“You need to adjust yourself to the idea,” Mac said. “You have no choice.”
Billy and Mac stood on the rooftop terrace of Sylvester’s house – yes, that Sylvester – with its vista of San Francisco, all the way to the Berkeley hills. The setting western sun reflected tiny star-like specks off hundreds of windows from houses in the hills.
“Of course I have a choice. It’s my apartment. I could ask you to leave.”
“You wouldn’t do that. It’s my place, too. I redecorated it, I picked all the furniture.”
“And just who paid for it?” Billy said. And then he paused, looking across the city toward the golden hills. “This isn’t about the apartment. It’s about going back into the industry. You haven’t done a movie since before we got together.”
“I need to do this. First of all, I need the money. And second, I love the excitement of it.”
“Can’t understand why. It’s not like I haven’t provided for you all these years.”
“That’s it exactly. I need to earn my own money. I can’t live on your charity forever.”
“Charity? Who said it was charity?”
“And that’s the other thing. I’m not a kept woman.”
“Can’t you think of another way to earn money? You’re a smart man, Billy.”
“No, this is what I do. I signed a contract already. We start shooting in a week.”
“Tell me this, I have to know. Are you a top or a bottom in it?”
The sun passed behind some fog, and the golden reflections in the Berkeley hills disappeared.
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