Gil had always liked George’s wife. Or at least he had always liked his second wife, Michaela. Petra, his first wife, had been a bit of a vapid chatterbox if you asked Gil (and if you asked George a vapid chatterbox was all that she was).
When Gil found Petra on that staircase he had been very surprised, no one ever expected to see a dead body when sneaking back home at three in the morning after being locked in a dressing room, but not at all upset. Okay, maybe a little upset because that was the staircase he liked to hide the mescaline in and that really wasn’t some place he wanted cops to snoop around in.
What he remembered best about that night was the look on George’s face. Gil had never seen him so calm. He was wide awake when Gil ran into the apartment. George was in the chair facing the door and if Gil didn’t know better he would think that George had been waiting for him.
“I think Petra’s dead!” was the first thing that came out of Gil’s mouth.
The second thing of course was, “We have to hide her!”
If only for the safety of the mescaline.
George shook his head, “No. She should stay right on the staircase where she died.”
Gil knew he hadn’t mentioned the staircase but decided to believe that maybe George had already found her and was in a state of shock. Decided to believe being the keyword there. Deep down Gil knew what George was, had always known, but it was easier to ignore it.
George’s hair was wet as if he had just taken a shower, “Isn’t it great that you decided to move your mescaline stash to the attic?”
He certainly didn’t remember doing that, but it was in the attic when he checked. And with that all of his worries ceased.
But Michaela was alright. Gil thought she was sweet even if she looked at him like a crazy person. Michaela didn’t understand why Gil lived there but that was okay because Gil didn’t understand why he lived there either. She wore glasses and could stand to lose a few pounds, but no one was perfect.
Michaela was honestly prettier when she cried. So much prettier that Gil almost didn’t want her to stop. He was trying to cheer her up almost out of a sense of obligation more than anything else. At least his raccoon scrapbook didn’t seem to actually be working as happy as it made him to show it to another human being.
If George was there he would have definitely made her cry harder. He always did until she eventually ran off. She usually went up to the roof to calm down because she knew George hated it up there. Once she went all the way to her mother’s house for some reason.
But George was too busy to talk to Michaela. He was in his bedroom with that Hispanic boy he hired to move the furniture. They had been in there for a long time, but Gil knew how picky George could be when it came to details. He needed everything to be perfect always. It was why most of the other actors in New York that had tried to work with George had changed their names (with the exception of Burt Ward who still came over from time to time).
So Gil genuinely liked Michaela, but when George slammed the door behind him and called her a fucking horrible bitch, Gil didn’t do anything to defend her. And when George dragged him out by the back of his jacket leaving Michaela all alone in that apartment he didn’t even think to say goodbye.
Their night out was a blur. They went to a bar or eight. Gil wasn’t sure. They tried some pills and George took the last of the cocaine. George talked to more people than Gil was able to keep track of.
It was a quarter past midnight and George was going seventy-five in a car they stole from some punkass bouncer. Not like he needed it. George was laughing and Gil didn’t like it for some reason.
Gil popped another caramel, his least favorite sort of candy that he still bought regularly, into his mouth, “You should probably hire another furniture boy.”
George scrunched his eyebrows, “Why?”
“I mean,” he looked out the window, they were somewhere rural and he had no idea how they got there, “I could hear how much you struggled to pick things up with all the moaning and you kept dropping things like a lot actually to a repetitive rhythm which was odd but obviously it is more than a two man job.”
He turned his face towards Gil taking his eyes completely off the road, “You honestly believed that I hired Miguel to move my furniture?”
“Yeah,” Gil shrugged, “What else could be for? I’m not dumb.”
George leaned back, “Nothing. Nothing at all. Although you have the right idea about hiring two next time. That will really show her.”
He then went into a speech about Michaela that Gil was interested in until it morphed into a speech about Petra. The way Gil saw it Petra was dead and there was no need to talk about her anymore. He had expressed this view at her funeral. Her high school boxing champion little brother did not appreciate that. If George hadn’t been there with his knife at that kid’s throat Gil might have been a goner.
Gil tuned him out up until George said, “You should blow me.”
“Excuse me?” he spit out his candy.
He smiled, “You’ve been wanting to suck my cock since the day we met so just do it already.”
That statement wasn’t true, but it wasn’t untrue either.
“Isn’t that how accidents happen?” he slid closer to the door.
“Yeah,” George swerved, “but it would be fun. It’s not like either of us are going to live to see seventy anyway.”
After that George yanked his face down into his lap. Gil tried to undo the fly with his teeth like he saw in that movie the theater totally shouldn’t have shown directly after Cinderella, but George got impatient and did it himself. He was already hard and Gil stared at it for a few moments before taking it into his mouth.
To say George was rough would be an understatement. The way he pounded into Gil’s throat made Gil wonder if George wanted to hurt him or something. He could hardly breath, and George had a hand on the back of his head keeping him down. Whenever George complained about teeth Gil tried to move his jaw but he wasn’t quite sure how he was supposed to hold his mouth open.
The first thing George said after they crashed into that tree was, “Gosh you’re bad at that. You didn’t even make me come.”
Gil was beyond caring about that though, “I think I hit my head.”
George smiled, “I guess I should be grateful you didn’t bite my dick off.”
“Am I bleeding?”
He stepped away from the wreck, “Not everything is about you.”
Gil tried his best to follow but he was a little woozy, “Where is the nearest hospital?”
“That doesn’t matter right now,” he grabbed Gil’s shoulder, “What matters right now is that we get away from here as quickly as possible.”
A few days later George threw a newspaper at Michaela’s face during breakfast. On the front page was an article about a crashed car they found with a body in the trunk. Gil didn’t think any of it even if that looked like the model they crashed and the corpse was a chubby girl with glasses. He forgot all about it by the next day.