Date: Sun, 9 Apr 2006 23:25:32 -0700 From: christopher. Subject: breaking through part 11 This is fiction. I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't imply anything about his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything to have Jake all to myself. Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one. Thanks to everyone that sent emails for the last chapter and letting me indulge just a little bit. I had a lot of fun with the last chapter. From the messages I got, I can say with confidence that I have some amazing readers on my side, so if you've been sending me messages, I'll give you another thank you, and for those of you readers who haven't, I'll ask that you try it out. I guess I'm a pretty nice guy, I'll answer just about anything you ask. In addition to getting Brokeback on DVD, I've been splitting my time between writing and hanging out with a special guy--my new puppy. So between Brokeback Mountain and picking up after the little guy, I've been writing. I hope to hear from a bunch of people, even if it's to say that this story is the suck. Hopefully it won't be, but if you feel like it is, tell me! Questions, comments, loved it or hated it, shoot a message to christopherrluu@gmail.com Part XI "You can't write an ending is what I mean. Two books, no endings, what else do you have?" Chris sat there, staring at his fingers. Jake wanted to punch this guy in the face, but he sat there, fuming with his own thoughts. "It's not Victorian England anymore," Chris said, "stories can be left open." "But that's not what people want to read." "They don't know it doesn't have an ending until they get to the end and don't find one. It's what I do." His words were deliberate. He hadn't had to defend his work since graduate school critiques. "It's what you've been doing, but you've got to stop. It may have flown at Houghton, but at HarperCollins, we're looking for writers who can tie things up. You have to leave your reader satisfied." "Life's not like that. Things don't end up in neat little packages, at least not where I'm from," Chris said, trying his best to hide the anger in his voice, "I just write what I know. You get close to figuring things out but you never really do." He felt Jake's hand squeeze his leg under the table. "I get it, you're hip and cool, and you've got some awards. You're name is out there. People will buy whatever you put out, but we feel like you need to step it up." Chris hated book people, and from what he'd encountered, Jake did too. Business was one thing and creativity was another. They never mixed, not in any industry. Jake looked over at the Harper agent, sitting there in his pressed suit, tie perfectly knotted, he and Chris wearing jeans, hair tousled. It made him sick to think that the books that came out had to pass this guy's test. He really did deserve a punch in the face. Chris sat up straight, "I know what I'm doing. It works for me, so there's no deal if you're going to make me change how I write. We can talk later if you change your mind." Jake smiled, thinking that maybe he'd order something off the dessert tray just to spite him. But Chris got up, shaking his hand before turning around. Jake followed suit, ignoring the rep completely. He pulled his sunglasses on after they stepped through the front door, a satisfied smile on his face because he knew the rep would have to drive two hours back to LA and then drive back if either he or Chris wanted another meeting. He wasn't normally like this, but with Chris making a move to a new publisher, he had just learned how corrupt the world of publishing could be. "When we had lunch with the Random House guy, he was practically pushing a contract into your salad. Is this for real? Who do they think they are?" "It's ok, Jake," Chris said, stopping. Jake turned around and looked at him, his face calm and his hands in his pockets, "Vivian said she can line up as many meetings as I want. I'm not worried about it." His voice was confident and he looked up at Jake and his face softened, realizing that it really wasn't a big deal. If Chris was secure in anything, it was his work. Jake hadn't gone to every meeting, but the ones he did go to showed him that books were as cutthroat as movies: same game, different field. The Santa Barbara sun was high and bright, the air scented with salt and sand, Chris and Jake lazily walking down to the beach. Awards shows and interviews over, life went on for both of them. If only for a second, Chris thought things might change, but after the parties and too much champagne, the questions from the press were the same, even more repetitive for him and Jake. "How does it feel? What are you going to do now? Where are you going to put it? What next?" In Santa Barbara, he got a few more handshakes on the street, but everything was the same. It was like nothing had happened at all, even though every time they got home, there were two golden statues staring back at them from a bookshelf in the living room. At first, Chris would run his fingers over it whenever he got a chance, the cold metal slippery under his fingers. He'd feel Jake's, feel his own, appreciating that it was something that connected them like nothing else could. He'd feel the engraved names on the base, tracing Jake's last name. He'd check to see that they were clean and shiny, wondered if they should be in direct sunlight, but after a week or so, they were just knickknacks. Now they were sitting there, collecting dust as Jake read scripts, twice a many as before, and Chris tried to figure out what to do about Houghton Mifflin. "They said they fired the intern who called," Chris said, "I said I didn't care, but I guess they were trying to get on my good side." Jake didn't notice the subtle change until a few days back at home. Chris always had a playful innocence to him, it was something Jake loved about him. But now, Chris didn't seem as lost anymore, he had decided to find a new publisher on his own, he'd decided himself to concentrate on short stories and lay off novels for a while. Jake pulled Chris into a hug, thumb stroking the back of his neck. "You're amazing," Jake said, feeling him blush. That never changed though, Chris may have gotten used to the fame and maybe even the press, but he'd always be surprised by how Jake could say the right thing at the right time. "There aren't always happy endings?" Jake asked. "Not for real people," Chris said, "but I figure we've got a good chance." Jake smiled, "I know a good thing when it comes along. You're not going anywhere." Chris remembered how it was before all of this, before the Oscars, before the movies. He when he wasn't toiling with Blue Eyes Blue, they'd spent more time together doing things that Chris assumed actors like Jake didn't usually do. He liked to go to the farmer's market on the weekends and Chris would watch, lazily scribbling in his journal as Jake somehow transformed vegetables and pasta into real meals, not the Thai take-out they were used to. Grateful that there were no photographers and reporters slithering around their town, Jake didn't think twice about holding Chris' hand as they walked through the stands of fruits and vegetables. They went for morning jogs, Chris finding it easier and easier to keep up with Jake. Jake read scripts and Chris wrote, but the studio sat empty for days at a time, Chris sitting on the floor of the living room with his laptop open, Jake reading his scripts on the couch, his hand lazily running through Chris' hair. Only two weeks after the Oscars, Chris saw his first photographer on the streets of Santa Barbara. He froze when he saw him, camera poised, finger ready. Chris was petrified, holding two cups of coffee, his hair still messy from bed and he was wearing his usual hoodie, jeans, and sandals. He'd look like a slob if it was printed in a magazine, and he never recalled seeing pictures of Danielle Steele or James Patterson in the tabloids, but here he was, caught by the flash of a camera. He kept walking, hoping that they'd stop since Jake wasn't there, but he didn't want to walk back to the house. He set a cup down and called Vivian, doing his best to look composed and calm, after all, everyone got coffee in the morning, no magazine would pay anything for pictures of him doing what everyone did. Jake didn't ever think they'd make the trek, two hours away to get pictures of him was too much trouble when they had bigger celebrities in their immediate area. But now that he had an Oscar, and now that Chris had an Oscar, they had prices on their heads. Chris had come home that morning in a huff, handing Jake his coffee and stomping back into the bedroom. Jake figured the photographer would be a one-time deal. He didn't do much more than go to the supermarket, jog, and other boring things. They'd figure out that he wasn't dancing on tables or flying girls in and leave him alone. He could wait it out, but Chris wasn't used to the attention when he was alone. "What are you going to do without me?" Chris asked as they got closer to the house. "Get work done," Jake said, "sit home and miss you." Chris pushed open the door to the house, "Watch me on TV. It'll remind you that you're dating a fuck-up and you won't miss me anymore." "You're not a fuck-up," Jake said, "even if you were there drooling on yourself, you'd still look smarter than half the people they have on those shows." Jake had skipped all the promotion he could after the Oscars, Dean giving the press some bullshit about intense language training for his next movie. Chris, however, didn't get much attention, it was just now slowly happening, people were interested in his book now that his name was out there, and now people who didn't know about him wanted all they could get. Vivian had scheduled him on every morning show in New York and then an appearance on Oprah, which Chris begged her to get out of, but the Houghton Mifflin executives were practically drooling with the prospect of having Chris on the show, everything Oprah touched turned into gold, and they were hoping to get a new golden boy out of it. "A week apart won't feel like anything after those three months," Chris said, "but I'm not looking forward to it." "Maggie or Peter is going pick you up in New York," Jake said, "I'll be in Chicago though, so I'll get you there. They're cool with it." Chris nodded, having Maggie around was going to make it a lot easier, but he always felt like he was being babysat, she treated him like another little brother. He loved her though, really loved her like a sister, so any excuse to see her was a good one. "I'm going to set up some meetings in New York, I don't want her to have to dote on me." "She likes it, really," Jake said, "she'd rather do that than worry about us." Jake wrapped his arms around Chris' back, wanting to remember everything before he dropped Chris off, the smells, the feel of Chris' hair on his cheek, everything. Sighing, Chris turned around and pushed his lips to Jake's, a week away from this and he'd go crazy. *** "I think that people liked the story because everyone's felt lost," Chris said, reminding himself to sit up straight. He didn't need to sound stupid and look stupid, "I wrote it and I never thought it'd be a movie, and even as I wrote the script, I just wanted it out there. It's exciting to have had so many people respond to it." He couldn't believe he was sitting across from Diane Sawyer. And tomorrow, he'd be sitting across for Katie Couric. He couldn't believe it. "I loved it, but the thing on everyone's mind is how Hollywood embraced you. You're seen all over with Natalie Portman, with Jake Gyllenhaal, his sister Maggie, the list goes on. How does that make you feel?" "They're just normal people," Jake heard Chris say. He looked good, his hair combed and his unbuttoned shirt casual compared to the stuffiness of the interviewer. Jake took another bite of his bagel as he watched Chris, smiling and laughing along, perfectly comfortable when he ignored the fact that he was being watched by just about every suburban home in America. "And you're especially close with Jake." "We live in the same town," Chris said, and Jake nodded. It was like a game. They tried to get things out and Chris dodged every bullet, "We're really good friends. Without him, I don't think I could have finished the script." Chris was an expert at steering the conversation back to his book. Diane Sawyer was an expert too, though, so she stayed composed, "What is your reaction to the Pulitzer Prize announcement?" "I didn't know they were announced," Chris said, genuinely thrown off guard. He had no idea they were even announced to the public, it sort of just happened and he'd get wind of it eventually, but this time, it fell right into his lap. Vivian didn't call him, he realized, which couldn't be good. "There was controversy surrounding your book," Diane said. "News comes slow to Santa Barbara," Chris interrupted. Jake's eyes grew wide, glued to the screen. Oscar and Pulitzer? What was next? Nobel Prize? "Since you had a poem, a novel-length work, and a short story all in one, you didn't fit into any of the categories," Diane explained, finally satisfied that she was getting something juicy. Chris glanced over her shoulder. Vivian was on the phone yelling at someone. "I don't write to win awards," Chris said, "the fact that they wanted to fit me into a category means a lot." He couldn't believe he said that, it was so cheesy. He wished he could take it back. Jake didn't know anything about book award procedures, but he knew it was unfair to disqualify someone for being creative and unique. It seemed to go against the idea of honoring a book at all. "The committee released a statement because your publishers demanded that they fit you in somewhere," Diane said, "and the response was that your promise allows you to be nominated at a later date, when you release work that won't brew controversy." Chris wanted to burn down the Houghton Mifflin building for screwing him over like this. He didn't ask for any of this and now they were making him look like a crybaby on TV. He wanted to scream. "No, it's really just amazing to have my work out there and having people read it. That's all that writers want. The other stuff is just extra." Jake smiled. It was cordial, polite, sincere, and genuine. It was true too; Chris had a short attention span, only realizing that certain things were there for a week or so before he started to ignore them and eventually even forget about them. "You're so young and I'm sure we'll see many things from you in the future," Diane Sawyer said, "Blue Eyes Blue is out at bookstores everywhere and Christopher will be appearing on the Oprah Winfrey Show next week. We hope to see you around again soon and look forward to any of your work." "Support your local independent bookstore," Chris added. He smiled into the camera as Diane threw back to Charles Gibson and Chris let out a sigh. Diane offered her hand and Chris shook it, doing his best to keep a smile on his face. He never figured out when the cameras turned off, red lights blinked and cameramen were lazy. Diane stood up and he ran over to Vivian, her face as bewildered as his own. "I don't know what the fuck is going on," Vivian said, "they didn't tell me anything." "I don't care," Chris said, "but now I'm going to have to talk about this all week. Can you get some more info, please?" *** Jake shut the front door, wondering how the Pulitzer Prizes managed to slip Chris' mind. They were the Oscars of writing, right? But Chris went to the actual Oscars, which may have distracted him. Jake hopped into his car, hoping that public radio would be having a debate or something. If anyone was pushing the limits of literature, it was Chris. He should be awarded, not disqualified. He hoped his meetings would let out early, the last thing he wanted to do was dodge paparazzi as he missed his boyfriend. He wasn't in the greatest mood now that he knew that everything wasn't okay with Chris in New York. He reached for his phone and called Maggie, hoping that Chris wasn't burning down a skyscraper or assembling a riot somewhere. Chris may not have cared about awards, but Jake figured that he didn't like to be embarrassed on national television. He slid his sunglasses off of his head and onto his face, wishing he was there with Chris to lend him a shoulder, some words of support at least. He stopped at a red light, seriously considering canceling all his meetings and flying out to New York. Chris needed him and he needed Chris. Maggie hadn't answered his call, and as his thumb ran over the slick keys on his phone, he realized that he'd work had come first for him until Chris, he wouldn't have even thought about it before, Dean was lining up auditions and readings for him, big name studios wanted him and amazing roles were coming his way, but if he had to, he'd drop it all. He'd put everything on hold. "You didn't see me on TV this morning did you?" "No 'hello?'" Jake asked, grinning, "you did great, I watched every minute of it." "So you saw me freak out," Chris said, "I practically sweated through my suit." "No way," Jake said, his voice calm, "you were great. You don't need another award. We're running out of room." "I just needed to talk to you," Chris said, "how's everything at home?" "Things never change around here, you know that." "Who are you kidding, there weren't photogs everywhere when I was twelve." Jake laughed, "I love you. If they ask you about it tomorrow, throw them off. Don't bring it up again until Oprah. She'll have the background info and then you'll get the real information." "I love you too," Chris said, "do me a favor and sign on to a movie in LA. I miss you already." *** Jake stepped out onto the street again, the longer he lived in Santa Barbara, the more he forgot where everything was in LA. He knew there was a cafe he used to go to all the time around here somewhere, but he couldn't figure out where. He ran the meeting through his head again. He was getting good scripts, but he seemed to be the only one who was interested in them. He remembered saying something like, "I'm done playing brooding, misunderstood guys," but he couldn't remember exactly. He really was done with that, but inevitably, people would expect him to take those Holden Caulfield-type roles. He walked down the block and ducked into a bookstore, knowing that they'd have a Zagat or something that'd spark his memory. He nodded at the clerk at the counter, getting a weak "Hello" in return, he was more into the latest issue of US Weekly than customer service, but Jake walked right past him. He ran his fingers over the covers of the books, recognizing a lot of them from Chris' bookshelves. Chris bought a few books every week and only ended up reading half of them. Jake read a few, but the routine was the same every week, Chris would buy books and forget out them. Chris loved the store back at home, small and intimate, the employees wrote cards for books they liked and always went out of their way to recommend the new stuff to him. Jake liked it because it had a lot of little alcoves where he and Chris usually made out. Smiling, Jake picked up a copy of Blue Eyes Blue, the eerie blue eye familiar now that he'd seen it a million times. He brought it over to the clerk, "How's this selling?" He pulled out the New York Times Book Review and flipped to the charts in the back as Jake watched the practiced movements. He probably got asked that six or seven times a day. "Number three this week," he said, "but that's as good as number one behind Dan Brown and Danielle Steele. It's the number one real book." Jake nodded, opening the book to the back flap to see Chris smiling back at him. "Everyone at the store loves it. We push it hard." "I read it when it came out," Jake said, "it hit me hard." "Yeah, he's a great writer," he said, "it's heartbreaking." "What did you think of the ending?" "Some people don't get it," he said, leaning over the counter, "but there's something about it that makes it real. We don't live in a fairy tale." "That's exactly what I thought," Jake said, "hey there's this place I'm looking for. It has rusty brown chairs outside and really good grilled cheese sandwiches. It's around here, right?" "Urth. It's two blocks down and one over," he said as he pointed out the window, "we go there after work all the time." "Thanks," Jake said, "I'm glad you liked the book." "I'm glad you did too," he said, "sucks about the Prize though, we were pulling for it." "Good to know," Jake said, "better luck next time for him, right?" "That's how it's got to be. Who gives a fuck anyway? All a Pulitzer does is put your book in the front of the store, and we put him up front anyway." He paused, trying to be discreet about looking at Jake's face closely. Jake wondered if he'd say anything about recognizing him, but what came out surprised him even more, "Has anyone told you that your eyes looks just like the one on the book?" Jake looked at it closely, he knew it had something familiar about it, but here he was, staring at his own eye and not recognizing it. He felt his heart swell. It was dedicated to him and it had a piece of him on the cover, the more he thought about it, the more he came to see that the book was not just inspired by him, it was a real part of him. "Just a coincidence, I guess," Jake said, "have a good day. Thanks for your help." He stepped back out into the sun, ignoring the one photographer that had managed to find him. He didn't care, controversy had managed to push Chris up to number three. Jake wondered if people just wanted to see what the whole ordeal was about, but either way, people were reading. It was true, no publicity is bad publicity, but Chris had somehow managed to spin his disqualification into a boost in sales. Maybe the Pulitzer committee had it wrong, Chris was getting people to read, a feat worthy of a prize itself. *** "I guess I can turn around and go home," Jake heard, "there's no use in competing against Academy Award winner Jake Gyllenhaal." "Grace, this isn't supposed to happen anymore," Jake said, hugging Topher, "we're just not in the same league anymore." "Congratulations, I probably forgot to tell you that night," Topher said, patting Jake on the shoulder, "and Chris, too. It's incredible for both of you." "Thanks," Jake said, "are you reading for the lead?" "Nobody goes into auditions hoping for a supporting role," Topher said. If he was going up against Jake though, he figured he might have to settle for the supporting role. "It's really good seeing you. You should come down more often." Jake shook his head, "No, coming down for work is one thing, I'm through with it. And I don't think Chris would like it, you know how he is." "You didn't pick up the rags today, did you?" Topher said, "he's in there. They're calling him a ladykiller." Jake hated the gossip magazines. He was almost certain that they picked only the most unflattering pictures of everyone, always choosing pictures of him that made him look pissed off or mad, his mouth in almost a scowl. Chris recognized it as the look that Jake gave when he forgot where he parked his car. "I'll make sure to pick one up," Jake said. Chris and Jake avoided those magazines every week. Thursdays meant calls from Dean, either an all-clear when Jake's daily goings on were overshadowed by eating disorders, divorces, and hook ups, or a red alert when Jake was in there for allegedly hooking up or breaking up a couple. Chris was only mentioned in passing, the picture of him and Jake actually had half of him cropped out and they didn't even mention his work in their book reviews. "It was good seeing you. Give us a call if you're in town." Topher nodded, waving as he walked into the office, Jake knew Chris would be oblivious to it all, not even thinking about the tabloids. Jake missed Chris this morning on the Today Show, Katie Couric probably grilling him about his lost Pulitzer. People only wanted to hear bad news. The Today Show was Chris' last stop in New York before flying to Chicago for Oprah's show, where he'd probably have to talk about it again and possibly have to talk about whatever was in the gossip magazines. Jake hadn't even packed yet. Jake glanced at his watch, hoping he had time to stop by a newsstand to get the UsWeekly before traffic got crazy. It was only two blocks from the office, Jake pulling his shades on and shoving his hands in his pockets. Like vultures to a carcass, the photographers would catch his scent and be swarming around him in no time. "Back?" Jake nodded, going right to the newsstand. It was the same clerk, short buzzed hair and light brown eyes. Jake grabbed a magazine and slid it to him across the counter, "So you go from Christopher Lewis to this trash?" "He's actually in it, I heard," Jake said, "I want to know what lies they're spreading about him." "That he hooks up with Natalie Portman and Maggie Gyllenhaal," the clerk said. Jake couldn't hold back a chuckle. Handing the clerk a five-dollar bill and flipping through the magazine, Jake shook his head. "I'm Charles. You should call your sister and tell her what he's doing." Jake looked up at him, "It was the grin," Charles said, "I didn't know it was you last time you came in." "Jake," he said, offering his hand, "thanks for the info." "You should have known, I thought you two were best friends." "There's nothing going on between him and Maggie," Jake said, "I can tell you that for sure. And Natalie's just his friend too. He's just hanging out with his friends in New York. Isn't it crazy what some people will believe?" "They don't know any better," Charles said, "how are we supposed to know what to believe when we don't have anything to go on. We see pictures of them all over New York and we connect the dots." "Hey, do you have a back door," Jake interrupted, noticing that there were two photographers across the street, their huge zoom lenses focusing on the store's windows. "Yeah, we get celebrities all the time," he said, "I'll show you." Jake followed him, noticing that he was long and lean like Chris was before he started jogging. He knew that Chris wasn't completely miserable, but from the looks of it, he was having an amazing time going to fashion shows with Maggie and lunching with Natalie. The pictures were innocent, Chris walking on the streets of New York with Maggie, their faces smiling as they tried to ignore the cameras. The other photo showed Chris leaning in close to Natalie as they sat at a cafe, her mouth open in a huge smile. Jake almost always looked pissed off in all the pictures that the paparazzi took, but Chris was always smiling, his one dimple deep and his eyes wide, even under his sunglasses. He wasn't even trying and he looked great. Shaking his head, Jake didn't even bother reading the captions or the short article. It was as big as the press could blow up something so small, but he was sure that Chris wouldn't like it. He hated attention, and here was the worst kind. "Just go down these stairs and hang a left. This street runs parallel to Sunset." "Thanks," Jake said, "for everything. You want some gossip? Maggie's with Sarsgaard, Natalie's single right now because she's going to Italy for a movie soon, and Chris? He's not with either of them. We're all friends, if you want anything, you just have to ask nice." The words ran together, Jake just glad to get the information out there. Reliable information was about as rare in LA as natural blondes, and Jake wanted to make sure that someone knew that the rumors weren't true, even if it was just a bookstore clerk. Charles waved quickly from the top of the stairs, "Good to know. See you next time." *** Jake wheeled his suitcase down two terminals, hoping that he'd see Chris as he walked in from the plane. He had on what Chris called his bubble, namely his sunglasses and iPod, making him completely unapproachable. He'd packed the night before, laughing with Chris over the phone about how ridiculous the press could be, Chris telling him about how he'd had a long conversation with Marc Jacobs at a fashion show, not even knowing who he was. Maggie had freaked out, sitting just on the other side of him and trying to find an opportunity to tell Chris exactly who it was he was talking to, but couldn't. There was more to the article than just those pictures. It explained how Chris and Maggie had gone to a few fashion shows, Peter Sarsgaard nowhere in sight, and those same days, he was seen eating with Natalie. Sure it was normal for everyone else, but when a nobody like Chris was seen with two rising starlets, it was big news. Jake came to a stop when he saw people filing out of the plane, grateful that photographers weren't concerned with Chicago at all. It was too cold in the winter, too hot in the summer, sort of a place people passed through. Jake saw Chris step into the waiting area of the terminal, pulling along a big white suitcase; something Maggie had given him a long time ago. Chris babied it, it was a gift Maggie got from a modeling job and it probably cost more than the clothes inside. He saw Jake and ran up to him, arms thrown around his neck. "Don't you have any clothes of your own," Chris asked when he let go, his fingers running over the hem of his own sweater, feeling the soft black cashmere against Jake's stomach. Jake smiled, pulling Chris back into a hug. "What do you think these suitcases are full of?" Chris thought it felt good to be in those arms again, his eyes slowly closing as everything came back to him. The way Jake smelled, his steady heartbeat, and the firm muscles under his clothes all rushed into his head. "How was your flight?" The seven days apart felt like seven years, they'd gotten so used to being around each other so much. "I couldn't stop thinking about you," Jake whispered, "about what you'd been writing lately, about how Maggie treated you, about us. Together." Pulling his suitcase behind themselves, they walked out of the terminal and into the bustle of Chicago, not as alive and dynamic as New York, but not as laid-back as Los Angeles. Chris had only been there one other time during his promotional tour, but he already knew he didn't like it. It was too crowded and lake was a sorry excuse for an ocean. "Oprah faxed me a huge packet of stuff. This isn't going to be easy." "I'll be there. You don't have anything to worry about," Jake said as the got into a cab. Jake got a packet too, Oprah's show ran with military precision. She had her segments planned out, leaving just the littlest hints for how she was used to asking questions and receiving answers. Oprah was more serious than anything in the morning or anything late at night, but it was still just another part of the job for Jake, for Chris, it was the super bowl. Writers that got on Oprah's book club became superstars, New York Times bestsellers, and overnight sensations. Chris built up his own momentum, but Oprah would skyrocket him into fame he couldn't imagine. "I've been in so many hotels with you I feel like we shouldn't even bother unpacking," Chris said. He pulled off his jacket and threw it over a chair, stretching his arms over his head. Jake shut the door of their suite, following Chris into the living area where he just rolled his suitcase into a corner. Jake pushed his against the back of the couch before walking over to Chris, wrapping his arms around his back. Chris felt the muscles of Jake's chest against his back, Jake's lips brushing his ear and moving down to his neck. He knew every curve and detail of Jake's body, from his broad forehead all the way down to his toes, Chris has touched every inch, studied every minute aspect of Jake, committing it to memory because of moments like these, because even a week was hard. Jake loved to reacquaint himself with Chris though, his hands always exploring and touching, lips sweeping over neck and throat as he pulled up Chris' sweater. Jake always imagined their reunions with more talking, but when they actually happened, he couldn't help but kiss Chris' lips, slide his hands up under Chris' shirt, and crave more warm skin against his own. "I missed you so much," Chris panted, his hands coming up to cup Jake's cheeks. Jake kissed him, hands pulling off Chris' shirt. He yanked off his own and their chests crashed together, hands exploring skin. Chris closed his eyes, the familiarity of it all returning to him, the curves of Jake's back, the broad sweep of his shoulder. He let out a sigh and unbuttoned Jake's jeans, his lips nibbling at Jake's jaw. He felt Jake's hands at his waist, fingertips brushing underneath the waistband of his underwear. Jake ran his hands up Chris' back, sending shivers through Chris' body. He gasped when Jake's pants slid off, his hard cock pressing against Chris' thigh through his pants. His hand went straight for it, feeling it, hard and thick, through the thin fabric of Jake's underwear. Groaning, Jake pushed Chris' pants down, their bodies radiating heat as they brushed past each other, Jake pulling Chris into the bedroom. "Fuck, Chris," Jake panted, "you drive me crazy." Chris felt Jake pull him down, his body crashing down on top of Jake's, their lips hungry as they met. Chris couldn't control himself either, his hands reaching for anything he could touch, Jake's skin hot under his fingers. He threw his head back and Jake latched onto his neck. He flipped them over, his hands running down Chris' sides. He groaned as he got up, Chris' hand stroking his cock. He looked down and saw Chris' eyes focused on the throbbing shaft, his breathing heavy. Jake scooted up, straddling Chris' chest, watching as Chris' eyes stayed on his cock, licking his lips. Jake threw his head back when he felt Chris' lips on his cock, his hands his neck tense and his entire body flushing with a searing heat. Chris ran his hand up Jake's thigh as he licked slow strokes up Jake's length, feeling the muscles tighten as he sucked on the head of Jake's cock. He felt Jake's fingers in his hair, his hips slowly thrusting forward, forcing more of his length into Chris' mouth. Groaning, Chris closed his eyes, feeling Jake's thick cock pulse in his mouth. Chris could taste the pre-cum on his tongue, the slick skin of Jake's cock sliding against it with every push and pull. He could feel Jake shiver with every nip and lick, his fingers pressing into his head. Groaning, Chris lapped at Jake's balls, feeling them tense with every slippery movement. Jake pulled Chris' head back up to his shaft, thrusting his cock into Chris' mouth again. Panting, he gripped Chris' head, thumbs stroking Chris' temples. Chris could barely breathe, excitement mixed with Jake's cock in his mouth combining, bringing him into a daze of sensation. He felt Jake jerk and freeze, hot spurts of cum on his tongue. He knew Jake normally liked to draw things out, but he must have been on a short fuse. Chris could hear Jake's labored breathing, felt Jake lean down and rub his nose against his cheek. "God, Chris," he panted, fingers trailing over his jaw. Chris ran his fingers through Jake's hair, Jake's lips on his neck. The taste of cum still lingering on his tongue, he shivered when Jake's hand wrapped around his dick. Jake brought their lips together as he pulled Chris' leg onto his shoulder, his hand running down, feeling Chris' body tense when he slipped it inside his hole. Chris' hands rested on his shoulders, gripping with each movement of Jake's finger. Jake nipped at Chris' neck, a second finger sliding into Chris' body. He felt the heat wrap around his fingers, Chris' body writhing underneath his own as he pressed deeper. He was muttering something unintelligible, his eyes shut tight and neck tense. His cock was hard, dripping with pre-cum as it rubbed against Jake's stomach. He squirmed with every movement of Jake's fingers, his toes curling and his head thrown back when he felt Jake stroke his cock. Slick and wet, Jake's own cock was rigid and throbbing with anticipation. Chris took a deep breath, wincing when Jake pulled his fingers out and feeling Jake shift and shuffle on top of him. Hungry and desperate, Chris' lips slid across Jake's, his hands moving to Jake's hair, fingers tensing when he felt the head of Jake's cock at his hole. Jake pushed in and Chris' body went rigid, he held his breath and relaxed, Jake's tongue slipping into his mouth as their bodies slid together. Chris felt the stretch in his hole as Jake pushed deeper, their grunts and groans combining in the hot air around them, fingers tangled in hair and sheets as every inch of Jake sunk inside of Chris. There was something about the way their bodies moved together, the way they fit together perfectly that made Chris think that there was no way it could be any different, no way it could feel better. Jake pulled out and nibbled on his ear, Chris gasping when he felt Jake slide back in, his cock jumping when Jake's balls slapped against his ass. His fingers traced the veins on Jake's neck as he thrust forward, Chris' breath coming in short gasps. Jake pulled out again and thrust into Chris' tight hole, muscles gripping him and fingers tensing on his neck. He watched Chris' face, eyes shut tight and his mouth hung open. It drove Jake crazy, his thrusts getting faster and deeper; he saw Chris' eyes open, glazed over and heavy-lidded. He heard Chris' groans get louder, his fingers gripping tighter onto his shoulders. He pulled Jake's face down, running their cheeks together, Jake's scratchy beard against his own smooth skin. Jake closed his eyes, body moving in long fluid strokes. Chris could feel every inch of Jake throbbing inside him, pushing him open with every thrust. He felt his hard cock rubbing against Jake's stomach, hard and dripping pre-cum. He felt like he was going to explode, his entire body tingling. He felt jolts of electricity running up his back, it was hard to breathe and he could barely hold onto Jake's slick skin. It was too much all at once, he'd gladly give up breathing if it meant he could feel more, take in more sensation. Jake's mouth on his neck, scratchy beard, tight stomach against his cock, fingers on his shoulders and hip, thick cock lodged in his ass, he didn't know what to concentrate on. Groaning, he felt hot cum on his chest, his own cock shooting between their gasping bodies. Chris felt his entire body tense up, his hands reaching for anything they could grip as he flailed under Jake's weight. It swept over him in waves, he felt like he was drowning under it all. Jake pulled their lips together and steadied his own body, slippery cum gluing their bodies together. He kept thrusting, gripping Chris' leg as he felt the tight muscles squeeze his thick shaft, his own movements losing their steady pace, giving way to a fevered combination of short and quick, long and hard thrusts. He could feel Chris breathing hard and when Chris' lips and tongue pressed against his neck, fingers tangling in his sweaty hair, he felt a tingle in his cock, cum spurting deep inside of the tight hole. Frozen, he shot for what seemed like an eternity, Chris gasping and panting under him. Jake fell down on top of him, sweat and cum covering their heaving chests. Jake pulled their bodies together, rolling onto his side and letting Chris settle against him. A few minutes and he was feeling Chris relax beside him, fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. Chris rested his head on Jake's chest, feeling his heartbeat against his ear. No matter what happened, it seemed to stay the same steady rhythm when they went to sleep and no matter what was swirling around in his head, it made Chris forget about everything but Jake. Closing his eyes, he felt it under him, steady and strong. *** "And you never expected to be the name on everyone's mind in Hollywood?" "No, not at all. All the pieces sort of fell into my lap, I just had to put them back together," Chris said. A few more minutes and Jake would be out here with him, he couldn't wait. "Can you explain that? I know some of us know what went on, but I'm sure not everyone does," Oprah said, leaning back in her chair. "Mike White, who was originally writing the script from my book backed out because he was just too busy and he didn't expect that my book would have so much to it. I didn't know what to do, but talking to some people, I just sat down and wrote it." "Was it hard to go through that all on your first time around? I know I would have freaked out, you managed to keep a level head." Chris paused, wondering if he really did keep a level head. Jake had helped him through all that, he definitely didn't do it all on his own. "I did freak out. I was crying and didn't know what to do." "We're all glad that you got through it, I loved the movie." The audience clapped and Chris practically beamed. He didn't imagine Oprah's target audience was the same as his, but it was good to know that they had gone out to see the movie, maybe even read his books. "But Hollywood has embraced you. How does that feel?" "I don't really hang out in that scene too much, but when I do, it's really cool to be able to hang out with people that I've seen in movies." "Like who?" Chris was surprised how quickly the conversation had turned from the movie to this. "Maggie Gyllenhaal and I are really good friends, we have a lot in common. So I try to spend a lot of time with her." "We actually have some pictures of you guys at fashion week," Oprah said looking over her shoulder. Chris watched as a picture of Maggie and he appeared on the screen, fading into other pictures of them at the fashion show. "You know who that is next to you, right?" "I do now," Chris said, blushing, "I didn't then. That's what I mean. I feel really out of place a lot of the time. I'm still sort of taking it all in." "Well we asked around, and your friends describe you as shy and quiet." "I'd say they're right," Chris said, shrugging, "who did you ask?" "We'll tell you that in a second, but when we get back from break, one of Hollywood's most praised actors joins Christopher Lewis here on the show. They just happen to be good friends, so we'll see what's next for both of these promising young men." Chris sat back as a makeup girl ran up to him to powder his face, "Thanks for keeping it going," he heard Oprah say, "you're a natural, really. We'll get back to your books, so don't worry; we just have to keep them interested." He noticed that her microphone was off, the audience wasn't hearing any of it. The show really did run with military precision, every detail planned. It amazed Chris how everything was produced down to the second. He didn't feel rushed at all, but he knew that Oprah had all the questions lined up in her head, ready to interrupt one of his answers with something to drive the conversation forward. "Jake Gyllenhaal joined the ranks of Dustin Hoffman, Jack Nicholson, Tom Hanks, and Marlon Brando this year with his Oscar win. We have him here, please give him a warm welcome," Oprah said. Chris recognized the music playing from the soundtrack of The Lazarus Effect, and he saw Jake come out, a big smile on his face as he waved to the audience. He looked good with his hair combed, his black suit neat and tidy. He gave Oprah a hug and Chris stood up to hug him too, the familiar feeling of his arms calming Chris' excitement. "You two know each other," Oprah said, "we've seen the pictures of you two all over. You made a quick connection." "Chris is great, anyone would be stuck to him the way I am," Jake said, "we were just going through big changes at the same time." "Jake had just moved up to Santa Barbara where I live and I was just starting a new project and still finding a way. It was really cool that we got to know each other so fast," Chris said, looking over at Jake. "Jake, you already heard what others said about Chris, how would you describe him?" "He's shy and quiet at first, so I get that, but he's also smart, really driven," Jake said, "he'll work on something and just get lost in it. He'll forget to eat and just write." Jake paused and looked at him, "He's really smart, and you can almost see the wheels turning in his head." Chris blushed and looked away. It was almost too sweet. "You two were billed as part of this new wave of young Hollywood," Oprah said as their Entertainment Weekly cover appeared behind them, "after winning, do either of you feel like you have to do even better on your next projects?" "I always try to choose roles that let me grow," Jake said, "I'm taking a break right now though. There are a lot of things coming to both of us." "Chris?" "I'm working on something right now," he said, feeling Jake glance at him. He'd promised Jake he'd take some time off, but he was hit by something the other day and he'd been writing again. "Not a movie, but it's something that I'm excited about." "Your book Blue Eyes Blue is heartbreaking. It's scary how real it is, where did you get the idea and what inspires your writing?" "It's about what love does to you, so it's a little bit personal experience, a little fiction, and just a lot of stuff that came out. I'm probably the worst person to ask about the creative process, it just happens." "And Jake, you've read it?" "Yes, it's one of my favorite books. Hands down," Jake said, "it's something everyone should read. I think that whatever he does next, he can only get better." The audience clapped again, Jake firmly patting Chris on the shoulder. "We'll be right back, more with Christopher and Jake then." Jake leaned over to Chris, "What are you working on?" he whispered. "Just two short stories. Long ones, though," Chris said, "it's no big deal." "You say it isn't a big deal but I know it is," Jake said. Oprah was looking over notes that one of the production assistants had brought over. "Don't get mad, it's still just starting. It might fizzle out, you know me." "I'm not mad," Jake said, "I just don't want you burning out again." Chris leaned back in the chair, nodding. He didn't realize how low he'd really gotten until Oprah said Jake had mentioned how he forgot to eat earlier. "Jake, how is it going now that you're away from the crazy world of Los Angeles?" "I love it, I can't ask for anything better. I have an amazing house and I get to cook and read. I walk everywhere, it's great." Hearing Jake talk about how happy he was brought a smile to Chris' face. He looked over at Jake and he smiled back, "I couldn't ask for more." Chris saw what made Oprah who she was. She had an ability to make people feel at ease, to get them to say things they normally wouldn't, and to get people to open up like nothing else could. As she talked to Jake about winning his Oscar, Chris noticed she was genuinely interested and her questions really were what people wanted to ask. She was a genius and she wasn't even trying. Impressed, Chris just sat back and watched. He didn't think that he'd ever get used to the press and these interviews, but the more he did it, the more he felt like they weren't so bad. It was just another way to express himself, his real self. No hiding behind fiction and form, it was raw and real. "And here's the latest article in Vanity Fair," Oprah said, "How was it working with Mario Testino, Christopher?" Snapping out of his reverie, Chris looked over her shoulder and saw the cover of Vanity Fair, his expression pensive and his eyes mischievous. "Whoa, a cover?" Chris almost screamed. Vanity Fair and Vivian didn't say anything about a cover story. The Entertainment Weekly article focused more on the movie and the awards, but here it was, an entire article and photo spread on him. "It was hard, he kept saying things I didn't understand. 'Try to be sexy?' I didn't know how to. I kept laughing and he kept laughing. It took forever. It's the first ever literature issue though, so it's not just about me. They interviewed a lot of other writers." Jake looked at the cover, amazed at how natural Chris always looked when he wasn't trying to do anything. Oprah closed the show but Jake didn't hear it, enamored with the picture of Chris up there, Chris right next to him, the talk of inspiration and success in his head. This is what he'd dreamed about for so long and he finally had it. "One last question," Oprah said, "what inspires you?" Neither knew which one she was addressing, but their answers came out in unison, "Love." --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com