Rainbow Blues (22 page)

“How do you know?” Aaron Young was in great shape and probably didn’t get lectured and shamed by a fitness expert and nutritionist together.

Aaron laughed. “I’ve got that list memorized by now. Don’t worry, there are a number of restaurants we can eat at that will have plenty to choose from.”

“Okay, then, lead the way.”

They spent the next couple of hours walking around the set and the studio before grabbing some lunch, and then doing it again. By the time Jimmy stumbled back to his tiny sublet apartment, he didn’t care what was on his list. The stress, full day, and time change made him too fucking tired to eat, and he had to get up early to meet the trainer anyway.

“C
UT
!”

Jimmy blinked. He and Aaron had each spoken one line of dialogue. One. From the middle of the play. Film. Whatever. He’d spent several preproduction days letting his trainer work him into a limp, broken thing in between rehearsals that seemed to little more than blocking exercises. Not that Jimmy’s memory was all that clear on the matter. Between the lack of food and his screaming, knotted muscles, Jimmy’s entire focus had been standing without assistance and not screaming every time he moved.

The only thing that had been clear through it all was his yearning for Luke. It wasn’t just the sex he was missing, which quite frankly might be more agonizing in practice than in fantasy right now, no matter how often his cock hardened when he thought about getting naked with Luke. But Jimmy missed Luke’s smile. The little brushes of his fingertips along Jimmy’s nape. His encouragement. Kisses. Cuddling in front of the television or in bed. The way he lovingly soaped Jimmy up when they shared a shower. The way he worried about Jimmy eating properly and his cooking. Oh, God, the food. He wanted to lie down and wallow in pans and pans of Luke’s lasagna.

And now, after waiting hours for makeup and getting cameras and set dressing and… he was so exhausted. It was all a blur, but he’d been here for hours today, after days of torture, and he managed to spit out one single line before the director stopped them. He should be grateful, he supposed. After all, Sam McKenzie, the director, had been the main reason Jimmy had the opportunity to pursue this dream. Only problem was that the director was a giant asshat. Damian had been a demanding director, but he’d never screamed obscenities at anyone. Jimmy found this more like a nightmare than a dream, and he hoped to God it got better than this.

With some effort, he pasted a smile on his face and turned to Sam.

“Too much, James. Gotta dial that shit back. You’re going to be a movie star. Stop hamming it up.”

Jimmy clenched his teeth together. Once again, he should be grateful that Sam hadn’t devolved into a screaming, red-faced imp, but hamming it up? He’d never once had a critic accuse him of ham.

Aaron smiled sympathetically.

Jimmy took a few deep breaths, hoping to stave off this sensation of being so fragile he was going to shatter. He knew damn well stage and film were different. He just hadn’t fully comprehended how difficult it would be to tone down every single line he uttered. Tone down every single movement and every single expression. He’d discussed it briefly with Aaron, but since Aaron had very little experience on stage and Jimmy had never done anything in front of a camera before, besides auditions, neither of them had any clear idea how to make the transition.

“Ready?” The director only had a faint sneer in his voice, and Jimmy nodded. He had to do better.

This time, Jimmy was ready, but it was fucking hard to be in the mindset of someone who already stifled their sexuality and desires deep in a closet. Blunting his movement and expression was like being in a crawlspace behind a secret panel in that closet. He was a good actor, for fuck’s sake. He could do this shit.

This time, they got through a whole six lines of conversation before the director stopped them.

“What was wrong with that?” he whispered to Aaron, who smirked.

“Nothing. They’re switching camera angles, setting up a new shot.”

“Take two. James, that last time was good. Do it again.”

Again. He could do it again. Somehow.

After an hour or so, they took a break. Jimmy had stopped counting how many takes they’d done of those same few lines. Hitting ten had been too damn depressing, since it was clear that sadist, Sam, wasn’t ready to let them move on.

“What do we do now? How long do we have?” It wasn’t like he could eat anything. Or more like, it wasn’t like he should eat anything. The nutritionist was a weedy little lurker, and every time Jimmy even thought about sneaking a danish or even a fucking bagel, he was there, glacially disapproving without a word. Jimmy hadn’t felt like a guilty kid this often since he’d
been
a guilty kid.

Aaron shrugged. “Mostly I just take a leak, find a comfortable chair and a cup of coffee. It won’t be long enough to take a nap or for Roland to come find you.”

Jimmy blanched. “For Roland to come
find
me?”

“Sure. This early on, he’ll grab you during the longer breaks and make you do stretches or lunges or something.”

Not if Jimmy locked himself in the bathroom, he wouldn’t. Still, hitting the bathroom seemed like a good idea and then… “Hey! They let you have coffee?”

Aaron smirked and brought his arm up, fist tightly clenched to show off a bulging bicep. He flicked the hard muscle with his other hand. “I’m already perfect, baby. Coffee is my reward for good behavior.”

Jimmy rolled his eyes. Suddenly, it wasn’t difficult to understand why actors got hooked on drugs. Drugs had no fucking calories.

“Sometimes, I’ll go over my lines for upcoming scenes.”

Shit. Jimmy didn’t need any help with his fucking lines. They’d practically burned themselves into his psyche. Maybe he could wander around some of the other sets during longer breaks. See other actors in action.

Before he knew it, they were back in the same position, with the same few lines.

A
GAIN
. J
IMMY
grew to hate that word over the next six hours. Each time the director uttered the words cut or again, it was like being flogged. Or flayed. He was pretty sure there were people who liked being flogged, even though he was not one of them, but he didn’t think anyone enjoyed being flayed. That one had to be worse.

Over and over and over again. He could have run through the entire play three times in the time it took to slog through two pages of script. He was in hell. Or the
Twilight Zone
. Those were the only possible, logical explanations.

“Good job.” Aaron clapped him on the back.

“Thanks. You, too.” Jimmy said it, but quite frankly, he had no idea if either of them had done a good job. They’d gone through the same lines so often, they’d become complete and utter gibberish to Jimmy’s ears. He’d put in a grueling day without even one smatter of applause, and having those great black eyes of the cameras on him wasn’t the same as the admiring stares he got from an audience.

The only hint he had that they’d done a passable job was the director hadn’t started any frenzied swearing. Luke made fun of Jimmy’s constant swearing, but he had nothing on Sam McKenzie. Holy fuck.

“Want to grab some dinner?” Aaron asked.

Not even the prospect of hanging out with the famous, attractive, and successful Aaron Young could coax Jimmy away from his bed this evening. By the time he made it back to his tiny sublet apartment and showered the sweat of despondency away, Luke would already be asleep. Good thing Jimmy had a TV. He could flip it on and fall asleep in front of it.

“Uh, no, not really. I’m beat. Rain check? How do you still have any energy left?”

“You’ll get used to the pace, trust me. In a couple of weeks, you’ll feel different, I promise.”

“By different, surely you mean ‘dead.’” Jimmy still hadn’t quite managed to start thinking in West Coast time.

Aaron laughed. “Get some sleep. I’m giving you another week, and then after that, I’m dragging your ass out somewhere. You can’t come all this way to star in a movie and not get to see any of the sights.”

“Sounds good.” Jimmy did his best to sound upbeat, but inside he was cringing. A week’s reprieve. It wasn’t going to be nearly enough. He was too old to be changing his spots now.

L
IVING
IN
li
mbo in a house meant for two made Luke edgy and uncomfortable, and he had to keep reminding himself it was only temporary. The house echoed less, now that Luke had all their furniture and boxes of stuff moved in. He’d only unpacked the critical stuff, partly because it would be easier to do his repairs but also because it felt weird to make decisions about where stuff should go all by himself. Deciding how to orient the couch and which wall to put the entertainment center on was a job they should be doing together, and Luke was willing to wait until Jimmy had a chance to come home. The bed was a necessity. That first night in their house, together, would live forever in his memory, but he wasn’t in a hurry to sleep on the air mattress again. Not unless he wanted to be crippled on the job site for the next four months.

There was a time when he could pass out on the floor beside Zach’s crib and still be mostly functional the next day, but that time was long past.

The kitchen was also an exception to his unpacking embargo. He had no intention of unpacking until the majority of the fixes to the house had been made, but over the span of their relationship it had become obvious that the kitchen was Luke’s domain, so there was little reason to get Jimmy’s input. Besides, he wasn’t going to eat fast food or frozen dinners for the next four months. He’d done that plenty since his divorce, and he’d be damned if he was going back to that.

He had the whole weekend blocked off. Zach, Ryan, and Bennett were coming over to help out, and Luke was pretty sure they could get a good chunk of his list done. He had everything he needed stored in the garage, but it would take a while to get everything installed. One weekend wasn’t going to do it. Not when he was replacing the kitchen counters and cupboards, the bathroom counters and cabinets, the water heater, and switching all the windows to double-paned ones. Just about every room needed walls primed and baseboards painted in preparation for either Jimmy’s help or instructions. At least the plumbing, roof, and electrical were in good shape. The AC unit had a couple more years before he’d have to worry about replacing it.

A rumble of car engines pulling into the driveway made him smile from the small satisfaction of having friends and family show up at his house. He just wished Jimmy were here to share in it.

Luke walked out the front door to the porch to greet his friends. He couldn’t call them guests since he was going to make them work like dogs.

Zach and Ryan climbed out of their car while Bennett was still getting out of his. What he hadn’t expected were the additional cars pulling up and parking on the street. A battered white pickup, which looked a lot like the one Luke used on the job, parked, along with two other cars.

Peter got out of the pickup, while Graham and Hector emerged from the other two vehicles.

“What are you guys doing here?” Luke called out as they strode across the lawn.

Graham tugged at his worn, thinning jeans and tight T-shirt, both of which were spattered with the paint of long past jobs. “Obviously, we’re the strip-o-grams.”

Hector winked. “And I’ve got a big hammer in my toolbox, if you know what I mean.”

Luke spluttered with laughter to cover the sudden trembling in his belly, knowing these guys, ones he’d only known a couple of months, were here to help him fix up his and Jimmy’s new home.

As soon as Peter reached the porch, he clapped Luke on the shoulder. “You’ve got more friends than you realize, Luke. We’re happy to help.”

“Thanks, man.”

By lunchtime, they’d gotten the cabinets and sinks ripped out from the kitchen and two of the three bathrooms, and Luke snapped a couple of pictures to text to Jimmy, as he’d promised to do.

Look what we did.

It had only been two weeks since Jimmy had left, and they’d learned pretty quickly that phone calls were next to impossible. With the time difference between the east and west coasts, Luke’s early schedule on the job sites, and Jimmy’s completely erratic film schedule, they had a hard time finding a time when they were both free to talk, even when Luke set up a calendar on his phone that he shared with Jimmy. Texting, though, had become his lifeline to his partner.

Holy shit. When did you start—yesterday?

Nope. Peter, Graham & Hector showed up, along with Bennett and the boys.

I should be there helping :(

I wish you were here, but helping?

Shut up! Can’t wait to see what the new cupboards look like.

We’re breaking for lunch now. Call?

The quick responses to Luke’s texts had set off a glimmer of hope that maybe Jimmy was free for a few minutes for a mutually beneficial schedule overlap. They hadn’t even managed to have phone sex since Jimmy had been gone, and Luke’s recent immersion in regular, spectacular sex had left him feeling the lack. Luke shifted his stance and glanced around as his dick plumped at the thought of Jimmy talking dirty in his ear. Hell, he’d probably get a full-blown erection hearing Jimmy’s voice, period. Not that this was the time for phone sex, even if Jimmy could manage to call him.

Can’t. I’m supposed to be on set in a sec. Shouldn’t even have my phone with me.

:( Love you.

Love you, too. Need more pics!

The doorbell rang, startling Luke. He started toward it, but before he got there, the front door banged open and Scotty marched inside carrying a couple of bulging paper bags.

“Lunch time, boys,” Scotty sang out and strode into the mostly demolished kitchen with Luke following. Scotty set the bags on the drop cloth-covered table, and Peter wiped his hands on his jeans before wrapping an arm around Scotty’s waist and kissing him.