Date: Wed, 19 Apr 2006 19:25:23 -0700 From: christopher. Subject: Breaking Through part 14 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. So this is where things get serious, but I'm going to warn everyone that this chapter deals with things that could happen to anyone and that if they happen to you or someone you know, it's serious, not just something in a Jake Gyllenhaal fan's fiction. But apart from that, I'm also going to add that I'm extremely proud of this chapter. I thought I had a bout of writers block during the last two chapters, but it's amazing how a few Jake movies and looking at some Jake photos online will get rid of anything that ails you. Buy yourself some DVDs and click over to www.iheartjakemedia.com. A few fans have come out of the woodwork, people who've been reading since the beginning, to tell me how much they like the story and where's going/been, and I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate that. It's great to check the Inbox and have so many encouraging words. If you've suggested something, look for it, I usually put them in. So whether you're a new reader or someone who's been following since chapter one, I'd love to hear from you. Email comments/concerns/questions to christopherrluu@gmail.com Part XIV Smoothing the lapels of his jacket, Chris stepped out of the car and buttoned the top button, smiling and waving as cameras flashed. Vivian was right behind him, adjusting the straps on her dress as a media kit was shoved into her hands. "I look ok, right?" Chris asked. Vivian nodded, her eyes sweeping over the list of press and interviewers dotting the length of the red carpet. "Can you make sure they don't ask about Jake?" There was so much publicity around Jake's movie that he didn't want to accidentally let something slip. It was hard enough keeping everything in his head straight; he didn't want to screw up anything else. "They're going to ask whether I tell them to or not, Chris," Vivian said, pushing stray hairs behind her ears. "Ready?" Chris followed Vivian down the carpet, amazed at how there suddenly seemed to be nobody he recognized. At LA premieres, he could pick out exactly who would be in the gossip columns the next day, either because of outrageous outfits or a sudden reemergence from obscurity, but nobody knew what writers looked like. The pictures on the back of books were usually old, really old. "Christopher, how does it feel to be here tonight?" Vivian stopped him and he straightened his jacket, "Harper's Bazaar," she whispered into his ear. Chris relaxed, they wouldn't care about he and Jake. "It's great. It's an honor to be recognized by the New Yorker, any writer will tell you that." "But you're not just any writer. Tonight you're the most influential writer under twenty-five. The voice of a generation that people thought didn't care about reading anymore." "There's no way to write and satisfy everyone, but I think that I try to write stuff that everyone can at least relate to. I don't think I'm influential, I just write what comes out." "And that's made you one of the most recognizable writers in America, you're up there with Hollywood actors. People want to read about you as well as read what you write." "It's really flattering, but if they knew how boring I was, it might change their mind." Vivian gave her the signal, only one question left. She nodded, "What can we expect next from you?" "Something new and exciting, it's really different for me. It should be out in a month or so, will you give it a good review?" She laughed as Vivian pulled Chris down the carpet. The New Yorker attracted high crust New York literati, so Chris wasn't surprised people knew who he was, it just startled him how different from LA New York really was. He gave a few more interviews before the big names towards the end of the carpet; there, New York, the New York Times Magazine, and Vogue had set up their stations. Whereas Jake had to deal with MTV, Entertainment Weekly, and People Magazine, it was those magazines like those that ignored Chris completely when he was at events like this, New York Magazine, Vanity Fair, and Vogue, however, were really good to him, he was sort of their darling, Chris always looked forward to seeing if they wanted to talk to him. He'd been in Vogue a few times, once in a feature and once just on the society pages, but he'd always hoped they'd ask him to write for them. Short fiction in Vogue only happened every other issue, so it was pretty cutthroat. They usually stuck to safe writers and big names. The only thing was, Vogue and New York cared about Jake, too. He didn't know if they'd send someone more interested in gossip or someone interested in literature. "Christopher Lewis, how are you doing tonight?" "Great, it's good to be here in New York." "We've been seeing you all over town, why is it sometimes you're out of our minds for months at a time and then suddenly we can't pick up a paper without seeing your name?" "I guess that's up to you guys, right, not me?" "Are you alone tonight?" "I am." "No famous friends with you tonight, but you still look like you're having a good time." "They were all booked." "Can you tell us about what inspires you to write?" "Everyday things, you just have to look at them differently. I'm writing every day, so not everything's great, but you can go people watching and just imagine what's going on. Everybody says something with the way they walk or the way they look. I'm just elaborating." "You recently won an award in Japan, how do you react to so many accolades?" "They're nice, especially if you get to dress up and there's a party, and I feel like it's good to be recognized for your hard work. I'm proud of my work, where's going, where it came from." "Jake Gyllenhaal recently said in an interview that you're one of the people he admires creatively. You two have been friends for a while, do you bounce ideas off each other?" "Jake is the first person I call when I get an idea, so I'd say that creatively, we help each other out. He's great, I don't know what I'd do without someone that gives instant feedback." "He's usually at events like this to support you, is he just too busy?" "He didn't get an invitation," Chris said, glancing at Vivian, she smiled, "no, he's shooting a movie in Seattle right now." "We look forward to your next project, be it film or novel, you truly are one of your generation's major voices." Chris shook his hand and Vivian moved closer to him, "All they want to hear about is the Hollywood connection." Chris nodded; it was understandable. It was what sold magazines. He missed Jake and couldn't wait to fly back to Seattle. Not only was the coffee amazing, he found that even though it was cold, the people were warm. With the details of his next book being smoothed out, he was watching Jake on the set, the first time he really got to see Jake in action day after day. And it was nice to have a change of surroundings, he loved being home, but seeing new places wasn't something people complained about. "Last one." "Mr. Lewis, how does it feel to receive another accolade?" "It feels great," Chris said, "just another day at the office." Vivian gave him a sideways glance and he could barely keep from laughing. "What are you reading right now?" Chris was always reading something, usually three or four things at once, "Dickens, Eggers. Nothing too crazy." "Natalie Portman is presenting the award to you tonight, is it good to know your friends support your work? Do you see their movies and go to their premieres?" "Natalie is a great person, I love her. I try to go to as many of her events but sometimes it's too much. I'm not the kind of person that goes out every night." "Everyone's been amazed at how your work has developed. You had a coming of age story and then a story about obsession--it's such a broad spectrum of topics. Can you tell us where all the different ideas come from?" "It's just what's going on at the time, it just happens that those things came up like that. When inspiration strikes, you're trapped." "Last question before you have to go, where do you keep your Oscar?" "I don't pay much attention to it, it just sits on a bookshelf. It's not good to obsess about things like that, right? Have to stay focused." *** Chris felt a soft nuzzle on his neck, a low murmur escaping his lips. "Wake up," Jake said quietly, "how did everything go?" Surprised, Chris sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. Jake ran his fingers through Chris' messy hair, a smile on his face, his eyes tired but happy. Chris smiled, his fingers tracing Jake's jaw, "They made you shave?" Jake nodded, rubbing his smooth cheek against Chris'. "I can't believe you flew out here." "Caught the red eye so that I could congratulate you. It's hard enough being apart, but you're all the way across the country," Jake said, kissing his jaw softly, "three hours ahead. Partying with book people." Smiling, Chris rolled on top of Jake, his stiff jeans scratching Chris' legs, "My speech sucked, but Natalie and I met Salman Rushdie. I couldn't believe it. I didn't know what to say to him. He probably hadn't ever heard of me." Jake ran his hands down Chris' back, "You have to work tomorrow?" "I have the weekend off," Jake said, his hands running under Chris' t-shirt. He pulled Chris down, their lips coming together as Chris' fingers traced Jake's collarbone. Chris groaned, the familiar tingle of his skin under Jake's fingertips and the foreign sensation of kissing a clean- shaven Jake combining as he felt Jake's steady breaths under him. He could see the dim sunlight peeking through the curtains, the early morning sun golden and pure. "What's that?" Jake whispered, glancing at the bedside table. Chris pulled Jake's face back to his, slightly offended that he was so easily distracted. He could feel Jake's heart racing. "Did you get any sleep?" Chris asked, his voice breathy. "Your heart is beating a million times a minute." "Coffee. Lots of coffee," Jake whispered, the mood was gone, Chris reaching over for the papers on top of the table. "Natalie and I are doing something for the National Education Association. We're promoting literacy," Chris said, falling onto the bed beside Jake. "So I'm not out of a job, you know?" "That's great," Jake said, leaning over to face Chris, "man, you're going to do such big things." Chris smiled, Jake's eyes sparkling in the early morning light, "We're taking pictures for billboards and magazines and stuff today. They're making sure people get sick of looking at us so they read books without pictures. So I don't have the weekend off." Jake looked a little disappointed. "We won't be all day though," Chris said, running his fingers over Jake's cheek. Jake sighed, a slight smile returning to his lips. "It starts really early, we should be done really quick. It'll probably be me messing up the pictures, you know Natalie." Jake leaned over, silencing Chris with a kiss. He felt Chris relax and slid on top of him, their warm bodies breaking the chill of the morning. Jake pulled off his sweater, throwing it to the side of the bed. Chris reached up, hands running over smooth skin. And just like that, the mood was back. Chris unbuttoned Jake's jeans, his fingers dipping into Jake's underwear, fingers wrapping around his hard cock. Jake groaned, leaning down to nibble at Chris' ear. Jake wiggled out of his pants as Chris pulled his pajama bottoms down, their hard cocks rubbing against each other as Jake pulled Chris' t-shirt off. A hiss escaped Chris' lips as Jake jerked his cock, his eyes shut tight. He bit his lip, wishing Jake's hands didn't know exactly how he liked it, exactly what made him crazy, exactly how to make him cum in no time at all. Chris felt Jake's lips on his neck, his own hands resting on Jake's biceps, feeling them flex with every movement. Chris gasped, feeling his cock throb and then hot cum shooting up his chest, his face flushing and Jake's hand jerking him. Chris pulled Jake up, lips desperate for Jake's against his. Chris reached for Jake's cock, feeling it throb in his hand. Jake almost purred, his mouth opening in a silent groan. The phone rang and Jake slapped it off the table, sick and tired of technology getting in their way. "It's just a wakeup call," Chris said, panting. He pushed Jake down, straddling his hips. Jake jerked his own cock, smearing pre-cum down its length, his entire body shivering with anticipation. Chris leaned down, kissing at Jake's neck as he lowered his hips, not wanting Jake to see him wince as his cock pressed into him. He held his breath as Jake inched into him, his hips flexing. Chris felt Jake's hips against his ass and he threw his head back, long neck stretching and a low groan escaping his lips. Jake held onto Chris' hips and he rose and fell, his own cock hard again after just a few thrusts. Jake threw his head back, Chris' tight ass squeezing his entire length. Jake opened his eyes to see Chris' face tense, his mouth slack and his body flushed and glinting with sweat. Pushing Chris down, Jake's lips ran over his collarbone, their bodies tangling together as Jake straddled one of Chris' legs, pulling the other over his shoulder. Chris groaned, Jake's thrusts getting faster and deeper. Chris' fists grasped at the sheets, his knuckles white and his jaw tight. Jake was hitting him right where it drove him crazy, he could feel his entire body shake as it tried to process it all. Jake was panting, Chris' ears full of his own groans and Jake's breathy pants. He held onto Jake's shoulders, feeling the hard muscles under his fingers as Jake's thrusts became steadily harder and slower, drawing a long low groan from Chris' throat. He felt Jake shudder and freeze, but he could still feel Jake's hard cock inside him, thick and hot. Chris held Jake's cheeks, eyes questioning, but Jake's were shut, his teeth clenched. Then suddenly, the thrusts were there again, hard and quick now, Jake's heavy balls slapping against his ass. Chris let out a moan, his body flooded with sensation. He was delirious, fireworks going off in his head as he came again, his ass squeezing Jake's cock even tighter. Chris' entire body shook and shuddered, Jake holding him steady as he came a few seconds later, thick ribbons of cum shooting from his cock into the tight confines of Chris' ass. He collapsed on top of Chris, their heaving bodies crashing together as sweat and cum smeared between them. Chris' shaky hands ran up Jake's back over muscle and skin to tangle in Jake's hair. Jake rested on Chris' chest, hand reaching for Chris' cheek. The sun was brighter now, rays of deep golden light streaming into the room from the pleats of the drapes. As the pleasant heaviness of Jake settled on top of him, Chris wished they could stay like this all day, sun streaming onto their naked bodies. It was almost poetic how Jake's heartbeat and his own were almost in sync, how Jake's hand pulled his own into a tangle of fingers. Chris wanted to remember it forever. *** "You look great, you're like glowing," Natalie said, her slim arms wrapping around his waist. Chris blushed, his hands reaching into his pockets again. Jake had mentioned it before, just about everyone had mentioned it, but it seemed like a nervous tick he'd never outgrow. "Jake flew in, so I'm feeling good," Chris admitted, "nothing like a surprise, right?" "He's so sweet," Natalie said, "what are they making you wear?" "White shirt, jeans, normal stuff," Chris said. He looked at a table, full of eyeglasses for him to choose from, "they want us to look intellectual, I guess." "I'm going to be holding your book," Natalie said, proud, "I don't care what they say." "I wonder what they're making me do," Chris said, choosing a thick black pair of glasses. He put them on and slid them up into his hair, "I'm going to get over to makeup and wardrobe, we're already running late." Natalie nodded, following Chris' lead. Photo shoots were really scary, bright lights and assistants stressing out, but they were in a library--somewhere Chris always felt comfortable. The lights and assistants were in the aisles around where they'd be shooting, so Chris could almost ignore them. "We want you to look like you're reading, but look engaged in each other, too," the photographer said when he and Natalie sat on the floor of the library, backs leaning against the shelves. Chris had pulled a few books off the cart they provided, completely ignoring the instructions for him to grab something by Shakespeare or Steinbeck, "make sure we can see the covers, kids are going to want to read whatever you guys have." Chris doubted that, but he cracked the spine of Salinger's Nine Stories, something he knew kids might actually read. True to her word, Natalie was holding a hardcopy cover of Blue Eyes Blue, her eyes actually scanning the pages. "You've developed Jake's taste in books too?" She asked, giggling. Chris loosened the striped tie they put on him, rolling up his sleeves. "It's a little shout out to him." The light shined in from the window behind them, the photographer snapping pictures as the giggled and joked. Reading is not only educational, Chris thought; it was social and fun, too. He didn't ever go into the library barefoot, but it would look good in the pictures. They tried a few more poses: standing up and leaning against the shelves before moving to different parts of the library. If these pictures were going to be in every media outlet there was, Chris hoped that people wouldn't have to stare at just one picture. He switched out his book pretty often, brandishing Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird when they posed at a table and then switching to Catcher in the Rye when they posed in front of a window, the New York skyline behind them. "You're too cute," Natalie said, leaning over to make it look like she was pointing out a great passage in her book, "picking all his favorite books." "I like these books, too," Chris said, pushing the glasses back up his nose. He ignored the photographer, these pictures weren't supposed to look posed. Natalie was in a sweater and a skirt, leather loafers on her tiny feet. "Tell me these pictures aren't going to be cheesy." "With class acts like us? Who are you kidding?" Natalie joked. She shuffled over so that it looked like she was sitting in Chris' lap and they were reading together, her back against his chest. Reading could be romantic, too. Chris was glad that she knew what she was doing, feeling more like a prop than anything else as Natalie posed with him. The photographer skated around them, getting the picture from various angles as they sat there, smiles on their faces. "Ok, solo shots with Natalie first, then we're almost done. You guys can practice your lines while we do the individuals," the photographer said. Chris looked confused, "Lines?" "For the commercials," Natalie said, "they'll hold up cards, you don't have to memorize them or anything. Just practice." Chris felt his hand shaking. Cameras were bad enough, but video? He couldn't imagine seeing himself on television interrupting cartoons and glossy teen dramas exalting the joys of reading. It was what they hired him for though, Vivian just left out the TV commercial part when she explained the contract to him. As they got their makeup touched up, an assistant handed Chris a script. It was only one page, but he was still nervous. "They should have chosen Jake for this," Chris murmured. "They wanted you," Natalie said, "what do two actors know about good books? We're superficial, remember?" "You two are so smart, who are you kidding?" Natalie leaned in, "Jake dropped out of school, I'm not sure they want to be promoting that," she whispered in Chris' ear. Chris nodded, letting her words sink in. He knew, but he didn't think that it'd ever play into the opportunities he'd get. "They really wanted you." She'd been saying it all day, but Chris was just now realizing that she might be right. "Hey, instead of this, can we do voiceovers from the books? I think it'd be cooler," Natalie asked. An intern caught wind of it and it spread like wildfire. Suddenly, Chris wasn't so nervous anymore. He could mess up as many times as he wanted and it would still be okay. The storyboard he saw earlier was quickly being disassembled, new sketches popped up in its place almost instantly. No more looking into the camera, no more clumsy lines. It was just Chris and Natalie at the library, the same shots as the pictures. Voiceovers from Salinger and even his own book and then finally, the slogan, "Reading is FUNdamental." Chris' fingers traced over the little sketches, relieved that he had boiled it down to just one line, one line in unison with Natalie at that. As Natalie sat in a little study room they had converted into a recording room, Chris started flipping for some recognizable passages. The shoot was running long and he was getting anxious. He wandered the floor that they had closed off for the shoot, the low-pile carpet hard against his bare feet. He walked up and down the aisles, the old books tattered with countless checkouts and returns. The interns and assistants were still milling around the perimeter of the shoot, adjusting the blinds and lights for the commercial shoot. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned around, startled. "I've been looking for you all over," Jake whispered. Even though the entire floor wasn't in use, every single person on the set was being surprisingly quiet, the library lending itself to silence. Chris smiled and wrapped his arms around Jake's waist, "You look good. Almost done?" "Almost," Chris said, kissing Jake on the lips. After just a few hours, his scratchy stubble was starting to grow again. "Did you go back to sleep?" "For a little," Jake said, pressing their bodies together. He kissed Chris again, their lips lazy and lingering as Jake pushed Chris up against a bookshelf. "How'd you get on set?" "I have a little bit of pull," Jake said, "celebrity has its perks." Chris ran his fingers through Jake's messy hair, his thumb trailing along Jake's temple. "We're almost done. You should see the test shots, we'll have kids reading in no time." *** Jake loved two things about Seattle: Chris was there with him on set all the time and he didn't have to go far for coffee. Everything else: the rain, the mist, the drizzle, and the torrential downpours, those he could live without. At first it was a cute, maybe even charming, but now, he was sick of having to wear a raincoat and carry an umbrella everywhere he went. Trotting from the set to the trailer they'd set up for the cast to hang out in, he was surprised he hadn't slipped and landed knee deep in a puddle the whole time he'd been there. He swung open the door and saw Chris there, photos from his PSA shoot with Natalie spread all over the table, completely ignored as Chris typed away at his computer, a cup of coffee steaming away beside him. "I need to call someone," Chris said flatly. Jake hadn't noticed, but his hands were shaking and his eyes were wide. Jake shook out his umbrella and tossed his raincoat aside, drops of water spraying all around, "What's going on?" "One of my professors from graduate school is suing me. He said I used his idea for one of my books," Chris said, "but he didn't say which one or what idea I used or what's going on at all." His words were running into each other, the panic evident in his voice. "What the fuck, are you serious?" Jake said, rushing to Chris' side. He had a zillion windows on his laptop open, definitions of plagiarism, legal jargon, and copyright laws all over his monitor. "Did you call Vivian?" It seemed like the right thing to say. "She's not answering her phone," Chris said, "I don't what to do." Jake ran a soothing hand across Chris' shoulder blades, feeling the tension all over his body. He pulled a chair beside Chris', pulling him into a hug. "He can't be doing this," Jake said, "he can't prove this, right?" "I don't know. I don't know anything about this stuff," Chris said, his voice soft. He could smell Jake through his sweater; feel his beating heart. Jake had to admit he didn't know anything about it either. Jake reached for the computer and opened up Chris' email, eyes scanning for the message. It was short and terse, simply claiming that Chris had better give him his dues, twenty percent of the royalties on everything having to do with his second novel, or he'd take Chris to court. Plagiarism was something that branded writers with a sort of scarlet letter. It discredited everything that they did, all originality and individuality lost. "You're in the right," Jake said, "so you don't have to worry. You and me both know you didn't do this." "You can't prove this sort of thing," Chris said, "but you can't disprove it either. He was my professor, I can't believe he'd do anything like this." Chris slammed his computer shut, the sound of it startling Jake. "I'm going for a walk," Chris said, "I'll be back before you finish your last scene." Jake watched him put on his raincoat, the white fabric of it brilliant and pure in the grayish gloom of the room. Chris gave him a quick kiss before he stomped out of the room, "I can't believe this," he muttered under his breath. Chris had a love affair with the rain. He loved putting on his boots and coat, feeling the staccato of the drops against his shoulders as they fell on him. In Palo Alto, he remembered, the rain scented the campus in pine and freshness, the water washing away the stresses and pressures of school. It gave everyone a welcome break. In Seattle though, the rain was like the sun in Santa Barbara. Everyone took it for granted. It happened and then it stopped, people never ever thought twice about it. As Chris walked past the green park Jake was shooting in, he realized that he hadn't seen Topher around anywhere. When he and Jake filmed together, Chris watched from under the nearest awning, beside cameramen covered in transparent plastic ponchos. But when Jake filmed a scene and he was off, Topher and Chris usually had coffee in the break trailer, played cards when they knew it'd be a while. He wrote when he was alone, concentrating on the details of his work in progress. But as he walked past the tall trees, leaves dripping with rain, he was grateful that it was so easy to be alone in Seattle because of the rain. Umbrellas and raincoats were like individual bubble of seclusion, separating one person from another, the rain an easy excuse for misanthropy. Professor Chapman was the youngest on the faculty when Chris studied at Stanford. He was dynamic and open to anything, especially Chris' experimental fiction. He was also known for being tough, Chris would often see students on the verge of tears leaving his office. Chris had cried once during a critique and never lived it down, always remembering how everyone looked at him and pretended to be concerned when in reality they were glad Chris had floundered, glad to see that the golden boy had cracked. He was also very adamant about the development of the teacher-student bond, claiming that it made it easier to see what writers meant without having them say it. Chris didn't mind the mandatory office hours; he had nothing better to do. As the semester wore on, he actually looked forward to the weekly meetings in Professor Chapman's office. It was literally full of books, they spilled from the shelves into crooked stacks on the floor, Chris wondered how he'd find something if he needed it, but they were all in the same place every week, so he might not have ever done more than looked at them, never opening them. When Chris first met him, Professor Chapman had just published his second book of poetry and was working on his first novel. Chris shook his head, the rain scattering off of his hair. He couldn't believe he'd ever gotten himself into a situation like that. He admired Professor Chapman from the first day of class. He was dignified without looking like he tried, his khakis pressed, and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He let the students call him by his first name or his last. No titles, no pressure, no hierarchy. Chris called him James, the novelty of addressing a teacher by his first name never wearing off. It didn't take long for Chris to become his favorite pupil, and it took only a little longer for Chris to develop a crush on him. Looking back, Chris should have noticed it right away. During meetings, he leaned over his desk a little more than he had to, grabbed Chris' forearm in excitement when he read Chris' first piece, and looked at Chris with a gaze he didn't recognize at the time. College professors were all crazy, Chris thought, Chapman was just a little crazier. When it happened, it hit Chris like a freight train, the door shutting quietly and then Professor Chapman slipping Chris' jacket off, lips at the back of his neck. He shuddered at the memory, tears threatening to fall down his cheek. He had to stop walking, leaning against a tree as his breathing became ragged, his hot breath forming loose haze in the cold air. Chapman told him that he was promising, that he had so much potential but that he held back. His voice was soft and low, his fingers deftly unbuttoning Chris' shirt. Chris remembered being petrified, his hands betraying him as they guided James' hands onto his chest and leaning his head back onto his shoulder. He was lonely, there was no argument about that, but there was something else driving him. He wanted to be like James Chapman, a published writer with real things to say. If he could learn how to release his potential, he could be like James--he could be successful. Chris felt his stomach churning, the memories disgusting and painful. He remembered James' squared fingers, the way he merely moved his hands to Chris' shoulders and the weakest suggestion transformed into a command for Chris to get onto his knees. Chris swallowed, his fingers massaging his temples as he recalled how everything had happened so fast, how he never thought twice about something so serious. He doubled over, the bitter sourness of bile on his tongue as he retched onto the green grass, his body purging itself of the vivid memories. Chapman had merely watched him get up and back out of the office that first day, confusion and lust written all over Chris' face, but as the semester continued, it got to be more and more serious. Chris spit, trying to get the taste out of his mouth as he remembered how he was bent over the desk, his latest paper lying right there on top as James would pound into him, a hand thrown across his mouth to muffle any sound. It hurt then and it hurt now. He thought that he'd forgotten all about it by now, pushing it away. At school, he'd never taken another class with Professor Chapman, straying from poetry and making sure to avoid him in the halls after the teary critique. It had been a story of obsession and unrequited love. Semi-autobiographical, but everything Chris wrote was. He was proud of it at the time, couldn't stand to even acknowledge it now. He tried to think of similarities and could only come up with one: the theme of it. Characters were different, sequence was off, plot entirely changed. If James wanted something, it wasn't money. In the meeting before the critique, James had given Chris a short story he'd written, something to use as an example, something to aim for. Chris didn't have it anymore but figured that was what he'd be comparing his own story to. It'd never been published, that alone gave Chris a little bit of pride. The rain lightened up and Chris headed back towards the set, his stomach queasy and his legs shaky. He rushed back, knowing that there were only a few more scenes scheduled for today, all of them involving Jake and Topher--he'd have the trailer to himself if he went there. This movie's setup was more like the Independence Day shoot than Jake's shoot in Big Sur, most of the actors had a hotel room and the trailers were just for hanging out between scenes. Chris passed some of the crew, waving to them and feigning a smile. It was a tight-knit crew and Chris liked knowing everyone from the catering ladies to the sound guys. They all had stories to tell. Chris rummaged around in Jake's jacket, knowing that he had cigarettes hidden in one of the pockets. If Jake thought he was keeping any secrets, he was kidding himself. Chris could smell it on his clothes sometimes, taste it on his tongue once in a while. If Jake used them to relax and calm down, there was no reason Chris couldn't. He found it; shaking it to find just a few cigarettes left, and shoved them into his pocket, going back outside into the slow drizzle. He leaned against the trailer, the bitter smoke of the cigarette burning his throat. He closed his eyes, wondering how fast he could get down to Palo Alto. This wasn't something he could deal with in e-mails and telephone calls. This was serious: everything he had earned so far was on the line. Flicking the ash from the tip of the cigarette, surprised the motions came so easily after years of avoiding them. He blew the gray smoke out, hoping Jake and Topher were messing up their lines so he'd be able to have another. He sighed, losing himself in the fog of the nicotine. The thing about this shoot was there weren't that many night shoots, and even those were practically done. It was structured and regular if Jake and Topher kept their lines straight. Emmy Rossum was the most professional actress Chris had ever watched, nailing her lines in every shoot, Topher and Jake the ones messing her up with their silly expressions and teasing when they weren't on camera. Her eyes sparkled and she exuded a worldliness Chris hadn't encountered before. He leaned his head back, drops of water collecting on his eyelashes. He pushed the butt of the cigarette into the ashtrays that sat outside every single trailer door. Movie sets weren't smoky because of atmosphere; it was because cameramen and boom carriers all smoked. Chris lit a second cigarette, realizing that Jake would know something was up if he reached for his smokes and found only one left. He was the last person Jake would accuse though, so he pushed it out of his mind. A few minutes later, he noticed more people milling around and realized that they were all probably done for the day. He looked around, not seeing anyone he to be worried about. "Since when do you do that?" Jake asked, his voice accusatory as he came out from behind the trailer. Chris immediately snuffed the cigarette into the ashtray, half of it still good. Jake grabbed the box out of his other hand and tossed it into the trash. "Let it go, Jake," Chris said, "I'll buy you a new pack." "It's not that," Jake said, "You just shouldn't. It's bad for you." Chris let it go, not wanting to deal with any of it right then. He could throw it right back at Jake, both of them knew it, but he just stepped forward, resting his forehead on Jake's shoulder, breathing heavily through his mouth and nose. His breath was shaky as Jake ran his hands down his back. "I'm going to be down there tomorrow if I can get a flight out," Chris said. He could feel Jake nod, "I don't know how long I'll be, but I'm not coming back until it's done and over with." "I can try to get a few days off," Jake said, "I'll go with you." "You can't do that," Chris said, "You know that." He felt Jake pull him into a tight hug. He felt someone else near them, could feel that it was Topher without even looking. He took a long breath, "What the hell am I supposed to do?" *** Chris was never one of those college kids that wore their school sweatshirts around campus, he never really did much outside of going to class. But he figured now wasn't the time to show up in jeans and a hoodie, not if he was going to have to defend his work to a person who helped him develop it. The campus was exactly like he remembered it, palm trees and evergreens mixed in the campus quads, students milling about here and there, other students enjoying the perpetual sun, reading and lazing on the benches and planters. The Spanish architecture was inviting, not imposing like other campuses, their faded facades not changing from Chris' first day of class to the day of graduation. The English department was right off the main quad, he could walk there in his sleep he'd spent so much time there, gone through the motions over and over again. They advertised it to him as the best years of his life and so far, he'd have to say they were wrong. The months he'd spent with Jake were just as good, but he had to admit they were sometimes better, sometimes worse. He walked into the building, the feelings rushing over him like a wave, he glanced into the classrooms, the same ones he had his Beat Poets class, his Victorian literature class, his creative writing classes. He didn't know for sure if Professor Chapman's office was in the exact same place, but it was where he was headed. He stopped at the bulletin board, hating that they had his name up there under notable alumni. It was a little ungrateful, but if they were using him to get kids in class, they shouldn't be accusing him of plagiarism. On the next board, he saw that they had put up a poster from the literacy foundation. He and Natalie sat there on the library floor, the bright light from the window flooding them with light as they read, smiles on their faces. Chris loved the pictures, just didn't want to see them in this context. College students were forced to read, barely having enough time to finish their work, they weren't going to read for fun. He let out a long, slow breath before turning the corner into the hallway all the professors' offices were. Some of the doors were closed, teachers in class or off campus, but some of them were open. He heard snippets of conversations as he walked down, the professors all in their same offices. Professor Chapman's door was shut, but as Chris walked closer, he watched as it opened and a student stepped out, his hair messy and his face flushed. Chris could only guess what that meeting was about. He leaned his head in, hoping that James wasn't heading off to class. He didn't want to wait. "I wasn't expecting you to come here so fast," James said when he stood in the doorway. He looked the same as Chris remembered, a few shallow lines at the corners of his eyes. "No movie premieres tonight? Interviews with InTouch or UsWeekly?" It was off to a bad start already, "Are you busy?" Chris asked, voice terse. "Never too busy to catch up with a past student. Certainly not one of our most notable," James said, "I trust you received my message." "I wouldn't be here if I didn't," Chris said, sitting down on the still chair on the other side of James' desk. His office was still messy; more books in it than before if that was possible. Chris knew his voice was tinged with bitterness and hate, he didn't try to hide it. "So Mr. Lewis, six-figure book deals aren't uncommon these days, how many million did you get for this Blue Eye book you put out?" "Blue Eyes Blue. It's not your story, Professor Chapman. I wrote it a few months ago, away from here, away from you," Chris said. His body was stiff and he sat up straight. He didn't know if it looked imposing, didn't want it to. He just didn't want to look meek. "It does bear an uncanny resemblance to something I gave to you a few years ago," James said, "You remember, don't you? It was a few days before you broke down in class." Chris swallowed hard. He wasn't being light about anything. Every word he said hit Chris like a dagger, sinking right into the depths of his heart. "No, I know my story backwards and forwards, it's not like anything else." "Not like anything else you've written, maybe, but it's something I threw together at the last minute to help you," James said, leaning back in his chair, "not my best work, but I see it inspired you, so it did its job." Chris cringed, "No, that's not what inspired it, I can guarantee you that. What is this really about?" "I'm proud of you," James said, "the whole faculty is. The Pen-Faulker, Man Booker Award, this and that, and then the Oscar? We were all rooting for you. I just want credit where it's due." "Credit's been given, I dedicated it to the person who inspired it." "Nebulous as always," James said, "you were always cryptic in your writing." Chris was upset, James' calm was rubbing him the wrong way. He was definitely in control and Chris hated it. Then he realized that 'J' was as vague as he could be, but James started with a J just like Jake did. He shook his head, now he knew exactly why James had started all this. A wrong idea spun out of control. "I didn't copy anything," Chris said, his posture severe, "you don't have anything to prove it. They check for that sort of thing before books go to publication. I've looked into this, Professor." "Please, Christopher, we've never used titles and you know that," James said. Chris could tell he was impressed with how much he knew, how much he'd researched it. "I'll admit that your work is exceptional. I thoroughly enjoy it, but really, you don't know this love. You didn't copy my story, you were recalling what I grunted into your ears when you were on this very desk," he said, tapping the wood, "when you were on your knees and when you bent over this chair." Chris could feel tears stinging the back of his eyes. "You are exceptional in more ways than one." Chris got up. This wasn't about plagiarism. "This is a fucking joke," Chris said, his eyes angry and narrow. "Fucking is exactly what this is about," James said. Chris watched as he walked around the desk, shutting the door and leaning up against it. "You smell exactly the same as you did three years ago," he said. It sent a glob of vomit up his throat but he swallowed it, burning his throat. "You're keeping yourself up, I see," James said, clicking the lock. Chris turned around to face him, staying silent. "There's no way to prove you used me, you and I both know that. But there's also no way to prove that I used you." The last three words came out slowly and deliberately and Chris felt a single tear fall down his cheek. He had been used, he realized. Back then, he thought that he got something out of it too, but he was realizing his naivety now. He was wrong then. James was wrong now. --- Feedback? christopherrluu@gmail.com