Here we go again. Over a decade ago, I wrote (and thought I completed) a story called "Breaking Through." It was the height of "Brokeback Mountain"'s influence and there were a slew of other Jake Gyllenhaal-related stories here on Nifty. The old story isn't on the archives any longer, but the characters haven't escaped my mind, even after all this time. So, I decided that in the light of "Call Me By Your Name," another great short story that's sweeping the world, I decided that it was time to revisit the narrative that I'd started. There will be some continuity issues, but that's to be expected since I can't bear to reread my own work. There will also be some artistic license taken, so real life may not match up with the fictions herein. This is in no way a representation of these characters and their true sexuality. Usual disclaimers apply.
Please send any feedback, complaints, and correspondence to breakingthroughstory@gmail.com. I'm looking forward to continuing this creative endeavor in the new year and hope to rebuild the sense of community that had been established the first time around between readers and writers. The chapters will be shorter, I'm not sure if there will be explicit sex scenes this time around and I'll probably use too many commas and em dashes. I don't have a proofreader. You've been warned. Happy reading!
A quick primer for the uninitiated: Jake Gyllenhaal and fictional character Christopher Lewis, a novelist, began a somewhat turbulent relationship. This new story will take place in a loose version of the present day and most of the main ideas from the first go-round will remain, for the most part. Jake is still an actor and Chris is still a writer, but with a 10-year jump in time, some things have changed. The new story will do away with a lot of the tertiary characters in the old narrative, as well.
Chapter 1
"This isn't how auditions normally go, I can assure you that," Armie said, his eyes darting around the room, scanning for his jeans and button-up shirt. He'd done his best to look presentable, even going so far as trying to iron his own shirt. In hindsight, that prep wasn't necessary.
"I know. I'm familiar with the process," Chris said. Wondering just how he'd managed to become a cliche. That whole casting couch myth was not exactly a well-hidden secret, especially after the entertainment industry basically imploded from the Harvey Weinstein situation, but he didn't really see himself as someone who perpetuated stereotypes.
Armie blushed, a rosy scarlet color flushing all the way down to his chest, which was still on full display. Chris had become somewhat familiar with that chest just a few hours ago, but he didn't want to think about that at the moment. "I'll get out of your way," Armie said, clumsily sliding into his jeans. Chris watched, somewhat rapt at seeing the lithe body in such a series of awkward positions.
"This isn't the worst thing that's ever happened in this room," Chris said, rubbing his eyes. "I heard that John Belushi died in here."
"I think that's bungalow three. You're in bungalow one," Armie said, finally looking somewhat presentable. He corrected himself, "We're in bungalow number one."
Chris nodded, sliding out of bed. He was still wearing his underwear, so things couldn't have gotten that far out of hand. Plus, the fact that he was stone cold sober helped reassure him that he wasn't some sort of predatory casting director-in-training. "Armie, calm down. Don't make things weirder than they have to be."
"Things are weird," Armie said, smoothing his clothes and standing up straight. "I'll see myself out." He didn't mention anything about the audition or the movie. Business and pleasure shouldn't mix, especially not when business involved a lot of media coverage.
A few minutes later, Chris finally let himself shrug off the whole situation. Taking stock, he ordered coffee service, a croissant, and decided there was enough time to enjoy both before he had to head back to the studio offices to finish what he came down to Los Angeles for: casting another movie. Sunglasses perched on his nose, he wheeled the room service cart out onto his private patio -- greenery covering an ancient chain-link fence provided enough coverage from passersby -- and set out to get things started in his brain.
Armie Hammer wasn't his first choice, but the movie's producers thought that he would be. After 'Call Me By Your Name' had gotten so much awards-season buzz, it seemed like a perfect fit. Chris was a well-known, award-winning writer. He had also been in a very public relationship with Jake Gyllenhaal, which made him a player in the movie business, whether he liked it or not. Though he did his best to stay out of the headlines -- and succeeded, for the most part -- there was a niche part of the industry that did follow him. The mix of his publishing pedigree and his Hollywood connections earned him a fair amount of respect, but the fact that none of his books had ever had the success of his debut novel wasn't lost on anyone. Plus, even though some of his other books had gotten movie options, only two films had ever been completed. One was thanks to Jake. Neither were box-office successes. That fact wasn't lost on Chris.
When he closed his eyes, he could still smell Armie's cologne, feel his lean back under his fingertips. It was definitely nice, but he wasn't looking for anyone that way right now. Things were still settling down since the separation and subsequent divorce. Sitting between auditions, there was a lot of time to close his eyes. He was hoping that this third film would be a sea change. He'd decided after he sold the rights that if it didn't, he'd quit this whole book-to-movie thing entirely. It wasn't worth the effort when there was nothing to show for all the work. Maybe he'd let other people take the reigns after he submitted the final draft of his novels. The thought made him snicker. Jake had always said he had an issue giving up control of his work, it was like giving away a child, not that either of them had ever gone through that specific situation. It always just seemed like the right metaphor.
"I think that Armie Hammer is the only guy from this batch that hits all my buttons," Chris said to the team, which included the new movie's director and executive producer. "But I don't know if he'll want to play a gay character again. He's probably getting a bunch of offers for more mainstream things. This isn't going to be a big-budget thing."
"He's game," Diablo Cody said. She was excited about Armie, especially since they'd been shopping the movie to Netflix, something new for everyone involved. It also meant that it would be mainstream, whether Chris thought so or not. "I'll keep him on the list."
She'd been one of the major players who pushed Chris to get his novel adapted, even though he was clearly reticent at the thought of it. It sold plenty of copies, so it had name recognition, but Chris was always more concerned with how the critics looked at it. They were lukewarm at best and like so much of his work, nobody seemed to think that it compared to the first book. It was basically universally acknowledged in the literary world that Chris was considered a one-hit wonder, but people seemed willing to give him one more go over and over again. The movies helped that. So did the shorter work that he did, published more frequently in "The New Yorker" and "The Atlantic." Maybe readers could only handle him in smaller doses, he sometimes thought.
"Dave Franco was also good," Jean-Marc VallＦ added. He'd directed Jake on multiple occasions, so he was a close friend. Chris didn't know if this project was more of a favor on his part or if he was genuinely interested in working together. He was hoping for the latter, but he never could read Jean-Marc. They'd always been cordial, but the working relationship was between Jean-Marc and Jake, not Chris and Jean-Marc. Jake had always called him a genius and Chris didn't ever disagree. "Kit Harington, no. Taron Egerton, maybe. I like him more than Kit."
"Agreed," Chris and Diablo said almost simultaneously. Her hand grasped his on the table, some hope igniting the air between them and throughout the entire room. "So there's that," Diablo continued. "Ansel Elgort is too young. But let's keep him in mind for something else."
"I don't like him," Chris said. "He's cocky. He's got an attitude."
"I could say the same about you," Jean-Marc said, crossing his arms and smiling. "I don't think he's right either, though. For anything."
After an entire day of auditions, both for his male lead and a few other roles, Chris was slumped in the back of his black Escalade, provided by the studio to take him anywhere and everywhere he wanted. It was gauche to say the least, but it was convenient. Even though he'd been in and around Los Angeles enough to know the city, having someone else drive was a luxury he would never refuse. Jake usually drove everywhere, anyway, so he was accustomed to it.
And just as thoughts of his ex-husband came to mind, the car stopped in front of the restaurant they'd chosen. Chris thanked the driver, opened the door, and was basically scooped into Jake's arms. "Hey you," came the familiar voice.
"I'm exhausted," Chris said, letting his hands linger on Jake's shoulders.
"Good thing I got us a booth then," Jake said, leading the way into the restaurant. "You can take a nap after we order."
It wasn't unusual for the two of them to meet up. Reporters hated it, since every sighting meant that there was a possible reconciliation, but both of their teams made sure that official interviews stayed on topic. One official statement got released after the separation and after their divorce was finalized, there was one more. Neither of them ever spoke of the relationship in public.
"L.A. sucks," Chris said, settling into the huge leather booth. "It literally sucks the energy out of me. I don't know why, since all I do is sit around."
"Your brain is a muscle," Jake said, eyes skimming the menu. "I don't think you'll ever get used to it. I know I'm not. You just have to trust your team. They want things to go well."
"I want things to go well," Chris said, noticing how the flickering candlelight seemed to pick up the lighter browns in Jake's hair, even though the candles were the electric kind. His eyes also looked particularly nice, even though they were slightly sunken, a byproduct of having to put on muscle for one role and lose it for the next, only to repeat the process the next year. "I heard that you're jumping around galleries like a crazy person. I don't know how you're not tired."
"A lot of coffee," Jake said. Chris also noticed that Jake wasn't wearing his wedding band anymore. Neither was he. Instead of wearing it on his finger, it was on a chain around his neck. For a second, he wondered where Jake kept his. Even though he was mentally exhausted, he tried to figure out which trinket box it could be in. The teak one they bought in Thailand? Jake kept that by the bed. In his office, there was a porcelain one they found in Kyoto together. It could be in there, too. Maybe it was just on the leather catchall Jake kept by the front door. It wouldn't surprise Chris. As sacred as it was to both of them, it was still just a ring and Jake took it off all the time to wash his hands, to cook, and even when he worked out. "You know he's married, right?"
"Nothing happened," Chris said.
"It wouldn't be like we were. It would be a big deal for him, for you."
"I don't want anything to happen between us," Chris said. "He was just being flirty and it felt really nice to make out with someone."
"I don't want you to look like a home-wrecker," Jake said. "I know that they're divorcing. Everyone knows. But it's not a good look for anyone."
The fact that the two of them didn't even have to say Armie's name brought a slight grin to Chris' lips. He wondered how Jake found out. Armie probably told him directly. It seemed like something he'd do, Chris thought. Without them even having put in an order, a huge tray of seafood came out, the dry ice causing billows of condensation across their table. It brought a smile to Chris' face. As much as he didn't like the idea of being in the spotlight, there was no reason to turn down an entire lobster, pre-cracked crab legs, and too many shrimp and mussels to count. Plus, it was just an excuse to chow down on cocktail sauce, which was one of his favorite things. There was no denying the high that came with the sinus-clearing power of horseradish.
"He wanted to be in the movie," Chris said. "Wanted, I guess. Who knows now? I think we basically dry humped each other like high school kids. Catholic school kids."
"You know I don't want anyone dry humping you," Jake said, his fork plunging into a particularly huge shrimp. "But shouldn't his talent count for something? He's no starlet."
"Did you jerk off to his new movie?" Chris asked. "I wouldn't blame you."
Jake raised an eyebrow. "I don't like when they write things about you in the trade rags," Jake said simply. "It hurts my feelings."
"Then imagine what it does to mine," Chris said.
"I heard Aaron Taylor Johnson auditioned," Jake retorted. "Too young?"
"Lot of young ones coming out of the woodwork," Chris said. "Is there a lack of projects out there? Are movies not getting made? Why do they want to do this one?"
"You got some big names," Jake answered. "You're a big name."
"I was," Chris said. "Then I dropped your name and I thought I was back to being a small name."
"I guess those books with 'Christopher Gyllenhaal' on them are collector's items now?"
"Definitely. If you have signed copies I hear they're going for a ton on eBay."
"One cent plus shipping?" That earned Jake a kick under the table.
Back at the hotel, Chris flopped down onto his bed. Exhaling, he rubbed his stomach, distended with seafood, a salad that was more cold cuts and cheese than greens, and a huge tomahawk steak that he split with Jake. The fries? He wouldn't share those. The last thing he expected was a knock at the door. He didn't ask for turndown service, because nobody he knew ever did that.
"You left your sunglasses on the table," he heard through the door. It was Jake.
Seeing Jake at the threshold was enough to make him smile again. "Thanks," Chris said. He kissed Jake on the cheek.
It was the strain of working together and being together, Chris told himself. Jake put work before their relationship when they were together, he figured. Things were easier when they didn't try to get on the same project. Working together made living together hard. Kissing him in a hotel room was easy.
They weren't exactly kissing, but they were...together. Armie approached bungalow one slowly. He wasn't expecting to see them both. He wasn't exactly expecting to see either one, having simply hoped that he'd be able to slip Chris' key under the doormat. He should have left it with the front desk, but part of him had hoped to see Chris again.
Jake pulled Chris close to him. Shocked at the sudden closeness, Chris instinctively reached around Jake's neck. Everything was instinctive. Natural, even.
"It's what it looks like," Jake said against Chris' neck, his hands grazing Chris' ass.
Armie recoiled, cringing. "I have a key," he said, his voice shaky.
"I'll take that," Jake said, pulling it out of Armie's outstretched hand.
"Stop," Chris said, untangling himself from Jake's possessive embrace. "Thank you. He's joking with you."
"Funny," Armie said as he took a step backward. "Very funny."
"I'll go," Jake said. "And young man, I suggest you do the same. He's damaged goods. I would know. I did most of the damage."
"Classic Jake humor," Chris said, straightening himself. "Thanks again, Armie. I appreciate it. I probably wouldn't be able to check out without this."
Jake held his hands up in false surrender. "Thank you for dinner," Jake said to Chris. He held out a hand to Armie. Reflexively, they shared a firm handshake. "It's nice to meet you, Armand."
"I'm sorry you had to endure that," Chris said when Jake was very much out of earshot. "He didn't mean anything by that." And before Armie could say anything, Chris added, "We're not back together."
"It's cool that you guys still hang out," Armie said. "But it's awkward for anyone...who...doesn't know, I guess."
"Yes, it's very awkward. Did you want to come inside?"
"I'd like that very much."
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