The Friends We Keep(35)

“You’re here for the part of Rip?” he asked, sitting down.

“We all are. Did I see you at the Jungle last week?”

“Friday night?”

He nodded.

“Then you did. Great bar, right?”

“I loved it. I’m Alec.”

“Topher.”

Just then the door opened and a woman stood there looking at a clipboard. “Topher Winthrop?”

“Nice to meet you. Good luck.” Topher smiled at Alec as he stood up, knowing he would bump into him again, and recognizing that Alec was giving him that look that said under different circumstances, had they had more time, Alec probably would have suggested they meet.

It was a good audition. Hell, maybe it was the best audition Topher had ever had. He had never imagined himself on a soap, so he wasn’t particularly attached to the outcome. He wasn’t nervous, felt confident, and read beautifully. Although the script wasn’t particularly humorous, there was one line that made Topher laugh, and he played it for humor, bringing a laugh out of everyone in the room.

“You were fantastic,” said the girl with the clipboard as she led him back out. “They loved you!”

“I’m sure everyone here is fantastic,” Topher said conspiratorially.

“Not like you. You would be a perfect Rip. Good luck.”

She called Alec in, and as he walked past Topher, he muttered, “Jungle this Friday?”

Topher just smiled. Under different circumstances he would have agreed, but there was something about Larry that he couldn’t get out of his head. He didn’t want to play the field or complicate things. He wanted to see whether there could be something with Larry, whether he was as good as he seemed.



* * *



? ? ?

    Over the next couple of weeks, he and Larry fell into an easy routine, meeting after work for a quick bite to eat at a neighborhood restaurant, or Larry cooking Topher dinner at either of their apartments. After three weeks, Topher started to worry that Larry wasn’t attracted to him, that he had read this all wrong. He assumed it was perhaps the start of a beautiful friendship, the easiest one Topher had ever had, but not more, because Larry hadn’t made a move.

And Topher, who had spent his life avoiding intimacy, avoiding being touched, found himself craving Larry’s touch. He had thought about kissing Larry, or reaching over and placing an unsubtle hand on his crotch as they sat together after dinner, but the prospect of rejection was one he couldn’t handle. And so he waited.

Topher’s agent finally called, bubbling with excitement. Topher had got the part of Rip Wallington! They had known from the minute he walked in that it was him, and they wanted him to come in on Monday and meet everyone.

Topher was thrilled to have steady work, even as he hoped he wouldn’t remain a soap actor forever, rather that it would be a stepping-stone to greater things. But still, it meant a modicum of fame, which was exciting, whichever way you sliced it.

He phoned Larry to tell him the good news, and Larry immediately suggested a celebratory dinner that night. But Topher was tired and in need of a night at home, so Larry came over instead, to cook something suitably celebratory.

It was lobster. They were alive when they arrived, in a polystyrene box with ice, carried in by Larry, who immediately filled a huge pot with water and boiled it. Topher offered to plunge the lobsters, but much to his mortification instead dropped one beast on the floor when it unexpectedly moved a claw. It scuttled into the corner as Topher shrieked and climbed up on a stool.

Larry laughed until tears ran down his cheeks. “I wish I had a camera,” he said, wiping the tears away as he helped Topher off the stool. “I’ll put the lobsters in the pot.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think it would be a problem. God knows I watched our housekeeper cook enough lobsters when we were up at the Vineyard, but I just couldn’t do it. I’m too much of a wuss.”

“A very cute and talented wuss,” said Larry affectionately, retrieving the lobster and plunging it into the boiling water with no compunction whatsoever. Topher watched, impressed, wondering, hoping, that he and Larry would become more than friends sometime soon.

It happened that night. Topher was washing up after Larry had cooked dinner, the two of them puttering in his tiny galley kitchen, when he became aware of Larry standing behind him. They weren’t touching, but there was something different in the air, a heaviness as if time were standing still. Topher’s breath caught in his throat.

Larry didn’t say anything. Topher felt the heat emanating from Larry’s body as his own body started to respond. Slowly, and gently, he sensed Larry moving closer, before feeling Larry’s soft breath on his neck, and then, like the softest of buttery kisses, felt his lips in the same place. Topher didn’t move. He stopped washing the bowl he had been holding, setting it down gently in the sink, not moving, his entire being focused on the feel of Larry’s lips on his skin.

All he could hear was the sound of his own breath echoing in his ears; all he could focus on was the feel of Larry’s mouth on him. He turned as if in slow motion, and they stood, foreheads touching, breathing heavily, Larry not moving, not doing anything else, until Topher couldn’t stand it anymore, and leaned forward until his own lips were on Larry’s. And then they were kissing, as Topher felt his entire body turn to liquid gold.