i'll do whatever it takes Who: Gabe & Rafe. What: Gabe invites Rafe over for dinner and a chat; things get personal. Where: Gabe's apartment, 805. When: Evening, April 14.
Gabe was starting to think this cooking thing wasn't that hard, pushing aside the memory of wandering through the supermarket and trying to find all the ingredients for moqueca. He'd felt a little like an idiot, returning to several of the same aisles over and over as he realized most of the required things were placed together, but now that his apartment smelled like well-cooked (he hoped not too well) fish, the whole trip was worth it. He didn't normally pull out this many stops, but it also wasn't every day that he invited an ex over for dinner. Glancing at the clock on the oven, he noted that it was nearly time for Rafe's arrival, and double checked that everything -- stew, rice, the pitcher of Caipirinhas -- was ready.
Spot was parked in his usual place in the living room, either lulled to sleep by the smell of cooking or simply done with the whole idea of more socialization. Gabe flitted about the kitchen again, this time setting up plates on the small bar that looked over into the cooking area, when a knock on the door came. Grinning wide, he went to answer it.
"Hey!" He opened the door, ushering Rafe in, spreading his arms to embrace the other man if he was willing. "Glad you could make it."
Rafael moved too easily into that hug. He returned it as best he could with a bottle of wine in each hand: red in one, white in the other, fat droplets of condensation still clinging to the latter's chilly sides. Still he gave Gabriel a tight squeeze with his forearm, and when he drew back, there was a broad, bright smile on his face.
"I wasn't sure what you were cooking," he said, "so I brought both…" He glanced over Gabriel's shoulder and into the kitchen, though his gaze returned quickly to his host. "Something smells delicious."
A hand lingered on Rafe's side as Gabe glanced between the bottles. "I'll take these as host gifts for now, because I planned this down to a T," he chided his guest, taking what Rafe had brought and storing them in his large, steel fridge. He ushered Rafe to sit at the bar looking out over the kitchen; it was angled into the living room, where Spot lay in one corner. A large couch had its back to the kitchen and the small breakfast nook Gabe had set up; the couch faced a TV which was currently hidden within an entertainment center. The far wall boasted a beautiful view of the Newport Beach skyline. To the left of that, facing from the doorway, was a triptych of photos framed in black. To the right, a cluster of what looked like family photos -- Gabe, a young girl, their parents, all at different ages and locations -- covered the wall along with posters and a small shelf of awards. Hallways ran in either direction, leading off into further depths.
"OK, you have to tell me if I got this completely wrong," Gabe said, grabbing the pitcher of Caipirinhas and pouring two glasses three-quarters full. Two slices of lime went into each, and he offered one to Rafe with a smile. "What should we toast to?"
Rafael raised his glass to Gabe's. He smiled still, but remained silent, working to diplomatically word or entirely discard all the toasts that immediately came to mind. In the end he settled for a safe version of what was most in his heart.
"To reconnecting," he said. Their glasses clinked merrily, clear and bright as a memory. "There's nothing quite like catching up over good food. And that does smell good." He took a long sip from his glass; it wasn't perfect, but it was very close, and the company with which he shared it made it so. He swept droplets from his lip with a flick of his tongue, glancing around the apartment so much larger than his own. His smile turned shy; he tipped the rim of his glass toward the distant triptych, recognizing the photographs even at a distance.
"You kept those?"
Gabe was leaning against the counter on the other side of the bar; his gaze followed Rafe's motions, a smile playing around his lips at the sight of the photos. He shrugged.
"I didn't want to throw them out," he said. "They were... Yeah, a painful reminder for awhile, but I... like them," he carefully tailored himself. "You're good at it, Rafe. I wish you'd stuck with it, but I'm glad you found other things to keep yourself happy." He sipped his drink and then put it down, hands pushing him off of the counter. Rafael watched him move, smiling softly all the while.
"Now, I've got moqueca to go with this, and you're going to have to grade me on that, too. And leave some room for dessert, because I had Alice Kennedy -- sweet girl, I ran into her at a local bookstore -- make us something special." He moved to collect the two plates he'd made out of the fish stew, setting one in front of Rafe. Gabe offered him a fork, urging him to take the first bite. "I've taste-tested it myself, but I told you already, and as I'm sure you rightly remember, I don't cook often enough to actually have any skill." He let his hands settle back to the counter. "But I can follow a recipe," he added cheekily.
"I'm sure it's excellent." Rafael raised his laden fork, but he patted the seat alongside his own. "But no-one wants to eat alone. Join me?" Gabe shook his head, and quickly helped himself to the second plate he'd made; he navigated around the counter and took up a spot at the bar next to Rafe. His knee brushed the other man's hip momentarily as he slid into the spot, and Gabe minimized the contact as much as possible.
Rafe took another bracing sip of his cocktail. It was delicious; more than that, it reminded him of years gone by, of their first drink together in a sweltering Miami club. He could not help but smile. When he set down the glass, more than half of it was gone. "Alice did mention you when I was over last. You're joining us for our next dinner?"
Rafe briefly stopped himself talking with another forkful of stew. "You did a great job with this, by the way," he said, carefully spearing another hunk of fish.
"You don't have to be nice if it's bad," Gabe replied, using a fork to stir his own plate a little before taking a bite. The fish felt a little underwhelming, the spices a little off, but it was still edible. "With your palate, I'm sure you can pick out every little thing that's wrong. But that compliment obviously comes from the highest offices..." He shrugged, looking down at Rafe's glass as his guest waved him off.
"If you want more, please, feel free to help yourself. And she did, she said she'd invite me over for it. She, ah, said that another couple, Isobel and Obed, join you, and there was...someone named Nish?" Gabe left the rest of it out not to drag out details, but to give Rafe a chance to explain himself.
Rafael cleared his throat. He finished the rest of his drink in a single draught, then lowered himself from the barstool. Glass in hand, he returned to the kitchen, pouring himself a fresh glass from the pitcher. He brought the pitcher with him when he came back to the bar. The longer he tarried the worse this seemed, and yet he struggled to find the right words.
"Nish is my girlfriend," he said. "I should've mentioned her earlier, but…" He gripped his fork too tightly. "Things aren't going well. It's a long story you don't want to hear. It just…" With the tines of his fork he pushed stew around his plate. With marked difficulty he raised his eyes to Gabe's. "It wasn't what I wanted to say to you the first time I saw you again."
"I completely understand," Gabe offered; he put a hand on Rafe's wrist, stopping the random movements to not necessarily force calm onto his friend so much as offer it. "It's your personal life, Rafe; I'm not here to pass judgement. I..." He stopped himself, amazed at the overwhelming wash of feelings that were breaking free, as though they'd just been held in storage for the past decade. "I just want you to be happy. It's been awhile, and... I just want you to know you can talk about anything with me. Anything at all. Or you don't have to, I won't press." He licked his lips.
"I met her? Taking Spot for a walk the other day. She seems nice?" He mentally hit himself; just a moment before, he'd promised to not dig further into things Rafe didn't want to talk about. "I'm seeing someone too; he's a camera guy, we met on the last set I was working. His name's Eshan, around our age, nice guy." He shrugged, trying to put Rafe back at ease; smiling, he took a bite of his stew, chewing and swallowing, trying to make the situation seem normal again. "We both have our own lives.
"Obviously we should talk about something else," he tried, laughing a bit, glad that these things were at least out there.
Rafael offered a shaky laugh in response. "Please." He ate another bite of stew but tasted nothing. In truth he had expected nothing less; years had passed, and Gabriel deserved joy and love in his life. The better part of him was grateful he had found it. It was this part he focused on, nourishing with food and drink until he trusted himself to speak again. As it turned out, this trust was misplaced.
"Eshan," he said, nodding. "Good. I'm glad, Gabe, really. If he's in town, you're welcome to bring him to our dinner. I'm sure Alice wouldn't mind. The more the merrier." He raised his glass, feigning a small toast to justify taking another generous sip. By the time he set it down his smile was broader; bright and sincere. "So tell me about him. 'Nice' isn't very specific." A teasing grin played on his lips; he shouldered against his old friend, trying for a nonchalance he did not feel. "What's he like?"
Gabe's grin widened, shoving back a little against Rafe if only to feel the touch of the other man's shoulder for a little longer.
"I know, I know.... Uh, he's smart. Really big into the argument about diversity in Hollywood and interested in giving minorities more of a voice. He's got a great eye, but that goes without saying... Because of the camera, by the way," he followed up, realizing how easily he was leaving himself open for more teasing. "We got to talking about the lack of Indian roles -- he's from Florida but his parents are from Delhi -- in larger films and how it's interesting that more and more Bollywood and action flicks are making their way into theaters, but not necessarily Hollywood itself. Interesting response from theaters to cater to their audiences as there're larger influxes of Asian minorities in suburbs, et cetera..." For someone concerned with details and observation, the similarities he was pronouncing between Eshan and Rafe went completely over his head. He took another bite, chewing, swallowing, wetting his throat with another drink.
"I'll definitely bring him by, next time he's in town. He's out a lot, we both are, depending on where our schedules need to be. He's in Texas right now, filming an action flick."
Rafael was nodding. Both the conversation and his mood were well lubricated by alcohol, and he topped off their glasses in an effort to keep the good momentum going. "I'd like to meet him," he said, not entirely lying. He could not resist the urge to see this man who had captivated Gabriel's attention, to judge if he was worthy of such a reward. Rafael had no right to these things, and he knew this, but that changed nothing of how he felt. He latched onto the similarities between himself and this other man; at least, those other than their affection for his host. He tried to feel as charitable and inviting as his tone sounded.
"It sounds like we would have a lot to talk about." He smiled, teasing once more. "Other than you, I mean."
"We do," Gabe replied, shaking his head with a laugh and turning slightly in his seat so he was facing Rafe more easily. "I can't believe you've stuck with the escort work this long," he let slip, though he quickly found himself treading backward over the way he'd phrased things, which he chalked up as a result of the drinking. A hand came up to wave off his words. "Just that, I thought you might get bored with it; you never... you never wanted to try the photography again, or your cooking?" Another question crept into his mind, the thought of Rafe's other career, though Gabe had no idea how to bring that up without resulting in the asking being far creepier than his intent. He didn't want to strike Rafe as judgemental, but the desire to know loomed in the back of his mind.
His companion gave him an opening easily enough. Rafael shrugged, grateful the blush that had risen at Gabe's initial comments had quickly begun to fade. "Not professionally," he admitted. He shrugged and set down his fork, resting its tines on the edge of the bowl. With both hands he grasped the bottom of his cup, pulling it closer toward him.
"Between my clients and my shoots I don't really have time," he said, "and it's too late to get into those things again, anyway. I mean…" He meant a great many things by this, and some of their nuances showed in both his expression and tone. He clicked his thumbnails against his glass. "Since I didn't go to school, getting back into cooking would mean going back to twelve- and sixteen-hour days chopping vegetables in someone else's kitchen. And I've just been away from photography for too long.
"I'm good at this. I make good money. Maybe once I stop getting work I'll try a second career." He smiled weakly, hiding it behind his upraised glass.
"Your...shoots?" One of Gabe's brows arched in confusion. "I thought you said you didn't have time for photography."
"Oh." The dusky flush returned to Rafael's cheeks, and in force this time. He looked away from Gabriel for a moment before forcing his gaze back. "No, I, um… I mean porn. I, uh, got into it a little while after the escorting started. Movies and photo shoots…" His nonchalant shrug was utterly betrayed by the color deepening on his face. A nervous laugh escaped him, echoing into his now-empty glass. "I probably should have mentioned that, too..."
Gabe wasn't sure if the surprise that covered his face was enough; he felt like he should have had a least a small amount of shock to cover the fact that he already knew.
"Ah, yeah," he replied, trying to remain as nonchalant as he could so Rafe didn't take any vibes off of him as weird. "I... I knew. I mean, everyone's guilty of googling their exes every now and again, you know? But not everyone's ex turns up in the google search as a, uh, porn star." He swallowed thickly, then took another drink, trying to find something to do with his hands so they were kept to himself.
"You look good, though. In them. The videos." He was finding himself at a loss for words, unsure if Rafe wanted to continue in this vein, or move on to something else. He was trying desperately to not imply that he'd watched a few over the years, that at first finding them had been a blow to his ego -- had their sex life been that bad? But then they'd been a weird source of comfort between relationships in the handful of times he'd sought out little pieces of his former lover, where he could almost pretend on what could have been. His cheeks were burning a steady red.
Rafael's were a near match. His jaw worked, but no words came, so he filled the silence by pouring them both another drink. The pitcher was nearly gone now, but Rafael knew there were at least two bottles of wine left in the house. If the conversation continued in this vein, Rafe would begin seriously considering simply putting a straw in one. Still he did not want to shy away from such things; so many problems, with Gabe and Nish and everyone else, had been caused by hiding his head in the sand, or running when he should not have. Now neither of them were free, and there was no reason not to be honest. Or so his increasing intoxication led him to believe.
"I… thank you." He laughed, giddy and nervous as a teenager again. "I never would have thought you'd watch those."
Gabe's shoulders rolled with embarrassment. "Hey, I'm only human, and I like porn as much as the next guy," he replied, though he did not voice the next thought, and it's different to open up a video and pretend to fuck the guy you used to actually fuck, though it did lead unfortunately into him voicing an earlier one. "This is...really inappropriate, and feel free to tell me to shut the fuck up, but... can I ask why? Was the sex, you know," he motioned between them, "bad?"
"No," Rafael said, answering perhaps too quickly. No matter. This had been a conversation long in coming. "No. It was never about that." He pushed his plate away, the better to rest his elbow atop the bar. He turned in his chair to squarely face his host.
"After… everything… I didn't want to really be with anyone. I just focused on work. One of my first clients worked in the industry. He didn't tell me that at first. I don't know if he was intentionally scouting or not, but he made the suggestion and it seemed like good, easy money. So I took him up on it, and… I really liked it. I liked it. The sex, the attention, all of it, and that shoot got very popular, and the money…" He raked a hand through his hair.
Gabe was nodding, instantly wishing he hadn't voiced his thoughts. "Sorry, I shouldn't be making this about me. But... I'm glad you enjoy it? It just..." Old arguments were floating crystal clear in his mind, and he knew he had no right to bring them up. The alcohol in his veins and another voice in his head made him do it anyway. "It worries me. You know what I've said -- you're worth more than your pretty face...Rafe," he said, clearly making an effort to not use another word. "Do you...are there plans, for after? Or are you in it for the long haul? I have no idea what kind of retirement plan pornography has. I just remember... when you told me about the escort work, that it, it wouldn't be for long...?" His brows drew together, and he forced one hand flat to his thigh as he itched to reach out and touch the other man.
"Things change." There was no sharpness in Rafael's tone, no edge, only a sense of quiet acceptance. "As it turns out, very few people actually want a relationship with a porn star-slash-escort. Even the ones who say they do really don't." He shook his head, brushing past the assertion that might have sounded bitter from anyone else. From him, it only sounded tired. "I've thought about directing, at some point. Maybe erotic photography, too. That kind of thing." He shrugged. "We'll see if that pans out, I suppose. I've been saving up, with some advice from my brothers. I've done well enough to keep me in fairly good shape once I stop getting work. Until then, I'll ride it out." He chuckled at his own unintentional joke, shaking his head as he drained his final glass.
Gabe quietly hated himself for the way the conversation had turned; it seemed in poor taste to talk about his own success, or attempt to turn them away from where things had stumbled. Without thinking, he reached out and ran a hand down from Rafe's shoulder to his elbow, his fingers just barely brushing the other man's arm.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't... I think drinking was a poor idea." He glanced at his own quarter-filled glass, but made no move to pick it up. "Not that that's an excuse. I didn't invite you over here to interrogate you; I've really missed you, Rafe. I wish..." His fingers withdrew, wondering if he'd crossed a line. "I wish I'd kept in touch with you. I'm sorry that I didn't. But I'm glad that things have worked out for you, I really am. It sounds like you made the right decision, pursuing what you were interested in." He was fully sincere in his reply, hoping he was reading Rafe's reaction correctly.
Nodding, Rafael pushed his empty glass away. His hand reached out, taking Gabriel's: a liberty he would not ordinarily have taken, but alcohol made him bold. "I wish you had, too. I… that was always hard on me, you know? It still is. I… I know it's hard to keep your attention. You've always had so much on your mind, all the time…" His smile was a small and wavering thing. His next questions spilled out before he could think better of them. "Do you still care about me, Gabe? Did you then? Really?"
"Of course I did," Gabe returned, squeezing Rafe's hand. "I was young and I had a lot of stress on me, but I loved you, Rafe. I just wasn't sure that I was enough for you; it didn't seem normal for someone in a relationship to... to seek intimacy and attention outside of the relationship. I..." His gaze dropped from Rafe's for a moment, down to their entwined hands, and then climbed back up to meet Rafe's eyes. "I was being selfish, because I didn't want to share you. I know now there's nothing wrong with the decisions you made, and I wish we'd talked about it more, tried to figure out a compromise or just...something. But, back then, I thought that if you were unhappy, that I had no right to keep you.
"And, this is stupid, but every time I looked you up, you had all these pictures and videos and you looked...happy. And I didn't want to ruin that for you, and you didn't reach out either so I..." He shrugged. "I got swallowed up by other things. Not people, but my writing, my movies, but I never stopped thinking about you." His thumb ran over the back of Rafe's hand, his fingers comfortably ensconced between Rafe's own. His mind told him he shouldn't even be doing that much, that he was in a relationship with someone else, that they were veering into dangerous territory, but it felt so good to get all of this out into the open. "I thought I was doing the best thing for you, back then, by letting you go. It hurt, Rafe, it was the worst feeling in the world. If I could go back and change it, I would. But I'm glad I get a second chance now; if you want me to have one, anyway. I still want to be your friend." That word did little to encompass what he really wanted to be, but he knew it was the most he could offer.
Rafael chided himself for the slight pang in his chest at that word. He was owed no more; indeed, he would not have asked for that much. But perhaps Alice was right. Perhaps sometimes one could be a little selfish. His fingers squeezed Gabriel's, committing this moment, this warmth, to memory.
"Of course I do, gato." He stopped himself too late; his blush returned, and his gaze fell briefly away from Gabe's; the other man was grinning at the familiar sobriquet, his cheeks blushing in return. "I wish we'd both done things differently. I was lonely, Gabe. I wanted… more. I should've said something sooner. Maybe talked more. I don't know." A self deprecating smile curved one corner of his mouth. "I think I wanted you to come after me." He laughed, joyless, and shook his head. "Kids, right? How stupid."
"I'm glad we got a chance to talk it out," Gabe returned, his grin broad and unending. "I hate that it took this long, but I'm not going to pass up a second chance to see you again, in the flesh, anjo." He dropped the nickname purposefully, feeling like it was all right. It didn't mean anything more than a simple sign of affection. "Now, I want you to tell me more about directing, and your ideas for your photography. What's it take for you to get started there? Not that..." He shook his head. "I'm not saying the other stuff ends tomorrow. You like it, that's fine. You were always so focused on making everyone else happy. I want you to do what makes you happy, OK? And I want to help, however I can."
Rafael felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. He drew his first deep, slow breath in what seemed a long time. His smile returned in earnest, as bright as it had been before the conversation turned heavy. He rose from the bar stool, skillfully scooping up both their bowls and utensils, then their glasses as well.
"You always do," he said, circling the bar, moving to place dirty dishes by the sink. Perhaps he should have been surprised by how natural it felt to fall back into old names and old habits. But he only found it a comfort, a familiarity that felt like coming home. He rummaged beneath the sink until he found sponge and soap, and set to work washing their dishes, turned halfway to the counter so he could still see his friend. "So stop me when this gets boring…"