“It's nice to see you again, Lionel. How's school?” Maybe if he pretended to himself the boy was just a child, it would be easier. But nothing was easy when he looked into those eyes. They were impossible to resist. They were so much like hers, but deeper, more compelling, sadder and wiser in some ways, as though he were keeping some terrible secret inside him. And instinctively, Paul knew what the secret was. At his age, he had had the same secret himself. It was a lonely place to be until someone held out a hand to you. Until then you were a freak living in a lonely hell, frightened of your own thoughts and what other people would think if they knew. “What did you think of today's take?” There was no point treating him like a child. He was a man. They both knew that. And Paul looked him in the eye.

“I thought it was very, very good.”

“Would you like to see the dailies with me?” Paul liked to see them whenever he could, so that he could correct his mistakes. They were important to his work, and Lionel was flattered beyond words that Paul would invite him into such a special world. His eyes were huge with awe, and Faye and Paul laughed. “Now, listen, if you look like that, I won't let you watch. You've got to realize most of what you'll see is crap. Embarrassing crap, but that's how we learn.”

“I'd love to see the dailies with you.”

They watched them at around six o'clock, and as they took their seats and the lights went off, Paul felt Lionel's leg inadvertently touch his knee. He felt a thrill rush through him that was almost painful to refuse. But he carefully moved his leg away and forced himself to concentrate on what was on the screen, and afterwards when the lights came up, Lionel discussed what he'd seen with him, and amazingly they felt the same way about the same scenes. The boy was brilliant about film, intelligent, intuitive, and he had an instinct for style and technique. It was hardly surprising, he had grown up with it. But Paul was still impressed. He was dying to talk about it with him some more as Faye got ready to leave the set. She had to leave early tonight. For her seven thirty was mid afternoon and she glanced at them both, amused, as they rattled on.

“Have you got your car with you, love?” Faye asked him, and she looked tired tonight. But she had to go home and unwind, it had been a grueling week, and they were doing a scene at dawn the next day. She had to be up before three.

“Yes, Mom. I drove here.”

“Good. Then I';ll let you boys talk yourselves out. This old lady's going home. Before I fall on my face from sheer exhaustion. Goodnight, gentlemen.” She kissed Lionel's cheek and waved goodbye to Paul, and hurried outside to her own car. Ward had gone home ahead of her to have dinner with the kids. And Paul was stunned when he looked at his watch after that. It was almost nine o'clock, and they were the last ones on the set. He hadn't had anything to eat since lunch, and from something he had said he knew Lionel hadn't either. What harm could there be in having a bite to eat?

“Do you want to go out for a hamburger, Lionel? You must be starved.” It seemed harmless enough to ask, and Faye's son looked pleased.

“I'd like that, if you don't have anything else to do.” He was so young and humble it was embarrassing, and Paul smiled and put an arm around his shoulder as they walked to their cars. There was no one else around, so it couldn't be misconstrued.

“Believe me, talking to you is the most fun I've had in weeks, maybe even months….”

“That's a nice thing to say.” He smiled at Paul as they reached his car. Paul was driving a silver Porsche, and Lionel had the red Mustang he was so proud of.

“What a great car!”

“I got it for graduation in June.”

“That's some gift!” Paul looked impressed. At his age, he had bought a clunker for seventy-five dollars, but his parents weren't Ward and Faye Thayer, and he didn't live in Beverly Hills. He had come to California from Buffalo when he was twenty-two, and life had been beautiful ever since, especially in the past three years. His career had taken off meteorically, at first thanks to one fortuitous romance with a major producer in Hollywood. But after that, the breaks he got were thanks to his own strengths and abilities. There was no denying it, and few did. No matter what you thought of Paul Steele, he was damn good. But most of the people who had worked with him didn't have ugly things to say about him. He was a decent man, fair to work with, he kept to himself most of the time, and if you got to know him well, he could be fun. Between films, he was a wild man sometimes, smoking a lot of dope, snorting a little cocaine, he was into poppers, and there were rumors about orgies at his place, and kinky sex, but he took advantage of no one, no one got hurt, and working as hard as he did, he had to do something to let off steam, and he was still young after all.

He took Lionel to Hamburger Hamlet on Sunset, and had him follow him there in his car, driving carefully. For some reason, he found himself anxious about the kid. He didn't want him to get hurt, physically or in any other way. He liked him, more than he'd liked anyone in a while. It was just a damn shame that he was only eighteen. That was rotten luck. He was so damn beautiful and so fucking young. He couldn't take his eyes off him as they ate, and afterwards they stood outside, Lionel not even sure how to thank him for the honor and the rare treat, Paul dying to invite him up to his place, but afraid of how it would sound so they stood there, awkwardly, as Paul looked at him. He wished he knew what Lionel knew of himself, but he still wasn't sure of that. If the boy knew, maybe it would be different, but if he didn't even suspect as yet … just looking at him, Paul was already sure, but was Lionel? And then suddenly, as they stood there in the parking lot, Paul knew he had to take the bull by the horns, so to speak. Maybe he'd even ask him eventually. Maybe he was wrong. Maybe they could be friends. But he couldn't let him go … not yet … not now … not quite so soon.

“I know this sounds dumb. But would you like to come to my place for a drink?” He was almost embarrassed to say the words, but Lionel's eyes grew wide with delight.

“I'd love it.” Maybe he did know … Paul was going crazy trying to figure it out, and there was no way to guess.

“I live in Malibu. You want to follow me again, or leave your car here? I could drive you back afterwards.”

“Wouldn't that be a lot of trouble?” Malibu was an hour from there.

“No, not at all. I never go to bed very early. And I may not go to bed tonight at all. We shoot at four A.M. tomorrow, and I work better on calls like that without going to bed.”

“Will my car be safe?” They looked around, and decided that it would. The hamburger place was open all night, so people would come and go, and no one would dare break into it with people around. And that decided, Lionel slid into the passenger seat of Paul's Porsche and instantly felt that he had died and gone to heaven. It was like being lifted into another world, sitting on the smooth black leather seats, the dashboard looked like the panel of a plane and with a shift of gears they took off, and Paul turned the stereo on as the music of Roger Miller singing “King of the Road” filled their ears. It was almost a sensual experience getting to Malibu. Paul was dying for a joint, but he didn't want to smoke dope in front of the boy, and he was a little bit afraid of what he might do if he did, so he refrained, and they talked from time to time on the brief drive, listened to the music as they flew along, and by the time they reached the house on the beach, Lionel was totally relaxed with his new friend.

Paul put his key in the lock, and let them in, and the house just continued the same mood. There was a full ocean view with soft lights, a sunken living room filled with couches and soft cushions, huge plants and recessed lights that highlighted a few pieces of art Paul loved. There was a handsome bar, a wall of books, and a stereo that seemed to fill the whole world with soft music as Lionel sat down and looked around. Paul threw his leather jacket on the couch, poured them each a glass of white wine, and came to sit down with him.

“Well,” he smiled, “you like?” He had to admit, he was proud of it. For a poor boy from Buffalo, he had come a long, long way, and he was happy here.

“My God … it's so beautiful….”

“It is, isn't it?” He didn't disagree. They could look out at the beach, the sea. The whole world seemed to lie at their feet, and when they finished their wine, Paul suggested a walk. He loved to walk on the beach late at night, and it was only eleven o'clock. He kicked off his shoes, and Lionel did the same, and they walked out onto the smooth white sand, and Lionel thought he had never been as happy as this. He felt something he had never felt before, and he felt it each time he looked at this man. And it was confusing to him. He fell silent after a while, and on their way back, Paul stopped and sat down on the sand. He looked out at the ocean, and then at Lionel and suddenly the words just came. “You're confused, aren't you, Li?” He had heard his mother call him that and wondered if he'd mind the familiarity, but he didn't seem to object, and he nodded his head, almost relieved to admit what he felt to this man who was becoming his friend.

“Yes …” He wanted to be honest with him, maybe then he'd understand what he felt himself. He felt both very old and very young. “I am.”

“I used to feel like that too. Before I came out here from Buffalo.” He sighed in the night air. “I used to hate it there.”

Lionel smiled. “It must be very different than this.” They both laughed, and as the laughter subsided, Paul looked at him.

“I want to be honest with you. I'm gay.” Suddenly he was terrified. What if Lionel hated him for that? … What if he jumped up and ran away? … It was the first time he had been afraid of that kind of rejection in years and that frightened him. It was like taking a giant step back … back to Buffalo … to being in love with Mr. Hoolihan at baseball practice in the spring and not being able to say anything … just watch him in the shower and want so desperately to touch his face … his arm … his leg … to touch him anywhere … to touch him there … he turned to Lionel with frightened eyes. “Do you know what that means?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I don't mean just that I'm a homosexual. I assume you'd understand that. I mean do you know the special kind of loneliness that can mean to a man?” Paul emptied his soul into his eyes and Lionel nodded, never taking his eyes from him. “I think you do know, Lionel … I think you've felt the same things I have. Haven't you?”

Tears slowly ran down Lionel's cheeks as he nodded his head, and suddenly he couldn't bear looking into those eyes anymore, he dropped his face into his hands and began to cry, and a thousand years of loneliness welled up in him, as Paul took him in his arms and held him there until he stopped, and then he lifted his chin until he looked into his eyes again.

“I'm falling in love with you. And I don't know what to do about it.” He had never felt as free as he did just then. It felt wonderful to admit it to him, and Lionel felt his whole body turn to fire. Suddenly he understood things he had never understood before about himself … things he had never wanted to know … or was afraid to think about … he knew them all as he looked into this man's eyes. “You're a virgin aren't you?”

Lionel nodded and his voice was hoarse. “Yes, I am.” He was falling in love with him too, but he didn't know how to say it yet. He prayed that in time he would, that Paul wouldn't send him away … that he would always, always let him be with him….

“Have you ever slept with a girl?” He shook his head silently. That was how he had known. He had never wanted to. Ever. It just wasn't there. “Neither had I.” He sighed and lay back on the sand with a sigh, gently taking Lionel's hand and kissing the palm over and over again. “Maybe it's easier like this. The choice is made for us a long time ago. I've always believed that about people like us. I know we have nothing to do with the choice, and it's there even when you're a very little boy. I think I knew it way back then, but I was afraid to know.”

Lionel felt braver now. “So was I … I was afraid somebody would find out … would know … would see my thoughts … my brother is this all-out jock, and my father wanted me to be like that. And I just couldn't be … I couldn't…” Tears filled his eyes again, and Paul held his hand tight in his own.

“Does anyone in your family suspect?”

Lionel quickly shook his head. “I never really even admitted it to myself until tonight.” But now he knew. He knew for sure. He wanted it to be like this. With Paul. And no one else. He had waited for him all his life and wasn't going to lose him now.