Julie has known that this relationship is just a publicity stunt, but I think she’s caught on that, even if Logan and I haven’t decided to become privately official, things are just a little more complicated now. “I know your relationship is your business, but…It’s okay for you to have needs separate from Logan, too.”
I lean back in my seat as her words hit me. She’s right. I want to be supportive, but my life has only revolved around Logan recently. Before he asked for space from me, we would leave the set together and go back to his apartment. Sometimes we didn’t even talk for the entire night. I’d just sit beside him or hold him. I loved being by Logan’s side. But it’s true, I think, that I’ve started to lose myself. For the past two weeks, I’ve only gone to my hotel room and thought about Logan, wondered if he’s okay, hoped that he would text or call.
This wrap party is something I would’ve looked forward to, once. It’ll be a final chance to say goodbye to a lot of the people I’ve been working with for these past few months.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “Yeah. I’ll go.”
*
The party is at a restaurant closer to Santa Monica. The whole place has been shut down for us. Karaoke machines are hooked up, though no one is using them. Music plays in the background. People stand in the groups they’re more comfortable with. I end up with Julie, Keith, Monica, and Scott. Even though I’d pushed myself to come, I’m not feeling present. I look up when everyone laughs, and I realize I’ve missed half of the conversation. I force a strained smile and shrug when Keith asks, “Where’s the boyfriend?”
Julie frowns and asks if I’m all right. “I’m fine.”
I push myself to leave the small group of actors to walk around the set, thanking everyone I see. After about an hour of mingling, Scott shakes my hand and says he hopes we’ll work together again soon, and even Monica gives me a tight hug. I hang out with Julie and Keith for a while, and when they say they’re going to head out, Keith slaps me on the back and Julie pulls me in for a hug.
“This is only goodbye for now,” she says. “We’re going to keep hanging out even after the promo tour, right? And we’ll have the photoshoots and the red carpets, so this isn’t really goodbye.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Of course.”
I should probably head out, too—but the thought of going back to my shadowy hotel room alone depresses me. I wander for a while until I find Dave over by the open bar. “There you are,” he says, grin widening. “I was afraid you weren’t going to show.”
“I’m here.” I ask the bartender for some water.
Dave watches. “Maybe that’s the secret to making it in this industry,” he says, raising beer to his lips. “Don’t drink.”
“It probably takes more than that.”
“Have you spoken to your manager?” he asks me. “About the tour, I mean.”
“Paola sent over the basics.” The cities, which outlets, that sort of thing. I’ll have some time off as the film moves into post-production. I was planning on going back to Atlanta. It’ll be the holiday break, so Emma will be home, too. It’ll be a sudden shift, a change from everything I’ve been experiencing here in LA.
The movie’s expected to come out in eight months, but publicity will begin soon. We’ve been doing a few interviews here and there, but the real work has barely begun. The promo tour as one of the lead actors is going to be rough. I’ll have to speak openly about being a gay man, and as much as I’ve learned to breathe through the shame, there’s still a flinch of fear.
Dave seems especially interested in his drink now. “So…They didn’t mention anything else?”
I don’t like that he won’t meet my eye. “No. Was there something else?”
He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal, but his frown deepens. “There’ve been some talks about Gray. Whether he’ll be a benefit on the tour.”
I almost laugh. “This is a promotional tour for a romance movie. I’m not even the main character.”
“Gray’s had a lot of negative press lately,” Dave says. That’s putting it gently. “There’s some concern that this entire situation with Briggs Stevenson will be a distraction from the film.”
There’s a spark of anger, hearing that one. “Has anyone even bothered reaching out to Logan? See if he’s doing okay?”
I already know the answer to that. Dave shifts uncomfortably. He hasn’t spoken to Logan besides the usual greetings on set before jumping into work. That’s a hell of a lot more than the EPs or any of the studio execs have done. They don’t care about Logan at all.
“Look, it’s not up to me,” Dave says. “I hope they’ll reconsider and have Gray on board. It might do him some good, and if he shows himself in a positive light, then…”
That’s frustrating to hear, too. I know that these promo tours would expect me and Gray to sit still for interviews for twelve hours a day, grinning happily and excitedly, not showing a hint of exhaustion. It’ll require almost as much acting as for the film itself. But if Logan can’t force himself to pretend to be happy for the sake of the film and the audience, then why isn’t it okay for him to show that? Would it really be the end of the world if he was given space to be honest about what he’s going through—to be listened to, and accepted for once in his life?
Dave shrugs again, then offers a hand. “Good luck to you, Matt. It’s been good working with you.”
*
It hurts to head back to my hotel room alone. The air feels stale, the sheets musty. I open the balcony doors and sit on the edge of my bed and try not to wait for a text or a phone call. I should take some time for myself—take care of my own needs, like Julie said. My entire existence and all my happiness shouldn’t depend on Logan.
My phone vibrates against the wood of the nightstand. I pause, then turn it over to see Logan’s name with a flourish of emotions—relief, excitement, love. Do you want to come by?
Logan opens the apartment door when I knock. He’s given me a key by this point, but I feel like it’d be more polite to ask to be invited inside. He’s wearing a white t-shirt and gray sweatpants. His hair is a mess, shadows under his eyes. He’s been looking thinner recently.
“Are you all right?” I ask him, concern flooding my voice.
“Yeah. I’m fine.” He pushes the door open more. “How was the party?”
I follow him in, close and lock the door behind me. “It was okay. I missed you.”
I’ve been trying my hand at saying things like this to him. I missed you. I love you. A part of me wonders if he’s ever had someone who has told him that before. If anyone in his life has gone out of their way to let him know that he’s wanted.
I can’t save him. I know that I can’t. But it also breaks my heart to think that he was never gifted these basics, of knowing that he’s loved and wanted and deserves to be here with the rest of us. I want to be safe for him. That’s okay, isn’t it?