Page 119 of King of Hollywood
They’d become fast friends…to my horror.
Especially when I discovered that Felix did not, in fact, own a cell phone—but a dusty old antique that hung from the wall. Which…explained why he had never answered my text messages. And also meant that he needed a phone. As soon as possible.
When I’d bought him one, we’d spent an entire weekend texting back and forth while sitting together on his couch while I tried to teach him how to use it. Felix texted like an old man. His tongue poking out, with one finger hitting each key very slowly.
It was…the cutest fucking thing I’d ever seen.
When he discovered the camera, I ascended to a higher plane. Because randomly, throughout the work week, he would send me pictures of things. I was starting to suspect that he set alarms to wake himself up so he could do so throughout the day. His sleep suffered, but our relationship did not. How could it? When I got selfies of Felix snuggled up in his coffin—yes, an actual coffin, my little goth gremlin—with all three of our cats. He sent me blurry pictures of the things he’d seen in his telescope the night before—though I couldn’t see what the hell he was trying to show me. I always replied with emojis, because he got a kick out of them. Though…it did take me quite some time to select the correct one. Sometimes, I consulted Winnie. Which she found great delight in. Apparently she thought it was very entertaining helping me flirt with my boyfriend.
When Winnie and Felix had exchanged phone numbers, however, all hell broke loose.
She sent him pictures of me as a child.
As a child.
And Felix—because he was Felix—asked me a thousand and one questions about them. Like…why was I wearing a cowboy hat? (I lived on a farm, where we dealt with cattle, those things often went hand in hand.) Is this why you’re so good at lawn work? (I didn’t really think those skill sets crossed over, but okay.) Why was I frowning while wearing Christmas pajamas? (Because they are awful, and I refused to ever do it again.)
Unless he asked.
Obviously.
But yes. Felix. Winnie. Friendship. Ugh.
I was happy to see him coming out of his shell, but that didn’t mean I wanted my sister to be the person he talked to. What if she told him about that time I’d tripped face-first into a pile of cow shit? I didn’t want him to know that about me. What if she told him about how when I was little I’d suck my thumb so often my mother had started painting my nails to dissuade me? Because chipping the polish—and its acrid taste—were far more unpalatable to me than letting go of my oral fixation.
When Felix stared at the photos of me, a wistful expression crossed his face every time. He stared at the sunny spread of the farm I’d lived on for most of my childhood, and my heart would ache for him, and all that he’d lost. Felix had no photos. When he’d left his old identity behind—all his belongings had ended up at estate sales.
Now, they were auctioned off online for exorbitant amounts of money. Collectible items for his fans—who were still very much around, despite it having been over seventy years since the last time he’d appeared on a big screen. Part of him, I think, delighted in the knowledge that all these years later he was still loved.
But I think…it made him sad too.
It was a life he could never return to.
I asked him once, why he’d taken the change. Why he’d chosen the darkness the way he had.
“I thought…” Felix had answered, his voice hushed, head leaning against my shoulder. We were tucked up on his couch, our cats staring at us from their perch on the cat tree. I had a glass of wine in one hand, and Felix was so soft as he nuzzled against me. “I could make it last.” The quiet tremble to his voice nearly broke me. “Like…time would slow, and I could keep it forever.”
“The fame?”
“The adoration,” he corrected gently. “My childhood was not…what one would call happy. I think…I just…”
“You just?”
“I just wanted to be loved,” his voice trembled and I set my wine glass down, reaching for his face and giving it a squeeze as I tipped it upward. The look on his face shattered me. My heart ached.
“I love you,” I said simply, and Felix laughed—even though I could tell the simple statement meant the world to him.
“You have my face on a t-shirt,” he countered, eyes dancing. “You have an album on your phone titled ‘Felix’ with over three-thousand photos in it.” I nodded, because both of those things were true. “You had my name tattooed over your heart.” It was better than getting his face tattooed on my ass. “You doodle our names together on your work notes.” I hadn’t known he knew that. My cheeks flushed a bit but I nodded. “You love me…more wholly than any of my fans ever have.”
I blinked, eyes narrowed. “I am your number one fan.”
“You’re much more than that,” Felix kissed me, steady and soft. He tasted like forever. My heart fluttered.
Felix told me the sun was one of the things he missed the most about being alive.
So I, because I was the best partner-boyfriend-lover ever, made a plan to give him whatever sunlight I could—in whatever capacity I could.
And three years later—when my gray had grown in, and we’d outgrown our tiny town—we moved to an apartment in the city together. I will admit…a lot of the reason we decided to abandon the suburbs was because now that the both of us had shared…hobbies—it was much easier to partake in said hobbies when there was a larger population to whittle at.
