Zevon and Andrew By Fortuita James for feedback Andrew sat patiently in his car, waiting for the gates to open. The security guard, Andre, stood silent and stern, until he heard a short message come from the voice box. Then he smiled at Andrew happily, his wrinkled face creasing. "I'm very glad to see you, Mr Reyton. He's been a little, umm, difficult today." Andrew smiled back. "Oh, I know, Andre. I know." He waved out the window as he drove through. He concentrated on his driving as he manoeuvred his sedan around the interesting maze of paths and fountains that led to the house. It wouldn't be the first time if he bumped his car into one of those obstacles. He was especially careful, because from the sound of it, Zevon could well have had another one put in. It was one of the myriad ways he had of venting his frustration. He parked in front of the mansion, consciously unclenching his fingers, before getting out of his car to prepare himself for the next security check. There was no need. As he approached the door, it opened, and Zevon stood there looking at him in absolute silence, before breaking it in a grave tone that reminded him of being sent to the principal. "Andrew. Hello." Andrew walked past him calmly, leading the way upstairs and depositing his suitcase and keys on a chair in the first room he came to. Then he turned, squaring his shoulders. Zevon's quiet sarcasm could be hurtful, and even though Andrew knew he didn't mean it, it didn't help. "Hello Zevon. How are you?" The deep voice came back with the response he had expected. "How do you think? How often do I come crawling back to you, Andrew?" Zevon knew that wasn't very nice. But he resented the weakness, resented having to call Andrew when he was hurt. He knew the man could cope with anything he threw at him, he knew he would take it in silence, and not run to the nearest magazine screaming 'abusive', or 'temperamental'. As he sat down slowly, still intimidating, Andrew stated in his calm voice, "She left you." He didn't look at him, gazing at the wall past his shoulder. "She said I was withdrawn. That she couldn't commune with me. Commune, for Christ's sake. What she meant was I didn't make a public fool of myself like her. I wouldn't parade around crying about religion, or declaring my undying love and her perfection. Mostly her perfection." Andrew said nothing, tried not to move a muscle. If Zevon consciously thought about his presence, he'd withdraw again. He sighed inwardly, as Zevon continued gazing at the wall. He was almost never the fun and fascinating Zevon that Andrew'd first been friends with. He was still fascinating, oh yes, his string of lovers proved that, but he was so hard. Andrew's eyes had glazed over, as Zevon continued to throw the occasional comment in his vague direction. He ran through his schedule in his mind. He really hadn't had time for this visit this morning, but he knew it really hurt Zevon when one of the women blew out on him, or he gently disengaged himself from the relationship. There was no one else for him to talk to. No one real. Andrew had to try to remain patient with him. As he came back to the room, he heard another hard- edged comment, "Why do I keep falling for these nothing women? They're all so frivolous." Andrew almost laughed. Frivolous. He had never really believed Zevon was looking for anything else, he just wanted frivolous in conjunction with more under his control. Andrew decided he was finished, and stood, gathering his belongings. Zevon stood morosely at the top of the stairs as he started to walk down. On impulse he looked back over his shoulder, and tossed off, "That's showbiz for you." He had nearly reached the door when Zevon's suddenly active body reached him. As he spun him round, he thought 'whoops'. Zevon was very angry. But his face was absolutely bland. And after he had caught him he didn't move a muscle. His voice was quiet, and Andrew could almost believe he was perfectly calm if it wasn't for the menacing tension in his grip. "Frivolous? Am I frivolous? Do you think I deserve these women?" Andrew was suddenly angry too. What did he mean, deserve these women? "What do you mean, deserve these women? They're your women. You could have anyone in the world. What do you want, intelligent, understanding, prepared to do nothing but stay at home? Oh no, that's right, you want not frivolous, not in the public limelight but with the body of one of your Hollywood sex goddesses. Why don't you grow up and live in the real world, Zevon. Find a real person to seduce." Andrew turned away in disgust as Zevon's hands slipped from his shoulders. The star stood still, watching him as he slammed into his car, and headed for the hazardous driveway at a dangerous speed. Continuing to vent his anger with his fast driving, he managed to arrive at his office only a couple of minutes late. As his boss raised an eyebrow at his coming in earlier than he'd called to say he would, he smiled wryly. Maybe he should blow his top at the self-centred man more often. He threw the energy he had left into his work, and by the time he broke for lunch he was feeling calm and at peace with the world again. 'Why,' he thought to himself, 'if Zevon calls I'll even be prepared to apologise'. Not that he expected him to call. These days he only called when he wanted a very private shoulder to, well, not cry on. And now he probably wouldn't call again at all. He shrugged off the pain the thought caused. He assumed it was for the good memories. Of late, they were hardly even friends. It saddened him to think that the only person the star could even slightly honestly talk to was an old friend from whom he was drifting apart. Still, Andrew had to admit Zevon had protected the friendship like it was the most important thing in his life. After he made his first incredibly successful movie, he had respected Andrew's slight intimation of discomfort, and kept him thoroughly away from both the Hollywood press and lifestyle. Andrew glanced at a menu, and saw the sort of meal Zevon's last companion would have thrown into a bag for a picnic. Andrew couldn't think of a single time in his life he'd eaten such food. On an impulse, after checking how much of his lunch hour was left, he stepped into the restaurant. The hostess moved toward him slowly, inquisitively. "Would you like to order something Sir?" Andrew feigned carelessness, while quickly calculating his bank balance. He smiled as graciously as he could. "Certainly." If he went through agonies of regret later, he could always remember the face of Zevon's ex-lover, petulant and over-indulged. He walked out of the restaurant, pretending carelessness, but actually filled with a nervous tension at his rare lunch. He knew it was something he wouldn't do again, and only remember when he felt depressed, but what a lift! Food was a wondrous delight. He glanced at his watch again, and hurried back to the office. He smiled slightly anxiously at his boss when he walked in, but he looked benign. Andrew realised why when he saw the mass of flowers that spilled from his desk. Daisies, peonies, tulips, gardenias, roses, carnations, baby's breath, chrysanthemums, it was all there. Lying in the centre, in a little space cleared for it was a single bright daffodil. His face showed his absolute shock. He muttered to himself. "Oh god, I hope he didn't come here. Why did he do this? It's not like him. It's so, so Hollywood. He wouldn't do this just to make a point about my calling him frivolous, would he? But I didn't. Oh shit, how am I going to work? And what am I going to tell everyone who must have seen them being delivered." He started to move around his desk, when he caught a movement from his door. He spun quickly, but it wasn't Zevon. His boss raised his eyebrow. "A little jumpy, Andrew? Had a shock?" "A little one, Gary. Wasn't expecting this extravagant display." He smoothed his lapels. "That's what I thought." He nodded. "Extravagant. You'd think you were dating a millionaire. Not, are you?" He laughed shakily. "No." And that was true. But that didn't mean they weren't from a millionaire. He turned to go, and Andrew breathed a sigh of relief, but he looked back over his shoulder. "In aid of something special? Not your birthday, is it?" He shook his head. "No, its, um, a thankyou from a friend." Well, maybe not a thankyou. In fact it left him baffled. What was Zevon trying to say? As he cleared his seat and began hunting around for receptacles to put the mass in, he pondered Zevon's motives. Maybe it was a 'don't stay away'. He had worked at the friendship. Or a goodbye. He might be more wrapped up in Hollywood gestures than Andrew had thought. After filling his coffee cups, and a milk jug, with which he lined the windowsill, he put flowers in his pen holder, in the one vase he had in his room, a gift from his mother. Finally, in frustration, he filled his small dustbin with water and put the remaining dozens of flowers in it. He had to try and justify the cost by getting something out of them, at least. And then he thought of how he had passed his lunch break, and smiled ruefully. His desk was clear, and he could work, but he passed a few minutes gazing out his small window before settling down. Andrew was sitting in his small apartment, eating a rockmelon with a spoon, and watching the news, when Zevon knocked at the door. He opened it incautiously and looked up. Zevon crowded him into his apartment and sat down unceremoniously. Andrew closed the door slowly and curled into the armchair opposite. Zevon looked darkly inscrutable, and Andrew had no idea what to expect. The silence was growing tense, and he had to break it. "I hope you didn't bring a fancy car. My porter would wonder just what line of work I'd got myself into." A muscle in his cheek spasmed. "You know I wouldn't do that to you. You know I've always kept you out of the limelight. God, I've spent thousands convincing people you don't exist, because I didn't want to ruin your life with rumours you were some mystery in my life. Or reporters wanting exclusives about my private life, and bad habits, and parents, and everything." Andrew felt a little shell-shocked. Zevon's action had gone unspoken before. He hadn't realised it had involved money. That had been the most emotional speech he'd heard from the man in years, even though he had presented it deadpan. He flicked a glance up at Zevon through his lashes, and saw he was looking at him unwaveringly, still expressionless. He didn't know what to say. Zevon leaned back, his eyes hooded, and crossed his legs casually. "Interesting visit this morning. It's been a long time since I've heard you say something you mean." He looked at Andrew's face, and then looked at the wall past his shoulder. Andrew grimaced. The only times he heard Zevon say something he meant he was always looking at the wall. Still, it was an easy way to judge his sincerity. "You know why I've never loved a 'real' person? Stuck the frivolity? Because I live in that frivolous world. They would have to as well. And the only 'real' person I loved, the only person I really loved, made it quietly and finally clear that they weren't prepared to do that. Some of the people I've been with since have been nice, if a little caught up in their own image, but the only reason it never worked was they weren't that person." He stood up and faced away from him. He saw his fists clench. Andrew was stunned, but moved quickly to stand beside him. "Oh Zevon. I never knew. Was that why you went so cold, so hard? You never came to me then, never had anyone to talk to. If she loved you, she would have lived with it. If she knew you loved her, she could have worked it out. Who was she? Are you sure it could never have worked? Did she say she wouldn't stay with you? I can't believe it." He really couldn't. Zevon had women falling all over him. He always had, even before he was famous. When they'd first become friends, he had vowed never to make such a fool of himself. Especially when Zevon and he used to sit together laughing about them. Zevon turned towards him, taking him in the same grip he had escaped leaving his house, but gently this time, tenderly. He arched his neck and looked wearily at the ceiling. "Oh Andrew. You never even knew. Never realised." He looked at him like a kitten, wrinkling his nose in bewilderment. "Did I know her? Should I have guessed?" He cast his mind frantically over the women Zevon had been dating at about the time he became famous, and came up with no one who stood out. All similar, lively, attractive. One tended to fade into another. He'd never heard an original thought out of one of them. But then, had Zevon ever gone for intelligent women? A little voice contradicted his thought, noting that none of them had ever lasted. Zevon's voice cracked as he said Andrew's name. He looked back at his face for a long moment, before placing a tiny kiss at the corner of his mouth. Andrew shivered, his mind turning over slowly. Zevon kissed him again, on the other side of his mouth, before gently brushing their lips together. Andrew stood absolutely motionless, and after pressing a firm kiss on his still mouth, Zevon released him and turned towards the door, his head hanging down and his spine tensed. Andrew's knees gave out on him and he tumbled onto the floor in a graceless, semi-upright heap. He whispered Zevon's name so quietly the man couldn't have heard him, but the thump when he hit the ground was clearly audible, and Zevon turned back in time to see a tear swelling in his eye. Andrew repeated his intelligent comment again, a little louder this time. "Oh, Zevon, no." He paused, sniffing. "I never knew. It's not possible. You can't. You never did. God, I used to look at your string of girlfriends and wonder what it must be like to be them, to have you. All those girlfriends." He looked at him, the tears rolling openly down his face. "I just didn't want the press thinking, saying I was yours, when I never was. I didn't want people to say, well, what a departure for Zevon Beadner. I couldn't handle the public speculation, the difficulties at work, the notoriety if it was all a big fat tabloid lie." Zevon looked like a horse had kicked him in the gut. Poleaxed. Flabbergasted. Gobsmacked. Andrew would have chuckled at his list of adjectives if he hadn't been feeling so bad. Eventually he picked himself up and went and wrapped his arms around Zevon's waist. Zevon's body remained limp. He looked at his face, the eyes staring blankly. "Let's have a reporter over shall we? Tomorrow. At breakfast. At your place." He emitted a watery chuckle, hoping the man wasn't going to die, and turned him bodily around to march him out the door. Andrew led him into the elevator, and out of it when it reached the ground floor. He stopped by the porter's desk. "Hello Griff. This is Zevon Beadner." The porter looked impressed. "Hello, sir!" "He's about to become my lover. Goodbye. See you in a couple of weeks" He looked as sick as Zevon had looked a few minutes ago. Zevon was decidedly recovering as they walked out the door. "All these years." He murmured. "I've loved you and fantasised about you all these years," his eyes sparkled, "and you turn out to be a managing beast, a presshound." His stomach warmed. "Managing? I don't care. But I might be interested in the fantasies." Zevon shot him an even warmer look. "Believe me, me too." THE END