Page 80 of Director's Cut
What secret could Charlie be keeping from me? “No, I wouldn’t. But I’d want to know if I could help you.”
“I didn’t tell you the whole truth about Star Trek.” His voice is soft, pulsing with vulnerability I haven’t heard from him since he moved in. “I know why it was canceled.”
A jolt goes through my heart. He’d told me it was canceled in such a straightforward way, but he had seemed extra upset about it. I can’t believe I didn’t ask more questions.
“Despite the great reviews, the majority of our fandom supporting Casey and my character’s pairing and the producers being cool with it, there was still this huge vocal minority of viewers who hated it,” Charlie explains. “They got loud enough that executives decided developing the romantic relationship was too risky. They asked me and Casey if we’d be comfortable backing down and returning to a storyline that focused more on unspoken longing. Basically they wanted to redact the gay plotline.”
There’s an ache I get when I hear stories like this. An ache that’s so hard to describe to anyone who isn’t queer. It’s the feeling you get when people you were vulnerable enough to trust betray you, a sting of self-hatred that comes from a piece of you deep in your psyche that believes what you are is wrong after all.
“Casey was willing to try the compromise, told me that our clearly homophobic showrunner would be out in a season, and we could get back on track. But I refused. I couldn’t do that to the queer people watching this show who were feeling so validated and seen and valued. I put my foot down, despite my team’s insistence that I take it. I said I’d quit the show and expose what they were doing.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “So they just canceled. All those people lost their jobs, Casey lost his first huge role just as he was blowing up. Because of me. Because I was too stubborn.”
I can’t blink back the tears anymore. I let them fall as I move over to Charlie and pull him into a hug. The kind of hug he normally gives me, tight, with my hands fanned out so he knows I’m here with him right now. He takes a deep breath, his body shuddering against me.
“That was so unbelievably brave,” I tell Charlie. “I’m so proud of you, and I’m sure if everyone on that set knew what you did and why you did it, they’d feel the same way. I’m sure Casey does. That’s—” The burn of anger is back, but it suddenly feels much more relevant. “That’s fucking infuriating that they put you in that position. Fuck your team for betraying you and what you stand for like that. Charlie, I—” I exhale. “I think you should expose this. The gay storyline was so popular, and if fans and other networks knew why it ended, what if someone else picks it up?”
He shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I can’t— I could hardly tell you about this. Telling the whole world? For what? For some pity articles to gradually die out and have nothing concrete happen? I can’t do that to myself. I’m not strong enough for it. I’ve been living at your house for six months because I’m such a loser. I can’t—”
It stings to see a shame I’m so familiar with reflected in him. When all I want to say is that I wouldn’t have gotten through the last six months without him. Yes, I have been kind of annoyed that he’s seemingly overstayed his welcome at times. But I love and value him, and I am so proud of him.
“You can. And I’ll help you.”
“Val…”
“You’ve done so much for me. It’s time I return the favor.”
There’s a long pause.
Then he nods, shooting me a friendly head shake. “Because obviously getting a film I’m starring in into Cannes isn’t enough.”
We spend the last Tuesday of March focusing on Charlie. We compose a statement for him to release on his social media platforms and then we post it Monday night. By Wednesday morning, we’re flooded with an outpouring of support. Major Hollywood publications are asking Charlie to write a larger article for them, and by the time I step into lecture with Maeve, I’ve already signed, like, five petitions to have Star Trek moved to a streaming service. His team has been silent, but Trish texted me saying Charlie’s a bold one. The closest, I suspect, she’ll get to asking me if he’s fired his manager yet.
It should leave me feeling good as I enter Maeve’s office prior to lecture. But I just can’t shake the feeling that I’m not following through on my promise to Charlie. In therapy on Monday, I told Rosalie about Cannes and the fact that I’m going to have to tell Maeve what’s going on, but I failed to ask about medication. I’d gone in planning to, but the words got stuck in my throat and couldn’t be coaxed out. It’s left me feeling uneasy, like I’ve forgotten something important even though this time I know what I “forgot.”
It’s basically not a good time to put me on the spot. I force a deep breath as Maeve sits at her desk, Ty and I taking the couch.
“Hey, can you show me your notes from the jukebox musical lecture?” Maeve asks me.
“Do you want the couch?” Ty teases.
The answer to Maeve’s question falls out of my brain. But Maeve herself just gives him a Really? look. “I think I can contain myself.” But she flashes a smile.
I have to admit, there’s a lot of stress going on around me, but it’s made me really happy to see Maeve grow closer to Ty. Not to mention the relief that comes from Ty not being weird about us dating since he found out. I tried to give them their space to do their own thing, but they’ve even started to invite me to some of their screenings and museum visits. As they joke around, I send Maeve the notes.
“Thanks.” Maeve leans forward as she scans my email. “If we get to do this class for a third semester, we need another older musical.”
“Do Tommy,” Ty suggests. “It fits jukebox, satire, and adaptation.”
Maeve raises a finger. “Noting that one.”
I motion to Ty. “That’s way better than me suggesting one of the Beatles’ films.”
“Ha!” Ty says, jumping up to face Maeve. “You owe me fifty.”
I may rescind that I-like-this-friendship thing. “You made a bet on me?”
Maeve’s smiling again. “It was…” She pauses. “I thought you wouldn’t want any Beatles on the course syllabus because that was your first attempted dissertation topic, not the dissertation you actually finished with. I figured it was an academic sore spot, but Ty thought differently.”
“Wait, did you read both my dissertations?”