Los Angeles, August 2008

I was sitting at the kitchen table, perfectly aware I'd only get one shot. I had already heard the front door slamming in the distance hence I knew the boys were gone and we were alone. I had finally got what I wanted: Rob and a place to talk just the two of us. 

Pity was, that I had no idea of what to do with that. I had no idea of what to say. I had no idea of what he expected me to say. I had no idea of what would make it better or worse.

Rob was making some coffee, his back facing me. I cleared my throat.

- so you are gay .

- are you disappointed? 

- of course I'm not. 

He sneered at me, shaking his head.

- Rob, I'm sorry for being…cold, before. I just didn't expect you to talk about it and in any case I thought you were… I don't even know …bi maybe.

- guess it'd sound better to your ear.

- I'm not saying that. 

- you're not saying it, but you certainly believe so.

- you're wrong

- am I? 

He turned abruptly, came and sat next to me, a sudden tension showing on his face. It was like all the effort he'd been making for the previous hours had left him unable to pretend any longer..and I was the one to take the worst of him.

- is it really the same to you, that I'm a FOD? 

- what...

- I actually like the feeling of being in drag, haven't I told you yet? what do you think of it?

-  I don't know why you're getting annoyed at me 

- are you wondering if I'm a top or a bottom?

- I'm just trying…

- is it the same to you, that I like to be taken control of as much as to take it or even more?  

- stop the bullshit

- is it the same to you, now that you got to know that I'm a fucking queer?

Before I could reply, he got up and moved to the open shelves, pretending he was busy finding some more sugar. 

- why on earth should I be bothered if you're gay?

- you know the answer

This really hit me out of the blue. What was he talking about?!

- I swear I don't

- you're still a bad liar.

- Rob, I'm lost here… 

- aren't we all?

He put the two mugs in the sink. It clearly showed that he was about to leave the room.

- don't go. I mean..please, stay a little bit more…let's talk...talk to me. 

- that's my song Gaz(*1). Can't you speak your own words?

- you've got no reason to be scared

- I'm not scared, I'm bored

- You're scared and I know it. Do you want to stay here pretending to be okay when in fact you're so messed up you don't even leave your house for a walk?! - I raised my hands like giving up - then fine with me. 

- I've never asked for your help.

- you're too afraid to ask anything to anybody.

- sounds like a lost case. Are you giving up on me, Gaz? This feels like déjà-vu.

- go ahead and blab as if you were in a cheap soap-opera of yours! Maybe you missed that there's no one here! It's just you, me and this huge weight on our shoulders..whom are you're pretending for?! Or it comes to you as natural as breathing?! 

My words came out loud and nasty, more than I had meant them to be..and I immediately regretted losing my temper.

Weird enough, Rob went suddenly quiet. 

I stole a glance at him just in time to make our eyes meet. It was just a moment and I may be wrong, but it felt like he was pleased that I cared enough about him to anger. He said nothing: came back to the table, though.

As he sat down, he got back hiding behind the usual facade.

- don't you dare treat me like a child, Gaz - he said, handing me a mug.

- stop acting like one then.

- I'm not, I'm just pointing out that there's nothing left to say. We're pals again, everything's fine. No further discussion needed.

- look who's the bad liar, now

- then explain me what's the point in this chat! I told you I'm gay, you said it's fine. So what? what are we doing here? do you wanna show me how sympathetic you are with my closeted gay life?

- I just want you to confide in me. I want you to really understand how sorry I am for what happened back then..

- here we go. you're here to show me that you're better than I'll ever be, 'cause you can forgive me when I couldn't forgive you. Got it, Gas, no need to bother. We'd been talking about that stuff all evening. I've changed, you've changed. You're not that bossy anymore, I'm not that cunt anymore. I'm sorry for what I said and you're sorry for not listening to me. No need to repeat it all over again.

- actually, I want you to understand..

- that you're better than me because I punched you in the face when you were already crawling on the floor, while you've just come here to save my life when there was no reason for it. How noble of you. You're really that national treasure they say.

- is your cynicism meant to be hurting me? Because seriously Rob, it doesn't.

- They say you need a heart to get it broken

- I tell you for the last time: stop playing your stage persona with me. I'm not taking any of this crap.

- then you stop psychoanalyzing me.

I fought the urge of hitting back at him.

I sighed, eyes half-closed, venturing how to deal with him, how to break the wall, given that he wasn't able to let it fall.

I've known him since we were almost kids and well enough to sense he meant nothing of what he said. I knew he felt guilty for what he'd done to me, as I knew that despite his huge success, despite all his money, he still felt inadequate. He was scared of being pitied and scared of being rejected (*2): just I didn't know if he wanted my friendship or more than that. As well as I didn't know how to put the finger on it. The problem was, he wasn't a kid anymore: he was a man, a hard one, and I couldn't change his mind as I used to do back then. I couldn't hold his hand saying it's alright as I used to (*3).

Honestly, I didn't know what to do.

He was standing defeated in front of me: his head low, both his hands placed on the table, as if they were holding up his whole body through the arms.

I've experienced myself what being at the bottom means and he mirrored it perfectly: his face showed the marks of his past drugs addiction, he couldn't stop fidgeting, he was overweight and his hair was a total mess. 

Still, he was the most beautiful man to me and there was no one I wanted more on the whole earth. 

I just wanted him back.

When we had met at the Conrad hotel he wasn't well and I knew it. What had hurt me the most was the feeling of being powerless: I was kind of a stranger to him, we barely talked to each other and we lived - we still live - in different countries. I was not allowed to give him any advice of any kind and he'd probably refuse them as the best evidence that my old attitude of directing people's lives was about raising again. I hadn't been there to wipe his tears, I hadn't been there to prevent him from falling. 

According to the press, he had this new Turkish girlfriend: it was her task then, not mine. 

He had Max Beesley too, whatever you wanna name their relationship: I knew he was living with Rob, even if Rob was officially in a relationship with the girl (*4). I also knew that Max wasn't the right one, though: Rob has never gotten along with actors.

Most important, I knew that I'd take care of Rob better than these two.

You may say I'm arrogant and you're probably right. Would I succeed if I was in their shoes? I actually don't know. What I know for sure, though, is that they both failed.

Rob's life cracked less than two years ago because he hadn't been able to quit his drugs addiction. He was clearly under drugs and out of himself, on stage as well as off stage. If you love him, then don't watch his South America live performances, because it'd be too painful.

Until one day the press announced he had been taken to hospital, 24 hours far from death.

I really felt like it was me, the one about to die. 

Thank God, he went to rehab.

I prayed for his recovery every single day. I even wrote a song for him. I didn't want to look pathetic to him, though: I asked Mark to sing it (*5). 

Now, he was more or less clean: still, nothing had changed in his life. He had found his supposed better half, but this hadn't been of any help (and now I got why: he was gay). He lived like a recluse, with this huge bunch of gay friends hanging around the house the whole time, while his supposed girlfriend lived in another area of the villa. He was still drinking more than he should and frequently facing panic attacks (*6). His self-esteem had been kind of destroyed and he wasn't confident enough to perform. He was so fucking scared of being hurt, that he was unable to open his heart to me.

I'd try everything, though: "nobody said it was easy", wasn't that the lyric?