Change My Ticket, page 26
He doesn’t dare ask how he can catch Gabe alone; he doesn’t want to get arrested for stalking. So he moves to his assigned seat in the bottom quarter of the huge room, rows upon rows of artificial leather chairs that fit several hundred people, more than half already taken. The screen shows scenes from the red carpet, the first familiar faces starting to arrive—minor and medium celebrities that stop for the occasional autograph, but are quickly shuffled forward as soon as someone more important arrives. It’s like watching an animal documentary on pecking orders, with clearly defined roles and hierarchies; out of the way, beta, here come the alphas!
When they do come, it’s like someone turned up the volume. The smaller names arrive first, people Ray doesn’t recognise because he couldn’t bring himself to watch the trailer, but they sign memorabilia, pose for photos, and stop for brief interviews while more seats fill up. Then it’s the female actor playing Rosalind Franklin, arriving in a car with the guy cast as Maurice Wilkins. They take longer to make their way to the entrance, and Ray realises he’s gripping the armrest of his seat and forces himself to let go, lacing his hands in his lap instead.
Another car.
Gordon Robinson. He gets out to a wall of screaming from the crowd, waves once, and holds the door for the director, a woman by the name of Karine Gladwell. The crowd gets louder.
And then there’s Gabe.
A deafening roar fills the room as the crowd surges towards the barriers. Ray’s heart stops. Stutters back to life once he understands that it’s not a bad thing—Gabe is safe, all they want is to get closer, scream their support and love at him. “There he is,” someone says in the row behind Ray, just as the screen cuts to Gabe’s brilliant smile. He looks like he was born for this: radiant and beautiful, comfortable with all eyes on him, a true star.
Ray knew that Gabe was famous. But seeing it—fuck, it’s different. What can Ray even hope to offer him?
He slides lower in his seat while Gabe and the two others make their way along the red carpet, stopping for autographs and selfies, then professional photos and interviews that are broadcast onto the big screen. Gabe’s suit is cut to accentuate his body in all the right ways, his voice filling the very last corners of Ray’s mind. A hundred metres—it can’t be much more that separates them, yet Gabe is untouchable, moving in a bubble that puts him beyond Ray’s reach.
Ray shouldn’t have come here. It’s too late to leave now, though, it’d only draw attention. So he’ll sit through the screening and the torturous knowledge that Gabe is in the same room and on a different planet, and then, quietly, he’ll fade away. Numbly, he watches as things wrap up on the red carpet, Gabe ushered inside along with Gordon Robinson and the director. The screen goes black.
Minutes pass.
A murmur rises along the rows of seats. It starts in the front and spreads quickly, like water ripples that travel outwards after a stone was cast. Applause as the lights turn up and the movie cast walks out in front of the screen to form a smiling, black-clad line with Gabe at the centre, the only one Ray sees.
There must be seven hundred people in here. Eight hundred. If Ray got up right now—maybe then Gabe would spot him, but what’s the point? So, while everyone else leans forward to cheer for the stars of the night, Ray sinks further into his seat and tries to turn himself invisible.
Maybe that’s what does it: an oddity, an unexpected break in the uniform line of happy faces. Gabe’s bright gaze glides over Ray’s row, moves past him—and snaps back like it’s a rubber band, the smile falling off Gabe’s face.
It’s a second, maybe less. They stare at each other, twenty metres and a universe between them.
Then Gabe tears his eyes away, a smile slipping right back onto his face as though it never left. Together with the rest of the cast, he takes a bow and then his seat in the front row, never even sparing Ray a second glance.
So … that’s it. That’s it, then.
Ray thought he was ready for Gabe’s indifference, but that’s been the thing with Gabe from the start, hasn’t it? That Ray was never ready for him. As the lights go down, he tries to breathe around the wound that’s reopened in his chest, to keep the jagged edges from gaping apart, shivering even though most people around him have donned their jackets and jumpers.
He’ll be okay. All he has to do is get through the next two hours, wait until the crowd thins, and slip out unnoticed.
Falling apart wasn’t on his New Year’s list, and so he won’t.
***
It’s a movie. It’s a good movie—maybe, probably. Ray doesn’t actually know because only fragments filter through, most of his focus on blending in with his surroundings as larger-than-life images of Gabe show him variations of everything he cannot have.
When his phone buzzes with a message, he welcomes the distraction. He has just enough self-awareness to pick a moment when the big screen lights up with calculations written on a white sheet of paper, making the glare of his phone less obvious as he pulls it out of his pocket.
It’s Gabe.
‘What are you doing here?’
Ray stares at the letters until they start to blur. He can’t tell whether Gabe is upset, curious, angry—but if Gabe bothered to send this in the middle of his own premiere, he’s not indifferent.
‘I wanted to see you,’ Ray replies because there’s no point in lying, is there?
He locks his phone so the screen will go dark, but keeps it in his hand. It’s only a minute before he feels another telltale buzz against his palm.
‘You hate crowds.’
Still impossible to glean any emotion from it. Ray hesitates for a long minute, finger poised over the keyboard. And really, he’s got nothing to lose, does he?
‘I wanted to see you more than I hate crowds.’
Nothing.
Three minutes, four. Ray keeps checking the screen just to make sure he didn’t miss it, ignoring his seat neighbour’s irritated sideways glances. When the reply finally arrives, Ray nearly drops his phone.
‘The after-party is in the bar upstairs. You’re on the guest list.’
After-party. There’s an after-party? It will mean more people, groups of strangers having a good time while Ray watches from afar, everyone flocking to Gabe. But if that’s the one chance Ray gets to talk to him? He’ll take it.
‘I’ll be there,’ he answers.
There’s no reply, but then, he didn’t really expect one.
***
More applause, more bowing. In Ray’s inexperienced view, it seems like a great audience response—a standing ovation that seems to go on forever, and when he leaves the auditorium, just one body floating in a sea of hundreds, the snippets of reactions that he catches are mostly positive.
“—what it tells us about our modern-day geniuses like, say, Elon Musk.”
“—not sure why it was set in a bog, but can’t say I really—”
“Great chemistry between Robinson and Duke—”
“—so the basic message is that genius and obsessive pursuit of a goal come at a price.”
Since Ray doesn’t want to be the first one at the after-party, then wait around clutching a glass of wine until Gabe makes it there, he hides out in the toilets for a bit, updating Patrick and Andrew on what’s going on. They’re varying shades of encouraging, with Patrick changing the name of their group chat to ‘Every Duke Needs a Ray of Light’, which is so cheesy it makes Ray laugh in spite of the twisting weight in his belly.
Once he locates the party, he has to wait while the hostess looks for his name on the guest list. For a sickening instant, Ray wonders if this is Gabe’s revenge—embarrass Ray by leaving him stranded at the entrance. But that’s not who Gabe is.
“I was added just, like, a couple of hours ago or so,” he tries, and her face clears.
“Oh, you should have led with that.” She flicks to a separate page that’s been tacked onto the main list, a manicured fingernail sliding down the printed names. “There. Personal guest of Gabe Duke, is it?”
“I … yeah. Thank you.”
“Enjoy the party!” she chirps and turns to the couple waiting behind him.
It’s a nice setting: high ceilings and herringbone parquet, modern chandeliers suspended above turquoise chairs and marble tables, plenty of floor space to mingle, and an entire wall of glass overlooking Leicester Square. Dozens and dozens of people. Ray grabs a glass of prosecco off a tray and tries to get his bearings.
Gabe is easy to find—people are flocking to him, and he’s smiling, gesticulating, dimples pressing twin shadows into his cheeks. Watching from afar, Ray wouldn’t know how much the promo season exhausts him. ‘It’s like method acting,’ Gabe had explained in one of their texts. ‘Like I’m stepping into the skin of someone who’s outgoing and exuberant, happy to mingle and talk about himself, life of the party, and I have to hold the pose for a couple of weeks at a time.’
He’s holding it now.
Ray drifts closer, trying to look casual as he leans against a nearby wall and takes tiny, tiny sips of prosecco. It’s a little too sweet for his taste, especially since he’s been making an effort to reduce his sugar consumption, but the glass is something to cling to, so he does.
Laughter as Gabe and Gordon Robinson recount an evening in a village pub while filming up in Scotland. As it peters out, Gabe’s gaze flickers over to Ray for a moment so brief Ray might have imagined it. He thinks about pulling out his phone, just for something to do, but he doesn’t want to look antisocial or discourage Gabe from coming over.
Gabe won’t come over, though. Will he? It’s on Ray to make a move.
In the end, Ray takes his glass of prosecco and himself to the very edge of the group clustered around Gabe and Robinson, and attempts to look like he belongs. Another glance at Ray, then Gabe ducks in to tell Robinson something meant for just the two of them. Ray looks away.
They seem comfortable together—no surprise, maybe, given that they must have spent a lot of time together during filming, and more now, during this promo tour. Ray has never been the jealous type, but no matter what Andrew said about Robinson just having had a baby, well, who really knows, right? And if Gabe’s choice is between Ray and someone who was nominated for an Oscar a few years ago…
No. That’s the kind of thinking that made Ray walk away from the best thing he never had. He is worthy.
Ray glances back up just in time to watch Robinson move away to welcome a group of newcomers—friends, it seems. It makes Ray wonder why Charlie isn’t here. Busy with uni perhaps, or couldn’t be bothered when he’s almost certainly attended other premieres and might have been forced to wait around, bored, while Gabe did his job. Because that’s what this is: part of Gabe’s job rather than a fun occasion to booze it up with friends.
Maybe Ray shouldn’t have come. But he’s here now, and Gabe cared enough to put him on the guest list, so Ray isn’t wasting this glimpse at a second chance he was given.
By now, the director has joined Gabe’s group, which seems to have expanded even further, people laughing, congratulating Gabe and Karine Gladwell, both of them shaking hands, answering questions, and posing for photos. Ray counts at least two guys who are hoping for more than just a picture with Gabe. He lets himself be pushed to the fringes, sets his glass down on a bar table, and waits for a break in the tide.
There is none.
When someone sets a full glass down next to his, Ray deliberately doesn’t glance over. Usually, he’d be glad for a few minutes of conversation to help him belong, but what if Gabe slips away while he isn’t looking?
“Ray, right?” a familiar voice says next to him—familiar because Ray spent some of the last three hours listening to it.
When Ray turns his head, he finds himself subjected to Gordon Robinson’s frank regard. He clears his throat and does his best to look friendly rather than wary. “Uh, yeah. Congrats on the movie. And, um. My friend says you had a baby?”
Way to awkwardly fish for information.
“Yeah. Bane of my existence and love of my life—other than my wife, of course.” Robinson’s expressive face flashes to open delight.
“Congratulations,” Ray says. This time, he means it.
“Thanks.” Robinson picks up the glass he set down, but merely to study Ray over the rim. With Gabe still holding court nearby, Ray isn’t going anywhere, so he meets Robinson’s gaze, but can’t quite help himself from glancing over at Gabe again two seconds later. He’s just … magnetic, Christ.
When Ray returns his focus to Robinson, the man’s lips twitch.
“What?” Ray asks.
“You’re not subtle,” Robinson says.
It doesn’t feel like an attack, so Ray keeps his tone even. “I’m not trying to be.”
“Good.” Robinson nods once, as if to himself, and takes a quick sip from his glass. “Then I’m going to let you in on a secret, Ray. You won’t catch him alone. You want to talk to him, you’ll have to muscle your way in.”
Ray honestly could have done without this inconvenient confirmation of what he was beginning to suspect. “I can’t just, like … elbow people out of the way. That’d be sure to get me thrown out on my arse.”
“So you’re just going to stare from afar and eventually go back home, having accomplished nothing?” Robinson raises an eyebrow that is not quite mocking, not quite dismissive. Challenging, maybe?
“I…” Ray inhales before he shakes his head. “No.”
“Glad to hear it.” Robinson takes another sip from his glass, his tone crisp. “Because you’re the one who walked away. He won’t come to you, so unless you make a move, and soon…”
Message received.
After another glance at Gabe, Ray empties the rest of his prosecco. His blood isn’t exactly bubbling with liquid cottage, but something about the action felt good, decisive. “Why bother telling me anything?” he asks Robinson.
“Based on what I heard from Gabe, you seem like a good guy who got scared.” Robinson’s smile eases the stark expressiveness of his features. “We’ve all been scared before, haven’t we? But I find it’s the chances we didn’t take that haunt us.”
“Thank you,” Ray says around the sudden lump in his throat.
With another smile but no further words of advice, Robinson slips away. Ray returns his focus to Gabe’s throng of admirers—and isn’t Ray just another one of them?
But he’s not.
He knows Gabe. Knows how it feels to hold him through the night, knows the slow blink of his eyes in the morning, his boyish glee at animal-related humour, the scent of his aftershave, and the way his voice gets deeper when he’s turned on.
He knows Gabe, in a way none of the people surrounding him could ever even hope to. So why should he politely wait his turn?
Ray raises his head, straightens his spine, and rolls back his shoulders. Takes one step towards the group. Treat it like a dare. Is this what Gabe feels like when he steps into a role?
“Excuse me,” Ray says.
No reaction by the people that separate him from Gabe. Still too quiet, too unused to commanding attention—yet it was enough to draw Gabe’s gaze. Their eyes meet, hold for a beat longer this time, and when Gabe glances away, it feels as though Ray’s been doused in ice water. Look at me, dammit!
“Excuse me!” Much louder this time, trying to pour authority into his voice that he doesn’t feel. Heads turn to assess him. “Sorry to interrupt.” He isn’t. “Gabe, when you’re done with this round of pictures, may I borrow you for a minute?”
Ray is pretty sure that he just placed himself on the receiving end of myriad glares, but Gabe’s is the only face he sees. It’s hard to read Gabe’s expression—pale even under a subtle layer of makeup that can’t quite mask the circles under his eyes, tired, and so very beautiful that Ray aches with it.
He breathes. Waits.
“Yeah.” Gabe’s smile stutters as though his facial muscles temporarily forgot how to perform their functions. “Just a moment.”
Ray keeps his eyes on Gabe. “Sure.”
It’s hard to say how long he waits—could be a minute, could be ten. His pulse slows to a meditative rate, his entire focus on Gabe. So what if people are watching him, wondering who he is? Some might even recognise him, and if so, the story is bound to get out. Ray couldn’t care less.
Eventually, the crowd parts to let Gabe through. With a smile, Ray nods towards the glass section that overlooks the square. There’s no answering smile, but Gabe falls into step as Ray starts moving.
He finds a dimly lit corner that gives them a measure of privacy and turns to face Gabe. Outside, the bright facades of historical buildings and restaurants glow like ships in the night, fans still crowded around the barriers in front of the cinema. Briefly, Ray wonders if he and Gabe are visible or if it’s just their silhouettes that will show behind the glass, and then decides that he only minds if Gabe does.
“This okay?”
Gabe spares a glance at the bustling square. “It’s fine.”
“Good.” Words. There are so many in Ray’s head, clamouring for attention, that he struggles to choose. “You look tired.”
“Promo season.” Gabe draws a sudden, harsh breath. “You just forced your way into an entire group of people.”
The raw edge to Gabe’s voice pulls Ray up short. “I wanted to talk to you,” is what he settles on eventually, quiet and more desperate than he intended.
Gabe gazes at him for a beat, then lifts his chin. “So talk.”
Too many words, yet again, so Ray stays silent as he sifts through them, trying to find the perfect ones to make Gabe understand. He’s staring at Gabe, couldn’t look away if he tried, so he catches the moment Gabe’s face shutters.
“I should have been there,” Ray blurts out. It’s far from perfect but it’s a start, and once the first words are out there, the next are much easier. “I wanted to be there. For you. I really did, but I got stuck in my own head because it’s a little hard to believe I’ve got anything to offer you. I got scared and I wasn’t ready, but now I am. If…” He stops to clear his throat. “If you’ll have me again.”
