something else. So he proceeded carefully. “Maybe I could come back then.” Lionel's eyes searched his, and Paul was no longer sure what he saw, boy or man.
“That's up to your Mom. She runs this show. She's my boss too.”
They both laughed and Lionel agreed. “Ill ask her what she thinks.” Paul worried for a moment that she would think he had put him up to it; he made no secret of his preferences. “See you Friday, I hope….” Lionel looked at him hopefully, and Paul turned away. He didn't want to start anything … he did … but it wasn't right … and he was Faye Thayer's son…. Christ, life was complicated sometimes. He lit a joint after the boy left, hoping to calm down again but it only made him long for him more.
When he went back to the set there was a hunger and loneliness in him that was almost an ache, and it came across in the film. They got the scene on the first take this time, an almost unheard of victory, and Faye congratulated him. But he was cool to her, and she wondered why. She thought nothing of his being pleasant to Lionel. She knew Paul well enough to know that she had nothing to fear from him. He was a decent man, and whatever he did with his spare time, he wouldn't take advantage of her son. She felt sure of that, and she wasn't upset when she saw Lionel on the set again on Friday afternoon. When he was younger, he had often dropped in to watch her work. Lately, he hadn't had as much time, but it was no secret that he loved the making of films. And now he would be making a career of it. She was actually pleased to see him there, and although he didn't show it at first, so was Paul Steele.
“Hello, Paul.” Lionel said the words hesitantly, and the moment they were out, he wondered if he should have called him Mr. Steele. Paul was only twenty-eight years old, but he commanded great respect in the industry. And Lionel was eighteen, and felt like a kid around him.
“Hi.” Paul looked casual as he walked past, on his way to someone's dressing room, praying that their paths wouldn't cross again. But late that afternoon, Faye offered him a glass of wine when they took a break. Lionel was standing there, obviously in awe, and Paul couldn't resist the urge to smile at him.
“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