk to me if you want," Liam says, and shuffles forward enough to put both hands on Alex's shoulders and squeeze affectionately. Which is as annoying as hell. As much as Alex has gotten used to people's hands on him for the sake of getting him dressed and made up as Zach, he still would like not to be touched in most moments. Like this one.

"Liam? Personal space," he snaps irritably, because Liam's standing but Alex is sitting and can't actually back up out of his grasp.

"Oh. Sorry man." Liam shuffles back and looks sad.

Alex sighs, exasperated now. "Don't do that."

"What's that?"

"Look like a wounded puppy when I yell at you."

"I am sorry!" Liam insists, but then bounces again, all concern apparently gone. Alex wonders how Carly puts up with him. And he knows how incredibly unkind, not to mention unfair, it is to wonder if that's why she and Liam have the arrangements that they do.

Alex has had a lot of interactions with Carly, both publicly at events and privately at the various parties and get-togethers at Liam's house that Alex hasn't been able to avoid. She's genuinely awesome and way more badass than Alex ever could be, whatever system she and Liam have clearly works, and Alex should stop judging and just get on with the fucking work. He wishes either Paul or he had time to see each other tonight.

 

***

 

Paul does his research and talks to Victor -- who is more than enthusiastic about the idea of him taking some time to be with Alex on his next adventures -- and makes a good chunk of the necessary arrangements. He can be in New York the week before Christmas with Alex, and as he marks the dates on his phone, he thinks about the new year, and next year. He can't wait for any of it.

Now he just has to tell Alex it's going to happen.