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Stories don’t have a middle or an end anymore. They usually have a beginning that never stops beginning.
–Steven Spielberg
“No,” is all Andy says, dropping the script on the coffee table between them.
“But you didn’t even read it!” Liam protests. He leans forward to pick it up but Andy grabs him firmly by the wrist.
“It’s a Tomlinson movie, Liam. It’ll be one cock short of a porno.”
Liam rolls his eyes and tugs his hand free. “Have you even seen any of his movies?”
“Have you?”
Damn it, Liam really walked right into that one. He huffs, crosses his arms and sinks back further into the couch. It’s all the answer Andy needs.
So neither of them have seen a Louis Tomlinson film. They are certainly an acquired taste. Everyone in the film industry knows of Louis, even if the mainstream audience does not. He has a reputation that, some would say, often precedes him.
Louis likes that. He never corrects rumours or hearsay, just smiles that Chesire Cat smile. If he’s feeling particularly generous, he might throw in a wink.
Liam had only met Louis a handful of times. The first was at the premiere of his vampire movie, that was later dubbed the anti-Twilight much to Louis’ cackling delight, starring Harry Styles and Jade Thirwall.
Jade had played Liam’s love interest in the first Ace movie but dropped out of the sequel because it clashed with the filming of an indie flick about a group of girls who were a roller derby team by day and then kicked the shit out of bad guys at night. Little Mix did modestly at the box office but was already gaining a devoted following online.
Liam liked her replacement well enough, but their lack of onscreen chemistry was one of many sore points people had with the second Ace film.
Jade had chatted with him and Dani at the afterparty, Liam didn’t really known anyone else. Harry had wandered over to say hello. They were often at the same event parties and award shows and were often compared to each other, even though their film genres were worlds apart.
“It’s ‘cause we're both young, handsome and English,” Harry had said with a laugh. Liam had smiled politely back. Harry was always really nice and easy to talk to, but they weren’t friends.
Just when they were about to leave Louis had sidled up to them, casting a critical eye over Liam.
“Not bad,” he finally said, just as the silence was tipping over into the side of really uncomfortable.
He held out a hand and when Liam shook it, Louis pulled him in for a hug. Still not used to the physical contact of strangers, Liam tensed up in Louis’ arms. All the easy affection that was tossed around so freely seemed foreign to Liam. He hadn’t earned any of this. It felt like a trick, an inside joke.
“Easy,” Louis had murmured in his ear. “It’s just a hug.” He held on a little longer before finally pulling back.
“Uh. Right.” Liam said, cleared his throat. “Great film, mate.” He felt the heat rising in his cheeks. “That’s a proper vampire movie.”
Louis smirked. “Yeah.” His blue eyes danced with amusement.
“Anyway,” Liam continued, didn’t realise he was backing away slowly. “We were just about to go.”
Louis just nodded, like he was granting them permission. “See you around, Liam Payne.”
Liam swore he felt Louis eyes on him as they crossed the room, stayed on him until the door shut behind them.
“How did you even get this script?” He continues and prods a finger at it, like he needed to clarify.
Liam chews on his bottom lip, carefully considering his answer. He’s not sure if he should name names and technically Niall gave it to him. He didn’t know if Louis even knew he had it. “Technically,” he says slowly, “Niall gave it to me.”
“Technically?” Andy repeats, arching an eyebrow. “Niall?”
“You know how Harry dislocated his knee from messing around on Niall’s skateboards?”
“No. But of course he did.”
“Well, Niall felt terrible about it so Harry’s been recuperating at Niall’s ranch.”
Why an Irish pro skater even has a ranch in Tennessee was beyond Liam. But Niall had always done whatever the fuck he wanted, and he wanted a fuckin’ ranch in fuckin’ Tennessee.
“Harry had to drop out of a few projects,” Liam says when it becomes apparent Andy still doesn’t get the connection. “And one of them was Louis’ film, yeah?”
“And Niall just thought of you, did he? Because that’s his job.”
Liam suppresses the urge to roll his eyes again.
“And he thought you’d be perfect as the junkie with the heart of gold?”
“You didn’t read the script,” Liam points out, even though Andy’s description wasn’t that far off. “The character’s a sex worker. Or a former sex work, since it’s the end of the world and all, and his heart is less of a precious metal and more of a...” He trails off. He was never very good with his similes and metaphors, got those two mixed up all the time. “What’s something you use all the time but don’t realise it’s important until it’s gone?” Tapping a finger to his lips, Liam thinks about what he just said. “Maybe he’s heart is just a regular heart.” Yup, he’s definitely not a writer.
“Liam.” Andy sounds exasperated but his eyebrows are looking less severe so it’s seems less and less likely that Liam’s going to get another lecture about “his image” and what that means to “the public”, even though Liam never really gets it. “I know you’re down about those reviews.”
Liam stiffens, drops his hand from his mouth and grips his sides tightly, like he’s giving himself a hug. He doesn’t deny it, no point, really.
“You shouldn’t let a couple of arseholes critics get to you. Their job is to hate everything.”
“But it’s not just a couple of critics, is it? It’s everyone.”
“So the movie didn’t make as much money as expected but people still went to see--”
“And they all hated it!” Liam tucks his hands under his armpits when he leans forward, shoulders hunching. It’s a defensive gesture his mum pointed out to him. He always does it whenever he feels blindsided or cornered in an interview. Or when the paparazzi are following him down the street, with their flashing lights and rude hollering, all this fuss because Liam wanted was an iced Frappuccino from the nearest Starbucks. “One guy said it was too soon in my career for me to be phoning it in. And another said Saturday Night Live didn’t have to worry about doing a skit because I’m already a caricature of myself! What does that even mean?!” Liam had scooted so far forward he nearly teetered off the couch.
Andy sighs. “I told you to stop going on those online forums, Liam.”
“I just want the fans to like it.” Liam flops to the side and rolls onto his back, hands clasped across his chest. “Otherwise, what’s the point?”
“Sequels are rarely as well liked as the original.” Seeing Liam sad was one of the top three things Andy hated. It was right up there with getting cockblocked and going to the dentist. Not necessarily in that order.
“They’re going to make me do a third one.” He was contractually obligated. Ace of Clubs didn’t make anywhere near as much money as Ace of Hearts but it made enough.
“This is what happens when you make the big studios even a little bit of money, they always want more.” Andy means for it to be a little wry, a little on the nose, a little ‘ha ha, your life is so terrible, you wanky multimillionaire’ but Liam’s mouth stays pressed into a thin line, so Andy says, “Is this why you want to make this movie, Li? Something different?” Andy carefully doesn’t mention Danielle or ask if Liam’s going through some weird post-break up type crisis. Andy doesn’t think he’s well equipped enough to deal with that.
He reaches over and scrubs a hand through Liam’s hair. He’d shaved it into a buzz cut last week. Andy freaked out for a second, thinking it was a Britney Spears style breakdown but it turned out to be for his new movie with Kristen Stewart.
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t know.” Liam’s eyelids are growing heavy, his body loosening up. God, he loves getting his head massaged. “I think there’s more to me than explosions and shirtlessness. Right?”
“Of course there is. You’re an onion, remember? You have layers.”
Liam’s eyes are closed but he smiles then, a tiny quirk of the lips but it’s there.
“The timing’s not great. Just wait until you knock out the third Ace film and this new sci-fi film will make $100 trillion. People will be like, “Ryan Gosling who? Channing Tatum is not even a real name!” Then you can do whatever weird arse, arty farty movies you like.
“Sure,” Liam chuckles, “easy peasy.”
“I’m serious, Liam. Mostly. The world is starting to see what an amazing person you are and they want more. Can’t blame them really.” He gives Liam one last scritch behind the ears before pulling his hand away, ignoring the disappointed noises.
Liam opens his eyes. “They make fun of my American accent.”
“It’s pretty terrible,” Andy concedes. “But it’s okay, because you’re not terrible.”
Liam smiles, the one that’s all but trademarked, where his cheeks rise up and his eyes shift into cheerful squints, and the lines around his mouth deepens. The one where teenagers have learnt to lose their shit over like it’s a psychological imperative.
“Thanks, Andy.”
“No problemo,” he bops Liam on the nose because the conversation is too serious for his liking. “Don’t forget, I’m riding on your coattails.”
“Never forget,” Liam nods solemnly.
Andy stands, stretching out his arms and back. “Who’s the other lead for that movie anyway? You said it was a not-quite love story.”
“I said it was a love story that wasn’t really about love.”
“Right. And how do you say that outloud without sounding like a pretentious wanker?”
Liam laughs, “Yeah, okay. It’s pretty wanky. But it’s a really lovely story.” He sits up and picks up the script. He wonders what the protocol is for returning scripts for movies you turn down when it’s your friend that gave it to you. Could he keep it? “Zayn Malik,” he says, flipping the pages with his thumb.
“Oh, really?” Andy falls silent for a moment. “He was pretty good in that movie where he plays a transexual.”
Liam quirks an eyebrow. “You watched My Name is Veronica Lane?”
“You’re not the only one with layers, Liam James Payne.” Liam’s eyebrow remains fixed as he stares Andy down. “Fine. This chick I was dating was really into weird, transformative arthouse films that challenges gender identity. Or something.” He pauses for effect. “She had a really great rack.”
“Wow.” Liam stretches out the vowel. “What a shame that relationship didn’t work out.”
“Whatever,” Andy shrugs. “How do you even know about it?”
“I know things!” Liam insists. He’ll never admit to Andy he looked Tomlinson up on IMDB, after he read the script, and learned he had been a producer on the film. “It won a whole bunch of awards last year. I pay attention.”
He’ll also never admit to Andy that he spent a long time looking at pictures of Zayn Malik as Veronica Lane. They’ve never been formally introduced, their social and professional circles didn’t exactly overlap. So it did feel a little creepy as he clicked through, picture after picture. It changed to pictures from other films, ones Liam had mostly never even heard of. He’d seen a couple of episodes of Skins from the season where Zayn played a stuttering drug dealer. But as striking as Veronica Lane was, Liam couldn’t help but think Zayn was more beautiful as a man.
“Yes,” Andy consoles, snapping Liam out of his thoughts. “Of course you do.” He grins. “Man, I’m hungry. Want to get a burger?”
Liam rubs his stomach. His trainer would properly pitch a fit. But he wasn’t due to start filming anything for another week.
He could totally have a burger! With fries! But maybe only a medium and he’ll only get a diet cola.
“Sure,” he says, standing up. “But you’re driving.”
“Already ahead of you, Ace.” Andy picks up his car keys.
“Don’t call me that!” But Liam doesn’t mean it. He can’t keep the laughter from his voice.
He runs past Andy, messing up his hair as he goes. “Hey!”
“Come on, pretty boy,” he calls over his shoulder, his sneakers squeaking against the marble tiles. “Got to look good for the cameras!”
Not only is his life not terrible, it’s actually pretty sweet.