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Two American men in fine linen suits sit in a deserted bar in South Africa. Despite the long distance between them and their mother country, both keep glancing furtively out the window down to the writhing streets of Johannesburg. They have set up shop at one of the dive’s battered tables instead of sitting at the bar. The younger of the two has situated himself slightly to the left of center so he can look over his companion’s shoulder at the door. He knows downstairs there are four enormous, corn-fed all-American security guards in plain clothes blocking every entrance to the building like mountains with eyes, but in this industry one cannot be too careful.It’s the middle of the day here but the sweltering heat is nothing in comparison to the intensity of the younger man’s gaze as he looks into his companion’s eyes.“You think it’s impossible.”“Abreaction?” The elder of the two takes a slow sip of gin, the visibly more relaxed of the pair. “Of course it’s possible. It’s just fucking difficult, isn’t it? Not to mention dangerous.”The younger man leans in, “But you’ve done it.”The older man clenches his jaw and stares out the window vacantly for a moment. “Once.” He finally admits. “And I know what you’re thinking, Cobb, and I would advise you not to go there,” hewarns, looking carefully at the younger man.“Nolan,” Cobb’s voice is an urgent whisper. “I might not have a choice. Besides, there are a ton of other directors that use abreaction regularly.” A pause. “Cameron uses abreaction.”Nolan frowns, “Yes, but it doesn’t work- does it?” He shifts uneasily in his chair. “See-the secret to abreaction is it only works on true masters of the art.”“Arthur is good-““Oh, he’s the best.” Nolan interjects. “Which is why you should leave well enough alone.” He sighs. “I’ve only had it stick once- and you know how that ended.”Cobb looks grim. “Arthur’s become too safe, Nolan. You know- you saw how he was on set at your last film. He’s become too precious about stupid shit. He needs to be broken and reset and the only way I can do that is if I throw him off the boat and let him drown.”Nolan raises an eyebrow, “And what if it just breaks him?”Cobb shakes his head, “I love Arthur like I love my own children, but at the end of the day he’s had five, count them- five academy nominations, three of which are my films, and he has nothing to show for it. I would rather kill his career myself fighting for it than see him die a slow death in B list movie agony. Although Christophe assures me Arthur would probably hang himself before stooping to a romantic comedy or a slasher film.”Nolan looks far from reassured, but he nods slowly, “I sincerely hope you know what you’re doing, Dom.”Cobb set his jaw. The truth is he had made up his mind before even requesting a secret meeting with the other director. “I’ve never seen Arthur run from anything- even as a small child he performed with complete fearlessness.Arthur was born for this.I know you’re concerned about him, but he doesn’t have the same sensitivities Heath did. Heath was all heart; Arthur is all intellect. He’s not going to break.”Nolan considers this. “When is your first production meeting?”“Six weeks.” Cobb nods. “Ariadne Wentworth gave a green light to everything I wanted. Budget, timing, casting- you name it, I got it.”The other director grins, “It pays that Arthur’s best friend just inherited one of the largest film studios in the world.”Cobb returns the smile, “Yes, it does.”“So who’s the lucky bad boy?” Nolan smirks.Cobb shrugs, “I’ve seen a few auditions, but nobody seems to be the right fit. Arthur would eat them alive the first day of shooting and they’d never see it coming.I swear I feel like I’m about to release a shark into a goldfish pond. Do you have any suggestions that won’t end in a bloodbath?”Nolan’s grin gets wider, “I thought you’d never ask.” He pulls out a sheet of paper from his briefcase and scribbles a few things on it before passing it across the table.Cobb looks down, reading out loud. “Tom Eames?”“My dramaturge met him while doing research for a film.” Nolan explains, “He’s not trained, but he naturally projects this sort of raw carnal energyno conservatory can teach.” Nolan nods. “Trust me- Tom Eames is your guy. He’s already bending the rules of the industry. He’s the highest grossing adult star right now- including the actresses. He has millions of mainstream fans as well, teenaged girls even.”Cobb grimaces at that thought, “Where can I find him?”“I’ll have my people send him to The Viper Room this Monday if you’re up to it.” Nolan says.Cobb nods. “Total secrecy. This cannot leak to the press until I know for sure he’s the guy.”8 WEEKS LATERThe first time Eames sees the infamous Arthur Robin in the flesh, he forgets how to breathe. But it’s okay because all of a sudden air doesn’t seem important. This reaction surprises him in the most exhilarating way and it’s as if he is a teenager discovering the flushed allure of another’s body for the first time. Given his occupation, Eames has always been proud of his desensitization to even the most gorgeous bodies the globe has to offer. Eight years, five adult actor of the year awards, and a few million dollars into his career, Eames has topped every flawless fantasy the porn industry has, as well as the most gorgeous of his many (often borderline creepy,) fans- but this… this is the first time in his twenty-nine years Eames has ever looked at someone and actually forgot the basic mechanics of breathing. And he is not complaining. In comparison to drinking in every detail of Arthur, air is not a priority. This morning he can’t remember a single reason why he has ever found any of his previous costars or bedmates attractive. It dawns on Eames like a hit of meth to the bloodstream that up until this moment he hasn’t known what perfection is. In fact, Eames comes to the astonishing conclusion that none of his previous standards of physical flawlessness were even remotely close.The whole experience is odd. Odd because of the very real, very visceral effect Arthur incurs on Eames, odder still because it’s not as if he has never seen Arthur Robin before. You would have to be seriously living in a pineapple under the sea to not know who Arthur is.Eames has more than once seen the man’s face stretched several stories high on a billboard in Times Square promoting some box office success. The high glitz, high glamour, high risk entertainment industry is notoriously cruel and fickle, but if Hollywood has ever had a native son it would be Arthur Robin.The actor started his career as a prodigy at age six staring in the first film now celebrated director Dominic Cobb had ever written. He’s been America’s boy wonder from then on, going on to make over twenty five films in the next decade. Although he has never taken home the golden man, Arthur holds the record for most Oscar nominations for anyone under 25. This isn’t really a fair statement however because nobody else even comes close. Under the careful mentoring of Cobb and Cobb’s partner, veteran two time Oscar winner, Christoph Koch, Arthur grew effortlessly into a serious, brutally talented actor and pillar of the film industry’s finances. However, Eames is struck by the way even the invention of HD and 3D movies can’t properly convey the actor’s otherworldly perfection.Eames stumbles upon his costar looking for the loo on his first day at Wentworth Studios. Instead of a bathroom he ends up in front of a dance studio in the basement of the massive building. Through large glass French doors Eames can see Arthur stretching at the bar with practiced feline grace. Christoph stands behind him, manipulating the younger actor’s spinal alignment and barking staccato corrections in a language that sounds familiar, but Eames can’t place. The sounds of the two actors’bickering get louder and more convoluted until they are both glaring at eachother.“Look at them,” Cobb says sideling up behind Eames with an unapologetically fond smile on his face. “Between the two of them there are thirteen Academy Award nominations, three Tony’s, two Grammy’s, and four Cannes victories in that room, and they can’t figure out what to order for lunch.”“What are they speaking?” Eames asks, curious.Dom snorts, rolling his eyes, “Frenglish. They get so caught up in picking at each other, they don’t put in the effort for continuity.”Something must have happened then because the next time Cobb and Eames turned back to the two actors, Arthur is gone and Christoph is striding towards them with a scowl that would have stopped Hitler in his tracks. He doesn’t slow down until he has a finger pointed at Dom.“You need to get your prodigy back in line,” Christoph’s Austrian accent makes his demand sound even more menacing. “He’s been a perfect terror for two weeks now. We’ve been doing double workouts every day. The little fool needs to eat something other than Red Bull Zero. One film with Nolan and he’s taken on the fucking Christian Bale diet.”“Oh he’s my prodigy now?” Cobb smiles easily at his partner and muse of many years, “During award season he’s your prodigy, but when he won’t eat his peas and carrots, all of a sudden he’s all mine.”Dom sighs, long suffering but not surprised, “Where is he now?”“The showers.” Christoph spits.“We have a table reading and screen tests in an hour.” Dom says.Christoph shrugs, “Marta sent a makeup crew down with strict orders to apprehend him as soon as he’s dry.”Cobb raises an eyebrow, “Did she warn them that he’s behaving like a cat in a swimming pool?”“Please,” Christoph sneers, “Most of the crew has known Arthur for ages. He loves them and the crew loves him. It’s the management he has a problem with.” Christoph shoots a meaningful look at the director.Dom is unfazed. “I’ve never had a problem with him,” he says dismissively.“Only because he’s never learned to say no to you.”“Arthur trusts me to do the right thing by him,” Cobb states calmly. “You of all people know that if there is no trust, there is no work.”Christoph purses his lips, “I’m not a director, Dom. I’m just a lowly two time Academy Award winning bard. But it you want this done correctly you need tell our boy to shut up and fly right.”Both men look over at Eames like they’ve just remembered he exists. Dom smiles quickly, looking a little embarrassed, “I am incredibly excited to see you and Arthur work together. He is the most generous scene partner I have ever come across.”Christophe nods, “He is the dream opposite. His work brings out the best in everyone he shoots with.” The veteran actor says this as if it is a universally accepted fact not unlike the basic laws of physics.Eames isn’t entirely positive how to interpret that, so he just smiles and allows the two men to lead him back to another studio where a giant round table sits in the middle of the room, the chairs around it already mostly filled with supporting actors and technical department heads. Dom ushers him into a chair at the head of east side of the table before situating himself next to his production manager at the exact south. Sitting next to Christophe at the western side of the table is a lovely young girl with a cheerful face. She smiles at him warmly in welcome and Eames immediately recognizes her from The Times Page Six as the film mogul heiress, Ariadne Wentworth.“Alright,” Dom’s commanding voice fills the room and instantly everyone falls silent. “Welcome to the first day of production. Please open your scripts so we can begin reading through After Life.”Eames scans the room. Arthur is nowhere in sight.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Arthur did not attend the first pre-production meeting of After Life, nor did he bother with any of the subsequent ones. Having made something of a verbal contract with Cobb at the age of seven following the instant success of his film debut to always put the director’s work ahead of any other projects, his absence during pre-production is not unusual. Arthur has always kept his promises, so when Dom calls him one night while Arthur is shooting pool and asks his protégé to star in his next film, Arthur doesn’t hesitate or ask questions. He just says yes and tells Dom to call Yusuf, his agent, and count him in. He then jokes with his old friend about screwing him on residuals and hangs up. To be honest, when Dom mails him a working draft of the script a month later, Arthur doesn’t read it. In fact he is almost positive he left his copy of After Life adrift somewhere on Ariadne’s yacht the week they spent with a few close friends off the coast of Monte Carlo. Dom had called him that week to discuss character development and visual concepts, but it had been like four in the morning Monaco time and all Arthur could hear was blah, blah, blah risk taking, blah, blah, blah gay relationship between inmates in a prison, blah, blah, blah humanizing convicted felons to the public. The conversation had ended when Arthur’s big brother (literally and chronologically,) had swaggered in, stole Arthur’s phone, and informed Dom that he had just made Arthur “one dirty whore of a Shirley Temple” before promptly hanging up on the acclaimed director. Arthur’s brother could give a rat’s ass about kissing up to the movers and shakers of the film industry- or anyone else for that matter.
A month later Ariadne requested a small meeting in her 5th Avenue penthouse to discuss technicalities with Dom, Christoph, and Arthur. Arthur was elbow deep in a press tour for his latest film with Nolan, but he boarded his private jet in LA and flew out to New York on no sleep anyways. For the majority of the meeting he was partially catatonic, his body hugged luxuriously by one of Ariadne’s plush sofas when his ears perk up.
“What you’re doing is unprecedented, Dom,” Ariadne is saying, “It’s a big risk, even for you.”
“I’m committed to Eames, Ariadne,” Cobb says, “He is my choice Lukas Leigh Brady. I told you I wouldn’t make the film unless I found the perfect Brady, and I did.”
“It will certainly get the press’s attention,” Ariadne says, her eyes wide with sligh anxiety, “But he’s as green as a leprechaun swimming in lime Jell-O.”
Arthur looks up sleepily, “Since when is using an unknown such a big deal?”
The whole room is silent as all three of the others stare at him.
“Arthur,” Christoph finally says, “Tom Eames is not an unknown. He’s very famous.”
Arthur snorts, “Then how come I’ve never heard of him?”
Ariadne squints her eyes, disbelieving, “You don’t know who Tom Eames is…”
Arthur gives her a blank stare.
“Tom Eames,” She repeats, “The highest paid porn star working today…”
It is a misconception that actors are all outgoing, boisterous, and attention-seeking. Ariadne has been in the business long enough to know that the best actors are quiet, highly observational, and melticulously controlled. Arthur is a paragon of reserve so when she can actually see all the blood drain from her friend's face, Ariadne can’t help but begin to panic.
“Am I being punk-ed?” Arthur finally says.
“You didn’t tell him?” She rounds on Cobb. “How could you not tell him?”
“Of course I told him!” Dom fires back.
“Then how does he not know?” She demands.
“Well excuse me for assuming that I didn’t have to explain to a 24 year-old bisexual who Tom Eames is!”
“Dom!” Ariadne exclaims, “Arthur is the only man on the planet who has never seen porn, never wanted to see porn, and probably will never see porn! He’s been a celebrity all his life. What does he need with porn when he can have anyone he wants in person?”
Cobb grimaces. Her argument has a certain logic to it.
While Ariadne and Dom are vollying blame, Christoph looks carefully at his protégé.
Arthur meets his teacher’s eyes. “Why?” He asks, looking more confused than Christoph has ever seen the prodigy.
Christoph straightens, puts on his dad voice and gives what Arthur can only assume is Christophe’s version of the ‘because I said so’ lecture. “Arthur, art is all about spurning convention. The taboo doesn’t exist for us. How can we know if we are enriching the culture of humanity if we aren’t constantly pushing the boundaries?”
Hearing this, Dom also turns back to his leading man, “Arthur, I have every confidence in you. Eames is right for this project. It will not exist without him. Eames is real. There is truth in him. He is authentic in ways nobody in Hollywood could possibly match. You are the best actor of your generation- and I mean that. I am sure you’ll bring my vision to life.”
“We’re actors, Dom.” Arthur says. “Since when do we need authenticity?”
Dom smiles, “Arthur, I know you can do this- not only do this, but shape it into something beautiful. You will challenge Eames and he will challenge you. This is how things are supposed to be in high art. It means what you're doing is working.”
Arthur looks from Ariadne to Christophe to Cobb, three people he owes his life to, three people, who have been his family, three people he loves deeply and fully. In the end he is terrified. In the end he can’t say no. BACK IN STUDIO DDom is mostly through explaining his thought process while writing After Life to a rapt audience (most of whom have heard this story before,) when the doors sound loudly and Arthur marches in flanked by his personal assistant, Marta. The leading man seems oblivious to his own tardiness. Marta quickly grabs a chair and wedges it between Christoph and Ariadne. When Arthur takes a seat the Austrian actor leans over and rattles off something which Eames can only guess is Frenglish for, “Where the hell have you been?”or “What did I tell you about being on time for work?”
Arthur shoots his mentor a look that is both irritated and repentant. Dom looks up from his place with a shiteating grin.
“For those of you who are new,” Cobb addresses this mostly to Eames, “I’d like to introduce my quintessential leading man, Arthur Robin.”
The room erupts in applause and Eames cannot help but let out a laugh as he watches Arthur’s expression go from looking murderously at Cobb to a bad attempt at a gracious smile to the rest of the room, and back to looking like he wants to kill the director in rapid succession. Arthur’s head whips around searching for the origin of the laugh only to find he is sitting directly across from Eames. His almond eyes seem to grow darker the longer the two of them behold each other and Eames realizes the actor is practically glowering at him. Eames returns this look with a cheeky grin and a salute. Arthur is not amused. Actually Eames is beginning to wonder if Arthur is even human and not some beautiful alien life form that has been sent to earth to distract the masses while the rest of his kind conquer the planet.
Arthur breaks the trance, and stares coldly up at Dom, mouthing the words, “Are you done now?”
Cobb smiles back shamelessly before turning to the rest of the room. “Okay, not that everybody is here let’s go around the room for standard introductions. Ariadne, would you be so kind as to start us off?”
Ariadne looks around the room like she owns it- and she does. “I’m Ariadne Wentworth and I’m an executive producer on this film. I’m psyched to be continuing my grandfather’s legacy of a strong working partnership with Dominic Cobb. The studio is of course so pleased that so many of you have returned to work with Hollywood's most coveted team of filmakers and actors. We truly believe we have the best of the best for this film. It's a personal dream come true for me."
She turns to Arthur expectantly. He looks up briefly from his fingernails and says without any fanfare, “Arthur Robin. I’m playing Christopher Castor.”
And so it went around the room until it is Eames’ turn. “Tom Eames,” he says, smiling broadly at the room. Everyone smiles back except Arthur, who is doing a dead on impression of Grumpy Cat. “I’m portraying Lukas Leigh Brady. I’m bloody thrilled to be here with all of you and to be part of a Dominic Cobb film. Thank you for the amazing welcome I’ve had from all of you.”
The room looks at him warmly except for Arthur. Arthur has slunk under the table to readjust his custom designer shoes, or at least he has until Christophe pulls him up bodily by the scruff of his collar. Arthur sniffs derisively and straightens the offending wrinkles from his shirt. By the time introductions are finished Eames notes Arthur has unbuttoned and re-buttoned his shirt three times.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
It is common knowledge that Arthur has an older brother- a half-brother eight years to his senior to be exact. Adam is the only lasting effect of Mal’s previous marriage (back when Mal still believed in marriage,) to an American professional athlete who held her attention for all of ten months before Mal left him playing European football for Spain while she returned to Paris. It is a less widely known fact that Arthur privately refers to Adam as his ‘loser older brother.’ If Adam is aware of this moniker, he doesn’t seem to mind. The brothers are rarely in the same time zone anymore and haven’t lived together since Adam’s band (of which he is the lead singer and creative visionary- whatever that means,) was signed to Universal about ten years ago. The band went on to record some of the highest selling songs of all time and now Adam is almost always on tour, or writing a new album, or doing body shots off Mick Jagger, or whatever the hell rock stars did when they weren’t harassing their much more sensible siblings. A week before the table reading, Arthur is at his LA home wearing the pajamas Marta had freshly ironed and flipping through about a thousand television channels at two in the morning with Bob Fosse. He pauses mid-surf as Adam’s mug in high definition appears on his flat screen. Arthur doesn’t have to check the listings to know he’s stumbled upon a re-run episode of the singing competition his brother judges with three other music celebrities. The whole thing is unbelievably tacky, an opinion Arthur had been kicked in the shin by his maternal grandmother for voicing during Easter brunch the first year the show was on the air. As if summoned by thought alone, Arthur’s phone begins to buzz incessantly with Adam’s number on the screen. “It’s two thirty in the morning,” Arthur grouses as he picks up.“Not in Amsterdam!” Adam’s voice is ridiculously loud for somebody who uses his vocal chords to pay the bills. “Am I interrupting your cuddle time with your ugly cat?” “What do you want, Adam?” Arthur rolls his eyes. “I want you to know I have CNN pulled up and the biggest story in entertainment is your next movie, Bro!” Adam’s voice sounds a little too gleeful, even for an ADD rock star, and Arthur blanches, silently praying his brother is not going to bring up- “Tom motherfucking Eames!” Adam positively crows, “I’m calling to congratulate you, Art. It’s about time you got your hands a little dirty!” “There is nothing dirty about this what so ever!” Arthur hisses quickly, “Nobody would turn down a Cobb film, even if he seems to have misplaced his sense of taste lately.” “Hey-“ Adam says, and Arthur can hear the d-bag laughing, “I’m not hating. I think it’s fucking awesome of Dom. Only Dom would go balls out like that. I mean, you and Tom Eames? Half the women in the world must shit themselves when they heard.” “Yes, well no doubt the other half isbusyhaving an orgy in your hotel room as we speak.” Arthur says dryly. “Come on, Arthur,” Adam’s voice sounds a tad more sincere, “I read the CNN write up: intense dialogue, social metaphor, a taboo relationship? This movie is right up your alley. You love doing films that make normal people uncomfortable! You’ll have a blast.” “Well unfortunately unlike you, Adam, I don’t work for fun.” Arthur sniffs. “It’s an important film about human relationships.” “Arthur,” Adam cackles, “you couldn’t be more pretentious if you had the queen of England up your butt.” Arthur…well, Arthur can’t actually think of a good response to that. “Oh yeah?” Arthur finds himself regressing back to childhood and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind, “Well, I’m watching you on TV right now and your hair looks stupid.” Arthur slams his phone down decisively. Bob Fosse looks opens one sleepy eye and stares up at his primate roomate reproachfully. Arthur pats the cat’s hairless body gently. “Your uncle is a loser.” He informs Bob Fosse. BACK IN STUDIO DDespite his burning curiosity, Arthur had not allowed himself to stoop to Googleing Tom Eames. He told himself what little he did know about the man was quite enough, thank you, and there was nothing the internet could possibly show or tell him about his future costar that was as important as the fact that he was apparently- what had Ariadne said GQ called Eames? Oh yes, “the Ryan Gosling of porn.” And she had said it like it wasn’t a total insult to be called “the Ryan Gosling” of anything.So come the first day of production, the table read, Arthur has no idea what to expect (other than a lecture from his mentors regarding being prompt,) when he walks into the rehearsal studio. And yet, what Arthur ultimately sees still surprises him. Even with no expectations, the man seated directly across from him is so much not what Arthur is expecting that he does a long, covert scan around the tablelooking for someone else. But Arthur has been working with Dom’s team for over fifteen years now, and he easily recognizes every other face in the room. Arthur isn’t sure if he subconsciously expected some naked abomination with bulging veins all over his neck and skin dyed orange from sunless tanner, but the man Dom has placed in front of him has none of these things. He is younger than Arthur expected and yet more mature at the same time. Given Eames’ apparent notoriety Arthur would have thought his costar would be worn and withered- dried up like the stringy, retired fashion models he sees sitting in the back rows of runway shows at New York Fashion Week wearing dresses that are too young and too tight for their aging bodies. After guest staring in a few episodes of Law and Order, Arthur felt sure Eames’ sinful story would be written on his face in tired frown lines and deep crow’s feet.Arthur lives in a business that values facial beauty above all other physical features. A good camera angle and clever costuming can hide short legs or broad hips, but an exquisite face is what tells the story and sells the audience. Arthur imagines the porn industry is more concerned with other parts of their performers’ anatomies, but Eames’ face is open and expressive and inviting. Arthur notes (clinically, mind you, as an artist,) the shape of Eames’ lips and the way his eyes move. There is something almost romantic about the man’s features that remind Arthur of Caravaggio’s paintings. Then Arthur realizes he’s been staring at Eames for two minutes without blinking and, worse still, Eames is staring back like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Arthur’s eidetic memory flashes to the script in a series of sadistically specific commands in Courier New.The script had been memorized long ago, but this was the first time Arthur realized he had to actually do what was written to, by, and with Eames. All of a sudden, Arthur feels a very pressing need to readjust his shoes…under the table. This is a great plan until an impossibly strong hand grabs him by the neck and hauls him back up like a mother cat fetching a disobedient kitten. “Focus, my son,” Christophe reprimands Arthur in soft German. And Arthur, who never once during the whole of his childhood cried or threw a tantrum to get out of working thinks he should have played that card while he had the chance.Thirty minutes into the table read Dom has decided he’s had enough. Forty-five minutes into the table read Dom considers early retirement. He doesn’t give shit that Clint Eastwood is two thousand years old and still working.Arthur is in the middle of a line delivery that would have been completely brilliant if he was Kristen Stewart, but he’s not, when Dom shuts his binder with a loud snap. “This isn’t working,” Cobb interrupts. For the first time today, Arthur looks up from his script. He’s heard Dom say that phrase a few times while on a shoot, but this is the first time Arthur has ever heard it directed at himself. Arthur has impeccable instincts. Arthur can make any scene work. “It’s…” Cobb sighs, “It’s not reading the way it should yet. Let’s break today and test out the lighting on location D.” He looks over at Arthur in particular, “I’ll rehearse with the actors individually. We’ll shoot the screen tests a week from today.”As the last syllable is still falling from Dom’s lips, Arthur is up out of his chair, Marta obediently following his lead, not a half second behind. Dom’s Lamborghini has nothing on his leading man’s rate of acceleration. Arthur’s gone from zero to ninety and is on his way out the door before the rest of the room has time to digest Cobb’s new schedule. “Arthur,” Dom’s voice calls to the actor before he can achieve a clean getaway. “Can you come here please?”Arthur mentally face palms his forehead before turning around and walking back to where Cobb is standing next to Eames with all the enthusiasm of a man about to face the electric chair. As he gets closer, Arthur is a little taken aback at how muscular Eames is. The man has the body of a fighter, both solid and lean at the same time. His physique is natural like the tight, sleek muscles of a cheetah, not the grotesque ballooning chest of a steroid using action star. His blue t-shirt clings to his pectorals and iron biceps in all the right ways and Arthur feels a little ill. “Eames,” Dom with all the annoying fervor of a flight attendant, “This is Arthur Robin. I’m sorry I haven’t formally introduced the two of you until know.” Arthur knows it’s totally his moronic imagination, but Eames light blue eyes seem to sparkle like the sun glinting off the waters of St. Tropez as he looks at Arthur. “Good to finally meet you, Arthur!” When the Brit smiles it’s as if his whole body is smiling. “Uh,” Arthur opens his mouth out of reflex and then closes it again when he finds he has nothing to say. “Hello.” Dom elbows Arthur in a way that isn’t even on the same planet as subtle. “I’ll leave you two to get acquainted.” Please don’t, Arthur thinks. “If you say so,” Eames winks at Arthur conspiratorially. “You are the best of them, Dom. I suppose if anyone knows what he’s doing in this bleeding town, it’s you.” Dom grins, and strides off after Christophe. “I have an appointment to get to,” Arthur lies as soon as his mentors are safely out of sight. “So if you’re done kissing Cobb’s ass-“ “Oh I assure you- I’d much rather kiss yours,” Eames interrupts with perfectly adorable grin. Arthur looks at him for a moment and then turns and walks out of the room with Marta in tow. In the elevator he considers that Eames may be the most obnoxious person he’s ever met, and he did a film with Jim Carrey.
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
IT’S LIKE HE’S FUCKING FIVE YEARS-OLD.One week into production and Arthur has come to the conclusion that his inner child will never play nicely with Eames’ outer one. He wishes he was one of those former child stars who had a drug problem- preferably a serious one. Arthur finds himself fantasizing about catching the next red eye to Paris and doing so much heroin with his old friend, Mac. If it was a good enough way for River to go, it is good enough for Arthur. Even more disturbing is the revelation that Arthur the intellectual, Arthur the social activist, Arthur the pacifist, Arthur who has been on humanitarian aid trips with Oprah Winfery and Bono, apparently has a dormant homicidal streak that comes flaring to life every time Eames walks in a room. Arthur, who once filmed a PSA about the corrosive legacy of hate in America, is now rethinking this stance. Up until this film, he didn’t know it was possible to loath absolutely everything about an individual, but that is exactly how Arthur feels about Eames. Arthur hates the way every girl (and too many of the guys,) on set flirt shamelessly with Eames in between takes and how something as simple as remembering one of the makeup artists’ names makes the silly girl turn the shade of a plum and dissolve into giggles. Arthur hates Eames’ voice- particularly the way it drops down low like the idiot thinks he’s Batman when his words are directed to Arthur’s ears only. Arthur hates the way Eames’ breath feels, soft and invasive, brushing against his ear and neck when the Brit leans in to ask a question while Cobb is fiddling with the lighting. Arthur hates the two inches and forty plus pounds of muscle Eames has on him, and he really hates the way it feels to have the other man gazing down at him, scrutinizing him, like he’s looking for something he’s sure he’ll find if he’s patient enough. Arthur hates the way he is hyper-aware of Eames’ focus and how some insane part of Arthur feels slightly miffed whenever Eames is studying something or someone other than himself. Arthur hates the way Eames is always making Dom and Christophe and anyone else in earshot laugh with his stupid impressions and absurdly hyperbolic stories. Arthur hates the way he’s started avoiding the internet at all costs, refusing even to check his email, some subconscious part of him mortally terrified of happening on a video or picture of Eames naked and balls deep in a writhingjail bait bleach blonde with weird piercings and bad tattoos screaming in cheap ecstasy. Now that he thinks of it, Arthur also hates Eames’ tattoos. But the thing Arthur hates the most about his costar is how easy Eames seems to be finding all of this. Arthur grew up in front of the camera, but it’s the fact that he has never allowed himself to get comfortable with it that makes him so good. Arthur is an absolute perfectionist and will never bring anything but meticulously planned, thoroughly researched, painstakingly detailed performances to the camera. He spends hours meditating on his characters’ psyches and has been known to stand in front of the dance studio mirrors patiently until he creates the exact posture a character would have standing in neutral. Christoph has held dozens of mock interviews with characters until Arthur can no longer remember who Arthur is exactly, and all that remains in his voice, body, and brain is the performance. Arthur has spent his entire life doing unnatural things to look natural as somebody he isn’t. As far as he can tell, Eames rolls out of bed in the morning and comes to work. And Arthur will be damned before he’s outperformed by a British tart. The increasingly small part of Arthur that has managed to maintain some artistic objectivity can see why Dom chose Eames for the role. Cobb had written Lukas Leigh Brady as a belligerent, charismatic, amoral British expatriate and now the role is being played by a belligerent, charismatic, amoral British expatriate. It doesn’t even constitute acting. Arthur notes silently that if Cobb manages to get Eames a supporting actor nod at the Academy Awards for this film, he will go down in cinematic history as the laziest genius ever. In the nights leading up to the screen tests Arthur stays up all night obsessively going through every physical action written in the script. He figures so long as he knows exactly when and how and where he’s going to touch Eames, it won’t be so bad. There are dozens of colored diagrams of the set with meticulous paths and plans scrawled all over in color coding detailing Christopher Castor’s every last move. During the mornings he does intense character studies with Christophe, retraining his entire being to be somebody else. In the afternoons, Christophe works one on one with Eames while Arthur hits the gym for a grueling workout. In the evenings, Arthur stands in front of the mirror and practices walking, standing, and even breathing in character. By the time test day rolls around he can switch so seamlessly from Arthur to Chris that even his instincts change when he embodies a different man. He is still building his stamina, slowly building up the amount of time and level of intensity that he can stay as Chris without breaking into Arthur. Despite the hours Arthur has put in with both Dom and Christoph, Castor remains somewhat of an unknown entity to him. He can’t quite nail it down. It’s exhausting and Arthur can’t seem to stay in the young convict’s persona for as long as he’d like, but it’s good enough for the screen tests. Eames remembers the first time he stood in a nondescript office building in Essex and took off his clothes for two middle aged men who poked and prodded at him like he was a potential bull stud at the county fair. He remembers the first time he came on camera, same day, same office, an hour later, and he can remember thinking that shit just got real. Eames isn’t exactly sure when he’s going to be hit over the head with a two by four of reality here on set, but he thinks it may have already happened. At first Eames had chosen to read Arthur’s coldness and aloof attitude towards him as traditional Hollywood pretty boy snobbery. However, as the first week progressed, Eames observed how, well still stoically reserved, kind and courteous Arthur is to everyone from Dom’s production assistant, to the cleaning women who vacuum the makeup room. Arthur holds the door for all of the women who work on set regardless of their jobs, and brings in a baby gift for one of the key grip’s wife. One day he has catering ordered in for the entire crew to celebrate one of the long time workers’ birthday. So the good news, for Eames, at least, is that Arthur doesn’t seem to hate normal people in general. The terrible news is he’s pretty damn near positive Arthur has a problem with him. After the initial glowering, Arthur hasn’t looked at him once. If the actor is in a group of people and Eames joins the conversation, Arthur will slip away almost instantly. Eames has tried to strike up conversations with him, but he barely gets out the first syllable before Arthur calls out to either Dom or another actor, and brushes past Eames quickly. In the hours he spends in rehearsal with Christoph, who seems for all intents and purposes to fulfill the maternal role in Arthur’s life, Eames is dying to ask the veteran actor about Arthur. However, Christoph is always resolutely focused on work, intimidating closed off to any other subject, and never even brings up his surrogate son. Eames often wonders why he is so fixated on Arthur anyways. His life, which was very happy and fulfilling prior to this project, is on an amazing track, and he’s never sought approval or friendship with anyone who didn’t seem to like him before. Over the years, Eames has developed quite the following of haters, and none of them have ever crossed his mind. He tells himself Arthur is no different. Except with every hour Eames spends in his new life at Wentworth studios it becomes more and more apparent that Arthur is different, singular even among the ranks of Hollywood pretty boy snobs. The morning of the screen tests, Eames walks out from makeup, on to the set and at first he thinks he’s looking at Arthur’s stunt double. A very young, very inexperienced stunt double who, while having an uncanny resemblance to the star, has none of Arthur’s signature razor straight postures or unquestionable confidence. This young man looks cowed by everything that is going on around him and Eames has an overwhelming desire to go over and try to make him smile. Then the young man turns slightly and, upon seeing Eames, his nose twitches in a gesture of distain that is so ‘Arthur-ish’ there is no mistaking him for anyone else. A production assistant marches over to Eames with a highlighted copy of the script in a binder and leads him into the camera’s view. “Dom wants to test out scene 18 starting from here,” She points to a paragraph and Eames nods, understanding. Dom is fiddling with a monitor. He looks up at Eames and smiles like a cat anticipating eating the canary he just caught. “Do what feels natural,” he calls to both actors, “Don’t get too precious with the script. We know who Castor and Brady are- follow your instincts.” Christoph is standing to the right of Dom, slightly behind the director with an unreadable expression on his handsome face. He watches Arthur, surrounded by three makeup artists, get the last of the powder brushed on his face and neck while Eames stands in the shot, all ready to start rolling. Eames can’t tell if Christoph is feeling pride in his students or plain anxiety, but as for himself, he feels like a gladiator who has stepped into the ring with no knowledge of what waits to be unleashed behind the door. After a few seconds that feel to Eames like an eternity in purgatory, Arthur finally steps into the shot. No, not Arthur, the scared kid Eames had mistaken for a stunt double. Where there has been nothing but bolted doors, locked windows, and a carefully guarded fortress wall keeping Arthur carefully closed off to Eames, Eames now senses a new a sort of nearly painful vulnerability. This Arthur has opened himself to Eames; this Arthur is receptive to whatever Eames has to offer. The change is more than welcome and Eames finds himself drawn to the other man like one who has been starving and didn’t realize it until that first mouthful of food. He wants to gorge himself on this feeling, and Eames realizes he’s meeting Christopher Castor for the first time. Arthur cannot ever remember dreading his work as much as he does now, minutes before Dom will turn on the cameras. He tries desperately to center himself the way Christoph taught him years ago, but finds collecting his thoughts to be as fruitful as herding cats. He thinks he is probably scared shitless, and when Arthur is scared, he invokes marshal law over his mind and body, and refuses to relinquish even the smallest modicum of power. Arthur has been running the show since he got up this morning because Arthur has no weaknesses. Arthur can handle anything. Arthur is a hair’s breath away from yanking Cobb into the next room and telling him this whole idea is stupid and irresponsible and it’s a no fly. But then Eames is slinking out of the shadows, into the center of the shot, silent and powerful like a panther through jungle brush. His face has the most ungainly gleam to his eyes and Arthur cannot help but read it as a challenge. It’s like Eames knows that beyond the fourth wall, Arthur has no choice but to be plain with him. Outside of the forth wall Eames seems to exist solely to confuse and torment and invade Arthur’s space, but here, in this place, Arthur feels himself giving up and giving over as Christopher Castor, seeing Eames, recognizes something Arthur cannot, and rises to respond. Even as Christopher turns to meet Eames ‘eye, he feels his body grow weak and the air in his chest give out. Arthur’s jaw, usually clenched to migraine inducing tightness, softens and it feels strangely good to allow Christopher to take the wheel. Too good, in fact. It's too easy to go back to a place of helplessness when Arthur becomes Castor. Castor has nothing to hide, nothing to lose. Arthur has everything. Trust me, Chris Castor tells Arthur, I know what we need. It’s okay if I’m afraid. And that’s when Arthur closed his eyes and lets go.Chris turns pointedly away from Eames’ huge fucking body. Jesus, it emulates this weird sort of invasive control even though he’s not even touching Chris. "I'm not doing this." Christopher says, his voice both courageously certain and tenuous at the same time. Chris doesn’t look up to meet the other man’s face, but he feels strong cold hands wrap around his forearms, turning him bodily towards my partner, firm but not painfully so. Eames is making Chris face him like a man and all of a sudden Castor’s eyes fill. Crying without shame. Plain and simple, it's a hard thing to do, and probably impossible for a normal person. But Chris knows he’s different and, more importantly, Chris knows Eames is different, so he gathers what's left of his courage, and raises his wet eyes up to the larger man’s face. He shouldn't have. Arthur regrets looking into Eames’ face every time he does, and Chris regrets it now. Even though Arthur expected it, has assured himself a thousand times in his head and in his dreams that it would be this way, he is unprepared for what Chris will do or feel. Chris is actually relieved to see Eames' familiar eyes looking back at him, telling Chris he will only take what he is willing to give. Which is everything. The realization hits Arthur at the same time it hits Chris. Death or glory, they are both all in. And there is no turning back now. All of a sudden there is no crew, no Dom, no Christoph, and no movie- there is only the two of them."I can't." Chris finally says.Eames face crushes, just a little, but he is unrelenting. "But I-"Chris does not want to be here, with him, saying this world, so he slips it out as silently as he can- a mere breath. Surely Eames can't hear him breathing. "No."But of course Eames does hear, because Eames is always listening. "So is that what are you going to do? Just leave me like this…"Chris doesn’t answer, because Chris can’t breathe.Eames moves, it seems like the first time in years since either of them have moved. His large hands leave Chris’s arms and he runs his hands through his hair. It is an infinitely angry gesture. A simple act has never been more violent. It startles Castor so much, the tears, which have been nothing but a subtle dampness at the corners of his eyes, begin to actually trail down his face in slow, nearly invisible streaks."Fuck Chris, you can't do this to me. Do you hear?" Eames grabs his shoulders and even though Arthur knew it was coming, Chris thinks his body should cave in and crumble under the other man’s touch and is shocked when it does not. "I won't let you.""You shouldn't even care." Chris is helpless now. He knows it. He is but clay in Eames’ hands. "What about real life? What about the right thing?""What about it?" Eames is looking down at Chris with such a ferocious intensity, one hand back on Chris’s shoulder, the other boxing him in against the wall. Castor is positive being engulfed by a wildfire would feel no different. "Why does it matter?""How can you say that?" Eames' grip is getting increasingly tight. Arthur wonders if Eames is trying to hurt or deliberately give him bruises. Chris is wondering if he’ll even live through tonight."You're being selfish." Eames’ voice is filled with piss and vinegar, but in some way, it's also pleading. He is angry- angry at a past he can’t change, angry at the freedom he doesn’t have, and angry at Chris for existing when he cannot possess him as fully and completely as Eames needs. "You know what?” Chris fires back, “Maybe you're right. Maybe I am being selfish, maybe I…" he trails off, lost again. Arthur notices dispassionately how his soul seems to come out though Chris’s eyes in liquid form and wondering if this is how you become soulless.Speaking of soulless, Arthur wishes Dom would just take a gun to his head and get it over with instead of putting him through this bullshit. All Arthur can think is how he’s going to die from emotional over-expenditure, and how Chris won’t back down now that he’s successfully commandeered his body, even if it kills them both.There is a moment when all Chris can hear is the sound of Eames’ breath going in and out like the tide.“Look at me,” Eames commands softly. And Chris obeys automatically without stopping to consult Arthur first.“I have to be selfish.” He tells Eames, his voice stronger now that he is confessing the absolute, unvarnished truth. Chris’s face, which has been a picture of a man desperately trying to regain control and mask his emotions, cracks open now and the result is a broken thing, a terrifying surrender to reality. “I have to because I love you.” Eames is completely and utterly transfixed by Arthur, and he’s not the only one. The room is deathly silent after Arthur delivers the last line in a way that is so personal and raw, Eames feels like a voyeur by just looking at him. But he can’t look away and won’t look away because Arthur is speaking to him, bearing his soul to him, seeking understanding and acceptance from him, and he cannot leave him to navigate this on his own. Eames reaches out to the smaller man, but before he can touch Arthur, Cobb’s voice calling cut shatters the silence and everyone turns to look at him, blinking like bats blinded by sudden sunlight. “Now that is what I call chemistry!” Cobb crows to the room in joyful self-admiration. Initially today the director secretly hadn’t been sure if this was the best or the worst idea he’d ever come up with. There is a snort from Eames’ right, and he hears Arthur say, “The term you’re looking for, Dom, is acting.” Eames turns back to Arthur and finds the man completely unrecognizable. Although wearing the same clothes and standing in the exact same spot as two minutes ago, when the cameras had shut off, so had any semblance of vulnerability or even humanity in the actor. Arthur was back to his razor straight posture and was already booking it at a brisk trot away from Eames, calling for Marta to get him some still water with lemon. Christoph walks silently up behind Eames and nods, “You did well for your first time,” He concludes mildly. “You held your own with him.” “Thanks,” Eames says, still staring off in the direction Arthur had left. “You cannot let him get away from you,” Christoph’s voice, softer but sterner, drew Eames’ attention back to the actor. “Keep fighting back. It does not matter if you have no experience, don’t second guess yourself, follow your instincts. If you hesitate at all he will destroy you and the scene.” Eames nodded, looking down at Christoph, still slightly dazed. “I’ve never felt or seen anyone like…like that before.” Christoph smiles a little wistfully. “What happens when an actor is doing things right is the closest thing to real magic Hollywood has. If Arthur can get his mind in the right place, he can cast a spell over everyone who sees him. But he needs a lot of help getting there.” The veteran actor looks pointedly at Eames before walking off, and Eames can’t help but feel as though he’s missing something.