Never Enough

fame-and-money card in this situation.
“Yeah, he does. Yeah, that would be great.”
“Okay then. Anything you need, Mom?”
“No, honey, I’m good.”
Andy knew the real answer was ‘the rest of my life with this stubborn old man, please.’ They were telling the whole truth in their emails these days.
“All right. I’m going to let you go. Ping me whenever, for whatever, okay?”
“We will. Love you honey.”
“Love you too. Love you, Pop.”
“Yeah, I know.” He almost never said it, but this time he did. “I love you too.”
Andy put down the phone. His father sounded wrong. Not for the first time, Andy considered abandoning the Swan Dive, abandoning the movie, dropping everything. He could simply go to Miami and stay there until the end. But there was nothing he could really do, and his father would be furious, and he didn’t know if he could stand being away from Victor for however long it might be. So, not for the first time, he did some deep breathing to settle himself down, and went to find something else to do.
Halfway through April, Victor was done with his local job and Andy was
getting physical therapy. “Ow.”
“Sorry, Andy.”
“Don’t apologize, I know it’s supposed to hurt.” Maybe not that much, he thought, feeling sorry for himself, and then got over it. “Carry on.” The therapist did, and it kept hurting, but when it was over Andy had full range of motion back in his ankle. He walked the therapist out and sent her on her way with a word of thanks, then turned back toward the house. Victor was lying on one of the loungers, wearing nothing but shorts and that silver chain.
Molly was in the shade behind him. The scar was less noticeable now, or it would have been without the irregular border of what used to be a rainbow-colored stag’s head tattoo. “That’s a nice tan you’re getting.”
“Thanks. Want to work on yours?”
“I think that’s a fine idea.” Andy went to the table behind the loungers, with a quick detour to pet Molly. Vodka and orange juice were set out next to a bucket of ice. There was a clean glass. Andy assembled his drink. “How many of these have you had?” Victor snorted and held up a single finger. The middle one. Andy stifled a giggle. “Enjoying your mini vacay?”
“So much. Is Zach back tomorrow?”
Andy set his glass down on a side table, pulled off his tee shirt, and stretched out on the other lounger. “Every other day till we do this thing. Can you believe he had the audacity to say if we don’t do it that often he doesn’t trust me to keep doing the work?” He picked up the glass again for a well-earned drink.
Victor didn’t answer that directly. Of course he could believe it. Andy was having to work out more at the gym, and eat a lot more than he wanted, and even though Victor knew he was loving this project he was bitching nonstop. “He doesn’t want you to drop him.”
“I’m not going to drop him!” Andy set his glass down with an exasperated click. “I can’t fucking drop him, he’s literally hanging on my fucking neck.” Victor laughed. “Shut up. I know it was my own fucking idea.
What the hell is wrong with me.” He was laughing now too.
“Nothing’s wrong with you. Anybody looking at you would think you’re twenty years younger than you are.”
“If I dyed my hair again.” Andy accepted the flattery otherwise. The gym was a pain in the ass but he couldn’t object to the results. They were quiet for
a while, enjoying the sun and the sounds of progress from the renovation contractors working next door. The last time Andy checked, they were almost done with the flooring. Today’s soundtrack sounded like maybe baseboards and casings. He swallowed the last of his drink, at least until the ice finished melting. “So did you read another play for me?”
“I’m working on the Henry plays. I don’t know if any of those are going to be fun for this purpose. We might want to stick with the fiction plays.”
“God knows there are plenty of those. I read ‘King Lear’ after reading that novel ‘If We Were Villains.’ Great book, you’d love it. And that play is definitely one of the better ones.”
“Had an idea for that?”
“Dmitri and Patrick. As Kent and Lear. Do you remember?”
Victor turned his head, making eye contact but only half focusing.

Trying to remember the National Theatre Live screening they’d been to the previous year. He’d been convalescent, and it was a long night. He couldn’t swear he’d stayed awake through the whole thing, even though it was Sir Ian McKellen. “Kent is the good guy, right?”
“The hero, I’d say. The one trying to keep the whole shitshow from falling apart.”
“Okay.” They stared at each other for a few seconds, both thinking. “So if that’s a slash pairing, it needs to pre-date the story.” Andy smiled, and Victor knew he was on track. “Before Lear loses his mind. Before he’s a toxic asshole.” Andy laughed. “Because Patrick would have words for us if he thought you really saw him as a toxic asshole.”
“Yeah. The image would have to show why Kent tries so hard. The love they had before. Kind of elegiac.”
“Is there a line for that?”
“‘My life I never held but as a pawn to wage against thine enemies.’ It’s not a statement of love the way a lot of them are, but it’s this deep loyalty.”
Andy swirled the ice cubes around in his glass, tempted to get a refill. Do not turn into an alcoholic. “And then there’s a line after Kent is in disguise, to get back on the inside, right? And Lear says ‘Thou serv’st me, and I’ll love thee.’”
“Oh man.” Victor winced. “That’s like a knife in the gut, isn’t it? Kent is doing this all for love, and the old bastard doesn’t even recognize him, but he
says he’ll love him. Jeez,