in from his own party and offered me his couch to crash on. Before that night, we’d been friendly in passing, but the next morning we’d gotten to know each other better through a nasty hangover. He even helped sweet-talk the landlord into letting me get my shit out of my apartment which now consisted of a duffle bag ready to move on a moment’s notice. We had little in common aside from acting aspirations, but even in his state, he was steps ahead of me.
Blake was a child star for fifteen minutes. He’s been typecast and unable to get many acting gigs since. I had yet to get my first real break, only scoring a few commercials with no lines in the last year. We were at the age where we were just young enough to land heartthrob teen or troubled son roles, but those were often passed out to those with a better portfolio. Our looks only gave us so much of an edge. And our headshots were shit. We’d let one of our regulars rip us off for a couple hundred dollars each only to get back underdeveloped photos on sandpaper to pass out to casting directors. Neither of us could afford to do better. We were both living hand-to-mouth and most of the time counted on the hospitality of the girls we bedded to get our next meal. We were literally fucking for food at this point, but just assholes enough to not let commitment deter our singular focus. I’d practically been a virgin when I got to Los Angeles and had spent the last couple of months making up for lost time.
In an act of desperation, Blake and I applied for and got hired to bartend at a dive aptly called Queens just off the strip even though we had no experience and were just on the other side of eighteen. Not that we had to fill out anything other than our jeans to get the job. The nights were long, but the work was easy and the tips we got in exchange for a shirtless few hours of objectification were worth it. Blake was uncomfortable with the attention, as hetero as they come, while I played nicer due to higher tolerance.
Blake glares openly as a few guys saunter up to the bar with upturned lips. Anyone with gaydar could see Blake was straight as an arrow, but it seems to be the new pastime of the patrons to flirt with the unavailable bartender. Blake is tested daily when our boss’s boyfriend, Enrique, orders his cocktails up to VIP with a special request that he be the one to deliver them. Blake is fire though, in mind-set and temperament, and I know it’s only a matter of time before he costs us the job.
It’s a little sad how formulaic we are in our circumstances. I’m the ‘runaway fresh off the bus’ to join the Hollywood circus, and Blake is already considered ‘washed up’ due to his role as a little brother in a sitcom, Buzzed, that ran one season. I had read far too many autobiographies to know that nothing happens overnight. Not even the overnight successes. Blake has very few connections since his falling out with his agent mother who took every dime of his momentary childhood wealth. He didn’t even have to get emancipation to free himself. When Blake turned into nothing more than a temporary cash-cow, his mother left him to his own devices. In his words, he thinks she’s still unaware he left her a year ago to hole up with his then-girlfriend. Blake’s still pissed off about it and determined to prove her wrong. At least that’s what he tells me when he’s drunk enough to shed some story.
For me, the grass is always going to be greener when you grow up in a trailer in Shitville, West Virginia, where my parents will die fucking, fighting, and festering in the filthy life they’ve made. As far as our relationship is concerned, I have no plans to ever visit for the holidays. I don’t play the victim. Their ignorance is incurable. As much as they lacked in work ethic, I make up for. I refuse the life I was born into. It won’t be mine. So if I have to cash in on the looks I was given and serve a few guys who are vying for a peek at my cock to pay the bills, so be it. My tolerance