Date: Thu, 2 Mar 2006 12:22:29 -0800
From: christopher. <christopherrluu@gmail.com>
Subject: Breaking Through Part 4

This is fiction.  I don't know Jake Gyllenhaal and my little story doesn't
imply anything about him or his sexuality, but I'd do just about anything
to have him all to myself.  Feedback is greatly appreciated and any writer
will tell you that they live for it; I'll answer every single one.
Questions, comments, loved it or hated it?  Shoot me a message at
christopherrluu@gmail.com.

Thank to everyone that sent me feedback for the last chapter.  Like I said,
writers will do just about anything for comments and such.  Keep it coming!
Oscars are on Sunday, March 5 at 8 pm EST/5 pm PST.  Jake's up for Best
Supporting Actor, so let's hope he wins.  On with the show.

Part IV

     "Are you going to pick me up or should I take a cab?" Chris asked.

     "I'll send a car out for you, or I'll go myself.  The schedule's tight
but I think I have half-days of shooting that week," Jake said, Chris could
hear him flipping through a stack of papers over the phone.  "I miss you."

     "I miss you, too."  When Jake hung up, Chris realized how much he
really did miss him.  The two weeks apart seemed to drag on forever; he
didn't want to call Jake, knowing that he'd probably be shooting or
memorizing lines, and then the time difference made it even harder to gauge
whether or not he was sleeping, awake, or shooting scenes at night.

     Chris threw a few more sweaters into his suitcase before snapping it
shut.  Vivian had sent him a ticket to New York to meet with Houghton
Mifflin for the cover of his next book.  He had no idea what he wanted it
to look like, and he was still working on giving it a title.  He had a
journal full of working titles now that he'd ditched his laptop for
something lighter.  There were words crossed out, charts testing the flow
of word combinations, shopping lists, and an ink stain on one page.  If
anyone saw it, they'd think he was schizophrenic.  He threw an extra blank
journal into his messenger bag and went looking for his wooden fountain
pen.  Ever since Vivian found it for him, it was the only thing he liked
using.

     Opening and closing the drawers in the study, which was growing
increasingly messy, "Shit," he said, knocking over something on the floor
with his clumsy feet.  Looking down, he noticed it was a rocking horse with
a note on it.  Opening the pale yellow envelope, he felt stupid for not
noticing it until now.  How long had it been sitting there?

     There, scrawled in Jake's shaky handwriting, was a message: "For
Chris--who made me real.  Jake."  Chris realized it wasn't just a rocking
horse; it was a skin horse, its leather faded and worn.  Jake spent a lot
of time in the study when Chris was writing, since he wrote everywhere but
the study.  He only used it when he was editing or making phone calls.
Chris kept his favorite books on the very top shelf, because they were all
really old, falling apart, or both.  Chris never read a book just once,
every book he got was read at least twice, it was just something he was
used to from his literature classes.  "There are two levels to every book,"
one of his professors would always say.

     Chris grabbed his copy of The Velveteen Rabbit, the first book he
could remember having read to him.  The corners of the book were tattered
and fraying, the pages were more yellow than white, and there were
scribbles all over the end sheets.  He remembered telling Jake just once
that The Velveteen Rabbit meant a lot to him, it was when they'd only met
and Jake asked him what the "little book that's falling apart" was.  Chris
remembered going into a long speech about how it wasn't falling apart, it
was being loved and would become real any day now.  Jake probably thought
he was crazy, but here he was, looking down at his very own skin horse.
Had it been there this whole two weeks?  It was too late to call Jake and
ask, and to say thank you, but he made a mental note to give Jake a special
thank you when he go to New York.

     He noticed his pen sticking out from under the desk and grabbed it,
sticking it in his pocket.  It seemed that when he least expected it, Chris
was always surprised.  Jake always kept him on his toes.

***

     Chris waited for everyone to leave the plane before even trying to get
out of his seat, the rush was too much to deal with, and after sitting
there for so long, what was another few minutes?  Waving goodbye to the
flight attendants, he walked through a long tunnel into the terminal.
Everywhere he looked, people were hugging and shaking hands.  Families
reunited and businessmen meeting to make their big deals, Chris looked
around for Jake, or at the least, someone holding a sign with his name on
it.  Looking around, he saw neither, and as the crowd dissipated, he
figured that he should just head out to the street, maybe Jake told whoever
was picking him up to get him out there.

     Pulling the handle from his suitcase, he took a few steps with the
rest of the crowd before he saw Jake standing there, a goofy smile on his
face and a messy sign that read "Lewis."  Chris practically ran to Jake,
throwing his arms around him.  He didn't care who saw, didn't care if the
picture would be all over the internet that night, didn't care if the
entire world stopped to stare.  He felt safe, like he was home again.
Jake's hand patted Chris' back before reaching for the suitcase.  "Let's
get out of here," he said.

     "Thanks for picking me up," Chris said, "and thanks for the horse."

     Jake's eyes wrinkled as he smiled, "I knew you'd like it.  But it took
you long enough to notice.  I put it there right before I left."

     "Sorry," Chris said, "I've had a lot on my mind."

     "When do you have to get back on set?"

     "I got the rest of the day off."  Chris let his head fall to Jake's
shoulder when they got into the cab, "Reservations for dinner, and a suite
at the Astoria."

     "Where to?" asked the cabby.

     "Astoria," Jake said, his hand grabbing Chris'.  The stress of the day
seemed to disappear when Jake touched Chris.  The warmth of Chris' hand,
the familiar feeling of it inside his own, made Jake's entire body relax.
He let out a long sigh, it was the first time in two weeks he just forgot
about the movie, and it felt good.  Chris was looking out the window, his
eyes tired, but Jake could feel his pulse racing in his hand.  "Tired?"

     "It was a long flight.  And it's weird that I left at breakfast and
now it's dinnertime," Chris said, "I must have eaten six or seven bags of
peanuts on the plane."

     Jake smiled, the cab coming to a stop at the marble rotunda of the
Astoria.  Chris got out of the car, stretching the fatigue out of his legs.
Jake pulled Chris' suitcase out of the trunk, handing it to one of the
bellhops.  "Twenty-eighth floor, I forget what number.  It's the third door
on the right after the elevator bay, I think.  It's under Lewis."

     The bellhop looked at Jake like he was crazy, and Chris grabbed his
suitcase from his hand, "I can take care of it, thanks."

     Chris and Jake walked into the hotel, it was quiet, but there were
still plenty of people in the lobby.  "Elevators are over there," Jake
said, motioning to the right.  Chris walked towards them, everything about
the hotel distracting him.  The architecture and the flowers, everything
was lush and opulent.  "You guys can go first," Jake said to an older
couple that was waiting for an elevator too, "we'll catch the next one."

     Confused, Chris didn't question it.  Something was up with Jake and he
didn't want to make it any worse.  "The shooting schedule along with the
stress of the script itself must really be getting to him," Chris thought.

     An elevator opened and the two of them practically jumped inside, Jake
slamming his finger onto the "door close" button.  When the doors slid
shut, Jake pounced on top of Chris, slamming him into the cold marble of
the elevator wall.  The breath was knocked out of him, Jake's lips on top
of his, hands on Chris' ass and one knee spreading Chris' thighs apart.
"Two fucking weeks," Jake said, panting, "I've been crazy, I can't
concentrate on anything, I can't stop thinking about you."

     Chris's entire body could feel the desperation in Jake's voice, his
body.  The door slid dinged and slid open, Chris' eyes shooting up to the
numbers above the door.  It was their floor.  Jake grabbed the suitcase
with one hand, Chris' hand with the other, practically running down the
hall and to the room.  "Fucking key cards," Jake said, his hands fumbling
with the thin plastic key.  Chris yanked it from his hands and pulled
Jake's lips to his own.  There was no resistance; Jake let his entire body
fall victim to the lust inside both of them.  Chris' hand reached behind
Jake, sliding the card into the slot and opening the door.  Jake pulled
Chris inside, shutting the door with his foot.

     Jake threw his coat onto the floor, undoing the buttons on Chris'.
"Too many layers," Chris said after throwing his sweater to the ground.
Jake had his pants off in a second, his hands pulling down Chris' jeans.
Chris pulled Jake's head to his own, their mouths meeting again, hungry and
desperate.  The familiar feel of Jake's scratchy facial hair against his
face sent shivers down his back.  When Jake started licking his jaw,
nibbling on the skin of his neck, he yanked off Jake's boxer briefs, his
hand wrapping around Jake's hard cock.  Jake shuddered, bringing his mouth
to the depression between Chris' collarbones.  Groaning, Chris' hands ran
up Jake's back, feeling the taut muscle tense under his fingers.  Jake
pulled Chris to the bed, falling on top of him.  Chris let his hands rest
on Jake's shoulders as Jake worked his chest, nibbling and sucking on his
nipples while stroking Chris' cock.  Jake his every one of his hot spots,
not letting his body relax.

     Rolling Jake onto his back, Chris slid down, his mouth latching onto
the skin under Jake's earlobes.  Groaning, Jake's hips bucked, pressing
into the fabric of Chris' underwear.  When he felt Jake's cock rub against
his own, Chris moaned, the familiar feeling of it sending waves of pleasure
through his body.  Jake's hands tangled in Chris' hair, stiffening when
Chris dragged his tongue across the head of his cock.  Jake's mouth opened,
his back arching as Chris' warm mouth slid over his dick.  He'd been so
engrossed with the first few days of filming that he even forgot to jack
off, but a week in, he was hard almost all the time.  Feeling Chris' mouth
on him was driving him over the edge fast.  "Chris, slow down, slow down,"
Jake said through gritting teeth.  Chris didn't let up, his tongue tracing
the veins on Jake's thick shaft and his hands stroking Jake's balls.  He
noticed how heavy Jake's breathing was, how tense his arms were, and how
his abs seemed to be more rigid than ever before.  Suddenly, Jake's cock
pulsed, shooting his load, the first spurt landing in Chris' mouth.
Surprised, Chris pulled off, coughing.  Shot after shot of cum splattered
across Jake's chest and stomach.  Jake's eyes were shut tight, a long groan
slipping from his lips as the spurts of cum subsided.

     Chris licked up some of the cum on Jake's stomach before he felt
Jake's strong hands pull him up, both their chests smeared with Jake's
sticky seed.  Pulling off Chris' underwear, Jake noticed that it was wet
with pre-cum.  Tossing it aside, he pulled Chris down for another kiss.
Jake adjusted their bodies, letting Chris straddle his hips as their
tongues fluttered into each other's mouths.  Beads of sweat dripped down
Chris' back, his body coming to a screeching halt when Jake slid two
fingers up his ass.  Looking down at Jake, Chris' dark eyes locked with
Jake's, the icy blue catching him off guard in the darkness.  Panting,
Chris felt Jake's fingers slide in and out of his tight hole, ignoring his
own hard cock.  Planting his hands on Jake's shoulders, Chris lowered his
hole onto Jake's cock.  His body stiffened when the head of Jake's cock
slipped into him, the angle of it new and different, hitting him off guard.
Surprised, Jake started to pull out, but Chris slid down a few more inches,
his mouth slack and his face determined.

     When he felt the scratchy hair of Jake's pubes against his hole, he
opened his eyes again, seeing Jake's face awash with bliss, the hair on his
chest matted with sweat and cum.  As he rose up on Jake's cock, he saw
Jake's entire body tense, every muscle straining to control itself.
Groaning, Chris slid back down on Jake's cock, letting it stretch him open.
His entire body seemed out of his control, willing to do anything for
release.  With a low groan, Jake's hands slid to Chris' waist, encouraging
Chris to go faster and deeper.  With every thrust, Chris could feel a drop
of pre-cum leak from his cock, Jake's cock sinking deeper than it had ever
been.

     "God, Jake," Chris moaned, speeding up his movements.  Jake let out an
appreciative sigh, watching Chris lean back and bracing himself on his
hairy legs and taking every inch of his cock into his tight hole.  Chris'
cock was stiff and rigid, and when Jake started to stroke it, it pulsed in
his hand.  Breathing harder and riding Jake faster and harder, Chris could
feel himself getting close.  Jake pulled him down for another kiss and
rolled their bodies over in a tangle of sweat, and limbs.  Jake's cock was
still hard, his first orgasm letting him last this time around.

     Wrapping his fist around his cock, Chris stroked furiously.  With
Jake's cock thrusting rhythmically against his prostate and his warm tongue
snaking in and out of Chris' mouth, Jake was getting closer with every hard
thrust.  With one last stroke, Chris's cock spilled a load between their
heaving bodies, joining the drying cum already on both their chests.
Groaning, his asshole constricted with every spurt, Jake's thick cock
thrusting through every tight contraction.  Stopping his thrusting, Jake
let Chris' ass squeeze his cock, his head thrown back as Chris shot all
over their bodies.  Jake started thrusting his cock into Chris again,
watching as Chris's cock slowly grew stiff again.

     Chris held onto Jake's shoulders as he kept thrusting, whimpering with
every hard shove.  Jake's mouth was on his neck again, driving home the
point that Jake knew every inch of his body and just where to nibble or
lick to make Chris dizzy with lust.  Jake's thrusts became more intense and
more irregular, letting Chris know he was getting closer.  Another thrust
and Jake was buried to the hilt, his dick swelling as it shot inside of
Chris.  Chris felt the hot cum inside him, his eyes rolling back into his
head.  He could hear both of them breathing in short pants as they tried to
catch their breath.  Jake pressed his lips to Chris', slowly pulling out
when he finished shooting.  Chris groaned, hating and loving that last
withdrawal.  His entire body was sore and tired, sticky with cum and sweat.
He felt Jake's strong arms wrap around him, a sigh escaping his lips before
he drifted off to sleep.

***

     Chris walked around the suite, picking up shirts, wrinkled pants, and
hanging their coats up in the closet while Jake took a quick shower.  His
own chest was still crusted with the mixture of cum, sweat, and saliva, but
he decided to let Jake get ready to leave before he'd wash it off.  Opening
the drapes, he saw that there was a room service cart behind the sofa, with
a bottle of champagne sitting in a bucket of water and next to it, a plate
of cupcakes.  He tossed the stack of laundry in a corner of the bedroom and
heard the shower stop.  Sitting down, he realized that his entire body
ached; sitting still for the entire plane ride and then the ravenous
activities that followed must have taxed him more than he thought.  He
stretched, trying to loosen his tight muscles when he felt hands on his
shoulders.

     He looked up and saw Jake smiling down at him, his hair still damp and
his body smelling of soap.  "I saw the champagne out there, were you
expecting someone?"

     "It was for last night, I guess I just forgot.  I was going to put the
moves on you.  They're your favorite cupcakes, chocolate with white icing."

     Chris smiled, "I'm a sure thing, you don't have to go through the
trouble."

     Jake kissed him, more relaxed than last night's hurried and urgent
kisses.  Chris' hand swept up Jake's arm, feeling the muscles under Jake's
damp skin.  "Maybe I can get us reservations tonight, since we missed
them," Jake said, his voice breathy.

     Chris nodded, "I'll be done with my stuff in no time."

     "Got a title yet," Jake asked, his blue eyes lazy in the morning
light.

     Chris shook his head, running his fingers through his matted hair.
"It'll come when it's ready."

     Jake walked towards their suitcases, Chris watching every muscle of
his back tighten with every step.  Pulling on a long sleeved shirt, Jake
gave Chris one last kiss before Chris felt too gross to go any longer
without taking a shower.  "I'll see you later tonight," Jake said before
Chris disappeared into the steamy bathroom.

***

     After visiting Parsons, the New School College of Design, a professor
from the Eugene Lang College for the Arts asked Chris to sit in on one of
their creative writing classes, to listen to the readings and actually join
in the critiques.  He said no at first, but when a few students recognized
him in the halls, he was practically pulled into the classroom against his
will.  The graphic design school had held a contest to design his next
cover, but here, he was a guest and the entire class seemed to be on their
best behavior.  The critique was light and there were more compliments than
criticism, the exact opposite of what Chris went through at Stanford.  His
professors ripped their stories to shreds, even bringing some of the more
sensitive students to tears.

     "Mr. Lewis, do you have anything you want to read?" one student asked,
her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

     Chris was caught off-guard, "Oh, no, I'm done with the book," he said,
eliciting a hushed murmur around the room, "so I'm not working on anything
right now."

     "You're not writing at all?" she asked.

     "No no, I'm always writing, but just stupid little things, I have
journals full of just ramblings that I can barely understand."

     "Well, Mr. Lewis, I'm sure the students would love to hear about your
creative process, even if it seems a bit idiosyncratic."

     Chris reached into his bag and dug out the journal he had thrown in
for the trip.  "I guess I can read you what I wrote this morning, right
before I looked at the prospective artists."  The entire classroom grew
quiet as Chris flipped open to the piece he worked on right after his
shower.  "It's not polished or anything, but you'll get to see how bad I am
before edits, which is good to know.  Editors are miracle workers."

     The class was small, but Chris was still a little nervous.  He never
let anyone read his short pieces; they were more like journal entries than
anything else.  They were private.

     "Ok, um, here it is," Chris said.

     'The bustle of the city disappeared when I woke up to find you there,
one arm draped over my shoulder and the other nowhere to be seen.  The cold
air seemed charged with the energy of the city, but I lay there, breathing
with you.  You moved and I froze, hoping that you didn't wake on my
account, but you were just pulling me closer, tighter into your arms.  It
was home, but it wasn't.  It was like any other morning, but it wasn't.  I
was myself, but I wasn't.  When your eyes opened, I drowned in those blue
pools, losing my breath when your mouth shaped a smile, mischievous and
enigmatic.  You just lay there, holding our bodies together, not saying a
word, but it spoke volumes.  I was myself, but I wasn't.  You were there,
we were us.'

     The entire class clapped, louder than they had for each other, Chris
noticed.  "Thanks guys, it's really short, but it's the sort of thing that
might develop into a short story, or into a part of a larger work."

     "We'll take your feedback now," the professor said, surprising Chris
again.  He didn't want to go through this again, every time during
critiques in college, Chris was too engrossed in keeping his composure that
most of the criticism was lost on him.

     A girl raised her hand, "I felt the emotions were strong, the flow
poetic.  It was sensual without having to go into each sense individually.
I was so surprised that something so simple could be so powerful."

     Chris was holding his breath the entire time, just like he had in
college.  He exhaled slowly as another student raised his hand, "It was
nebulous.  I didn't really get it at the beginning, but at the end, you
knew what was being said.  I just think it was maybe too sappy?"

     "Well, it's something I've been working on lately," Chris said,
forgetting that it wasn't a debate, "there's a line between sweet and
sappy.  I may have crossed it."

     The rest of the comments were positive, Chris silently thanking the
class for not brutally dismantling his work while he was there.  He was
sure that they'd go about doing that on their own.  "The graphic design
building is on the right, or is it the left?" Chris asked the professor
after class.

     "Left of the quad," he said, "the students really enjoyed that today,
thanks for everything."

     Chris hurried back to Parsons.  While he was reading, a title had come
to him out of nowhere, and now that he had a concrete title, the artists
would have a better grasp on exactly what he was looking for.  In the
elevator, his phone vibrated, reminding him that he was in New York for
reasons other than his book, "Hey," he said.

     "You sound happy," Jake said.

     "I'm doing really good, I got a title, I got ideas," Chris said, "and
during a reading, the kids loved me."

     "Kids?  They're like three years younger than you."

     "I guess you're right," Chris said, the elevator stopping.  The
students here in the design building paid him little attention.  He was
just an intruder here.

     "I got us reservations at an amazing restaurant tonight, it's formal
though, did you bring something nice to wear?  The reservations are at
eight."

     "Ok, I'll be at the hotel."

     "I'll wait for you in the lobby, I've got a suit here on set.  Do I
get to hear what the title's going to be?"

     "It's a surprise," Chris said.

     Chris heard Jake chuckle, "I'll see you tonight."

     Chris hung up his phone just a few strides from the Graphic Design
Conference Room, where a group of students had re-convened to talk about
their designs for Chris' novel.  Vivian had set up a morning meeting, where
they talked to Chris about the book and he gave them a little outline of
it, and now they were back to show him their portfolios and share their
ideas.  It was a critique all over again; only this time, Chris had no idea
what was good and what was bad.

     "I have a title now," Chris said, the room suddenly dead silent.
Every student was fixated on what was coming.  Chris smiled; his
inspiration would now fuel more inspiration, even though he felt silly
standing at the front of what amounted to a boardroom meeting.  "It's sort
of a motif in the work, I forgot to mention it earlier, but now that I
remembered, it makes perfect sense.  It's going to be called 'Blue Eyes
Blue.'"  Chris saw each student mull it over in their minds; he could
practically hear the wheels turning around in their heads.  "Good luck to
all of you, and thanks for everything, people judge books by their covers,
so I owe a lot to all of you."

     "Can we ask you some questions?" a student said before raising his
hand.  He had wavy hair and a patch of hair under his lower lip.  It fit
the sort of suffering bohemian look of the entire school, but he seemed a
little more into his art than the rest of the students.

     "Sure," Chris said, sitting down.

     "Photographs or strictly text?  Both?  Illustration?  What are you
looking for?"

     "I don't know what I'm looking for, that's why it's hard."  He seemed
satisfied, even though Chris thought that what he just said made him sound
pretentious and snobby.  He really didn't know what he wanted.  His stomach
grumbled, attesting to not what he wanted, but what he needed.  He hadn't
eaten anything all day, not even his requisite extra foamy latte.  "I think
the contest rules said that you guys have until tomorrow for the mock-ups,
so we'll be back here then.  Thanks again, guys."  Just about every student
sprinted from the room, eager to get to work and win the opportunity to
have a book cover on their resumes.  Chris reached for his phone, hoping
Vivian would know a good place to eat near the New School.

     "Hi, I just wanted to tell you how much I liked Independence Day, and
the poem.  I've actually read everything you've got published."

     Chris shook the student's hand, bringing a smile to his face.
"Thanks.  I really appreciate it.  Maybe I can get you an advanced reading
copy of Blue Eyes Blue when they get printed."

     "You don't know what that would mean to me," he said, "my name's Eric.
Eric de la Cour."

     "Eric of the heart?  That's a great name."

     Eric's smile got even bigger, "Thanks, I already have some ideas for
the cover.  I think you'll like them."  Chris' stomach grumbled again, "Do
you want to grab something to eat?  I know a good Greek place just down the
block."

     "Sounds great," Chris said, relieved.  He let his phone slide back
into his pocket and buttoned up his coat, "I'm starving."

     Eric threw his striped scarf around his neck and led the way back into
the elevator and down Fifth Avenue.

     "This place is really awesome," Chris said.  It was a mom-and-pop
place, just a few tables set up inside.  Chris noticed most of the
customers were taking their food to go.

     "This doesn't disqualify me or anything, does it?"

     "I'll make sure you're still in the running," Chris said, "let's take
a seat."  The two sat down at a table and soon, they had their waters and
their gyros.  "So you've been designing things for a while?"  Chris wasn't
sure how to start the conversation.  What was the past participle of
"graphic design?"

     "A few years.  I had to take some time off, so I'm older than the
other students."

     "Time off for what?" Chris asked.  It always fascinated him when
people veered off the seemingly clear-cut path of high school to college to
graduate school.

     "Just to find myself," Eric said, spreading white tsatsiki all over
his wrap.

     "What did you find?"

     "That it's easier to just do what everyone else does.  That's why I'm
at school again.  If I want to win this, I have to get a feel for your
aesthetics."

     "This might be against the rules," Chris said before taking a bite of
his food.

     "I won't tell," Eric said, "what's your favorite movie?  Painting,
maybe?"

     "Donnie Darko," Chris said, smiling to himself, "and um, I don't know.
I like Warhol.  And Rothko."

     "Interesting," Eric said.  "You're full of surprises."

     "What do you mean?"

     "Everything about you is just one curveball after another.  Writer
comes from nowhere, literally, and then you're a poet?  And now you're a
screen writer?"

     "No, I'm not writing the script, Mike White is.  He came highly
recommended."

     "See, another surprise."

***

     Chris had rushed back to the hotel after talking to Vivian and the
coordinator at Parsons.  He had the routine down, arm up, confident look on
his face and the cab would stop right there.  Every time it happened, he
was surprised.  He'd never get used to it.  He glanced at his clock, it was
almost seven, so Jake would be down in the lobby soon.  He threw off his
clothes, the pile in the corner growing, before hopping into the shower.
He pulled on his black suit, black shirt under just like he and Jake wore
to the premiere of Life of Pi.  He hoped it was nice enough for where they
were going.  He grabbed his coat and went back downstairs, satisfied with
his quick routine.

     It was seven-thirty when he got back down to the lobby and he expected
Jake to be there, dressed in his own suit, eyes sparkling, smiling and
happy to see him.  But the lobby was full of other people, their laughter
bouncing off the marble walls.  Chris walked over to the bar, thinking that
maybe Jake was there waiting for him, but he wasn't.  He walked over to the
stairs, hoping to get to higher vantage point, but when he looked over the
crowd, talking and laughing, hugging and changing hands.  Chris sat down on
the stairs, the cold marble sending a chill up his back.  Jake wasn't
usually late, but they were in New York and he was working, so maybe he was
running behind schedule.  Chris reached for his coat pockets, but they were
still sewn shut.  He'd forgotten to rip them open.  Cursing himself, he put
his hands in his pants pockets instead, not caring that his suit would be
wrinkled.  Everyone seemed to be having a great time, ignoring him because
he was a reminder that things could go wrong, that people didn't always
keep promises.

     He watched the revolving glass doors like a hawk.  Men in suits came
in, and he thought every single one was Jake until he looked closer.
People walking up and down the grand staircase had to walk around him, like
a speed bump in their night of fun.  The lobby was filled with velvet sofas
and leather armchairs, but he stayed there on the stairs, hoping that Jake
would walk through those doors.  He fiddled with his cufflinks,
inadvertently glancing at his clock again.  Eight o' clock.  Their
reservations would be dropped, given to another party of two.  He thought
about calling Jake, but thought that it should be Jake that called him,
explaining to him why he was sitting there alone.  Getting up, he surveyed
the room again.  Nothing.

     A bellhop came up to him, insisting that there were plenty of open
chairs, but he didn't acknowledge him.  The chairs were set up in groups of
two and four.  He'd look just as pathetic sitting there alone as he was
now.  It was just a change of setting.  Chris pulled his journal out of his
back pocket and his pen out of his breast pocket.  That made the step a
little more comfortable, but not by much.  He sighed, still wondering what
Jake was up to.

     Eight thirty, an hour late.  He decided that if he were going to wait,
he'd at least put on his comfortable shoes.  Heading to the elevator, he
heard someone yell his name.  Turning around, he smiled, willing to forgive
Jake for just about anything.  But when he turned around, Jake wasn't
there; it was someone else looking for a different Chris.  As the elevator
went up twenty- eight floors, his heart sank to new depths.

***
       Chris walked back down to the lobby, knowing that pizza places
wouldn't care whether or not he was wearing a jacket.  He pulled his hood
over his head, hands in the kangaroo pocket on his stomach.  He'd eaten the
cupcakes and drank half the champagne right from the bottle, but he was
still hungry.

     He looked at his phone, still no calls from Jake.  Walking out into
the cold winter air, he was glad that cab drivers knew places by name and
not just by location.  Arm up, look of determination, instant cab.  As he
opened the yellow door, his phone shook in his pocket.  It was Jake.  Chris
shut the door and the cab driver yelled something as he drove away, Chris
letting him go without another thought.

     "Hello?"

     "Did you get my message?  You never called me back," Jake said, his
voice anxious.

     "I didn't get anything," Chris said, the anger in his one obvious.

     "I sent you a text message.  Maybe around six?  I said that we'd be
filming another scene and that I'd have to cancel dinner."

     "Fuck, I don't know how to work this stupid phone," Chris said,
feeling sudden pangs of guilt.

     "I didn't have time to call you between scenes.  You weren't waiting
up for me or anything, were you?"

     "No, no.  I figured you wouldn't just stand me up.  I'm getting some
pizza."

     "Take it back to the room, I'll be there in half and hour, maybe
forty-five minutes."

     "Yeah, I'll get one with everything on it."

     "Sounds good.  I miss you."

     "I miss you, too.  More than you know."

     Chris screamed as loud as he could, "FUCK!"  The sound seemed to
resonate through the entire city, echoing in Chris' ears.  Everyone around
him stared, looked away, but he didn't know what else to do.  Hot tears
formed in the corner of his eyes, his entire body shaking.  He didn't know
what he was going through.  Defeated by something, he didn't know what; his
own confusion, his own stubbornness, or his own pessimism, he turned back
towards the hotel.

     A half-hour later, Jake arrived right on time, his face showing his
weariness, but his eyes still sparkled and his smile was there.  Two pints
of beer in one hand, he wrapped the other arm around Chris and kissed the
top of his head.  "You smell so good, so clean," Jake said, "tell me what
you did today.  I want to hear everything."

***

     Chris was back at Parson's the next morning to talk to the coordinator
of the contest.  Houghton Mifflin basically said that he could choose
whichever one he wanted, giving him a surprising amount of freedom for
something that could inevitably decide the rest of his career.  Sophomore
novels, especially after well-received debut novels, had high expectations.

     "You look drained," Eric said when he saw Chris in the hall, "rough
night?"  Chris just nodded, surprising him.

     "Good luck in there," Chris said.

     "I don't need luck, I just need you to choose me."

     Parsons had whittled the entries down to twenty-five, who would have
to present a mock-up of the cover to Chris and the director of graphic
design.  Chris wasn't really in a mood to make such a big decision, but he
couldn't let the artists down.  Sighing, he leaned against the bathroom
wall, the steel walls cold against him.  His face was buried in his hands,
he tied to fit things together in his head, but nothing would connect.  He
was angry and mad for no reason at all.  He didn't tell Jake what had
happened, it wasn't his fault.  Trying to sort everything out, Chris was
just getting more and more confused.  There was no reason to be mad, if
anyone was at fault, it was himself.  He just couldn't admit it.

     Splashing cold water on his face, Chris tried his best to look
composed.  When he walked into the conference room, the students almost
immediately quieted down, watching his every move.  Behind each of them was
a foam core board, black cloth covering each one.  They really were
serious.

    "First, I have to say thank you.  You guys wouldn't be doing this
unless you were passionate about art.  That passion is really commendable.
I'm glad I got to know some of you during your initial presentations," Eric
smiled, Chris noticed.  "Good luck to each of you."

     There were vector drawings, twists on text, lots and lots of blue all
over the place--almost every cover looked like it could work to Chris.  But
his favorite really was Eric's.  Eric had presented second, Chris noticed
how his clothes seemed to hug his fit body, remembering that he had said
something about coaching a youth soccer team.  Even after he had finished,
Chris would take glances at his mock-up, comparing everyone else's to his.
Chris loved how he mixed photography with illustration in a way that he
couldn't distinguish were the photo stopped and where the graphics started.
When all twenty-five students had finished, they waited anxiously for the
next step.  Chris actually didn't know if he was supposed to pick one
today, but he was almost entirely sure that he was going with Eric's eye.
It was literally un-literal.  So expected that it was unexpected.  Chris
loved it.

     "Thanks again, I have to talk this over with your professor here, I'm
sure he'll let you guys know the winner.  My publicist assured me that
you'd all get a copy of the book with your own cover, so you're all
winners."  They looked excited, and Chris noticed just how much different
Eric looked.  Those extra three years made him more composed, gave him an
air of confidence that the other students lacked.  They all started packing
up their things, anxious to tell the entire student body that they'd be
getting printed, whether they won or not.

     Chris saw a clock on the wall and wondered if he could stop by the set
today.  Jake had mentioned something about being in the park or a numbered
street.  Either way, he wasn't sure whether he'd even be able to get any
time with Jake.  One last look at all the covers and Chris was sure he
could cut all but a few.  Eric's was definitely in the lead, but maybe he'd
change his mind.  Stepping into the hallway, Chris saw Eric waiting for
him, his dark hair messier than it had just been.

     "You can tell me whether you liked it or hated it," Eric said, "you're
hard to read."

     Jake would have said the opposite, "I really liked it," Chris said,
"but I don't want to make any promises."

     That statement alone was enough for Eric, who had stayed up all night
working on his cover, only realizing at the last minute that maybe he was
over designing.  Some of the other covers were definitely too much, and he
knew that Chris wanted something understated but still quirky.  "Are you
going now, did you want to get something to eat again?  We can tear the
other covers apart over sushi?"

     "Actually, I was thinking about meeting up with a friend," Chris said,
"but let me give you my hotel info, I've been free around dinnertime."

     Eric's smile beamed, "Sounds great, I'm gonna hold you to that."
Chris handed Eric a scrap of paper and his eyes grew wide, "the Astoria?
Should I come in black tie?"

     "Shut up," Chris joked, "just call me so I can get down to the lobby."

***

     "I'm actually done for the day," Jake said, "we finished all the night
scenes, so it's just days from here on out."

     "You never told me who else is in the movie," Chris said, trying to
peek over Jake's shoulder.  It had been surprisingly easy for Chris to get
onto the set; a few walkie-talkie messages and he was right there.

     "Juliette Binoche and Bradley Cooper," Jake said, "single mom with two
kids just out of college, a dead dad in there somewhere.  It's going to be
really great."  Slipping his hand into Jake's, Chris let his head fall to
Jake's shoulder.  "Let me grab my bag and we'll get out of here.  It's
smooth sailing from here on out.  We can finally spend some time together,
I promise."

     "Good, it's a big city when you're by yourself," Chris said, his hand
gripping Jake's tighter.

     Jake pulled their bodies together, "Sorry about these past few days, I
know we're supposed to be hanging out, but they're trying to speed up
shooting and everything."

     Jamming his script into his messenger bag, Jake threw an arm over
Chris' shoulder and they were walking off the set, past the security, and
back into the real world.  "Do you want to walk or take a cab?" Chris
asked.

     Jake glanced down the street, "It's not too bad, and I can use a
walk."  Together, they walked down the street, their breath cutting through
the crisp air.  The sun was just starting to dip behind the buildings.
"Magic hour," Jake whispered into Chris ear.  Smiling, Chris watched as the
sky turned from blue to pink, from pink to orange, and finally to a deep
purple.  It never got quite black in New York, Chris noticed.  It was times
like this, when he and Jake could just look at each other and know exactly
what the other was thinking, that he knew that things would be okay.

     "I'm going to try to get us into a nice restaurant, somewhere we can
just be by ourselves," Jake said when they walked through the revolving
doors of the Waldorf-Astoria.

     "You don't have to do that," Chris said, glancing at the marble stair
steps before they stepped into an elevator.

     "No, I do.  I feel like you're here and I'm just seeing you in the
morning before work.  It's no good."

     Jake threw off his coat when the door of the hotel room opened, the
two of them weren't rock stars, but looking at the room, strewn all over
with clothes, it was an understandable misconception.  Chris rummaged
around the piles of clothes for his scarf, "Should I get dressed up?"

     "Let me make some calls, I'm not sure where we can get in."

     "What's the point of me dating an actor if..." Chris said, his voice
trailing as his phone vibrated.  It was Eric.  Suddenly, Chris realized
that he had invited Eric to dinner.  Thoughts raced through his head, what
could he make up to let him down easy?  Could he just take Eric along?
Would Jake mind?  Chris glanced out to where Jake was sitting, trying his
best to find an available table anywhere.

     "Eric, hey," Chris said, his voice quiet.

     "I'm a block away, I hope you like Moroccan food.  There's this
amazing place I know."

     Chris looked out at Jake again.  He was still on the phone, but this
time, he was all smiles.  "Listen, Eric, I'm sorry, but I have to cancel.
Something came up.  I'm really sorry.  It's just that I don't get to see
this friend that often and he has such a tight schedule..."  Chris hated
lying, but it wasn't all lies.  He hadn't seen Jake for more than a few
hours in the past few days, and Jake did have a tight schedule.

     "No, no, that's fine."

     Chris could almost hear his voice dripping with disillusionment.  Eric
was genuinely excited to be meeting Chris and taking him to one of his
favorite restaurants, to talk about his book or what they'd done in
college.

     "Let me call you back, maybe you could come with us, I don't know
where we're going, but..."

     "No, no, I don't want to intrude," Eric said, "It's a good night for a
walk."

     "I'm so, so sorry," Chris said, "I'll see you soon though, I'll be
back at Parsons tomorrow.  We can get lunch or something."

     "See you then," Eric said, his voice surprisingly calm.  He hung up,
not giving Chris a chance to say anything.  Surprised, Chris looked at his
phone, wondering if the call was dropped or if he was actually getting hung
up on.  Looking at the screen in disbelief, Chris just slid the phone back
into his pocket; there was nothing he could do now.

     Chris walked over to Jake, pulling their lips together.  His thumb
working that spot right under Jake's earlobe.  Jake was surprised at first,
but let Chris' tongue play over his own.  "Let's get going," Chris said,
out of breath.

     The lobby of the Astoria wasn't like anything Eric was used to.
Everyone seemed dressed up, oozing sophistication and class, and there he
was in his khakis and his bomber jacket.  He had never felt more
uncomfortable.  At Parsons, he had his art to set him apart, but here
nobody knew who he was, he was just the vagrant that wandered in from the
cold.  Eyes seemed to turn away and the soft whispers he heard were
probably about him, but he stayed, figuring that since he had nothing to
do, a beer at the Astoria's bar didn't sound like too bad of a plan.

     He turned towards the bar, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw
someone he thought he knew, and when he turned around to make sure, he saw
Chris, a smile on his lips and his hand subtly tucked into someone else's
coat pocket.  He looked really happy.  Eric noticed that there were
definitely some sparks flying between him and the guy he was with.  It was
so obvious that they weren't just "friends," but Eric prided himself on
being able to pick up on subtleties that most people missed, so maybe it
wasn't as blatant as he thought.  Eric watched as they walked across the
vast lobby, dressed only a little better than him, but they looked like
they belonged.  They were oblivious to the rest of the guests, just looking
at each other and exchanging jokes or something, they were laughing and
giggling.  As they turned to the revolving doors, Eric got a good look at
the both of them, Chris in his black pea coat, his light blue sweater
contrasting with the dark brown of his eyes.  He was pulling on his gloves
as they waited for the revolving doors to stop; and his "friend," an inch
or so taller, with dark brown hair and slight stubble dusting his jaw,
handsome but unassuming.  It was unmistakable whom he was with, and Eric
felt like the biggest idiot on Earth.

     "Donnie Darko," Eric thought, "fuck."  He wished he had just turned
around after the phone call, had headed back to his apartment and didn't
see any of this.  At least that way, he could still imagine he still had a
chance.

---

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