Spencer Cohen Series, Book One (The Spencer Cohen Series 1) (2 page)

With a basketball-sized salad in hand, I knocked on Andrew’s apartment door. It was a large ground floor apartment in Echo Park, with a cottage feel, complete with white window shutters and decorative handrail. Whether he rented or owned, it was apparent Andrew had some money. Then again, the guys who could afford to pay me usually did.

Andrew opened the door. He wore dark blue jeans and a white button-down shirt. His blond spikey hair was brushed to the side, he was clean shaven, and everything about him said tidy. His smile was a little forced, but he stepped aside and said, “Come in.”

I stepped inside—not unaware of how good he smelled—not sure where to go, but headed into the front living room. It was furnished like a proper house, like he had his shit together. A baby grand piano sat in the corner, all shiny and dustless. Matching sofas, different coloured cushions, and framed hand-drawn ink pictures on the walls that tied all the colours together. The room was filled with natural light. Everything was in its place.

I wondered briefly if he’d hired a designer, but looking back at Andrew, and how perfectly put together he was, I had no doubt he did this on his own. I gave him a smile, and he wiped his hands down his thighs, clearly nervous at having me here.

I held out the brown paper bag. “Lunch.”

“Right,” he said, walking past me. “Um, this way.”

I followed him through a door at the end of the room, which led to a small, well-appointed kitchen. He collected two plates and some cutlery. “May I get you a drink?”

I found myself smiling at him. “Yes, you may. Water would be fine.”

He paused, probably not sure if I was taking the piss or not, before he took two bottles of water from his fridge. We sat down at the small table just off the kitchen, in front of a large window that overlooked a courtyard. “Nice place,” I said, as we started to eat.

He looked up at the window like he’d forgotten it was there. “Thanks.”

“How long have you lived here?”

“Just over twelve months.”

He didn’t offer any more information willingly. I took another mouthful of the salad. “Mmm, this is good.” And it was. A mix of marinated artichoke, eggplant, capsicums, beets, pasta spirals, and rocket leaves.

He nodded and swallowed his food. “It is. They also do a range of homemade pastries and soups which I love in winter, but their salad bar is my favourite.”

“So,” I prompted him, now that he was talking at least. “Tell me the Andrew Landon story.”

His fork stopped half way to his mouth. “There’s not a great deal to tell.”

I looked at him for a long moment. He clearly had a self-esteem issue. “Well, there’s a beautiful piano out there that begs to differ.”

He almost smiled. “My parents had me in lessons from the age of four.”

“Classical?”

He nodded and ate his forkful of salad. I waited for him to swallow it so he’d continue. “My sister did ballet; I did piano,” he offered. “My parents are theatre people.”

“And they know you’re gay?” It wasn’t really a question, because he’d already told me the answer yesterday.

He blinked and delicately put his fork on his empty plate, perfectly centred, twelve to six o’clock, whereas mine was thrown on at about ten to four. “Yes, they know.”

“Is it an issue for them?”

He shook his head a little. “No. It’s not an issue.”

A part of me sighed with relief inside. I always dreaded asking the parental question. “I’m sorry if some of these questions are personal,” I told him. “But that’s what I’m here for. I need to get to know you.”

He nodded. “That’s okay. I’m just not used to it, that’s all.”

“If there’s anything you think that crosses a line, just call
veto
, and I’ll back off,” I said. “We have a goal here, and that’s to get Eli to realise he made a mistake. But that doesn’t mean open season on your personal life. I will respect your boundaries.”

He nodded again and visibly relaxed. He even gave me a smile before he cleared away the plates. “Thank you for lunch.”

“My pleasure. I can see why it’s your favourite. It was delicious.”

He smiled as he put the plates in the sink. “Shall we move to the living room? It’s more comfortable.”

“We shall.”

He paused again, obviously not liking me repeating his words, but still he said nothing.

“I’m not taking the piss,” I said, standing up from the table. “In fact, I like the way you speak. It’s cool to hear someone actually use the English language as it was intended. It’s a nice change.”

He frowned again, as though he liked the insult more than the compliment, before walking out to the living room. He sat on the end of the three-seater sofa, so I followed his lead but sat myself right in the middle. I positioned myself kinda side-on to him and folded one leg up under the other, careful not to put my boot on the sofa, and dived right in for the details. “So, tell me about you.”

He was back to being nervous, sitting up straight with his hands balled into fists on his thighs. “Well, what do you want to know?”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty six.”

“What do you do for work?”

“I’m a visual animator.”

What?
“No way!”

“Um, yeah. I work for DreamWorks.”

“Shut the front door.”

Andrew looked to the front door. “Um…”

“Seriously?” I asked with a laugh. “An animator for DreamWorks?”

He nodded and bit his lip. “It’s not that exciting. I mean, I love it, but it’s fastidious work. It might sound glamorous, but it’s a very slow and arduous job.”

“I am so impressed,” I said, shaking my head. “I cannot believe that’s what you do.”

He blushed, but his brow furrowed. “Um, why can’t you believe it? Do I not seem the type?”

Oh God, he thought I thought he wasn’t good enough. “No, I mean if you’d said you were in finance or law, I would’ve thought okay, cool.”

“Do you think I’m boring?”

I snorted. “No. Not boring. I think you’re serious. Serious but very interesting. And what’s to say people in finance and law are boring anyway. Who knows? Maybe there’s some interesting corporate lawyer or finance consultants
somewhere
in the world. They haven’t found any yet, but it’s not
im
possible.”

He almost smiled.

“So do you work on films?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement. I knew LA was full of entertainment industry people, but animation and cartoonography? Well, that was something else. “Have I seen your work? Please tell me you worked on Shrek, because that is the funniest movie ever!”

“Uh, no. I don’t work on film as such,” he said, apologetically. “Anyway, for me to have worked on Shrek, I’d have been ten years old.”

“Oh, right.”

He seemed amused. “Have you been to Universal Studios?”

“Nope.”

He blinked. “Oh, okay then.” My answer seemed to throw him. “Well, they have animations throughout. Or the promotional shots, I work on those. Some cover artwork, that kind of thing.”

“Wow, that’s incredible,” I told him. He bit his lip, but it was clear my approval pleased him. “Tell me what you do every day. What’s a typical day at work for you?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I work at the animation studio in Glendale. I start at eight thirty. We have a lot of team meetings, that kind of thing, in the mornings usually. Um, I’m technically a Look Development Artist. You know the storyboards with hand-drawn characters and scenes on them? That’s what I do. For promotional work.”

“Wow.”

He fought a smile and picked at his thumbnail in his lap. “We’re given a directive from HQ. We do the boards with scenes and characters from the movie and then hand it over to the art department. They make it adaptable, then it goes to sets and a few other teams before it gets to animation.”

I shook my head. “Uh, I’m so impressed.”

“It’s not like I’m developing original characters or anything,” he said, downplaying himself completely. “It’s actually pretty easy to take established characters and landmarks and work with those instead.”

“Well, I’m still impressed. It’s fascinating.” Then I noticed the framed artwork on the wall again. “Oh my God,” I said, getting up and walking over to them. There were three square frames, each showcasing an abstract ink-drawn human and his horse with a funny tail…? No, not a horse, a dog? No wait… it was a dragon…
Oh holy shit!
It was from
How to Train Your Dragon
. It wasn’t the characters that were coloured, it was the background, but only barely. It was beyond abstract. It was stunning. “You did these?”

Andrew nodded. “My first ever boards. They let me keep them. They weren’t the finished product anyway, just sketches, really.” He walked over and stood beside me. “I finished them here and added the colours to the background later.”

I was still in awe of his talents. “It’s like a watercolour,” I murmured. I stared at him until he turned to look at me. “Andrew, they are amazing.”

He blushed and swallowed hard before giving me a shy smile. “Thank you.”

“You should do art.”

He blinked in surprise. “I do art.”

“No, not for movies or promotional studio stuff,” I corrected. “But for art galleries and that kind of art. Seriously.”

He shook his head at me and went back to the sofa. “Why? I have the best job in the world.”

“True.” I sat beside him and gave one last look to the framed boards. “And just so you know, I loved that movie.”

Now he laughed. His whole face changed when he smiled with abandon. He got those little wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his eyes glittered somehow. His laugh was deep and contagious. “What?” I said indignantly, but smiling. “I happen to like animated movies.” But I didn’t want him to lose his good mood, so I asked him more questions before he went all quiet on me again. “Tell me about the people you work with.”

“They’re all good people,” he said. “We have a certain freedom at work. I would be— how did you put it?—the serious one, I guess.”

“I didn’t mean that in a bad way,” I added.

“Oh, I know,” he offered. “It’s true. I’ve always been that way. The quiet, serious one. For the most part.”

“You know what they say about that,” I said with a smile. “It’s the quiet ones you have to watch.”

Andrew scoffed out a laugh. “Well, I don’t know about that.”

I needed to keep asking him questions. But I’d seen yesterday how he’d clam up and not want to answer anything if he was backed into a corner, so I needed to stay on safer topics.

“Okay, quick fire questions,” I said. “Food you can’t stand?”

“Avocado. It’s slimy and wrong.”

“Coffee?”

“Yes.”

“How do you like it?”

“Latte with two percent. No sugar or syrups.”

“What day do you do your laundry?”

“Saturdays.”

Oh. “Am I interrupting your laundry?”

He smirked. “No. I live dangerously like that.”

I laughed. “Gym membership?”

“Yes.”

“Allergic to dogs?”

“No.”

“Cats?”

“No.”

“Horses?”

He laughed. “No.”

“Favourite movie?”

He glanced up at the wall at the framed drawings and smiled. “
How to Train Your Dragon 2
.”

“Unfair!” I cried. “Okay, favourite movie you haven’t worked on.”

“Um.” He smiled again and looked up like the answer was written on the ceiling. “
Blade Runner
or
A Clockwork Orange
.”

“Okay, stop,” I said, putting my hands up. “You can’t just go from cutesy animated DreamWorks to gritty Ridley Scott and Stanley Kubrick.”

He was clearly surprised that I was familiar with the directors. “Were there rules?” he countered.

“Well, no.”

“Next question.”

I let out an incredulous laugh. “I can’t just leave that. Seriously?
A Clockwork Orange
?”

“I also love the classics like
Frankenstein
and
The Wizard of Oz
.”

I shook my head. “You are a complex man.”

He was grinning now. He really was very good looking. “Not really.”

“Yes, really. Favourite book?”

“Oh, um.” He squinted, as though it pained him to pick just one. “
To Kill a Mocking Bird
. I know, it’s everyone’s favourite book.” He shrugged.

“Well, there’s a reason why it’s everyone’s favourite,” I added. “Favourite song?”

He put his hand up. “No. Too many to choose from.”

“Everyone has an all-time favourite song.”