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  SOUND PROOF

  C. A. BLOCKE

  When Chris is unceremoniously dumped by his longtime girlfriend, his best friend Thomas picks up the pieces and reminds him there's more to life than his lost relationship. In the process of letting go of a relationship that wasn't what he thought, Chris slowly comes to realize that everything he's ever wanted may have been right beneath his nose the whole time...

  Sound Proof

  By C.A. Blocke

  Published by Less Than Three Press LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.

  Edited by Laura Garland

  Cover designed by Kirby Crow

  This book is a work of fiction and all names, characters, places, and incidents are fictional or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.

  First Edition February 2017

  Copyright © 2017 by C.A. Blocke

  Printed in the United States of America

  Digital ISBN 9781620049518

  SOUND PROOF

  SANTA MONICA, 5PM FRIDAY

  They had spent the afternoon at the pier: the carousel, the arcade, eating too much junk food. The early spring sunshine was offset by a mild ocean breeze that caught the lingering stink of too many people sweating as they tried to convince themselves they really needed jackets at the end of April in California. Things were good. Things were great, right up until they stood outside the aquarium as the sun drew close to the tide line and Vanessa pulled the rug out from under Chris's feet.

  "I'm moving out Monday," Vanessa said with a forced blankness on her face, sipping her soda as though she hadn't just said it.

  "What?" Chris asked, looking up from a pamphlet on bay marine life.

  She looked down at the worn path under her feet. "Rent's paid through the end of the month. I'm flying out to New York for that guest spot, and I'm not coming back."

  Chris blinked rapidly and then closed his eyes as he tried to sort out exactly what she was saying. "W-why?"

  When she looked back up, a smudge of mascara on the corner of one eye was the only indication of her emotional state. Children shrieked somewhere that felt a hundred miles away. "It's been fun, Chris, but—"

  "Fun?" He sighed, letting out a held breath. "Six years and that's all I get? It's been fun?"

  "Well, what am I supposed to say, Chris?"

  "Maybe 'Thanks for a great day of fun and adventure! Let's go home and pretend we're going to cook dinner until we give up and go for sushi?' Fuck. Anything!" The knot of cotton candy and upset solidified in his gut, and Chris realized he was shouting but couldn't stop himself. "Why don't you just dump me in a fucking text? Maybe tweet it?"

  "Jesus, you're acting like a child. I knew it was going to be like this... Can't you just let it go?" She reached out to him, planting a slim hand on his chest to push him away. He let her, shaking his head in sheer frustration.

  "Let it go? I'm sorry, maybe you've had time to just let it go, but I've only known for a minute here."

  "And that's just why this is the way it is, Chris!" she shouted, passers-by paying them no attention. "We've been in this same rut for years! Nothing has changed and you just act like that's okay! It's not okay!"

  "How is it not okay? Everything's been great, hasn't it? I'm..." He hesitated, stumbling on the words. "I love you, Vanessa!"

  She sighed and turned her back to him, lowering her head. "You love the idea of me, Chris. Just like that stupid bartending job you always complain about but keep going back to just in case. I'm your fallback. You're shitty at dating and scared of taking risks, so we just keep doing what we've always done because it's safe."

  "Is this... is this because I didn't take that modeling job? I already told you, I don't want to be a model. I'm not a model. I... I act! I do voiceovers. I'm not just some pretty douchebag with abs." In a way, it made sense to him; she'd pushed him so hard to just take the money and let himself be plastered all over the internet in some stupid organic energy drink ad. It just wasn't who he was, even if it was a job.

  "Yeah. Because that's doing so well for you. When was the last time you booked a role?" She frowned somehow deeper, dark red lips pushing together like a boardwalk caricature.

  Chris tossed down the pamphlet and forced a hand through his hair, letting out another sigh. She had a point; it wasn't a good point or even one he really wanted to hear, but it stood up well enough. "It's... it's slow right now, okay? You know I'm doing the auditions. My demo reel is out there. My agent is..."

  "Stop making excuses, Chris. It's always 'Oh, my agent says this isn't the role for me. Oh, I wasn't blond enough. Oh, I was too young. Oh, I was too fucking proud to sell out for a body wash commercial.' Maybe if you just once took a chance you'd actually be happy with your life." She turned back to him; the mascara smudge had run down to her chin and tears actually wet her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't do this anymore. Just... just go. Okay?"

  CYPRESS PARK, 2AM SATURDAY

  He remembered walking, a lot of walking, and a shitty bar in Culver City. Cheap shots and an even worse house band than where he worked. He didn't really recall deciding to head out toward downtown, but his phone showed an overpriced Uber ride at 11:30. From there, he'd apparently found a bench near a nice fountain and decided to sleep it off. It wasn't the low racket of Tejano music down the block that woke him up, but the buzzing of his phone.

  "Hmm?" He answered, eyes too bleary to read who was calling. "Nessa?"

  "Finally, shit. I've been trying to reach you for two hours." The familiar voice of his best friend, Thomas, was not entirely who he'd hoped to be hearing. "Where the fuck are you?"

  "Mmmm..." He rubbed his eyes, slowly finding focus. "A park... I think. Nice bench."

  "Have you been drinking all night?"

  Chris sat up, hearing a tinkle of glass as he knocked over a pair of empty bottles that'd been nestled between his legs. "I think the cheap vodka says 'Yes'."

  "Christ." Thomas swore under his breath. "She did it, huh?"

  "Wha?"

  "Vanessa told Michael and Andrew who called Sara who called me... shit."

  He was far too deep in the bottle to follow the list of names, and instead opted to answer with a low groan.

  "I'll come get you," Thomas said.

  "No. No... I'm fine. Just gonna rest a bit." Chris brushed his long brown hair out of his face, looking out at the neighborhood to try and get his bearings.

  "I'm serious, Chris. At least tell me you'll come over. You shouldn't be alone right now."

  Chris groaned again, closing his eyes against the piercing pain of a street light flicking nearby. "Fine. Fine. I'll take a cab, Thomas. Don't, don't worry. It's fine. It's all fine."

  "It's not fine. I can barely understand what you're saying, Chris. You're fucking drunk."

  "Drunk as fuck." He chuckled to himself.

  "Promise me you'll come."

  "Promise. I promise." He sighed, feeling another wave of... something. Something sad. "Love you, man."

  "Yeah... I'll be waiting up."

  SILVERLAKE, 12PM SATURDAY

  Chris woke up again in an unexpected bed, sunlight warming his face through bent mini blinds. Managing his eyes open, yellow-green eyes stared back at him from only inches away. "Well... hello, Lemmy." He sighed.

  "That's Drizz, but I don't think he minds," Thomas answered, leaning over him to pick up the slender black cat. "Water and aspirin are right next to you."

  Chris groaned and closed his eyes again, reaching
out to find the uncoated tablets and a room temperature bottle of water. "So, I made it here."

  "Indeed. With a rather dedicated driver, I might add. You owe me a twenty-dollar tip for not having to clean up the mess you made in his backseat."

  "Wallet's in my pants." Chris waved with the hand clutching his water. "Probably empty."

  Thomas sighed and the mattress sank as he sat down on the opposite side. "I talked to my roommates. They said you can stay here for a while until things settle down, or if you just need a place to be for a while."

  Reality hit him again, Vanessa. A single fucking mascara track. The lump in his throat produced a hollow sob and Chris turned his head into the pillow.

  "It's okay," Thomas murmured, reaching out to rub Chris's bare back in slow circles. "Let it out, man. You know I don't judge."

  "She—" He hiccupped. "She fucking—"

  "I know." Thomas answered, leaning closer into him. "Hey, remember when Dominic broke up with me and then outed me on Facebook like... seven years ago?"

  Chris's voice cracked when he answered: "Yeah?"

  "Maybe don't check social media for a couple days."

  The tears came in force, and he wasn't sure if it was the residual sadness or the hangover anymore. Probably both. Finally, he sucked in a deep breath and forced himself to sit up, unsurprised when Thomas wrapped him in a tight hug that ended with Thomas forcing the pills into his mouth.

  "How bad is it?" he managed to ask after half a bottle of water and a few more long sobs.

  "Not that bad. There aren't any pictures yet."

  "Fuck." He sighed loudly, startling the second black cat that had come to investigate and sending him skittering back out of the room.

  Thomas embraced him again with a quick squeeze and then offered: "Come on, I'll make you eggs and you can come sit in the booth with me for a while. It'll make you feel better."

  He didn't want food, but the promise of a dark and quiet room sounded good enough to make it through a plate of fried eggs and sausages while Thomas's roommates pretended he wasn't sitting at the table in his tighty whities hung over.

  "I'm working late!" Melinda called from the living room half an hour later. "Who's home tonight?"

  "We'll be here," Thomas answered, watching Chris hold his head over his own barely touched plate. "I'm recording from home today."

  "I, uh... I'm working tonight," Chris said into half a glass of ice water. "I promised I'd close tonight."

  "Seriously? You think that's a good idea after last night?"

  Chris shrugged. "I've got bills to pay." His voice dropped and he added: "Probably more now."

  "I just don't think you should be in a bar right now."

  "I'll be working. It'll help me get my mind off things."

  Rolling his eyes, Thomas leaned forward and called back to his roommate: "I'll let you in when you get back, darling. Don't worry." Then he said in a softer tone, "Call out tonight and I promise you'll have work today."

  "Mmmm?" Chris finished his water, laid out his fork across the plate, and then asked, "You can't promise me that, Thomas. Don't be a dick."

  "I'm not being a dick. I've got a project I'm doing..."

  Of course he did, because Thomas always had a project. More often than not it was a project that ended up costing him more than he made and ended in absolute disaster. "Let me guess, an art installation piece about homoerotic subtext as a form of misogyny in the works of Lovecraft?"

  "Don't be stupid. Though..."

  "Fine, I'll bite. What's the project?" Chris sighed, giving in to both the headache making a dull throb across his forehead and the hopeful look on Thomas's face.

  "Not until you call out."

  His frown deepened when Thomas slid his phone across the table. "You're a dick."

  "A dick that offered you a place to crash and a job and damage control... and oh my god, I'm a monster."

  *~*~*

  It had been over a year since Chris had been in the small booth-slash-walk in closet Thomas preferred to record in when he wasn't at a proper studio and, while the clothes hadn't changed much, the setup was relatively updated. "Okay, so what's the gig?"

  Thomas's smile spread across his chubby cheeks as he sat down in the large leather chair in front of the computer. Waiting until Chris had taken the kitchen chair he'd dragged in just for his use and closed them into the tiny room, he answered simply: "Audio books."

  "Audio books?" Chris deadpanned. "Are you fucking serious? It's hard enough dealing with video game work and you're throwing in with publishers?"

  Thomas's smile didn't fade. "Trust me, you know I have an angle," he answered, leaning back in his chair as he tapped on his phone. "I work with small publishers who have exclusive recording rights. They pay a flat fee based on total finished hours, and after editing a reading, I send it off and get paid."

  Chris's phone chirped and he picked it up to see the file Thomas had sent him. "Okay, so the pay's gotta be shit."

  "It's not thousands per book, but it's steady work if they like your voice—which they will, given the lack of male voicers willing to read this sort of thing."

  Even as Thomas spoke, Chris read over the title—Pounding Heat—and couldn't help but laugh. "It sounds like gay porn."

  "They prefer male-male erotic romance." Thomas corrected him. "And this one is. Most of them are, I think. They sell better when read with a masculine tone. I think you'd be a good fit to sit in on a read with me, and it sure as hell beats masturbatorily seducing myself."

  "And people pay for this?"

  "Slightly above the union minimum per completed hour, more for some difficult content."

  Chris raised an eyebrow. "What's considered difficult?"

  "Mostly just the weird stuff: tentacles, were-creatures, hard BDSM. I don't do much for the specialty publishers, but if there's need—"

  "And you just read it?" Chris shifted in his seat, scanning through the pages Thomas had sent him, starting at page 15. "This is like... porn."

  Thomas shrugged. "It's a job. I mean, seriously? Fuck, I'd do porn if there was a call for balding, pudgy thirty-eight-year-old gay guys that aren't hung like a monster."

  Chris rolled his eyes, patting Thomas's sock-clad foot when he put it up on the chair between Chris's thighs. "I don't know, I'm still establishing myself... I can't really have my name attached to a gay thing."

  "Oooh, a gay thing. I'll protect you from the big scary gayness." Thomas deadpanned, prodding Chris's thigh with his foot. "I just use a pseudonym in case there's crossover between my genre work and erotica. You know, you talk a big homophobe game for someone I met in a gay bar back room."

  "Come on, man. You know I'm not a homophobe. Just some of us aren't as open about things. You know how hard it is to be a gay actor... Now imagine being in a position where people tell you that because you're bi you just can't pick a side or that you're only dating women until you come out as gay."

  "In fairness, you started dating Vanessa because you were afraid to come out." Thomas shot back, glowering at him over his phone.

  Chris frowned, making to push up out of his chair before Thomas's foot pressed his thigh back down. "I started dating Vanessa because the same asshole that outed you threatened to do the same thing to me if we kept dating."

  "Hold up, the asshole you wouldn't let me meet was Dominic? My ex Dominic?" Thomas shifted forward, dropping his foot back down. "When did this happen? Why would you even think that was okay?"

  "It was like a year after you broke up. I don't know. I mean he was hot and it was just a stupid thing, and I was an idiot. I didn't tell you because I know you can be a bitch about exes and you guys had bad blood after what he did."

  "A bitch?" Thomas's glare intensified. "Alright, get out of my booth."

  "Oh, come on..."

  "I mean it: Get the fuck out of my booth! I mean, even without addressing what he did to me, why would you do that to yourself? Are you really that fucking shortsighted?"

&nbs
p; Chris was well aware of his historically terrible decisions, with men and women, and as much as he didn't want to hear about it, Thomas had a very valid point. It had been shortsighted from the beginning, and he hadn't even really thought about it in the heat of the moment. Dominic was just attractive and it worked for a hot second. "Tom..." Chris's face softened and he forced himself to try and see things from Thomas's perspective. "Thomas. Come on, man. You know me. Sometimes I do stupid shit, and I didn't tell you because I'm kind of an asshole and it was like six years ago! We only dated for maybe a month."

  The edges of Thomas's mouth crinkled and Chris couldn't help but smile, watching him accept it with a hollow, humorless laugh. "I can't believe you sometimes, Chris. You just..." He sighed. "Okay, you know what, fine," Thomas said. "But you have to read the lady voices."

  "Aww... but you're better at that."

  "I know. Damn it. Just don't call me a bitch, okay?"

  Chris reached down and picked up Thomas's foot, putting it back in the comfortable nook between his legs, and said, "Fair enough. Where's my mic?"

  GRIFFITH PARK, 4PM SATURDAY

  "So, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Thomas asked, lying down on the grass as Chris sorted out the mess of burgers and fries they'd ordered for lunch. "You're not the worst love interest I've worked with."

  Chris laughed, shaking his head despite the painful spike of a hangover still lingering. "Not bad... Yeah, I'm not sure I'd call making sex noises and spouting awkward dialogue for three hours not bad."

  "I liked the sex noises. We'll have to work on getting you not to giggle when you say 'fuck me harder' though. She uses that phrase a lot." Thomas absently dragged a few fries through a small pool of ketchup before lying back to munch. "And you kind of sounded a bit like you were trying to be Justin Bieber."

  "It's the go-to, twenty-something guy sound, man. That was hot. Even when I giggled." Chris shrugged, sitting cross legged as they looked out over the park. After a long but comfortable silence he said, "Thanks for going into the apartment for me. I'm just not really ready to be there yet."