Part 17 (1/2)

We climbed over the boulders and onto another beach beyond. It wasn't quite a cove - the curve was more gentle than that, but the cliff face continued down along the sand. The beach itself was cut off from roads and houses by that cliff, making it seem sheltered and protected, isolated even. As far as I could tell, short of climbing down the cliffs or coming in by boat, there was no way into this little half-cove other than the way we'd just come.

A couple hundred yards down the beach, Kevin stopped.

”Do you know where we are?” he asked me.

I turned all the way around, but I didn't have a clue. ”A beach in Malibu?”

”Technically, Point Dume. But take another look.” He pointed to the cliff face again. ”There.” Then he pointed down the beach in front of us. ”And there.”

I looked where he was pointing, but nothing seemed familiar.

I shook my head at him.

Suddenly Kevin collapsed into sand at the edge of the surf, as if in despair. ”Oh, my G.o.d. I'm back. I'm home. All the time, it was Earth. We finally really did it.”

At first I didn't understand what was happening, what Kevin was doing. Then I realized: he was giving me his best Charlton Heston overacting. It was the final line from the original Planet of the Apes (a movie I loved, something Kevin knew).

”You maniacs!” Kevin wailed, still quoting the movie. ”You blew it up! Ah, d.a.m.n you! G.o.d d.a.m.n you all to h.e.l.l!”

I looked back at those cliffs, at the beach in front of me, finally clueing in. ”This is where they filmed that final scene. But it's different...”

Kevin stood up again, brushed himself off. ”Well, obviously there's no Statue of Liberty. And it's been, like, fifty years since they shot the movie.”

Was it really possible? Kevin knew something about movies I didn't? Something about Los Angeles movie locations?

He pointed to the cliff face. ”That's also the site of Tony Stark's mansion in Iron Man.”

I gave Kevin my first official smile since the day before. ”You looked all this up? For me?”

”I wanted to say I'm sorry about last night. For what I said about Mr. Brander. I was being a dud.”

Now I felt stupid. I'd overreacted. Kevin hadn't said anything wrong. He was just concerned about me. And he was right: Mr. Brander, the whole situation with him, some things were weird.

”You don't have anything to apologize for,” I said. ”I'm the one who should be apologizing.”

”Still.”

I thought for a second. ”One thing. If you really thought you had something to apologize for, how come you didn't actually get in the surf like Charlton Heston does in the movie?”

”Well, I didn't wanna get wet,” Kevin said. ”I mean, come on, I don't love you that much.”

I laughed out loud. We were back to teasing each other, and things were good again. It really was fun - not only seeing this beach, being in the exact spot where they filmed the best movie ending of all time, but also being here with Kevin, having him do this for me, because he knew how much I'd like it.

”Thanks,” I said, pulling him close, kissing him.

On our walk back to the car, I saw two other people quote Charlton Heston's speech from the end of Planet of the Apes (one guy actually in the surf).

Once we got to the car, I said, ”We're totally good, and you didn't do anything you needed to apologize for anyway. But...”

Kevin smiled. ”What?”

”Well, if you want to build up even more bonus points to spend on future fights, we could stop at Malibu State Park on the way home.”

”We could, could we?” he said, laughing. ”Why?”

”Because that's where they filmed the rest of the first Planet of the Apes movies. And also a whole bunch of other stuff, like Logan's Run and all the Tarzan movies.” I'd looked all this up on my phone just then.

”Is there anything to see?” he asked.

”The actual movie sets are all long gone - they blew them up, G.o.d d.a.m.n them all to h.e.l.l! - but you can make out the mountain that stands in the background of Ape Village.”

Kevin laughed. ”So that'll get me in good, huh?”

”Oh, yeah,” I said. ”Completely!”

”Well,” he said, like he was the dad and I was the ten-year-old boy, ”then I guess we'll just have to stop.”

On Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday of the following week, Otto was filming all five episodes of his web series, and I volunteered to help. We used Otto's actual bedroom and bathroom at the Hive for ”Otto's” bedroom and bathroom. Exterior locations were all done in the streets and a park near the house, and Otto called in some favors and got permission to film at a nearby grocery store, a couple of office buildings, and a coffee shop.

Otto and his housemates and friends played all the roles, and another couple of his friends acted as the director and script supervisor. I wasn't offended that Otto hadn't asked me to play any of the parts (except a non-speaking background extra now and then), because I'm a terrible actor. I also didn't know goat s.h.i.+t about filmmaking, so I ended up as a ”production a.s.sistant,” which is basically someone who does all the grunt work that everyone else is too busy or important to do: holding lights, carrying equipment, and cleaning up the two-liter bottle of Pepsi when some idiot leaves it on the floor, open, and then some other idiot comes along and accidentally kicks it into the office hallway.

It was more work than I expected, like helping someone pack and move three days in a row. But Otto was my friend, and I was (mostly) happy to help.

Eventually, it was Wednesday night. Everyone else was gone, back to their own houses, their own rooms, but I'd stayed behind to help Otto clean up the last of the mess (the first time those rooms at the Hive had ever been cleaned, I think).

”I think that went really well,” he said, meaning the whole shoot.

”Oh, yeah,” I said. ”The stuff I saw? It looked really, really good. It was fun watching you.”

”What's strange is that I'm playing myself, but I still think of him as an actual character. Not me, you know?”

I laughed. ”I guess it sort of is a character. It isn't really you.” I looked around his bedroom, where we happened to be right then: we were cleaned up at last. ”Well, I should go. The good news is that by working so long, I think I missed the traffic.”

He smiled. ”Thanks for your help. Really. All my other friends? They'll do anything to get in front of a camera, any camera, so it's not like they're doing me that big a favor. But you - you're not getting anything out of this. You're just here to help. And, I mean, I'm sorry about the Pepsi.”

”It was fun,” I said. ”I learned a lot.”

I stepped closer and hugged him. That close, I could smell him. I'd hugged him since I moved to Los Angeles, but it had always been on the street or in spicy ethnic restaurants. I'd never been able to smell him, not the way I could now. He was a complicated mixture of smells, but ultimately something clean and fun, like Play-Dough.

I pulled back, but not that far. My face was only inches from his face. I could still smell him. Suddenly I was aware that the door to his bedroom was closed.

Otto and I stared at each other.

I looked at his face. His scar had long since become invisible to me again, and I wasn't seeing it now either. I was just seeing ”Otto” - the tousle of his hair, the sly cut of his lips, those great, brown-burgundy eyes. I liked Otto as a teenager, maybe even truly loved him, but as great as he'd been then, he was so much more than that now: a supportive friend, a dedicated actor, a surprisingly good writer, someone who'd been able to pull this whole web series together in just a matter of weeks. Otto was someone who knew who he was, what he wanted, and that was always attractive.

As we looked at each other, I saw something else too. Lately, I'd been imagining all kinds of things: seeing the past lives of the people who had lived in my apartment, hearing the ghost of Cole Gordon. Now I got a glimpse into another dimension - a different timeline, I guess.

Otto and I are a couple. We met at summer camp when we were both sixteen years old, and we never broke up. We have somehow made it work, seeing each other on weekends and spending whole weeks together in the summers. I'd always loved movies, but for once I am spending time with someone who loves them the same way I do, with a pa.s.sion bordering on obsessive. Just the mere act of being with someone so like me in this respect is opening boxes inside myself - boxes within boxes within boxes.