Work Text:
Two hours after last seeing each other-
Heyyyyy, Tony! It’s Gob. I mean, you knew that because you just clicked on the message with my name on it but hey! You’d probably know it was me if it were a billion years ago and this was an answering machine. I mean, I guess that’s more “psychic” than “illusionist,” but who cares right! You’re Tony fucking Wonder! My man!
Hey, imagine if it were actually thirty years ago and we knew each other as kids. Maybe we could have come up with a friend code for phone calls. You know, I’d call you and let it ring twice and then hang up and then wait thirty seconds and call again and let it ring until you picked up. You ever do that with friends too? I tried to do it once with the one kid who played with me at recess. Well, okay, “played” is maybe a strong word since I paid him fifties from my mom’s wallet to let me practice my card tricks on him, but we did that phone code until my dad saw me do it and said that only girls played phone games and then he unplugged the phone from my room and put it in Michael’s room instead. And when I told the school kid what happened, he freeeeeeeaked out, like I think he thought I was telling him we were being girly and I tried to give him more money to play with me, I was stealing hundreds from my mom’s purse, but he ditched me and my cards because of gender norms I guess. So I was left playing solitaire, right? Ha! Yeah. Good joke.
Ugh, Tony. Where were you then?
Anyway, here we are now, reunited at last! That thing about being competition was fake, right? As fake as us being gay. Now we’re just two straight dudes against the world like old times! We’re a goddamn revolution in relationships! We should start campaigning for straight marriage between two guys. Do you want to be my straight husband?
Ha. Well. Last thing I expected was to end this message with a marriage proposal but you know what I mean. Anyway. Call me back! Solitaire is boring. Okay! Bye.
***
The next afternoon-
Hey Tony, it’s Gob. Obviously! This probably seems stupid, me calling you after seeing you literally last night, but hey, what’s a little stupidity between friends? I mean, nothing that happened between us last night was stupid. I only mean that other people would say it was stupid for two straight guys to do what we did. But screw ‘em! If you understand, why does ANYONE ELSE need to?
It’s pretty cool to say that, you know. “Screw ‘em,” I mean. Someone in the Magicians’ Alliance made fun of me once because I was ooooooobviously only into magic because I wanted attention from my family, so he said, “Screw you Gob for not being serious about your craft.” And in my head I was like, “You’re the one who needs a good screwing, oooooooobviously!” But I didn’t say that. I guess I was just tired that day. Tired that life.
“That life.” Yikes, that sounds bad. I’m just saying that because my parents left the show before I finished my act that night. So it was just a regular continuation of my life, really.
Anyway! I just wanted to say hey. And, you know, thank you. I had a great time. I won’t keep you much longer, but there’s stuff I didn’t say to you, and I should probably wait to say it to you in person, but I can’t keep everything inside ALL of the time.
So you know how you said that thing about feeling like a weed when you were growing up, before you got into magic and got famous and successful? I related to just about everything you said, like my family telling me I’d be broke forever, and your parents didn’t give you any money either, and kids at school thinking I was a dumbass for trying to make a career out of rabbits and smoke, and you got straight up bullied, and those early gigs sucked because people threw bottles at me onstage, and you know how it was, getting booed. But you had it worse than me maybe, like you actually did go broke before your gay show took off. And you felt like a weed that had been stepped on and then ripped up?
I feel really honored you told me that stuff. I thought about it for like four hours today. It made me think about how I feel bruised sometimes, all up and down my insides, and that makes so much sense, because when you handle a flower petal wrong, it gets “bruised,” right? So you’re not a weed, Tony. You’re like me, just a flower with bruised petals. We’re the same, right?
But if you don’t want to be a flower, it’s okay. Flowers are kind of dumb. I don’t know why I said flowers. They’re pretty, but yeah. Dumb.
There was something else you said that made me want to say “same,” except you touched my hand maybe two seconds before I could say it and my brain cells all died. They made a really valiant effort to stay alive but then I just let them take a hike, because I could choose to think about what was happening, or just forget my brain and just feel you all over me. I say no to coherent thoughts! But yes to shirts off!
I tried to rhyme just now. Don’t think I succeeded. But you know what I mean, I think.
Okay. Leaving you alone now until I hear from you again. Do you want to make plans to meet up again? Just wondering. Call me back soon. If you want. Okay. Bye.
***
The next morning-
Hey! Tony! So, I didn’t hear from you yesterday. As you know. Don’t tell me you’re back doing three shows a day in some amateur sleaze dump and don’t have free time for your straight husband.
Oh. Well, okay, we never actually talked about that the other night in bed like I thought we would and so I don’t actually have a ring on my finger yet. Whatever. Never mind. You’re stuck with same old me and my silly jokes. You’re pretty much the only person I’d admit to that they’re silly. The only one. But I know you like them, so we need to hang out again so I can projectile vomit them all over you. Ha, you’re gonna be balls deep in them, I swear, they’re gonna squeeze your ass so hard. Sexy, right? Good wedding night plan? I’ll even bring you dumb flowers!
Yeah. Sorry. Making it weird, maybe. It’s just hard to shut up right now. You were away a really long time and the other night was so short. I mean, it felt so short. How did being in bed with you until the sun came up feel short? Marriage is weird! Oh right. That part is still just in my head.
So. Call me today. Okay. Bye.
***
Midnight-
Hey, Tony. Look, I get it’s late, but I didn’t hear from you today. Which you already know. Are you getting these messages? Can you call me tomorrow and just tell me you’re getting them? You don’t have to say anything about my childhood sob stories or the straight husbands bullshit. All that stupid stuff that doesn’t really matter. I mean, it does matter, but it just. Never mind, ha, it’s fine. Just tell me you’re still here. It’s not that much to ask, right? I mean, it’s me. Come on, right?
Okay. Please. Call me.
***
The next afternoon-
Tony, come on. What the fuck. Why aren’t you answering me? Would you like it if I did this to you? Disappeared from your life and ruining your act in the process and then ruining your actual life by being gone? Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it, I’ll admit that you ruined my life with that parade cement act shit. I thought my life was ruined when my mom and dad skipped my first professional show because they wanted to give me a “character building exercise” because “you can’t always get what you want, Gob” and “the sooner you learn disappointment, the sooner you’ll get used to life.” I mean, fuck, I’ve thought my life was ruined a lot more times since then but that was the first time I let myself cry. You wanna imagine that? A kid who didn’t cry their whole life until they were twenty-one? Thank god I was legal age and got smashed afterwards. I thought it would make me forget about crying. Guess not.
You know, I didn’t cry when you were gone, but that doesn’t mean you didn’t ruin my life. Congrats to you, buddy!
You wanna make me cry, Tony? Would that make you happy? I haven’t cried in a long time, so you’d be in for a motherlode of a pent-up dam! Guess what, pal! Your ass is getting soaked with geriatric liquid pain and there’s no toweling it off, you know why? You had cement poured in the closet with all the towels! You ruined your one hope of escape from me and my snotty nose! I’ll blow it on your face.
“I’ll blow it on your face.” Okay. That‘s a pretty sexual thing to say out of context. See, this is something we could laugh about if we were together. We could laugh our asses off together at the idea of me still being gay. But “I miss you” isn’t gay. You missed me too, right? Right? I mean, you don’t sleep with people you don’t miss, right?
Right. I’m right. I know I am. So fucking CALL me, okay? Come on. Bye.
***
Three-thirty in the morning-
Hey Tony. I already knew this would go to voicemail when I called because it’s fucking three-thirty in the morning. But I just wanted to say that I don’t think I did a good job today saying that I understood you when you said it’s too weird to actually be together. The being together thing, I…I threw it out there pretty fast. I got nervous. It was just hard tonight seeing you sit on the opposite side of the couch again, instead of, you know, seeing you lay next to me in bed. But I get it. That was just a wild thing we did to see if it was any good without masks on. Because we’re wild guys who just happen to be stupidly sexy when we’re together! And stupidly sexy people have sex with each other! But that need is out of my system now. I promise. Flushed completely out, those laxatives I took were the shit. Get it? Ha ha. Of course you do. Dumb joke.
Just more dumb stuff I say. Okay. Maybe we can hang some other time. Call me if you feel like it. It’s all good, no hard feelings. Unlike the other night, no hard anything! If you could only see in my pants! I’d prove it to you!
Yeah. Sorry. That was too much. I’ll see you maybe. Again. Sorry. Bye.
***
A week later-
Hey. Hear me out. There’s stuff I didn’t say and I can’t wait any longer.
I meant it, the “I get it” thing. It’s weird. It’s weird because I’m straight, except I’m definitely fucking not, and no box on a float or cement on a stage is gonna re-hetero me. I’m scared, Tony. I’ve been banging women for decades but the first time you touched me, even though it was supposed to be this sick revenge joke, I swear to god when you put just one hand on my bare arm, I thought, “Finally. Here he is. I was waiting for him all along and now I found him. And now I’m really me.”
I knew before then, when I met you. Maybe even before that. I don’t know. Yeah, probably. Women are hot but none of them made me feel what you did. “Yes, oh god, yes, this is it, this is the real shit, I’m so gay that it’d be painful if I didn’t feel so free right now.” That was you, Tony.
Surprised? Your straight pal is in gay love with you. All this time. Did you catch on? It doesn’t matter, I guess. It just matters that I did.
And now my brain won’t shut up about how now I know who I am. I can’t stop thinking about that being the real cement in my life, the thing I know is gonna stick in my brain. In me. I did the whole straight-gay guy thing for how long when you were gone? And in front of my family? But you weren’t here, so I could stop being brave because it was a joke. Story of my life, right? If I just accept I’m a joke, to my family, to everybody, then I don’t have to be brave. If I just accept that I disappoint everyone, and just wave my little wand and swish my little handkerchiefs and throw my little doves, then no one can really hurt me. I accept I belong in the garbage with my dead birds and a million wrong playing cards. People can throw trash on me and I’d say, “POUR GOD-SIZED SHIT ON ME! BECAUSE I CAN TAKE IT! I’M THE RULER OF THE CRAP KINGDOM AND NONEXISTENT SELF-ESTEEM!”
So here’s a thought. What if I were brave and said to those people, “FUCK YOU! I don’t deserve garbage juice down my throat! I’m gay and I’m scared but at least I’m not a joke!”
Well fuck. I didn’t mean it to come out that way. “Come out.” Ha.
Shit. You know what, no. I can’t make a joke out of that either. I’m gay. And I’m bruised, Tony.
That’s all I can say to you, I guess. I’m gay, bruised, not a joke, gay, scared, and gay to down to my bones and I want to make it so fucking weird between us if it means I get to be myself and you see me.
This is me, Tony. The guy you don’t want to be together with.
Okay. That was my very Christian sermon. Look, I can still blaspheme! You can delete my number now. Fuck, I’m scared. I want to be together. You were never a joke to me, or a trick, or even magic. Not really. I thought you were magic, that night in the mask. Just another illusion. But now I know those were the most natural feelings I’ve ever had. Loving you is such a natural thing to me, Tony.
I’m scared as fuck. Right now. Always. Erase this message. I made it really weird. Shit. I’m trying to be brave. If you’re straight, just know that I’m not.
I want to be together. Chisel that into cement. And then disappear, if you want. Bye, Tony.
Bye.
Hey. Tony, if there’s any chance you feel - BEEEEEEEP THE INBOX OF THE PERSON YOU ARE CALLING IS NOW FULL BEEEEEEEP
***
Two weeks later-
Tony, hey. I’m sorry you had to get my voicemail. I was in a meeting with my new Magicians’ Alliance. I’m the president, obviously, and this time I’m writing it into my contract that I can’t get blacklisted for blabbing about something that’s not gonna make any difference in how seriously people take me. Because I might be ridiculous, but I’m not stupid.
Alright, if I am, then I’m fucking stupid, but I’m smart enough to know it.
I can hear you rolling your eyes. I’m psychic when I’m brave.
I’m free tonight if you want to call or hang out. Either one.
And I missed you too. You know that. Bye.
***
Three days later-
Tony. I’m in your bathroom because I don’t want to wake you up because I’m leaving you a voicemail at four AM because you’re asleep, but I want to talk to you, but I don’t want to wake you up. I haven’t put my clothes back on yet. I really hope you enjoy that visual of me naked when you wake up and listen to this. If I’m in bed with you when you do, you have my permission to throw your phone against the wall and throw the covers off me instead. As if you needed my permission, but I’m feeling generous and you should take advantage of that.
That thing you said earlier, about saying “I’m gay,” for the first time and meaning it, about how being courageous felt like the fear was breaking your back but then you stood up and you were eye-level with the world for the first time. I felt that. So stop apologizing for ignoring my calls. You think my hands didn’t shake when I left you some of those messages? It’s scary as fuck, Tony. But you saying, “Gob, I’m gay, it was never just my show, my persona, no, I’m truly, really fucking gay”? You telling me, who craves external validation like it’s desert oasis water on Mars? No applause I’ve ever gotten made my heart race like when you said that. But don’t you dare bring up the fact that my applause record is sketchy. I’ll kick your ass out of bed. I still want applause. I’m still me. Just. You know. Gay me who loves gay you.
Anyway. Like I said earlier, I’m okay with taking things slow. My family already knows I’m gay, I think I got the point across when I cut up the “HAPPY COMING HOME FROM PRISON DAD MOM BUSTER” sign and just kept the “HAPPY COMING” part and tacked on a paper at the end that said “OUT GOB” and then finger painted rainbows all over it. Mostly everyone looked bored and I heard a few muffled “Took him long enough”s, but Michael smiled at me. That was nice. I guess I’m forgiven for the forget-me-now. Or at least, you know, he forgot about it.
Alright. Let’s play a game. If I’m in bed with you when you listen to this, then kiss me. Yeah, with the phone still in your ear. Did you do it yet? I’m waiting.
Ha. You did do it. How did I know, you ask yourself as I kiss you back? Because even if you haven’t said you love me, you hold my hand a lot when we’re together. In bed, yeah, but when you talk to me about all your bruised petals too. We talk about ourselves like we’re flowers. That’s a trust thing. How do I know that, you ask?
Beats me. I don’t know it. It just feels natural.
Hang up now so you can use both of your hands on me.
I’m waiting.
***
A year later-
Hey babe. Sorry I missed you. Was calling the hardware store about the new lighter fluid shipment. I’ve been practicing with it every night when you fall asleep before me, which is always, as you know. God, I’m good at exhausting you. I should get an award. I’ll make myself one that says, “Best Fuck Of Tony’s Life, It’s Only Natural Since It’s Gob Fucking Bluth.” It’ll be my favorite thing I’ve done since founding the Gay Magicians’ Alliance. God, I’m a genius. As Vice President, you can present it to me. Anyway, I go out on the deck with all the fire stuff so don’t worry about our bedroom. The banisters outside need painting, though. I sort of scorched them just a little one night. Being homeowners sucks. We’ve made a huge mistake.
Whatever. I’ll deal. You’ll deal. We’ll deal together.
Yeah, anyway. I’ll be home for dinner and you can tell me about your new show idea. Make popcorn we can throw in each other’s mouths. That’s always good foreplay. And I love you, too. I’ll always love you, too. See you soon. Okay. Bye.