Chapter Text
Jay had talked with Gil on the phone after they were assigned as each other’s roommates, and had thought he’d known what to expect in person. He had severely underestimated how Gil’s annoying voice and near-shrieking enthusiasm for seemingly everything, already pretty unbearable over the phone, would be amplified to farcical proportions in person. Gil looked exactly like he sounded: like an off-kilter cartoon character who had escaped into the human world and was going to manically explode through it for as long as he could get away with it.
“We’ve got to get out there and meet some chicks, man!” Gil said about five minutes after Jay’s mother had tearfully left him there in a dorm room in the big city, finally at the start of his expensive film school adventure. “This is the time to do it!” Gil grabbed Jay’s shoulders and shook him, as if he wasn’t reacting with enough excitement to the idea of talking to girls. “Day one, everybody’s already looking for their first hook up, right?”
“Sure,” Jay said, wondering how long he would pretend he wanted that. He’d been approached for sex twice by girls in high school, both times to his utter shock. Mostly it had made him want to run and hide, and he had. He wasn’t ready or willing to tell this lunatic who would share a dorm room with him for the rest of the year that he was starting to think he didn’t want sex at all, with anyone, ever, so he followed Gil down to the lounge where a mixer for incoming freshmen was taking place.
The mixer was predictably lame. Jay had never liked parties, but at least at this one no one was pressuring him to drink, since it was hosted by the dormitory and everyone there was underage.
“We’re both in the film program,” Gil announced to everyone they approached, usually while throwing his arm around Jay as if they were best buddies. “I do comedies, mostly. Jay’s more of a horror guy.”
“I do comedies, too,” Jay said, observing the disinterest on the faces of the two dance majors Gil had cornered.
“Like about what?” one of the girls asked doubtfully. She was exactly the sort of fashionable, tall, confident young woman Jay had expected to meet at this fancy private college in Chicago, and he was as intimidated as he’d feared. He knew what he looked like to girls who lived in cities: like a buck-toothed farm boy who’d barely ever left Wisconsin and didn’t know anything about the real world. Gil was also pretty bad looking, but he’d at least grown up in L.A., wasn’t especially short, and had normal teeth.
Gil had plenty to say about his comedy films. Jay didn’t have to do anything but sip shyly from the cup of ginger ale he’d gotten from the refreshment table and avoid everybody’s eyes. He felt too small and young-looking, which wasn’t unusual. He had hoped that taking out a massive student loan and thereby purchasing his place in a real film program in a real city would afford him some instant maturity, but so far he just felt out of his depth, and he hadn’t even started classes yet.
For reasons Jay couldn’t begin to understand, two girls they met at the party gave Gil their phone numbers. Back in their room, Gil wouldn’t shut up about it for hours, debating which one of the two was hotter while Jay did his best to ignore him and concentrate on the movie he’d put on to try to pry himself out of his bad mood. It was Re-Animator, and it usually cheered him up instantly.
“It’s so awesome that we have most of the same classes,” Gil said, reminding Jay of another thing to be depressed about. He’d never get rid of this guy and his noise without being rude, and then they’d still have to live together. “What are you looking forward to most?”
“The directing seminar,” Jay said.
“Oh fuck yes! Actual instruction from an award winning director. I kind of can’t believe it.”
“Me either,” Jay said, sincerely. He’d been elated to even get into this program. His grades in high school were barely average. He hadn’t qualified for any scholarships, and his mother had tried to talk him out of borrowing enough money to attend, but he didn’t care. This was his one chance to pursue his dream, and he’d be making important connections. It would be worth the money in the long run, he told himself, constantly.
It was so much money that it didn’t even seem real that he could ever pay it back to anyone. This was almost a comfort at times, and at other times it made him dizzy with a kind of low-simmering terror that he knew would be with him for years.
Gil had gotten a scholarship. Jay told himself he wasn’t jealous, just like he wasn’t jealous that Gil had found some girls with low enough standards to give him their phone numbers. People like Gil always seemed to come out on top, because they bought into their own bullshit. Jay didn’t want to be that way, even if it was a path to success. There was nothing more important to him than maintaining his integrity. This seemed to be a rare quality that often made him feel lonely or vaguely insane. Maybe their famous professor would see this and understand, or maybe he would be taken in by the likes of Gil. If he was, Jay would lose respect for him. He already didn’t love the guy’s movies, but he couldn’t deny that he was talented and would have a lot of wisdom to impart about the industry, if not the art.
“You seem so serious,” Gil said, and he threw a pillow at Jay as if to knock this out of him.
“I’m just tired,” Jay said. “You should see my movies. They’re like the opposite of serious.”
This wasn’t strictly true. Some of the features he’d made in high school were very personal. He didn’t show those to Gil, just broke out his VHS copies of his most absurd comedies and gritted his teeth through Gil’s many criticisms. Gil had already sent Jay his movies in the mail after they first called each other up to introduce themselves. Jay thought Gil’s movies were pretty bad, but hadn’t said so. He’d found things to compliment.
“I like some of the dialogue,” Gil said. “More the improvised stuff, I guess.”
“I’m not a great writer,” Jay said, which was true. He was at least better than Gil, based on what he’d seen.
“Well, we’ve both got a lot to learn,” Gil said, as if Jay didn’t know this. “That’s what we’re here for. That and for all the sex and booze.”
“I don’t drink,” Jay said. At least he could be honest about this upfront, though sometimes people reacted to this information as if he’d just confessed to murder.
“Like, ever?” Gil said, clearly disappointed. “Why not? Are you Amish?”
“I just don’t like it.”
“Maybe you’ve only had shitty booze in shitty company. We shall see if this policy of yours changes or not during our collegiate adventure, my little friend.”
“Don’t call me your little friend.”
“Sorry, sorry! I meant no offense.”
“I’m very set in my ways,” Jay said, not wanting to say another word about his smallness or his sensitivity to having it pointed out. “I really doubt I’ll change my mind about drinking.”
“Let a man try!” Gil said.
Jay had never understood why people were so determined to get him to drink with them, but he didn’t say so. He rolled over and pulled his comforter up over himself to indicate that he’d had enough conversation for one day.
“Damn,” Gil said, not taking the hint. “What an auspicious first day. Are you sleeping?”
“Yes,” Jay said, from underneath the comforter.
“Don’t get all gloomy on me, partner. I’m sure you’ll have more luck with the ladies as the week goes on.”
Jay scowled inside his blanket cocoon. But maybe Gil was right. What harm would it do to try having a girlfriend? He might fail again, but even failing would make him seem more normal, at least for a while.
He didn’t want to pretend to be normal, he just knew it made life easier. In the tiny farm town where he grew up he hadn’t been afraid to be different, but he didn’t want to be an outcast weirdo again here. He’d thought film school would feel more like finding his real home, and that he would end up among kindred spirits without having to try very hard.
He told himself not to despair just because of the bad luck of getting Gil for a roommate. Classes hadn’t even started, and once they did he could lose himself in his work, if nothing else. Doing so had always been his destiny, or at least the one he hoped for. People were strange and difficult. Making movies felt easy and natural in comparison. It was just a shame that he would have to rely on so many other people to ever get anything made, starting here and now, by convincing them that he was worth a damn.
*
Jay was in a better mood on the first day of classes. He’d never particularly liked school, but this was different, tailored to his actual interests. At his tiny high school they hadn’t even had an AV club. Now he would have access to professional grade equipment. He was a little nervous about proving worthy of it, and wasn’t looking forward to learning about the extensive video production experience that some of his fellow incoming freshmen had certainly had at private schools. Gil had bragged about his jobs on sets in L.A., which allegedly included being a PA on an independent film, a position he’d been fired from after he demanded to sleep on the director’s ex-wife’s couch after a premiere. Jay had been tempted to think the first part of the story was bullshit, but the way it ended was so bizarre that he actually suspected it was all true.
His first two classes on day one were boring requirements: Writing & Rhetoric and Intro to Econ. He half-listened to both lectures. Finally, at two o’clock, following a school cafeteria lunch with Gil during which Jay tried not to act like a hick by revealing how shockingly good he found the food to be, they headed together to their Seminar for Directing class, taught by Academy Award winner Hy Camden, one of the school’s most distinguished professors. Though Jay didn’t count any of Hy’s films among his favorites, he’d been ready to do backflips when he successfully registered for the class. It was the closest he’d ever been to a place where he could reach out and touch his dreams, at least in theory.
The person who strode in ten minutes after their packed seminar class was scheduled to start was not Hy Camden. This guy didn’t look much older than Jay himself, tall and pale with dark eyes and short brown hair. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed in a bad mood, possibly due to a hangover. There were dark circles under his eyes. Without saying a word, he began passing out copies of a single-page syllabus.
“Where’s Hy?” someone finally asked. “Is he coming?”
“Maybe,” the guy passing out the syllabus said, and then: “No.”
“Why not?” Gil asked, loudly enough to make Jay cringe beside him.
“He’s having a personal dilemma.”
“Are you the TA?” another student asked, in a resigned sort of way that made it seem like maybe she had known to expect this.
“Uh-huh,” the guy said. He thrust a syllabus at Jay without looking at him. “I’m Mike. I’ll be, um. Assisting. Yeah. It’s right there in the job title. Anyway. I’m a third year film major. Hy sends his regrets. He designed this syllabus. Obviously.”
Something about the way he’d hurried to add that ‘obviously’ made Jay suspect it was Mike who had actually typed up the syllabus during the ten minutes of scheduled seminar time that had already passed. There were three typos, and the capitalization seemed random.
“So,” Mike said when he was standing in front of the classroom again, blinking and looking tired. “How’s everybody doing?”
No one spoke. There was an atmosphere of building indignation in the air.
“What’s Hy’s personal dilemma?” a girl in front asked.
“Like I’m going to tell you.” Mike glanced at her after saying so and seemed to reconsider, possibly because she was hot. “Look, uhh. Why don’t we go around the room and introduce ourselves and talk a little bit about why we’re here. How about you go first?”
“How about you do?” the girl snapped back. “I’m pretty sure you’re not qualified to stand in for Hy Camden.”
The reconsidering light in Mike’s eyes went away in a blink, and he observed the girl as if she was now his bitter enemy. Jay assumed he was an actor. He was dramatic, arrogant, and handsome in the right way.
“Okay,” Mike said. “I’m Mike. I guess I mentioned that already. I’m working on something with Hy, but that’s top secret and only a select few will be invited to participate this semester. Maybe even someone in this seminar.” He scanned the room and met Jay’s eyes briefly in the process. “Maybe not,” he said when his gaze settled on Gil, who was doing an exaggerated expression of disbelief that Jay didn’t want to be associated with. “I’m also working on my own feature. It’s called Rotting Banana, and it stars a variety of talking fruits, because I’m sick of putting up with flaky acting students and their egos.”
“I’m an acting student,” the girl in front said. “And that sounds like a bullshit excuse to me.”
Mike stared at her for a moment, then shrugged.
“You’re probably right,” he said, with no hint of sarcasm. “So, tell us about yourself. But first!” he said when she started to speak again. “Let me try to guess your name.”
“It’s Margaret,” she said.
“Aw. I was gonna guess Kate.”
She snorted but also shifted in her seat and looked a little bit charmed, probably because of the way Mike was staring at her like he wanted to eat her. He could make this attitude seem attractive, because he was good-looking and obviously not intimidated by beautiful women.
Jay hated him already.
The students went around the room introducing themselves, and Jay’s heart rate increased as it got closer to his turn. Everyone else had an impressive resume or a give-no-fucks attitude, and he knew he’d sound like a dweeb in comparison. He would at least get to give his little speech about himself directly before Gil gave his own, which would probably make Jay’s sound less pathetic in comparison, even if Gil had been a PA on an independent feature.
The pudgy guy sitting next to Jay had glasses and a scruffy beard. He introduced himself as Josh, a music major who was taking the seminar because he was interested in potentially directing his band’s videos.
“That’s a mistake,” Mike said. “But I guess it’s your life.”
“Uhhh, yeah,” Josh said, obviously taken off guard and annoyed. “It sure is.”
“Great. Next.”
Mike looked at Jay, and so did everyone else.
“I’m Jay.” He tried not to fidget in his seat under the scrutiny. “I’m here for the film program, probably editing focused, maybe directing. I made a bunch of features in high school, just, basically by myself. The only actors I had to work with were the other hick teenagers at my school in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, so.”
He wasn’t sure where he was going with this and started to sweat. He’d wanted to make a smart ass comment implying Mike was spoiled, like so many others here seemed to be, for having to contend with people’s egos rather than their confusion and apathy.
“Uhh, anyway,” Jay said, shuffling in his seat like he might get up and run. “I guess my best feature so far is this kind of Blue Velvet parody thing. Maybe it’s more of a rip off, but it’s supposed to be funny.”
He made himself stop talking. Mike was just staring at him, stoic.
“How do you make Blue Velvet funny?” Mike asked. Jay couldn’t tell if he was disgusted or curious.
“Well, the main character finds a severed nose in a field--”
“You didn’t tell me about that one!” Gil said, and Jay remembered he existed with disappointment. “We’re roommates,” Gil said to Mike, pointing back and forth between himself and Jay. “He showed me this other one he did about a girl whose dad used to be a porn star--”
“Okay!” Jay said, to shut him up. He gave Gil a look of angry betrayal that made several people sitting nearby laugh. “Just-- I’m done. Talk about your own movies.”
Gil launched into a lengthy biographical narrative, and was halfway through talking about his ‘most successful film,’ a drama about a drug addicted woman that Jay had found unwatchable, when Mike cut him off.
“That’s great,” Mike said dryly, to communicate it wasn’t. “Next person. Time’s ‘a wastin’.”
Jay was still boiling with rage by the time the introductions ended. He was mostly mad at Gil for thinking he had the right to discuss Jay’s movies in front of the whole class, but he was also pissed off at Mike for being there instead of Hy and for being exactly the kind of smug upperclassman Jay had known he’d end up comparing himself unfavorably toward, even if his talking fruit movie sounded fucking stupid. Mike had a calm, commanding presence that kept everyone in line in Hy’s absence, which was probably why he’d been recruited to show up when the famous director couldn’t be bothered.
“Hey,” Josh said, leaning over toward Jay while Mike made some nonsensical notes on the whiteboard, clearly improvising his lecture. “This is bullshit, right?”
Gil instantly joined the conversation, leaning across Jay’s desk to intrude.
“Yeah!” Gil said, whispering but still too loud. “Who do we complain to? I paid for excellence, not this prick’s condescension.”
Josh eyed Gil with suspicion in a way that made Jay like him.
“It’s just the first class,” Jay said. “Maybe Hy really does have some kind of emergency.”
“Can you three shut the fuck up?” Mike said, and when Jay looked up he was staring at them, looking almost hurt for a blink and then like he might use force if they disobeyed.
“Sorry,” Jay said, without meaning to. He felt his face get red with renewed rage.
“As I was saying,” Mike said, still staring at Jay. “You can’t teach direction, really. It’s innate. More so than any other artistic talent.”
“Strongly disagree,” Josh said, half raising his hand.
“Hy would be the first one to say so,” Mike said, as if Josh hadn’t spoken, though he was now staring at him, which was a relief to Jay.
“Then why the hell does he teach a Direction class?” Margaret asked.
“Money,” Mike said.
“You’re basically slandering him.”
“No. When you meet him you’ll understand.”
“If he ever shows up, sure.”
Most of the remainder of class went like this, with Mike casually bantering with the students. Some of them seemed charmed by him, or at least like they thought kissing his ass might get them actual access to Hy Camden. Others were gloomy as they stalked out into the hallway at the end of class with Mike’s first assignment jotted down in their notebooks. He’d told them to watch National Treasure and write a very detailed plot chart in the style he’d demonstrated on the whiteboard during class.
“It feels like a joke,” Josh said when Jay lingered at his side as they headed down the hallway, hoping to make an actual friend.
“Yeah,” Jay said. “And a rip off. We have to write some stupid plot chart for a Nicolas Cage schlock-fest? What’s the fucking point? If you’re trying to replace Hy Camden you could at least pretend to give a shit, jesus.”
For once, Gil apparently didn’t have anything to say, and when he stopped walking and turned toward Jay with his eyes wide open and his mouth stretched into a grimace of comic distress, Jay realized why.
Mike was standing right behind him.
“Hey,” Mike said. “You.”
Jay turned, feeling like he’d stepped into a trap as his face burned red. He met Mike’s eyes as if he wasn’t melting inside from the fear of being irreversibly rebuked by some important cabal of people who had access to Hy Camden, thereby torpedoing his one flimsy chance at a film career. Mike looked annoyed, and he was standing close enough to Jay that his superior height felt like a threat.
“Yeah?” Jay said when Mike just stared down at him as if he was waiting for an apology.
“I want to see your Blue Velvet parody,” Mike said. “You’ve got me curious.”
“Oh-- Oh?”
“Yeah. So when can I watch it?”
“Um.” Jay shifted from one foot to the other, having no idea how to respond to what felt like a command. “I guess, like. I could bring a copy to the next class. If you’ll be there?”
Jay wasn’t sure why he felt like an idiot for offering this. Josh and Gil were silent, a step behind him as if to keep out of the line of fire. Mike stared down at Jay with unblinking, intense focus, his face unreadable.
“Hmm,” Mike said. “That could work. Or--” He glanced at Josh and Gil, then back down into Jay’s eyes. “Well. I guess you dweebs have probably heard of the Gorillas.”
“The what?” Jay said, at the same time that Gil sprang forward.
“Of fucking course we’ve heard of them!” Gil said, boggling up at Mike as if his head had just caught on fire. “You-- You’re one of them, aren’t you? Of course you are, if you’re Hy’s teaching assistant! Oh my god!”
“Shh,” Mike said, holding his hands up as if to turn the dial down on Gil’s natural volume. “You really worked on the set of Yoruli’s thing, in L.A.?”
“I did!” Gil was even louder, despite Mike’s wincing and pulling back from the full force of him. “You’ve seen it?”
“Yeah. Look. I mention this because we’re initiating new members this weekend. On a trial basis, of course. If you two want to try out-- Well. I’d be interested in seeing that Blue Velvet thing first.” Mike looked at Jay again. “So maybe you should show it to me before the next seminar class, if you want a shot at joining us.”
Jay was speechless, confused, and unsettled by the way Mike was staring down at him as if he should understand some other, subtle meaning in this invitation.
“Fuck yes!” Gil said, nearly shouting and kind of jumping in place. He grabbed Jay’s shoulder and yanked at it as if to spur him to action. “We’re in! Name the day and place, I’d fucking kill someone for an audition!”
“Which dorm are you two in?” Mike asked. He glanced at Gil with visible distaste, some of which lingered when his gaze slid to Jay again.
Gil told him the name of their dorm and their room number while Jay stood there trying not to look as lost as he felt. Mike agreed to drop by later that night to watch the movie, then he was gone and Jay was being pushed in the opposite direction down the emptying hallway by Gil, who had him by the shoulders while Josh kept in step beside them, also waiting for an explanation.
“This is what I was telling you about!” Gil said, hissing this into Jay’s ear as if he didn’t want to share it with Josh. “The secret filmmaker society!”
“The--? Wait.” Jay vaguely recalled some blather about this that he’d half-listened to while Gil was hanging up posters in their dorm room. “That’s real?”
“Real as shit, man! It’s the absolute key to making connections here! How do you think Mike ended up as Hy’s assistant? He’s in the Gorillas! Of course he is, ha! I should have known. That fucking swagger!”
“I’ve heard about this,” Josh said. He gave Jay a wary glance. “Are we sure it’s not a prank, though? He seems like the type.”
“No, no, this is exactly how it happens!” Gil said, as if he’d been invited to join this secret club before. “It’s fate, motherfuckers! Well.” Gil glanced at Josh. “As far as I know, it’s only for filmmakers, so. I don’t think you were exactly included.”
“I don’t expect to be,” Josh said. “But what is it, exactly? A networking club? It’s not an official frat, is it?”
“A frat?” Jay said, wilting at the sound of that word. Mike looked like he could belong to one, but Jay didn’t want to. That kind of ritualized masculinity made him want to vomit.
“Frat is the wrong word,” Gil said, slashing his hand through the air as if to get rid of it. “It’s a society. A club, a tradition! Fuck, this is amazing. Jay! We’re going to get in, I can feel it.”
“What do you have to do to get in?” Jay asked, doubtfully. “Just-- If he likes my movie?”
“No, well, I’m not entirely sure. It’s all very secretive, of course. But if he likes our movies I think he’ll clue us in to the whole admittance process.”
“Our movies?” Jay muttered. Mike had only asked to see his, but he had seemed to include Gil automatically based on his L.A. set experience, annoyingly.
“I’m sure at least part of it is a screening,” Gil said. “Damn, I need to think about what to submit!”
Gil was extra motor-mouthed for the rest of the afternoon, telling Jay everything he knew about the Gorillas, which wasn’t much, aside from the fact that they were a kind of informal clearinghouse for film students to reach industry contacts like Hy, people who were connected to the school but not necessarily accessible to the general student population, even if you were enrolled in a class they were supposedly teaching, as Jay had learned that afternoon.
“Why are they called the Gorillas?” Jay asked when he was stretched out on his dorm bed and trying to ignore the fact that his stomach was cramping up with anxiety as the hours passed and the time drew closer to show his old, kind of crappy movie to someone who could either take his hand and lift him out of obscurity or crush him right at the start of this journey, his tuition check already cashed. “They’re hardly making guerilla movies if they have Hy Camden as their patron or whatever.”
“Eh, they still have to get creative, it’s not like he bankrolls their student films,” Gil said, as if he was an expert. He was sitting at his computer, scanning through his movies obsessively and trying to decide what to show Mike. “And maybe there’s some other secret meaning. God, I’m fucking nervous! Are you?’
Jay shook his head and stared at the ceiling. He didn’t want to confide in Gil about his insecurity or about anything, really.
“Maybe you should be,” Gil said, twirling his desk chair around to face Jay’s bed. “These guys are kind of extreme, or so I’ve heard. Like mini producer types with huge egos.”
“Gross,” Jay said.
“Yeah. But fuck, man! You were picked out of the crowd by one of ‘em. Unless he was really coming after me, because I worked with Yoruli.”
Jay said nothing. He was mentally going over the movie he was about to show Mike, replaying it scene by scene in his head and resisting the urge to rewatch it before Mike arrived. It wasn’t like he had time for last minute edits of the things that had turned out shitty, like his own acting, for which there was no viable solution even if he had months of editing time.
He had dinner in the dining hall with Gil, who chattered nonstop about what he thought the Gorillas might get up to in their secret lair on campus, which ranged from magically elevating each other to stardom upon graduation to having wild orgies with the hottest aspiring actresses on campus. Jay was disgusted but inflamed with curiosity all the same. Since that afternoon Gil had said about a thousand times that they absolutely had to get accepted into this club. For the first time since they met, Jay agreed with him. He was not the type of person who would have multiple chances like this fall into his lap.
Mike had told them he’d come over to check out the movie around nine. Jay straightened up the already tidy room and went down to the convenience store on the corner to buy some chips and soda in preparation. He was fully expecting Mike to be late, and tried not to be crushed when it was approaching midnight and he still hadn’t shown up.
Gil was busy sucking all the air from the room while they waited, bouncing off the walls and cursing Mike for being a flake, for forgetting, for only teasing them that they could possibly be invited to join the Gorillas. Then he would backtrack and say this was normal, or a test, or a good sign, actually.
“These guys are so full of themselves,” he said when Jay had brushed his teeth and swapped his jeans for the sweatpants he slept in, feeling like a fool for thinking Mike would show up. “But let’s not lose hope. We gotta play this cool, ya know, it could be the unofficial beginning of our hazing.”
“Ugh,” Jay said, dropping into his bed. The whole day had made him feel young and dumb, and he was ready for it to be over. “Nobody’s hazing me. I don’t care what the reward is.”
“Jay, Jay, Jay. Don’t be so naive. There is no getting anywhere in this business without paying some kind of fee. And the cost is usually one’s dignity.”
“So what did you have to give up to be a PA on Yoruli’s movie?”
Gil opened his mouth to respond, but before he could someone knocked sharply on their door.
Jay bolted upright in bed, then was embarrassed by how his whole body snapped to attention at the sound. He was sure it was Mike. The entitled insistence in the way he rapped his big fist on the door matched the way he had been in class that afternoon: no apology for lateness, just the expectation that everyone who was waiting would be glad he had shown up at all.
Jay had to admit to himself that he was glad, which made him even angrier. He remained in place while Gil dashed across the room to open the door.
“Whoa,” Gil said, waving his hand in front of his face as if Mike stank. “Someone’s been partying!”
“Yeah,” Mike said. He looked out of it and wavered on his feet a little when his gaze shifted to Jay. “Oh,” he said, as if he’d forgotten to expect that Jay would be there, too. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
Showing Mike that he was pissed off about how late he was seemed even more pathetic than pretending that he couldn’t care less, so Jay stayed seated on his bed and acted like it was no big deal as Gil began flitting around him like an insect that had been excited by the sudden appearance of a flame, sputtering about how he had several movies that he could show him, if he had time, and that they could watch Jay’s first, unless Mike preferred not to, and did he want some water?
Mike eyed Gil stonily without responding to any of this. He seemed too big for the room, though he wasn’t exceptionally tall or broad-chested. Jay realized what it actually was when he stood up wearing his sweatpants and the t-shirt he’d had on in class earlier, which had a puking cartoon character on it. Mike seemed like too much of a fully grown man to be hanging out in their cramped dorm room.
“Sorry it took me so long to get here,” Mike said, as if he’d been held up in traffic and not by drinking. Jay hadn’t been around a lot of people who could be described as ‘stinking drunk,’ but when Mike came closer Jay could smell it on him, too.
“It’s fine,” Gil said. “We’re night owls.”
“There’s really nowhere to sit,” Jay said, though both he and Gil had desk chairs. He meant for a third person, and had been fretting about this before he’d decided Mike wouldn’t show up at all.
Mike shrugged and took this as an invitation to sit on Jay’s bed.
“This is fine.” He coughed into his fist and rubbed at his left eye. “Where’s your-- Oh, okay.”
He turned toward the small TV that Jay had set up across from his bed, on a table that was pushed up against the footboard. In doing so, he brought his legs up onto Jay’s bed, including his shoes.
“What are you waiting for?” Gil asked when Jay stood there awkwardly staring at the way Mike had made himself at home in his bed. “Showtime!”
Jay nodded and went over to the little VCR that was propped on top of his TV. He had the movie ripped and loaded onto his computer, too, but the TV screen was bigger, and there was something sentimental or authentic about watching the VHS copy that he’d edited together back in high school.
“It’s not good or anything,” Jay said, turning to make sure Mike knew this while his finger hovered over the play button. “But, I mean. Maybe it’ll give you an idea about the kind of filmmaker I’m, um. Trying to be.”
“How could I ask for more,” Mike said, with a sincerity that reminded Jay he was drunk. “Go ahead.”
Gil had grown uncharacteristically quiet, maybe sulking out of jealousy that Mike had come to their room wanting to watch Jay’s movie and not the ones that Gil had taken great pains to describe during the intros in class. He was seated on his own bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, staring at the TV as the opening titles wavered there. Jay went to his desk chair and sat there stiffly, feeling the kind of pinched, anxious exhilaration he always did when he showed a new movie to someone who actually wanted to see it. The experience was rare, and this movie wasn’t exactly new. It felt new, or anyway different, as he sat behind the bed in his desk chair and watched Mike watching it.
The movie started off better than Jay remembered it, though he rewatched his own movies with an embarrassing frequency. Then it seemed to get much worse, and he felt himself fidgeting, heard himself sighing. Gil snickered at a part that wasn’t meant to be funny, and Jay wanted to stand up and throw his desk chair at him. He didn’t mind criticism, knew that he actually needed it, but not from people like Gil.
Mike was silent and motionless. When the movie was two-thirds through Jay slid the wheels of his desk chair over just enough, slowly and without making a sound, so he could peek at Mike’s facial expression. Previously he’d been seated almost directly behind Mike, due to the layout of the room.
Mike was asleep. He looked so peaceful and even kind of princely, like someone under a spell who was waiting to be awakened by a kiss, that Jay wasn’t even mad about it for a few seconds. Then he was furious, because maybe this whole stunt had been designed to humiliate him for the crime of having talked during Mike’s disorganized attempt at a lecture. Gil was snickering again, looking at Mike instead of the movie.
“He was awake for most of it,” Gil said, with a false conciliatory tone that made Jay wonder if Gil really wanted his friendship or just someone smaller and less impressive to compete with. “I think.”
“Give me your pillow,” Jay said. He moved his chair closer to Gil’s bed and thrust his hand out.
“Huh?”
“Just give it to me.”
As soon as he had Gil’s pillow in his hand, Jay tossed it onto his bed, at Mike, before he could decide he shouldn’t. Mike startled and made a sort of old-man sound of snorting confusion as he sat up, not all the way but just enough to lift his shoulders from where they’d rested on Jay’s pillow, which was wedged back against the headboard.
Mike didn’t peer around the room with disorientation or apologize for drifting off. He looked directly at the TV, where the climactic scene of Jay’s stupid high school movie was playing, and stared at it as if transfixed.
Maybe he was embarrassed and trying to play it off as if he hadn’t fallen asleep. Jay’s face was burning, more from the boldness of his pillow throwing move than because of Mike’s lackluster reaction to his movie. He felt at least that it wasn’t entirely the movie’s fault. It was late, Mike had been drinking, and he was stretched out too comfortably in Jay’s bed. Now at least he was sitting up a little taller against the headboard. Jay kept his chair wheeled close to Gil’s bed, because from that angle he could check occasionally that Mike’s eyes were still open. Mike made it to the end without falling asleep again.
Jay hopped out of his desk chair as soon as the credits started rolling, featuring copyrighted music that would prohibit him from screening the movie in any official capacity. He was embarrassed by the song choice, which was something he’d thought was cool when he was in high school. Now it was very obviously not cool, here in this dorm room with Gil’s judgmental ass and Mike flopped onto his bed, still motionless and staring at the TV as Jay snapped the video off.
“Interesting,” Mike said when Jay stood there at the end of the bed, stone-faced and waiting for his verdict.
“I laughed a few times,” Gil said, as if Jay needed his charitable input.
Mike sat up with a groan and stretched his arms over his head, wincing. When he stood from the bed Jay remembered their height difference with glum resignation. It seemed like proof of something, physical evidence that he would never compete with this kind of slouching, undeservedly confident dickhead.
“Will you walk me downstairs?” Mike asked. He was staring down at Jay from under heavy, tired eyelids, and everything he said seemed slightly delayed. “It’s after midnight.”
“Are you afraid you’ll get mugged?” Jay asked, trying to make a joke of how absurd it would be for Mike to feel safer in his presence.
“We’re not allowed to have unregistered guests after midnight,” Gil said.
“I didn’t sign in,” Mike said, because of course he hadn’t. There was a front desk in the lobby with an attendant, for security. Jay had let the rules of having dorm visitors gloss over him when they were described. Without even thinking about it, he’d assumed no one would want to hang out with him in the room after hours, maybe just because Gil was there, too.
“Fine,” Jay said. He stepped into his shoes and headed for the door, pleased at least that Mike wasn’t sticking around to watch Gil’s crap, even if he’d obviously been unimpressed with Jay’s.
“See you in class!” Gil called. His tone was whiny and he phrased this almost as a question, communicating that he’d expected more.
Jay usually took the stairs down from their fifth floor room, but Mike went for the elevator. Jay was boiling over with questions about what Mike had thought about this or that in his movie, though he was also afraid to know. He held his tongue while they stared at the elevator indicator together, tracking the machine’s slow ascent from the lobby.
“That was an ambitious project,” Mike said when the elevator was just one floor below them. “I admire that.”
“You fell asleep,” Jay said.
Mike laughed, then winced when he glanced over at Jay.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry. I meant to come by earlier. Shit got in the way.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, I’m annoyed about it, actually. I live with these guys, uh. With the Gorillas. At our headquarters.” His expression went grim and he stepped in front of the elevator doors as they opened behind him, maybe for dramatic effect. “We’re a club, kind of. Unofficial, so not restricted by campus rules. It’s supposed to be secret, but it’s not.”
“Gil was telling me.” Jay wanted to push Mike into the elevator with both hands, though he also wanted to ride down with him and prolong this moment. He couldn’t shake a kind of pride that Mike had picked his movie to watch and had asked him for the escort to the lobby, not Gil.
“After you,” Mike said. He thrust his arm through the elevator doors before they could close and gestured for Jay to go in ahead of him.
It was a kind of mocking gesture, but it didn’t feel unkind. Mike was deeply strange and seemed kind of broken, like he’d seen some shit in his secret club, or in Hy’s company, or just in general. He seemed like he wanted a friend, or maybe a lackey.
“The Gorillas are a group of aspiring filmmakers,” Mike said when they were closed into the elevator together and moving downward. “Most of us are also drunken lunatics. Every year we add a few members. Here. I brought this in case I liked your movie. And I did.”
Mike dug a folded, wrinkled piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to Jay. It was warm from his body heat, which was gross. Jay tried not to snarl as he unfolded it.
It was an invitation, Jay realized, and he flushed with the sudden sensation of being flattered and doubly on guard at the same time, because something about this still felt like a trick or a joke.
DEAR YOUNG AUTEUR,
BY VIRTUE OF YOUR QUALITY ATTEMPTS TO MAKE ART, YOU ARE HEREBY INVITED TO AN INFORMAL GATHERING OF THE VENERABLE GORILLAS THIS THURSDAY THE 24TH OF AUGUST AT A LOCATION TO BE PROVIDED TO YOU ORALLY BY THE PROFFERER OF THIS INVITATION.
BRING AN OFFERING.*
RESPECTFULLY AND WITH ANTICIPATION,
J.R. YOUNGSTON, PRESIDENT
*THE OFFERING CAN BE IN THE FORM OF RECORDED ORIGINAL MEDIA, A LIVE PERFORMANCE, OR HIGH-END DRUGS.
“Orally?” Jay said, staring down at the goofy cursive font.
“The thing about drugs is a joke,” Mike said. “I mean, not that they wouldn’t accept them. You should bring the movie you just showed me. I think they’d like it.”
“Bring it where?”
“Our headquarters is a house, 610 Howard Avenue. It’s off campus but not that far. Can you remember that address?”
“Sure,” Jay said. He was staring up into Mike’s face, waiting to notice any hint that this was all a set-up designed to humiliate him.
“Bring your roommate, too,” Mike said as the elevator doors opened to the lobby. “I feel sorry for him.”
“Why?”
Mike only shrugged. The guy at the front desk was eying them, so Jay walked Mike all the way to the doors that lead outside. Mike pushed one open and turned back to smirk at Jay before walking through it. Jay clutched the invitation in his fist and waited to be told this was all a joke, that he was kicked out of the directing seminar class for sucking and should probably just go home to Orfordville and learn how to farm.
“Want to know why Hy wasn’t in class today?” Mike asked. He brought his face down close to Jay’s, his breath still reeking of booze.
“Okay,” Jay said. “Why?”
“He’s having a love affair. I haven’t met her yet, but I can tell it’s intense and that she’s probably way out of his league as usual. That’s why he can’t be counted on right now to think about things like when class starts. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah,” Jay says, though he didn’t. Never mind an affair, he’d never even been in love before. “How’d you get so close to him?”
“Through the Gorillas. It’s an incredible opportunity. Don’t let the fact that most of them are obnoxious assholes scare you off. You’re gonna come, right? On Thursday?”
“I guess so,” Jay said. He wanted to remark again on the fact that his movie couldn’t even keep Mike awake, but maybe nothing could have. He looked half asleep on his feet. Jay wondered if he would even remember all of this in the morning, particularly the part where he spilled Hy’s secret.
“Good,” Mike said. “See ya.”
He left, and Jay spent some time wandering around the lobby in a kind of daze, rereading the invitation and peering at the contents of the vending machines in an unseeing way. He didn’t have cash in his sweatpants pockets and wasn’t hungry anyway. He just wanted a minute to enjoy this, alone, before heading upstairs to tell Gil he’d been invited, too. He knew it might not turn into anything: a career, an invitation to join the Gorillas, or even a friendship, but in the moment whatever was happening felt like a wink from the weird, wide universe, and he liked the feeling that it was aimed directly at him.
*