Acting Out

Chapter 1-2

Alex nodded to the manager. The chap returned the nod, and with nothing more than a tilt of the head, directed him to the back of the restaurant. He didn’t have to. Alex knew where he was going. He loved to sit by the balcony, and any table in the vicinity had a first-rate view of the river. On a good day, glass doors concertinaed back, removing the entire wall. He was considering having the same type of doors put in at home. Even on a day like today, with drifting clouds dark with impending rain, it was worth coming here for the view alone. The overhanging canopy and elegant planters offered protection from the wind and freedom from prying eyes; sufficient space between the tables defeated all but the most vigilant eavesdropper as well. He particularly wanted privacy. Deliberately arriving ten minutes late, he was well aware that Nick would already be here. Nick was never late and today had doubtless turned up early. Alex also anticipated his mood; Nick hated the journey, couldn’t see why Alex didn’t want to live in town and, considering what they were here to discuss, Alex had given Nick time to calm down.

Setting sight on his quarry, Alex took a deep breath. This meeting made him feel as if he were the hunter and Nick the prey.

Straightening his expression so as not to reveal his anxiety, Alex made his way through the winding placement of tables to the far, right-hand corner of the room. Viewing the back of Nick’s head, he noted the line of tension in the man’s shoulders, the glass of ice water in his hand. As Alex approached, Nick looked up, eyes shining brightly. His usually relaxed features changed the instant Nick set sight of him and now came across as rigid, stern, disgruntled. Defensive. His tailored clothes were too severe for this type of lunch and appeared as cutting as Nick’s gaze.

Alex sighed. Facing a rough argument, he slid into his seat. Nick set the glass down with a decided clunk; odd—that sound—although obviously caused by the weight of the water and ice as well as the heavy crystal glass. Alex compared the noise to the dull, equally profound thud of his heart.

At once, a waiter appeared. Alex asked for the fish of the day and a pitcher of ice water. Whatever the dish, it would be exquisite. Nick opted for the same. He often did, making the easy choice, preferring to get down to business. Alex merely shook his head, struck with fond vexation.

Nick had tamed his unruly hair with some product as usual. Alas, Nick lived his life in the same, regimented manner. Alex had tried before to get Nick to loosen up a bit. One thing Nick often referred to was how Alex enjoyed life, which was why Nick trusted his taste in food among other things. If only he could get Nick to trust him in this one other matter.

Glancing up from where he’d been gazing at the table, Alex blinked. Nick was staring straight at him. Alex accepted that he might as well begin the conversation. He would have to do one thing he hated to do, and that was to talk—a lot—in order to bring Nick around to his way of thinking.

“It’s a good story.”

“No.”

That was all Nick had to say? No argument? Just a definitive no?

Ignoring the urge to clear his throat, Alex tried again. “The film will have amazing effects.”

“No.”

“Have you noted the director?”

Of course Nick had. Robert King was comparatively new, but he’d made no fewer than five films, all of them attaining some form of prestige, more than one of them touching on the issue of same-s*x relationships. His latest work seemed destined to take Cannes by storm. This director was the one that every British actor suddenly wanted to work with. Nick’s distressed expression quickly dissolved, changed back to stern disinterest. Even Nick wanted to work with King.

Attempting another tack, Alex said, “I hear Alana had trouble getting hold of you yesterday.”

“So?”

“Anyone would think you were hiding from her. Like a little boy.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Nick would never do any such thing, so Alex had expected his instant comeback, but hadn’t been able to resist pulling his leg. “You stop being ridiculous and discuss this properly.”

“No.”

“This is a good opportunity. A great movie. An outstanding director. This is the project we’ve been waiting for.”

“No, no, and no.”

To anyone else, Nick would have sounded petulant, but Alex was well aware that Nick reacted this way only with him. His companion’s seeming lack of professionalism was a result of friendship; Nick argued the same way whenever Alex tried to get him to do something he didn’t immediately want to do. His repetition was both a refusal and a plea, because both men knew Alex always got his way. That left Alex feeling frustrated over an argument that would actually be a waste of his time, although he more than understood why Nick had to make a show of fighting him. He owed Nick a victory, or several, but this time the argument was too serious.

They shared one-half of the circular table so they could both look out at the scenery. Nick’s eyes blazed in irritation as he glared at Alex. A moment of silence careened between them—a surge of undisguised mutual anger—as the waiter set down fresh water. The waiter said nothing before moving quickly off, but if he didn’t sense the atmosphere that was cold enough to freeze the water in the pitcher, it was a miracle.

“Just like that? No?” Alex sat up straighter.

“You’ve said no often enough. I never got a choice.”

Nick referred to the numerous scripts Alex had rejected. Since their success, everyone was clamouring for the two men to appear together again, and they’d been inundated. However, he and Nick had reservations. Did they truly want to fall into the trap of a partnership?

Alana had suggested they balance the work as individuals as well as partners to show themselves as versatile. The risk was that critics and the public wouldn’t view their acting as potent when they starred as individuals instead of together. Alana said they should prove them wrong.

Easy for her to say. Sometimes, one had to give the audience what it wanted. The trick was to also try to get what one wanted into the bargain. For that, they needed the perfect script. Alex had often given his decisive ‘no’ before Nick could even consider the role. Now, they’d finally found the right script, and Nick was refusing.

Alex stared out at the flowing water without focusing, trying to wend his way through the conversation and the waves of belligerence he could sense coming off Nick. Nick often accused him of being impenetrable. Maybe he was.

Alex knew why Nick didn’t want the part; sure he did. He couldn’t just blurt out the truth because Nick would be up from his seat, scurrying out of the restaurant as if Alex had suggested they enact one of the intimate scenes from the film script right there and then. That would undoubtedly get their names in the papers; the display might be worth it as promo.

Battling a smirk, Alex toyed with his glass of water, turning it, dipping a finger into the icy liquid, stroking the rim of the crystal with a wet fingertip. A moment later, he became aware of Nick watching his finger action.