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"Hello, am I speaking to the 'masterful,' 'magnetic,' and 'sinfully delicious' Gale Harold?"
"I don't know about that… Hey stranger."
"Gale, I know we've both been busy and we haven't talked properly in a couple of months, but one thing we can never be is strangers."
"True dat."
"Dork… Did you get my Christmas card?"
"Yup."
"Did you put it on your refrigerator?"
"Yup."
"Is it still up there, two months later?"
"…Maybe."
"We did both say, 'Happy New Year,' even if we were playing answering machine tag."
"And I bet, despite my message, you still didn't partake of the traditional good luck black-eyed peas, did you?
"I'm pretty sure at least one of their songs played at the party…"
"Cute, Rand. Where has that little Southern boy gone?"
"Sorry, I leave the hog jowl or whatever the fuck to you."
"No respect."
"Hey, I called to give mad respect… yo."
"Give me my props?"
"Yes! Seriously, can we talk about all these amazing reviews you've gotten?"
"Um, no."
"Why not?"
"Eh, don't wanna. Let's go over some of your glowing reviews."
"No, we do that all the time."
"A-ha! Yes, because there are always good ones available. So the real reason you're making such a big deal out of me getting good reviews is because of how fucking rare it is, hmm?"
"That is not what I meant!"
"It's kind of true, though. See? Those lucky black-eyed peas paid off."
"I think it had more to do with something called TALENT, which you ooze naturally, just like your… you know."
"…Do I have an open wound I don't know about?"
"Your sexuality, butthead."
"Oh that. Well, sure."
"I'm just really glad you're doing this role you love in a play you love. You seem happy."
"Yeah. Guess I am."
"That reminds me, though. I'm a little pissed at you."
"For being happy?"
"Yes, because you're so happy, you're apparently posing for pictures and cheerily chatting with fans?"
"Nice alliteration."
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
"What's the problem?"
"Well, if the grumpus has gone all smiley autograph sessions on them, who knows what they're going to start to expect from me!"
"Grumpus?"
"Not to mention…"
"What now?"
"Telling the world you've come to terms with Brian Kinney? Shit, if they realize I've done the same with Justin, we might end up actually having to do a reunion… Oh my God, did you just shrug?"
"How'd you-… It might not be so bad."
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that. Sing me a song!"
"And I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that."
"Why? I miss your voice. I told you to let people hear you sing, didn't I?"
"You did always love my Joan Jett."
"Okay, so if you won't sing over the phone, you'll have to do it in person."
"Fine. Buy a ticket."
"Maybe I will. Who knows? Maybe I already did."
"…There's no fucking way you're coming out here."
"Not with that kind of welcome."
"I just meant I can't imagine you voluntarily coming to L.A. Or voluntarily putting yourself in the path of the fans when it's not your show."
"Well, I'm not going to pose for pictures with you."
"Grumpus."
"But don't make me out to be a wuss. Some things are worth a little risk, a little sacrifice."
"Play's done in a couple of weeks. Maybe I'll pay New York a visit. Save you the sacrifice."
"…That might be okay. As long as you'd still sing for me."
"You'll probably be booked solid again by then, if you're not already."
"Gale, I'll make time. I go to you, you go to me, I don't care. Flip a coin! I just want to see you!"
"…I want to see you, too. But why are you all fired up about it all of a sudden?"
"It's not sudden. I just started thinking… about how close we were."
"Were?"
"We still are, but… I don't know. We were… constants for each other for a long time, and we're talking a little less and less, and I just want to make sure we never fade out of each other's lives completely because that thought makes me really sad."
"Oh."
"Oh? Do you think I'm silly, worrying about that?"
"…Absolutely fucking silly. Rand, that'll never happen."
"You're right. But I still miss you."
"You, too."
"Even being so happy?"
"Trust me, I could be happier… Coin is in my hand."
"Heads L.A., tails New York?"
"Call it."