Archive of Our Own

1922

Dark eyes found Alfred from across the room. They weren’t as black as they seemed in the pictures. There was a warmth to them. A molten brown that stirred with every blink. His lips never parted to speak, smile, or make any sound of acknowledgment at all. He just stared until his gaze swept over every speck of dust on Alfred’s pants, every broken stitch on his jacket, and the two smudges on his glasses.

Lovino Vargas collected every detail of Alfred’s twenty-year-old existence in seconds. Then, he finally raised a brow, as if to ask, “What in the hell are you even doing here?”

And honestly, Alfred did not know.

“You—what? You met Vargas, already?” Matthew’s voice hollered through the phone.

Alfred brushed up against one of the sides of the phone booth, holding the receiver to his ear.

“Yeah, I was surprised too! They were showing me around the set and lo and behold, he was strolling out of the costume department. Guess he had a fitting or something.” Alfred wished he could recall a detail other than the way Lovino looked at him. What was he wearing? Ah, Alfred couldn’t remember a damn thing.

“Huh, what luck,” Matthew replied.

He sounded bitter—like perhaps he wasn’t over the fact that Alfred high-tailed it out of Ohio in the dead of night, hopping trains until he reached the promised land of California. They were supposed to do it together. But when Matthew put on the brakes (What about mom and dad? What about the farm?), Alfred stepped on the gas (If I don’t leave now, I never will).

However, Matthew was also too forgiving for his own good. They were twins after all. It was hard to go very long without talking to each other.

“Well, anyway. Now that you brought him up, you have me curious. What’s his voice like?”

“His voice?”

“You did talk to him, didn’t you?”

“Well, no…” Alfred admitted, pursing his lips. “I didn’t even expect to see him there. He took one look at me and my mind went blank. I couldn’t say a thing.”

“Wow.”

“I know, right? Is that what being starstruck is, because—”

“No. I’m saying wow because I’d also love to be able to make you clam up with just one look.”

Alfred rolled his eyes. “Ha–ha, very funny. Like you would have done better.”

“I think I would have managed a hello, at least—yes.”

“Easy for you to say,” Alfred replied hotly. “It’s not like watching one of his pictures, lemme tell you. He’s different in person.”

“How so?”

“Hm, well a little shorter for one. I think I had a good couple of inches on him,” Alfred boasted, puffing out his chest. “But he was also more serious? Intense. His eyes have a way of looking right through you. I swear I had goosebumps.”

“Jesus, Al. Try to sound a little less like you’re smitten with the guy, or else people will start talking,” Matthew joked.

“I’m not smitten,” Alfred flushed, suddenly feeling too warm in the small telephone booth. “I’m just saying he’s a really big star. He has…presence. As they say around here.”

“That’s what they say, huh?” Matthew didn’t sound very convinced.

Alfred could picture his brother’s wry smile, even across half a dozen state lines. It made him peer out of the glass and look at the starry night sky with fondness.

“I miss you,” he blurted. “I wish you could just come out here already.”

Matthew didn’t reply right away. His long, sad sigh already set the tone. “I think you’re going to have to live all of the adventure for the both of us. I don’t see myself leaving anytime soon.”

Alfred frowned. A swirling guilt filled his stomach and he didn’t want to give it any attention.

That agent from Hollywood scouted Matthew, not Alfred. It was supposed to be him out here playing extras in the pictures. Or, at least the two of them together.

“So, tomorrow is the first day you start shooting right?” Matthew continued. “What are you going to say to the famous Lovino Vargas? Or are you going to be tongue-tied again?”

“Not likely,” Alfred laughed. But then he mulled over the potential encounter in his head. What would he say to America’s brightest star? “Hm…what if I ask him where he finds the best pizza around here?”

A long pause. “Are you serious?”

“What? No good?” Alfred grinned.

Matthew let out a loud exhale. “Try it and see how it goes for you. I know there’s no stopping you.”

And Alfred was going to try. He didn’t care what his brother thought.

The next day, Alfred strolled onto the set in the early hours. He put a lot of care into his appearance that morning—shaving his face and tidying his hair back (one cowlick always escaped him)—but it impressed exactly no one.

He was given his costume of a white billowy shirt and black pants and sent to the dressing room. His role was a very small one. Just an extra body in the scenes with large crowds of people. But it was still something, and it excited Alfred nonetheless. The only slightly disappointing part was when he was told to remove his glasses.

Alfred did as he was told, but lost a little bit of his confidence in it.

“Oh, hello,” a woman said to him. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

Even though Alfred’s vision was a little blurry from his astigmatism, he wasn’t so blind as to not recognize the leading lady of the film. Sultry green eyes lined with kohl and brown hair wrapped up in a long white veil. It was the actress Isabela Carriedo.

“I think I would remember meeting you, doll,” Alfred grinned and extended his hand. “My name is Alfred F. Jones. I’m a new actor.”

“Really? And here I thought we’d worked together before.” Her smile was white and gleaming. “You’re so cute. I’m sure you’ll do very well.”

Alfred’s chest swelled with pride. He really didn’t have to do anything at all for his role, but the fact that the starlet complimented him filled his empty stomach with extra confidence.

The film was based on a book that Alfred had never heard of and told the story of a young boy who came from nothing to become one of the greatest matadors in Spain, ending up in a torrid love affair with a widow. Isabela, of course, was acting as the femme fatale. As for Lovino—

He appeared on set in an ornate matador costume and the whole world seemed to go quiet. Alfred wondered if he was recognizable without his glasses; he wondered if Lovino remembered their brief encounter from yesterday.

He just wanted to feel those dark eyes on him once again.

The director talked to Lovino, and then to Isabela. Both actors were nodding, but only Isabela chimed in with comments. Alfred had still not heard Lovino’s voice. He wondered what he would sound like. The mystery made the minutes drag on until the actors went to their places and the scene began.

Oh.

Blood rushed to Alfred’s head. His vision may not be perfect, but he could hear just fine. Lovino’s speech was accented. Heavily accented. It was actually very hard to tell if he was even speaking English. It made Alfred feel quite a fool, because in the pictures he imagined the actors spoke just the same as him. But Lovino was Italian, of course. He was famous for that.

But the accent wasn’t what made Alfred flush. He just never expected Lovino’s voice to be so richly baritone and honeyed. Lilting over some words and emphasizing others. Alfred didn’t think there could be anything lovelier than watching Lovino act, but he was proven wrong.

He didn’t just want to talk to Lovino, now. He wanted to hear Lovino talk too.

Alice Kirkland was the name of the agent who plucked Alfred from the small town in Ohio. She was English—very much so—with glasses and a haughty attitude. When she appeared in the small town, she spotted Matthew first and latched onto him for his “dreamy, liquid eyes and crystal-clear voice.”

“Dreamy, liquid eyes,” Alfred repeated skeptically after Matthew had told him. “What does that mean?”

Matthew’s cheeks tinged with a blush as he laughed. “I’m sure it’s just Hollywood talk. She probably says that to all sorts of folks. I shouldn’t mind it,” he said and returned to cooking dinner.

Matthew was always like that. Shrugging off the attention he deserved and throwing it into the trash. Alfred didn’t do that. He never missed a chance to be admired.

“I mean, you are going to follow up with her, right?” Alfred demanded. The vegetables remained ignored on the cutting board because this was much more important. Seeing his brother’s back, he continued, “Matt, come on. This is Hollywood. You’re going to follow up with her, aren’t you?”

Matthew eventually made a half-turn. His look said everything before he even spoke. “Honestly, I don’t see the point. There’s no way I could just leave Mom and Dad. Not right now. Not with the farm like this and the debts to pay. And you know Dad’s still sick. There might be other chances, later.”

Other chances? What? Who was he kidding?

Alfred didn’t understand. He couldn’t understand. In fact, he argued with Matthew all night and still didn’t get it. Ultimately, when day broke, Alfred was the one who biked into town and met Miss Kirkland at the hotel lobby. He didn’t even know why at the time, but he wasn’t about to let an agent just leave because his brother was too “good” to take up a golden opportunity.

“Oh, that’s just swell. What are you? The knockoff?” Miss Kirkland greeted flatly. She had sharp green eyes that saw flaws Alfred didn’t even know he had. “I don’t like your ears at all. Maybe we can hide them with your hair. Try speaking? Oh no, please don’t. Good thing no one can hear you. Why do you have so many freckles? God, you’re going to need so much makeup, aren’t you? All right. Give me a smile again?”

Alfred did, and he felt like it was the least genuine smile he ever gave.

“Well,” Miss Kirkland mused, pursing her lips slightly. “Your smile is all right. Your chipped tooth needs fixing, but that dimple of yours is a saving grace. I believe I can work with you after all.”

“Just like that?” Alfred asked, standing up as she did.

Miss Kirkland pulled on her coat. “Yes, I don’t have much time to waste here. If you’re interested, then be ready to leave on the train tomorrow morning. You’re not perfect, mind you. I doubt you’ve acted a day in your life. But I can work with what you have as long as you promise to work hard in return.”

“But, uh,” Alfred scrambled after her, making sure to pull the door open so she could step through first. “What about my brother? Can he come too?”

“Your brother?”

“Matthew.”

“The other one? The soft one? He can come too, of course. He’s a bit more of a natural than you. Although,” Miss Kirkland gave a startling smile. “I suspect you’re more cut out for the business, if you catch my drift.”

Alfred did not.

“So, can he come?”

“Of course. The train leaves at nine o’clock,” Miss Kirkland said, tilting her head to the side. “Have a good day, Alfred.”

“You too!” Alfred blurted after her.

The opportunity handed to Matthew fell into Alfred’s lap just like that. So unbelievably easy. He could hardly believe it. Did he deserve it? Was it wrong or was it right? Alfred didn’t know.

But when the time came he did not consider the right or the wrong. He thought about the future and what the opportunity would bring him. Alfred chose it over his family, even over his twin. Matthew never swayed in his decision to stay, and he watched Alfred pack a suitcase in the dead of the night.

They never said goodbyes. Alfred pretended Matthew wasn’t watching, and Matthew, probably, pretended that Alfred wasn’t going where he was. That’s how they left it.

That was the last time they saw each other.

1924

Alfred was twenty-two. He filled out a bit since arriving in California and learned how to dress himself much better. Miss Kirkland was always on his tail about this or that, and most of the time he listened. It became more challenging with each better role he landed though.

Alfred felt so much brighter in the limelight.

“You’re an amateur,” Miss Kirkland told him over lunch. They were having sandwiches at a nearby cafe. And it was ridiculously early, because she liked eating at the most particular times. Alfred didn’t even have an appetite, but since she was buying, he decided to have his fill.

They’d been working together for a little over two years now, and still, Miss Kirkland treated him like a baby. One that she was tired of raising.

“I don’t understand why you can’t just let go of yourself for once and become the part,” she lamented. “Your ego is going to get the best of you, Alfred.”

“But I like adding my personality,” Alfred grinned, flashing a well-practiced smile. His chipped tooth had been fixed and it was the brightest smile in Hollywood now, as Miss Kirkland advertised to all of the casting directors. Alfred liked the brag, anyway.

“You like being noticed,” Miss Kirkland sighed as she made a motion for the check.

Alfred finished scarfing down his lunch while his agent paid. He was always so thankful, and frankly, he didn’t understand her continued generosity after all these years. Especially when her words were so sharp and often condescending.

When they emerged from the restaurant, Alfred squinted. It was summer and the heat was brutal. In fact, the air was so thick, it wrapped around Alfred from head to foot as soon as he stepped outside.

“By the way, you have a big audition coming up,” Miss Kirkland said, already marching down the sidewalk.

Alfred hurried to catch up with her. “Oh yeah? What picture is that?”

“As if the name would mean anything to you,” Miss Kirkland laughed. The strangest things amused her. “But Lovino Vargas has been cast in it. I’m hoping you will star alongside him.”

“Oh, that’s berries!” Alfred exclaimed, feeling energetic already. “I haven’t seen him in a long while. What a treat.”

“Really?” Miss Kirkland pinned him with a flat stare. “And why is that?”

Alfred’s skin warmed, but he blamed it on the raging sun above. “Well, he’s a star, ain’t he?”

“Isn’t he. Speak properly, Alfred.”

“Well, he is! It would be nice to work with him,” Alfred pointed out. “That’s all I’m saying.”

“Your admiration for him is so misplaced,” Miss Kirkland sighed. The tempoed click of her heels and the swish of her skirt were the drumbeats engrained in Alfred’s head. That’s how he moved forward. “He doesn’t even know how to speak. He could never have a career on stage, you know. It’s pure luck he landed in the pictures. Luck and that bizarrely captivating face of his.”

“Well, then you do admit he has a talent,” Alfred prompted with a sly smirk.

Miss Kirkland batted him with her purse. “For an hour in the movie house, he is wonderful. But try talking to him in person and you’ll soon find out.” She shook her head glumly. “Like talking to a brick wall, I tell you. Conversation in America is already so hard to come by. I’m not about to make that mistake again.”

“Well, he’s Italian, ain—isn’t he?”

“Yes. Your point?”

Alfred huffed and gave up on the matter. There was no point after all. Not when Miss Kirkland made up her mind on something.

So, Alfred went to the audition. The role was actually much more desirable than Miss Kirkland even let on: a real hero type. Something that Alfred had only been able to dream of attaining up to this point. He wasn’t a great actor. Well, he was all right. But he worked hard and Miss Kirkland worked even harder to get him this far.

Somehow, Alfred managed to snag the part. After he heard the news, he returned to his little Los Angeles apartment practically walking on air. Even the humble dinner of Wonder Bread and peanut butter tasted better. Maybe soon, Alfred would be able to afford lavish dinners. Perhaps then Miss Kirkland would stop coddling him too.

Later, when Alfred left in the evening to make a phone call back home, he told Matthew the good news.

“—Can you believe?” The words tumbled out so fast, that Alfred had to stop to catch his breath.

On the other end of the line, there was a lengthy pause; Mom and Dad were clearly arguing in the background, accompanied by the clatter of silverware and plates.

Then, Matthew sighed. “Your luck really has no limits—does it, Al?”

That brought Alfred back to Earth again. For a little bit. Even after two years, Matthew hadn’t forgiven him. Hadn’t forgotten. How could he, when Alfred was appearing in more pictures than before?

It was a downer to be reminded of it. Matthew’s anger never failed to nag at the back of Alfred’s head.

But Alfred was just as good at pretending it wasn’t there. After all, only one of them had the guts to grab the bull by the horns, and that was him. Matthew made the choice as well as he did.

Alfred arrived at the first rehearsal in his favorite blue suit, said hello to the director again, and introduced himself to some of the cast. He was feeling pretty good about himself. Alfred had his thick, wavy blond hair. Big, perfect smile. What wasn’t there to be confident about?

“And you haven’t met your co-star, have you Mr. Jones?” the director said, gesturing to the figure emerging from the door. “This is Lovino Vargas. I’m sure you two will work well together.”

Dark eyes found Alfred from across the room. They hadn’t changed. Black in the pictures, but so warm and brown in real life. Lovino strode forward in even, graceful steps and extended one hand for Alfred to take.

He said nothing.

Alfred supplied a grin and clasped his palm. It was surprisingly cold to the touch. “It’s nice to meet you—again! You probably don’t remember me, but I’ve been a fan for years. I’m excited to work alongside you.”

Lovino’s lips pulled to the side until his cupid’s bow flattened. Was it a frown? A suppressed smile?

Alfred anxiously filled the silence in the meantime.

“You’ll have to share some of your secrets. I’d love to learn from you,” Alfred added, creasing his dimple a little more.

Lovino squeezed his hand—hard—until Alfred’s grin faltered.

“Don’t overact,” Lovino said, talking low. His pronounced Italian accent was just the same as two years ago. He spoke slowly and deliberately to make up for it. “I’ve seen your pictures.”

“Oh, you have?” Alfred brightened, ignoring the warning.

Lovino actually noticed him? He knew who he was? Alfred hadn’t dared to dream that was the case. It filled him with renewed energy, sending lighting all the way down to his fingertips.

Lovino did not seem as enthusiastic. He let go of Alfred’s hand and stepped away like the conversation was over.

But Alfred didn’t forget the touch of his palm, or the rhythm of his smooth, baritone voice. He heard it again when they rehearsed. Lovino always made sure to say his lines very low, just audible enough so that his partners could hear.

He didn’t speak English very well. Everyone knew this. But when he acted and became the character, it didn’t really matter. His voice wasn’t important to the director, or the people behind the camera. No one listened. No one cared.

Alfred had a feeling that he was the only one who listened. In each scene they spent together, he held his breath for every line that Lovino would say. All of those words, so reluctantly freed into the air, danced through his ears, around his brain, and into his heart. He loved Lovino’s voice. He was obsessed with it. There was nothing else like it.

All of America knew Lovino’s face—the way he cried, the way he smiled, the way he snarled. To the public, he was a painting come to life. They did not even know he could make a sound. So few realized he was even human. Alfred was one of the privy now, and it made him a little too proud.

Because even though Alfred yearned to be close to Lovino—admired him and coveted him—he really had no reason to believe that Lovino felt anything like the same way.

They spent days and weeks working together just like that. In normal clothes at first, and then in their costumes. Occasionally, Miss Kirkland would stop by to watch, and Alfred had to avoid eye contact with her whenever Lovino said his lines.

An amateur. He cannot even speak properly! You see, Alfred! You see!

No, no. Alfred didn’t see. Not at all. Lovino was a great actor. He could convey so much when people couldn’t even hear him speak. That was a talent in itself. All Alfred had was his way with words. He was helpless without the ability to make himself heard.

In fact, Lovino’s reticence actually unnerved him at times. If Lovino wasn’t saying his lines, he rarely spoke at all. Alfred had the darndest time coaxing any conversation out of him. They were not going to be fast friends at this rate.

After a particularly long day of filming, Alfred left the set with a heavy heart. Another day of dark eyes seeing through him, and nothing else to show for it. Alfred may as well be the gum underneath Lovino’s shoe for how close they’ve gotten, or rather, had not.

“You.”

Alfred’s shoulders shot up when he felt a finger press against the center of his spine. He relaxed when his eyes caught the glare of Lovino’s profile. It was rare that he actually approached. And after work hours? Must be a blue moon.

“Oh, what a greeting,” Alfred chuckled. He plucked his jacket from the rack and swung it on one sleeve at a time. “What is it?”

Lovino frowned. “You don’t drink. You don’t smoke…”

“Yeah? Well, no vices, no problems. Don’t you think?” Alfred shrugged. Prohibition was in full swing. Sure, there were many who got around it, but Alfred wasn’t about to risk it.

Lovino smiled.

“That’s funny,” he said, although he didn’t laugh. He looked at Alfred, not as a nuisance anymore, but as something very intriguing. Like an animal that performed a new trick. “You should come out with me tonight.”

“With you?” Alfred repeated. Blood rushed to his face. Why did that happen? He didn’t really understand it, but anytime Lovino gave him attention he just—panicked. In the most unusual ways.

Lovino’s smile waned and he glanced to the side. “Well, me and my fidan—fiance. Of course,” he supplied, dipping inside his jacket pocket and fishing out a fresh cigarette. He smoked probably a pack a day. Alfred had been counting.

“Oh, that’s right.”

Lovino was engaged now. Of course, Alfred had heard about it. It became quite a news story when America’s favorite on-screen couple, Lovino Vargas and Isabela Carriedo, became an item.

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Lovino laughed.

Alfred startled. “I’m not—I love—I mean, I really like Isabela,” he replied quickly. “She’s such a doll. So nice to talk to. I mean it.”

“Well, don’t sound too enthusiastic, either.” Lovino smirked.

Alfred reddened. He really couldn’t do anything right with Lovino. He was always damned if he did and damned if he didn’t.

And Lovino knew that didn’t he? That was the only reason he talked to Alfred.

Lovino puffed out a cloud of smoke. “Tonight, then,” he confirmed, flicking ash to the ground. “Go to the Rosslyn Hotel. Nine o’clock. The password is swordfish.”

“Rosslyn Hotel. Okay. That’s a pretty name. Hey, we’re not going to get in trouble for this are we—” Alfred strung out the word for as long as he could, but Lovino walked off. “...And he’s gone.” A trail of smoke snaked all the way to the door.

Alfred buttoned his jacket and wondered if he should buy a pack of cigarettes before going tonight.

As it turned out, cigarettes were the least of his problems. He returned home and realized that he had no decent suits to wear. Nothing that would be up to Lovino’s exacting standards anyway. Alfred had not seen him wear anything that was not ironed or tailored to perfection.

Alfred pulled out his two best suits and scrutinized them as best he could. While he could mend his clothes decently, he couldn’t work magic with no money. The gray suit with a matching waistcoat was just going to have to do the job. Hopefully, there wouldn’t be too much drinking going around. Without Miss Kirkland to rely on, Alfred wasn’t sure if he would be able to afford more than a couple without breaking the bank.

He reluctantly checked his wallet and grimaced. All right. Maybe he would just talk Lovino’s ear off instead.

Alfred arrived at the Rosslyn Hotel and gave it a shot. Isabela, who was wearing a red dress with beaded tassels, laughed girlishly by Lovino’s side.

“Water?” Lovino’s growl cut through the roar of the crowd. “You don’t drink water at a speakeasy.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m flat broke,” Alfred defended with an easy grin.

Lovino stared.

“You don’t have any money?” Isabela asked, batting her long, dark lashes. “Oh, poor thing. You’re so young. We’ll pay for you. Right, Lovi?”

“No, you don’t have to do that,” Alfred laughed awkwardly. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around the room. There were so many people here. Was it really so much of a secret? He swore he recognized half the folks in the room. Anyone who was anyone in Los Angeles seemed to be here.

“You’re going to drink,” Lovino said. He slammed down his cocktail and brushed past Alfred’s side. “Then, you’ll tell me why you have no money.”

“I…” Alfred’s jaw shut with a click. Once again, he was left staring after Lovino’s sashay away.

“It’s not a problem,” Isabela chimed. She twirled a lock of curly hair by her ear. “Lovino likes to drink. He gets lonely without company. And I think he’s bored of everyone else he drinks with. You’re new to him.”

Alfred’s grin was lopsided. He wasn’t sure if that was a compliment or not.

“He’s not the easiest fella to talk to. We’ve been working together for weeks, but I’m lucky if I can coax more than a couple of words out of him.”

“He’s shy,” Isabella smiled. She peered around Alfred’s shoulder with large eyes and then scooted closer with her drink in hand. “Until he’s drunk. Then, he talks quite a lot. You’ll see.”

Alfred couldn’t even imagine a talkative Lovino. But he decided that it was something that he had to see.

Soon enough, Lovino returned with a glass in hand, filled with colorful contents, and placed it in front of Alfred.

“A sidecar,” he explained as he plucked a fresh cigarette from a pack. “Drink it quickly. You have more to go.”

Alfred started with a sip, completely unaware of what to expect. It was orange, so maybe it was sweet? However, the taste was tinged with something far more powerful and it made Alfred’s lips peel back.

“The alcohol is bad,” Lovino added slyly. “You’ll have to drink a lot.”

“What do you mean by bad?” Alfred demanded, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“It’s all watered down to save money,” Isabela supplied. “But we don’t have many options around here. Not like in Europe. You know, Lovi…” Her arm wrapped around Lovino’s shoulders and pulled him tight to her. Close enough that her red lips grazed over the shell of Lovino’s ear. She whispered something soft and unrecognizable.

Seeing their closeness in real life was so very different than viewing it in the pictures. It made Alfred’s belly twist uncomfortably and he felt the sudden, very strong urge to distract himself. The sidecar was the perfect solution.

Rather than let the cocktail sit on his tongue, Alfred decided to push the liquid down his throat in a couple of gulps.

“Well, look at you.”

Alfred opened his watery eyes and saw Lovino watching him, amusement flickering on his face.

“Ready for another?”

Alfred’s tongue swept over his lips, tasting the last drops of alcohol there. Although it tasted like crap, was illegal, and probably a bad idea, he did like the flame it stoked in his chest. So, he accepted a second drink.

And then a third. And a fourth.

It turned out that drinking became so easy when you got into it. Not only that, but the world seemed so much dreamier. Lovino wasn’t untouchable anymore. He and Alfred ended up leaning into each other several times during the night. Alfred laughed so much. He couldn’t remember being so free since he left home and Matthew—

No, he didn’t want to think about that.

Then, there was Lovino. He drank far more than Alfred did, and a much different variety of alcohol. He wasn’t as talkative as Isabela teased, but he did grin and chuckle and joke in the most delightfully strange ways.

After drinking, Lovino forced a cigarette between Alfred’s lips and held up a lighter.

Alfred only smoked occasionally for films so he knew how to do it. He just didn’t like it. But he seemed incapable of saying no to Lovino when those brown eyes pinned him with so much unwavering attention.

Alfred sucked on the cigarette and blew smoke out to the side. He looked around the corner of the room and realized a certain person was missing. How long had it been?

“Where’d Isabela go?” he prompted, leaning against the wall.

Lovino lowered his cigarette. “Why do you care?” he asked. “...You like her?”

“Not like that!” Alfred insisted. He would never move in on someone’s fiance, much less Lovino’s. He hardly remembered what Isabela was wearing. Mentioning her name was only out of politeness. But his brain was not working at its fullest capacity. He tried to smooth things over. “You two have been engaged for a while, is that right? When’s the wedding?”

Lovino gave him a leveling stare. As if Alfred asked something deeply serious and unwelcome.

Slowly, his face dipped away from the light, shadowing the curve of his cheeks and the column of his neck.

“We’re friends, Alfred,” he said shortly. “Even when we marry.” Lovino dragged on the cigarette at length. The next words nearly got lost in the whisper of smoke: “...That’s the point.”

But Alfred heard it. He just didn’t understand. It made him reach for a cocktail to drink just to escape the strange emotions set loose in his veins. Yet when he brought the glass toward his lips he saw it empty.

“Oh damn,” he frowned.

Lovino plucked the glass from his hands and exchanged it with a shorter cup filled with dark liquid.

“Keep drinking,” he ordered, nudging the glass closer to Alfred’s lips.

“Okay—hold on! I will! Hey!” Alfred yelped as Lovino guided his head back and back. He didn’t let up until the drink dribbled down Alfred’s face. “Come on!” Alfred made a jerky maneuver and managed to avoid getting any drops on his suit.

Lovino’s grin was maddeningly triumphant. “You’re such an idiot,” he chuckled and stamped out the cigarette butt in the ashtray. “It’s a good look on you.”

An idiot? Really? Alfred turned away unhappily. He didn’t like looking foolish in front of anyone, much less Lovino. He shoved the glass onto the far side of the table and looked out the window, just to focus on something else.

“Will you sing now?…” Lovino murmured, sidling up to the same window. He was pulling out another cigarette and lighting it within seconds. “Alfred,” he began coolly. “Who did you screw over to get here?”

Alfred blinked. This was so out of pocket; what would make Lovino think he would do something like that?

“What?”

“No one makes it to Hollywood without screwing someone over,” Lovino explained, his smile pulling to the side.

“Well, I…I dunno what you’re talking about man, but I never screwed anyone over,” Alfred laughed. He clawed through his hair and kept his gaze pointed to the window. “I got lucky. What can I say?”

Lovino looked at him for a long while. What did he see? He just stared, silent as a cat.

“Yeah, sure,” he murmured eventually, smoking again. “And that’s why you don’t have cash, huh?”

“Well, no,” Alfred drawled. “I don’t have cash because I send most of my money back home.”

Lovino’s gaze sparkled in the light. “I thought so. You’re a bastard like the rest of us.”

Alfred’s mouth fell open. “A bastard?” He’d never been called anything like that before. Not by anyone other than— “You’re smoked. For sure. You know what? I am too. I should…” Alfred swung around unsteadily, while around him Lovino laughed and laughed. “I’m leaving. Yeah, I’m done with this.”

Although the room hadn’t changed, getting out of a drunk crowd was as difficult as fighting through a moving maze. Alfred pushed and shoved, thankful he was taller than most. He couldn’t escape Lovino’s laugh no matter how far he walked.

“Alfred? You’re leaving so soon?” Isabela asked, wrapping a hand around Alfred’s bicep and tugging him down. Her cheeks were as warm as her lips now. “I thought you’d be here all night.”

She craned her neck to the side, flashing white teeth. It was hard to tell what she was thinking, but her touch said enough. Cupping Alfred’s jaw and warming his skin with her minty breath. She was going to marry Lovino. And here she was, hinting at Alfred for a kiss.

It was wrong. Isabela. Lovino. All of it.

Yet, Alfred didn’t pull away from her embrace. Instead, he closed the distance by holding the back of Isabela’s head. Her body swayed into him, followed by the chime of a delighted giggle. Alfred closed their lips together without another thought. His heartbeat thundered, and blood roared through his ears. He might have kissed her before in a film or two, but this was very different—in the open, while her fiance was just a couple steps away. Alfred let go just as quickly, staring at Isabela’s laughing green eyes with horror.

What the hell? What the hell?

“Have a wonderful wedding,” he snapped.

Lovino’s laugh stopped. And Alfred finally managed to escape.

The next day, he vowed to never drink again.

1925

Alfred was twenty-three. He spent more time around animals than saying lines. His ability to ride horses was suddenly his most valuable asset as an actor.

“You idiot! Why didn’t you tell me you knew how to ride a horse?” Miss Kirkland's same reprimand echoed for weeks.

But Alfred didn’t know it would be important out here. Not until he auditioned for a role in a Western and was able to show off his way around a horse. It earned him the part. After that, no one wanted him to look like Lovino Vargas anymore. Alfred became The Cowboy: full of freedom and nostalgia, and a very different type of appeal.

He actually really liked that image of himself. Miss Kirkland still insisted on teaching him how to talk properly, maybe because he was never going to learn to shut up anyway.

In some sense, Alfred felt like he was back on the farm. Most of his time in front of the camera was what he and Matthew would be doing anyway.

Alfred wished he was as free and bold as the men he played in the pictures. They were his dream too.

1926

Alfred was twenty-four. His reputation as the courageous cinematic cowboy was slowly being set in stone. Many actors dreamed of having such a stronghold on a part. But when Alfred sensed the walls closing in on him, he always rebelled. They thought this was his only face? Then, he should become someone else.

He tried to branch out, but it wasn’t as easy as it should have been.

Lovino Vargas was unique. He was the type that could have played the villain forever, but he changed that. America fell in love with him. Well, the women did. Occasionally, Alfred would come across an unsavory headline about Lovino’s “dandyish” clothing and the way he was influencing men to look this way or that. There was hardly a day that his name did not make the papers.

Alfred tried to persuade Miss Kirkland to let him try other parts.

“Dancing,” she repeated. “You want to learn how to dance. You?”

“I’m a good dancer! Really!” Alfred insisted hotly. He was telling the truth. It was always one of his favorite pastimes back home. Whenever he and Matthew could meet up with some of their friends, Alfred was always the one to lead the girls into a dance.

Miss Kirkland lowered her tea and gave him a flat look. “Why are you so changeable, Alfred? You’re a good cowboy. Just be that.”

“But I can do more! So much more. You know that I have talent out the wazoo—why else would you have stuck with me for this long? Come on. A few lessons. What could it hurt?”

“I’m stuck with you out of habit,” Miss Kirkland frowned. She pulled out a fountain pen and scrawled a name and address on a fresh page of her notebook. “And you don’t need my permission to take a dance lesson, for goodness sake. I just think it’s ridiculous. But if you must go, then at least go to them. They’re the best, so I hear.”

Alfred pulled the slip of paper closer to him. “Lovino and Isabela,” he exclaimed. “They still teach dancing?” Alfred knew through the grapevine that Lovino used to do such a thing. It was how he picked up English and made his way to California. But he didn’t know he was still offering such lessons, and with his wife, too.

“They’re very good,” Miss Kirkland repeated flatly. “So I hear.”

Alfred’s lips spread into an unwitting grin. It’d been ages since he spent any significant time with Lovino. They saw each other here and there, but nothing like their evening out two years ago. It didn’t mean that Alfred stopped thinking about him though. Quite the opposite. It was actually a bit of a problem how often he recalled Lovino’s dark eyes and mischievous grin. Even the thought now made his belly tighten.

“Are you still dating Natalia? Why don’t you take her as well,” Miss Kirkland added casually.

Alfred deflated. “Oh, right.”

He liked Natalia decently. They worked well together on set and going steady was a bit of an…arrangement for them. So their agents would get off their backs, as well as the papers.

“I detest gossip. You have to date me, Alfred. I know you’re single. I know you are,” Natalya had snarled one day after filming, cornering Alfred by the wall.

She was a beautiful young woman with deep blue eyes and a mane of blonde hair that she refused to cut, despite it being out of fashion. She was also a natural dancer, and in fact, a ballerina before she made the transition into acting. So, it wasn’t a bad idea to take her along to a lesson with Lovino.

Alfred called her up and made the appointment. On the day, he swung by her apartment to pick her up in his new Ford Model T and drove them to the dance studio.

“He’s a good dancer,” Natalia complimented without inflection. “I was in one film with him. He moves well.”

“Yeah? You think I can get as good as he is?”

“Probably not,” Natalia shrugged. “You’re better off as a cowboy.”

“You sound like Alice,” Alfred grumbled, turning away. He was tired of being told what he was or couldn’t be. That was the entire job at times. He thought Hollywood would give him what the farm couldn’t: a sense of purpose beyond that small life. So it was ironic that Alfred was being typecast into a role he literally escaped.

The dance studio was small. Just large enough for one class at a time. Apparently, Lovino and Isabela taught all kinds of dances, from salsa to the foxtrot. Alfred signed up for the waltz.

“Alfred Jones,” Isabella greeted him at the door. She wore a long green dress with matching heels and stepped to the side to allow Alfred and Natalia inside. Her smile was just as bright as ever. “We were so surprised to see your name on the list. Do you have a musical side we don’t know about?”

“That’s what I’m here to find out,” Alfred said, wagging his brows. It earned him a giggle from Isabela before she turned to Natalia and made introductions.

Alfred circled around the mirrored room, idly wondering when Lovino would show up. He made two loops until a familiar dark crop of hair appeared in the reflection. Alfred spun around, already grinning.

Lovino remained at the backdoor, arms crossed over his chest like he so often did.

“Lovino! Long time no see.” Alfred rushed forward to shake hands.

Lovino raised a brow questioningly. “If you went out, you’d see me more,” he said, pursing his lips slightly.

“Right,” Alfred’s grin faltered slightly. No handshake. “Well, I’m still trying to stay out of trouble. You know how it is.”

“Do I?” Lovino smirked.

Was this a game? Did Alfred just reveal a weakness without even realizing it? Lovino had a mysterious ability to make Alfred feel like he was hiding a secret or two. When he wasn’t. Not at all. Alfred was so open he was practically a library book.

“Well, it seems like the class is here,” Lovino continued, mercifully turning his gaze away from Alfred and toward the others. “Let’s see how well you can dance, cowboy.”

Alfred pressed his lips together. It probably wasn’t supposed to be a taunt, but boy did it light a fire under his shoes. He joined Natalia in the middle of the room and they waited for the instructions.

Isabela did most of the talking. While she was foreign too, she clearly picked up English with much more finesse than Lovino and seemed more at ease giving instructions. Lovino, of course, was why everyone was here. He was still the biggest name in Hollywood. Women wanted to date him and men desired to either be him or shoot him.

Alfred didn’t really fit into any category. He wanted something from Lovino, he just couldn’t put it into words.

“All right, everyone join your partner,” Isabela said. She did the same with Lovino before the pair glided through the steps in an easy demonstration. “One, two, three. Just like that, okay? Everyone understand?”

“We’ll be the best,” Natalia hissed as she grabbed Alfred’s hand.

Their desire to win was a trait they had in common.

And though Alfred wasn’t sure he’d say it aloud yet, it helped to dance with a person as experienced as Natalia. Alfred liked to think he had a natural rhythm, but she clearly waltzed before. They picked it up faster than anyone else, and Alfred’s chest swelled with every compliment that slipped past Lovino’s lips.

Well done. Bravo. Again. Bravo.

Yes, Alfred was good. Alfred was the best at this too. He never felt so happy as when Lovino’s eyes were on him. He didn’t mind holding Natalia so close when it meant he could be praised over and over again. Hear the velvet baritone notes of Lovino’s voice more strongly than in any film set. He wanted Alfred to hear him in this instance, and there was nothing lovelier than knowing Lovino wanted to talk.

It was a real shame when the dancing finally had to end. Alfred let go of Natalia and she wandered off for some water. Isabela chatted amicably with the other couples. Alfred floated around on the dance floor, floundering for an excuse to approach Lovino.

“So when do you think we’ll be in a picture together again?” Alfred grinned and leaned against an empty space on the wall.

Lovino finished dragging on his cigarette. “...I don’t do Westerns.”

“Well, I’m branching out. Don’t you see?”

“Mister Alfred Jones: the cowboy who dances,” Lovino deadpanned thoughtfully. His lips pulled up into a small smile. “It has a ring to it.”

Fireworks exploded in Alfred’s chest. Oh, this was good.

“Now, you’re getting it,” he chuckled, leaning in a bit. “If I teach you to ride a horse, we could be even, you know. Mister Lovino Vargas: the…hm. The rake who can save the girl, and dance with her too. Then, ride away into the sunset on a black stallion. Paints a pretty picture, doesn’t it?”

Lovino’s cheeks reddened. “That’s horrible.”

“What? Why?” Alfred laughed again. Seeing Lovino flustered was actually far more fun than he expected.

Lovino continued glowering while nibbling his lower lip. “It just is,” he muttered darkly and puffed on the cigarette again.

“I’ll keep working on it then.”

“Don’t. You have no romance at all.”

“That’s not what the papers say,” Alfred bragged.

Lovino flicked ash onto the small tray by the window. He stared over Alfred’s shoulder. “Well, you found yourself a dame. Is that right?” Lovino said, tilting his chin in Natalia’s direction. “She’s beautiful. And a good dancer.”

The muscles in Alfred’s back went taught. Right. He and Natalia were known as an item by most folks. And Lovino probably thought that too. Alfred didn’t want to think about why it made him so uncomfortable to be associated with Natalia in Lovino’s eyes. He had to keep his mouth shut. Not say a damn thing.

But he couldn’t stop. Like an itch that spread over his whole body, he had to explain.

Maybe that was why he blurted: “Well, you know. It’s more of a friendly thing. We’re all in the biz, so… you know?”

Lovino’s brown eyes landed on him again. “Yes, we are,” he agreed slowly, inspecting Alfred from head to toe. “Well, you surprise me.”

“I have? Well, I do love to keep people on their toes. In what way do you mean though?”

Lovino stepped forward until the rose undertones of his cologne wafted closer.

“I would have thought someone like you would have been married by now,” he said in a low voice. “What’s the problem? No money for a ring?”

“I…” Alfred pushed up his glasses. He reached for any excuse but came up completely dry. No words tumbled out.

There was something really wrong with Alfred. He never got so flustered around Natalia or any of the actresses he worked with. But when Lovino looked at him like that—with eyes so wide and dark, framed by black lashes—it just short-circuited something in Alfred’s brain. He wanted to get closer. To touch him. It was such a startling feeling that Alfred couldn’t move at all. He just held Lovino’s heated gaze until eventually, someone interrupted.

“I’ll be right there,” Lovino said, flashing one last glance at Alfred. Then, he left. The faint smell of his cologne remained, mixing with the smoke. And that did not help Alfred feel any less hot.

1927

The first talkie came out. Alfred couldn’t believe it. He went to see it at the movie house with Miss Kirkland and it was like nothing he ever experienced before.

He could hear them. The actors weren’t silent anymore. They had sounds, rhythms, and voices. Which meant Alfred would have his too.

“It’s a bad idea,” Matthew said over the phone. “Directors don’t know how dangerous it is to let you start talking.”

1928

Alfred was twenty-six. He and Natalia were no longer an item. It was fun while it lasted; she was a great gal in many ways, but it was mostly for the show. Something about being in a constant performance started getting to Alfred, though.

He romanced the most beautiful woman on set every week and went out to dinners and parties with many others. They all adored him, and Alfred very much liked their attention. But things never developed very far, and by the end of the night, he was so very lonely.

It wasn’t what he wanted. None of them were what he coveted. Lovino’s molten gaze was always there, even in the dark. Alfred touched him here and there during work, or a drunken haze on those rare occasions they crossed paths. He knew Lovino’s palms ran cold, while his face burned like a furnace. Sometimes hotter depending on the stupid remarks Alfred made.

But as with all fixations in Alfred’s life—eventually, a little was just not enough. He always wanted more. With Lovino, it was a little unclear what that would mean. Lovino was married to Isabela. They seemed rather happy together and were seen out and about all of the time.

Yet—yet—

The dark and greedy part of Alfred’s heart didn’t care. He still wanted Lovino. Even knowing all of that. Was he really a bastard after all?

This was not something he could really talk to Matthew about. Actually, it felt like he talked less and less to his brother these days. It was getting harder to find common ground in their lives when Alfred was straddling the line between moderate success and stardom. He was still no Lovino Vargas. But he had a feeling it was only a matter of time.

Without Matthew in his life, however, Alfred was lonelier than ever. Trapped in someone else’s dream, with very little idea of how to make it his own.

Maybe it was the guilt, or maybe it was the empty apartment, but one night, Alfred sought out one of the speakeasies he knew Lovino frequented.

This time, he had a better suit to wear: dark blue to compliment his eyes. He knew how to order a drink he could stomach, and more importantly, knew when to stop.

Alfred encountered several people he knew as he wove his way through the crowded room. It puffed up his ego a little bit, seeing how recognizable he’d become. And that made it a lot easier to approach Lovino at the bar.

It was a rare sight to find Lovino without adoring fans around. But he was also not like how Alfred usually saw him. Lovino was staring at his drink like he wanted to drown in it. His posture practically yelled Don’t talk to me if you don’t want me to bite your fucking head off.

Alfred leaned against the bar anyway and flashed his most dazzling smile.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he greeted.

“Fuck off,” Lovino replied without looking up.

Alfred faltered slightly. “Okay, let me guess. Something’s clearly got you down tonight.”

Lovino sighed and took a swig of his drink before ordering another from the bartender.

“Is it…uh, marriage troubles?” Alfred asked slowly. He secretly hoped it was. It might make “infiltrating a healthy marriage” a less dastardly plan.

“Marriage,” Lovino scoffed. “I’m as married as you are.”

“Well, I’d venture that you’re a bit more married than I am,” Alfred joked. But he cringed even as he said it. Where was he going with this?

“Because I’m smarter than you are—thank you,” he told the bartender and drank again. “But no, I’m pissed off because my screen tests went poorly.”

Alfred stood up a little straighter. This was possibly the last answer he was expecting. “Your screen tests? For which film?”

Lovino shook his head and laughed hollowly. “Does it matter?” His eyes shone with unshed tears. “All films will be sound from now on. And I don’t make the cut, apparently. My accent,” he held onto the word a stretch too long, “It won’t work. Well, it will for certain parts. You can guess. But that’s how it is. My career is as good as done.”

“Your career…” Alfred repeated disbelievingly. When the implication of those words finally processed, he jumped an inch in the air. “What? You’re being screwy. That’s not true at all. Lovino, you have to be the most adored actor in Hollywood. They’d be crazy to let you go anywhere else.”

Lovino sipped his drink again. Then, he leaned on his elbow so that he was facing Alfred. “You speak very well, you know,” he said softly, only for Alfred’s ears. “You don’t always have the words, but you have a good voice.”

“Oh, well…Uh, thank you,” Alfred flushed, shifting his weight uncomfortably. Everything was going off-book tonight. He fidgeted with the frame of his glasses. “Actually, I, erm, always thought you had a lovely voice. I can’t seem to forget it.”

Lovino covered his mouth with the back of his hand and pointed his gaze to the floor. His cheeks were red again.

Damn it, Alfred said something wrong. The lines were so blurred when they got near each other.

“You know, I think I might get going,” Lovino mumbled under his breath. He downed the rest of his drink hurriedly.

Alfred was staring at the glow of Lovino’s ears like they were a lamplight. Oh, fuck. He really needed to do something right now.

“It’s late. And I’m drunk enough,” Lovino continued, brushing past Alfred’s shoulder. “You can put your drinks on my tab if you want. I don’t care.”

“Wait!” Alfred grabbed Lovino by the bicep. He felt the solid muscle underneath the suit. That was Lovino. Alfred was holding him right now. “I—I wanted to tell you something.”

Lovino’s eyes went comically wide. He looked so tender and unguarded like that.

“Yeah, actually,” Alfred licked his lips. He slowly uncurled his fingers around Lovino’s arm and brought them back by his side. “So…can you stay a while longer?”

Lovino turned away. “One more cigarette won’t kill me,” he said. “Let’s go by the window.”

They settled by the open window panes, and Lovino exhaled his first drag in the soft breeze.

Alfred had his own untouched pack in his hand, wondering what to do about it.

“You had something to say?” Lovino prompted casually. He wasn’t looking at Alfred at all. The Los Angeles skyline had his undivided attention.

“Well,” Alfred sighed, picking at the wrapper. “It was my brother.”

“What?” Lovino said between puffs.

Alfred grimaced. “My brother,” he repeated. “I…my brother and I were supposed to become actors together. But he changed his mind, and I went anyway.”

“Uh-huh,” Lovino said, flicking ash out the window. “Go ahead.”

“Well, I—we were kind of a duo. I mean, we were twins, yeah?” Alfred paused for a reaction. “And we did a bit of acting in our hometown. Nothing major. But a scout found us. Well, Alice found him.” It was still a little bit bitter on Alfred’s tongue.

Lovino was not deaf to it. “Your brother was scouted?”

“Yeah,” Alfred confirmed, drawing his lip between his teeth. “He was, and he was offered a trip out west. He said he talked to Alice about taking us both, but then—” Then, he chickened out, as always. He thought of what should be done rather than what could happen. “—He kind of hesitated…and I grabbed the chance.”

“I see,” Lovino nodded.

“I love my brother, so don’t get the wrong idea,” Alfred defended hurriedly. “But he can never make up his damn mind. He was always so wishy-washy about the whole thing. I mean—he was going to turn it down, you know? I had to take it. I just had to.”

“Yeah, I get it. You screwed over your brother.”

“No. What? No. I didn’t,” Alfred shook his head vigorously. Maybe the words would escape his ears that way. He didn’t hear them. It’s not what happened at all.

“Yeah, you did,” Lovino said. So matter-of-factly that it left no room for argument.

Alfred’s jaw locked together. Excuses would do no good, but he didn’t want to just accept the truth like that either.

“But you know, I screwed over my brother, too,” Lovino added gently. When Alfred’s gaze moved back to him, he even smiled. “I told you that no one makes it here without screwing someone over. I’m just as much of a bastard as you are.”

Alfred raised a brow, decidedly ignoring the bastard comment. “What did you do?”

“Oh, well,” Lovino chuckled and flicked more ash outside. “Similar to you, but worse, maybe. Feli and I always wanted to leave Italy together. That was our dream. To make it big together. But when an opportunity to go to the U.S. came, I… was scared.”

“Okay…?”

“He was always more talented. A much better person than I am, too,” Lovino explained. “He would have become a much bigger success. And I don’t think there was room for two Vargas brothers. Well, that was my excuse for leaving without him anyway.”

Oh, fuck. Alfred couldn’t even hide the shock on his face. He may have abandoned Matthew from the other side of the States, but Lovino left his brother from across the world.

“I send him letters and money, and he replies—most of the time,” Lovino shrugged. He took a few last puffs of his cigarettes before tossing the butt out the window. “But he probably hates me and calls me a bastard behind my back. Same as your brother.”

“Come on, don’t say that,” Alfred groaned. He clawed the roots of his hair. Of course, he knew deep down that Matthew resented him even after so many years, but hearing it from someone else was like the final nail in the coffin.

“I don’t care that you’re a bastard.”

Alfred gave up on trying to uproot his shame and dropped his hands. “Are you really going to keep calling me that?” he laughed, unsure if it was out of amusement or exhaustion.

Lovino smirked. He looked around the room briefly, before reaching for Alfred’s hand and wrapping his fingers around.

“Do you still want to sleep with me?”

Alfred yanked his arm back in an instant, holding his palm to his chest like it was on fire. But it spread too quickly already. His entire body was alight, sending his heartbeat into his throat. “You,” he panicked. “I never—what do you mean? I didn’t say that I was…”

Lovino stepped closer but made no move to touch Alfred again. It didn’t matter though. Alfred would feel that touch for hours if they left it at that.

“Eyes,” Lovino said, tapping his finger twice above his cheekbone. “I do like your voice, but you don’t really say anything.” He stared unwaveringly, as a smile pulled his lips to the side. “Your eyes always said you wanted to sleep with me.”

Alfred sucked in a desperate breath. He never thought about his gaze at all. He wasn’t sure how to even begin telling Lovino that it was his eyes that followed him for years and years.

“Follow me?” Lovino asked quietly, tugging on the hem of Alfred’s suit once. He blazed a trail through the drunken crowd.

Alfred would be a fool not to follow. He may be a bastard, but he was no fool.