Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake (14 page)

“Whoa, dark in here,” he says, entering cautiously. “Do you think we should stay in the living room?”

“No. The bedroom brings out my creative side,” I wink. Taking a seat on the bed, I nudge Puddy off the comforter and create space for Billy to join me. Uncomfortable, he dodges my eyes.

“Well, uh, where should we start?” he asks, citing the script.

“It’s only a bed,” I state, smoothing my hand over the blue comforter. “For starters, you can sit.”

“Uh...” Billy chokes.

“I won’t bite.”

Well, unless you ask me nicely.

Failing to budge, Billy plays cool, bobbing his head to the raspy vocals of Joan Jett. “Cool music. Who is this?” Billy asks.

“Joan Jett.”

“Nice.”

“Totally,” I agree.

Joan moans about hating herself for loving some man, and I sense Billy is stalling. Who knows? Maybe he sees the future in my eyes, or maybe he senses the taking of my virginity is just a simple request away.

Muttering something about his mom being sick, Billy mentions that he needs to get home soon and we should really focus on the script. “Can we turn on the light?” he asks. “Seriously man, I can’t see.”

“Oh yeah, no problem.”

I’m so lame. Look at me. His mom is sick, and here I am playing this whole barf bag routine to get down his pants. How desperate can I be?

I blow out the candles and flick on the light. Then cursing myself for being so trashy I circle the room in search of my copy of the script. “I admit. I’m totally off the radar tonight. Don’t mind me,” I say.

“No, you’re fine, man.”

As the house trembles with the arrival of thunder outside, I imagine that Billy and I are the cause of the loud bang; that once beckoning me to the bed, he pounds my butt into a blueberry pancake.

“Shall we start?” I ask, uncovering the script. Along the bedroom window, raindrops fall on the glass like tapping fingertips.

“Yeah, the bathroom scene, page forty-eight,” he says, flipping to it.

“You know, it might be easier for us to capture the scene if we sit next to each other.” Having returned to the bed, I ask him to join me.

“Uh, sure.”

“Is that ok?”

“Yeah, no worries,” he says, taking a seat. But the fact remains, even with the light on, Billy is worried. Anxiety is hidden in his inability to focus. Reading through the bathroom scene, he jolts, shakes, and squirms each time he stumbles over a line. And let me tell you how adorable it is to see Mr. Billy, the acting veteran, get so damn hell-bent over making a tiny mistake. Such imperfections help him seem human. “Forget it, I can’t do this tonight,” he says, throwing his script on the bed after flubbing his dialogue one last time.

“Be patient.”

“It comes easier for you. It’s natural.”

“Whatever,” I blush. “You’re the star. Everyone worships you and you know it. When you did
The Mousetrap
last year, there was a full house every night. I saw it three times.” Taken by my words, Billy’s eyes widen. “Not that I’m not a stalker or anything.”

“Yeah, I know.” He speaks with slight reservation.

“So cheer up,” I say, squeezing his knee. He jerks away and kills the moment by opening up about his parents.

“My dad thinks acting is my ticket out of here, that one day I’m going to make it big and provide for him and my mom. He always says I’m not the brightest bulb on the tree. All I have is my face, so I better use it.”

“That’s not cool,” I reply.

“Yeah, dad says a lot of things that aren’t cool.”

“Forget about him. What do you care about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yeah you do. Is there something else you’d rather do with your life?”

“I like kids,” he offers, loosening up. “Last summer, I was a counselor at the YMCA. It was a blast. That’s why I started mentoring Harley. Lately, I’ve been thinking about, I don’t know…teaching.”

“Then go for it. Screw what your dad says. Listen, you can’t rest easy at night with someone else’s dream in your head.”

In agreement, Billy lies back, playing Chutes and Ladders with the zipper on his hoodie. “What about you? What do you want in the future?”

“To be in the spotlight,” I smile.

“I see that happening,” he says. And though I’m not sure if he’s being sincere, his words make me feel sweet and airy like cotton candy. Oh, how I want to caress him for his kind words. Oh, how I wish his eyes could speak and teach me about his troubled soul: a place where a thousand children run unfettered, while one boy stands guard, incapable of allowing himself such freedom.

Touch me, Billy. Touch me.

Noticing my zombie-like gaze upon his crotch, he sits up as my I-Pod plays ‘Love is a Battlefield.’

“It’s getting late,” he announces. “Maybe I should go.”

“No, no, no,” I argue.

“Unless….”

Unless! Yes, let there be an unless!

“Unless you want to run our other scene,” he continues. Other scene, I didn’t know we had an ‘other’ scene. I thought my character was only to make an appearance in the bathroom. You know, to make Billy’s character think twice about his sexual preference. “It’s on page seventy-five,” he says. “You don’t have dialogue. It’s a dream sequence. My character dreams about you. We have to...kiss.”

“Bullshit,” I blurt out.

This has to be a joke. My luck is not this good.

“No really,” he says. “I know. It’s messed up. But it’s in the script, so.”

“So you’re being serious?”

“Uh…yeah.”

Oh my God! Is this really happening? And if so, why have the stars aligned for me? Fate has never been my friend. Usually, we just shadowbox when it comes to love and I lose. Nevertheless, the other night, I kissed Eric at the bar. And now I have a chance with Billy as well? Who knows? Maybe fate can be altered if you’re persistent enough about getting what you want. And I want Billy. God, I want him! Still, I have to maintain my composure. Sure, my heart is performing backflips, but Billy doesn’t need to know that. I’m a professional actor. And being a professional, I must handle this situation very seriously. Trepidation is the key. Billy must think I’m equally fearful of the thought of kissing a boy. So I blush, blush, blush, chewing the nail on my pinkie.

“It’s ok. We don’t have to…” Billy begins.

“Yeah, it is kind of weird.”

“You think so?”

“A little, but it is in the script. So maybe it’s necessary,” I say. Shifting his eyes, he nods like he wants to believe me even though he knows I’m full of shit. And I totally am! Who can blame me? Gay boys need love too. “Maybe we should do it to…tighten…our grasp….”

“Our grasp…” he mimics.

“On the relationship…of the characters.”

“Yeah, the characters,” he agrees. Still, resistance lies below his tone. “You really think so?”

“Of course,” I lie.

Momentarily closing his eyes, Billy seems distraught, caught between his morals and his peculiar desire to kiss a boy. Me, I know this wonderful moment, this wonderful time, is the reason I was dropped into this world and why I was given the gift of being gay. A kiss means so much more when you have fight for it. So when Billy pushes aside his script and slides closer to me, I’m equally shaken, but not because I don’t want to do it, but because I’m afraid of what I’ll fight for next.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask him.

“It’s just acting, right?”

“Right.”

That’s what I tell him, but as Billy’s lips close in, my mind becomes a tornado of whirling questions. Like if we kiss, then what? What will I dream about tomorrow? What if reality doesn’t add up to the dream? Wait, why am I freaking out? My kiss with Eric didn’t cause this turmoil. Oh, who knows? Maybe that was just a warm-up. Maybe this is the real thing. “Just for the record,” Billy adds. His mouth pauses inches from my lips. “I’ve never kissed a guy before.”

“Don’t worry,” I whisper. “It’s just like kissing a girl except I know what I’m doing.”

And let’s just say I make good on my word. Not that I’m a show-off. It’s a sweet minty kiss, really. There’s little tongue, and our lips barely touch for most of it. That’s the best part – Billy’s ability to tease. He likes to check out the battlefield before sending in the ground troops, I suppose.

On the flip side, I pull out the heavy artillery straight away. My hands creep toward his inner thighs. My fingers dance above his fly.

“Hey! That’s not in the scene!”

“Yes, but as actors, we must take risks.”

Regret fills his eyes, and he stands. “That’s not cool. I’m out of here.”

“No, wait. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have even kissed you. This whole day has been one big....”

Billy interrupts me. “Chill, the kiss was ok.”

“Huh?”

He shrugs, revealing the smallest grin. “It was ok.”

“You’re shitting me. You liked it?”

“Hey, I’m open to stuff,” he says. “And you’re right.”

“Right? About what?”

Backtracking, he shakes his head, as if being foolish. “Nah, forget it. It’s stupid.”

Say it! Say it now or I will die, and you will not be invited to the funeral!

“Tell me,” I demand.

“Maybe I should have brought you flowers.”

All right, that’s it! I’m dead. Sprinkle my casket with calla lilies ‘cause I’ve hit heaven. Seriously, could my life be any more perfect?

“Does that mean you want to try again?” Standing, I brush up to him. He looks off, attempting to regulate control, but I sense his desire, his heart pounding against his chest. “This time, no hands, I prom...” I say. Though before I finish, he rushes in for round two. Screw the script, screw the dream sequence – this is real, and no, I will not be in need of a body double.

Then I hear it. Bang, bang, bang!

From the outside, lightning strikes like thunder as Billy takes me with more strength, more confidence. Tongue, we have tongue! I think, as outside, the thunder smashes at the window like a fist.

Wait....

Bang, bang, bang.

That’s not thunder.

Bang, bang, bang.

“I caught you!” dad yells. His hand hammers the window. “I see what you’re doing! You’re not fooling me!”

“Huh?” Billy says, losing sight of my lips. “Who is that?”

“Oh, that’s just dad RUINING my life.”

“Your dad? You mean, Sheriff Morris?”

“The one and only,” I sigh.

Grabbing his script, Billy leapfrogs over the bed, clearing the carpet to the bedroom door.

It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Super Billy!

“I’m out of here,” he says.

“Wait!” Rushing after him, I take hold of his hand, tugging him in for one final kiss. “Use the door in the kitchen. Run!”

As Billy vanishes, dad enters the house, slamming the front door. “Tyler!” He stomps down the hall in wet shoes.

I quickly turn down the music. “In my room,” I reply.

Reality check: dad’s about to storm the castle, guns blazing and ready to draw. What can I do? Call 911? No. He is 911. Roll over? Play dead? No, I’ll save that for my future ex-husband. You know, when I’m over it and have a headache. Play the victim? No. Dad’s not gullible. Tell the truth? A stretch, but it just might work.

This is my plan, to remain as calm as possible. Yes dad, I kissed a boy. Big deal. It’s the handshake of the new millennium.

Dripping wet in his green uniform, dad enters the room in a mad rage. “Don’t EVER do that shit under my roof again! Do you hear me?” he says. I want to answer. To tell him, I do hear you, but he doesn’t give me a chance. His fist is in my face, and he’s going on about earning trust. Give me a break. I’m a teenager. I’m not supposed to be trusted.

Quick, I think. Comfort him.

Make him feel like you’re on his side.

Acknowledge his feelings.

“You’re angry,” I say. Drying the rain from his sheriff’s badge, I remain calm, very calm. “And I can totally relate. Do you want to sit down and talk about it?”

“Tye, don’t play with me! Don’t give me that therapist talk you read in about in your psychology class.”

Damn, I guess he caught me. So now what? Oh, I know. Reverse it on him. Make him feel like the bad guy. “I don’t know why you’re pissed. I’m the one who should be mad. You botched my rehearsal.”

“Rehearsal?” Dad makes a face like he just shit a cactus.

“The kiss is in the movie. It’s a love story. I play a gay student who likes Billy’s character.”

“What kind of movie is this?” Baffled, dad snatches the script off the bed and begins ripping through it. “I thought you were a homeboy.”

“I lied, ok? My character is a homo.”

He points his thick index finger at my eye. “Don’t say that word!”

“Why not?” I cry. “I play the same role in real life, remember?”

“You shut your mouth!”

“That’s right, dad,” I say, attempting to leave. “Deny it like you always do. I’m getting a drink.”

Blocking the door, he flings the script, becoming icy-still. Rain drips along his forehead. “Tye, I’ve never hit you, because if I do, I’m afraid I’d....”

“You’d what?” I ask, as dad takes hold of my shoulders. Struggling to find words, his teeth tear at his bottom lip. “What are you waiting for?” I ask him. “Hit me! Knock these gay thoughts out of my head! That’s what you want, isn’t it?” Releasing his grip, dad looks away.

Here I am running. Here I am tearing down the hall like a lunatic. I’m thinking about Billy, and how I’d fight anyone, including dad, to be with him. Maybe this is love – the feeling of being pumped and ready for battle even if you know losing is inevitable. What a rush!

Then boom, I jam my big toe into a leg on the kitchen table, and I fall in pain on the tile floor as blood spreads outward.

“What are you doing?” dad says, approaching from behind. His voice has turned festive. Here we are at 180 degrees. We never had a fight. What fight? Deny. Deny. Deny. “Let me help you,” he says, reaching for my hand.