Chapter Text
It had been three months since Rick last spoke to Cliff. Their parting after Italy was taken seriously even after Cliff’s short stint in the hospital from the hippie attack, and Rick had no idea what Cliff was up to. Hell, he could be dead for all he knew.
Sure, Francesca was decent enough company. A good fuck, at least. Definitely a lot more expensive to keep than Cliff was, and a lot louder and more opinionated than him as well. But still, nothing that would make him want to do any harm to her and make him a rumor mill. He was learning more Italian and being fed well enough by her, so that was one quality where she had an advantage over Cliff.
Unfortunately, he did learn quickly that she wasn’t going to tolerate his whining and sniveling ass like Cliff did. Guess it was time for him to ‘man up’ and be the one taking care of the other partner. His checkbook wasn’t enough on its own; he actually had to put her feelings and wants above his own. Fuck. How did Cliff ever tolerate his ass and never demand anything in return? And should he have done the same and ask what he wanted once in awhile?
Who knows. Too late now.
Rick still felt too much of a coward to call Cliff. Maybe he was scared Cliff would hate him and let him finally know once and for all how much resentment he built up towards him all these years. Or, you know, the whole idea that maybe he’s dead. Rick couldn’t shake the thought of Cliff overdosed and lying in a ditch somewhere due to homelessness and being unemployable. Or a broken heart. Either way, it would be Rick’s fault.
Goddamnit, Rick. Cliff is fine. He’s always fine. That man can survive anything. Survived you, didn’t he?
Rick took a deep breath as he dumped the premiere invite into the mailbox. His work overseas was finally starting to make its way stateside, and Kill Me Quick, Ringo, Said The Gringo was up first at the end of the year. He honestly had no idea if Cliff would show or if he would receive it, but inviting him this way was the only nerve he could get up at the moment
—
Premiere night finally arrived. Rick tolerated the dog and pony show as best he could without letting his real feelings on the Italians’ way of doing things slip out. After all, they might be the only ones who can save his career right now. Say what the interviewers want to hear. Look how the cameras want you to look with that arm candy wife on your arm. Don’t let them know that your mind couldn’t be further from this damn movie.
But by the time the lights came up and the standing ovation (probably out of courtesy) finally ended, there was no sign of Cliff to be found no matter how many times Rick scanned each seat. Maybe he was just busy today; it was short notice after all. Or maybe it got lost in the mail.
Or maybe he doesn’t give a flying fuck about you anymore.
It’s been awhile since Rick had a late night drunk in the pool, but boy, was he going to pull an all-nighter tonight.
—
They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. Well if that was the case, Rick Dalton was fucking insane. He didn’t learn from last time that maybe he should try getting in direct contact with Cliff and just kept mailing invites as if it would magically get any better.
Nebraska Jim was up next, the one that started this whole fucking thing. The whole reason they went to Italy. The whole reason Cliff was gone.
Ok. Fine. Not the whole reason. But if they didn’t go to Italy in the first place, he wouldn’t be married right now with someone else draining his bank account without the benefits Rick paid Cliff for. Of course, they wouldn’t have spent those those first few months alone in that apartment. If they didn’t have that time together then maybe feelings never would have come out, changing the dynamic of their relationship. And Rick definitely wouldn’t have panicked and married the first woman in his vicinity.
But it looked like Nebraska Jim didn’t have any extra sentimental value as once again, Cliff was nowhere to be found. Same for Red Blood, Red Skin. Rick even sent an invite for Hell's Boats, something he shot after coming back to America just in case Cliff thought he was only being invited because he was in the production. But again, nothing.
Finally by the end of 1970, it was time for Operazione Dyn-O-Mite!, the last one he and Cliff will ever share together. It was now or never if he wanted to see Cliff one more time. Since Cliff had been gone and he couldn’t afford a taxi for everything, Rick worked to get his license reinstated, and now he really didn’t have an excuse why he couldn’t visit him.
That week before the event he bucked up enough courage to haul his ass down to Van Nuys. In hand he brought the invite and an old tux that no longer fit him after Italy made his gut grow. Maybe Cliff never came because he didn’t have one. Of course that’s it. It had to be.
But when he got to the drive-in he found a vacant spot where Cliff’s trailer used to sit. After a half hour of sleuthing, he found the manager of the property who told him Cliff left over a year ago and never told him where he was going. He showed him the invites Rick sent saying he just held onto them in case he came back but he never did. Rick knew that meant he was never going to track him down, at least definitely not within a week. He thanked the manager and showed his gratitude by leaving him the premiere ticket and tux; he wasn’t going to use them so someone else might as well.
Rick felt a lot more relaxed going into this premiere than the last few. No need to be anxious about what to say to Cliff if he showed. Granted, that also meant this one felt a lot more tedious to get through without the hope for any reward after. But at least during the standing ovation he didn’t need his eyes combing over every row. Just a quick glance over everyone. Don’t seem bored about it.
And that’s when he saw him. High up in the balcony on the far right side but he knew without a doubt it was him. And when they locked eyes he got a smile in return before watching him slip away like a ghost.
Shit!
Rick knew he couldn’t bolt and draw attention to himself. But Cliff could be getting away! He’ll never know what’s become of him, where he is now. How to stay in contact. Everything they should have settled before he sent him away.
Ah. Fuck it.
Before Francesca could reply to his ‘little boys’ room’ excuse, he up and disappeared. He searched the lobby, the carpet, the lot, everywhere he could around the theater. But he was gone. Fucking should have left when he first saw him.
The theater would be emptying any moment now and they would walk out to see the star of the picture crying. Bad enough the fucking employees were witnessing it but he couldn’t have his peers as well. He did as he told Francesca he would be doing and made his way into the bathroom.
And there he was.
“Shit, man. You’re crying.”
It’s been well over a year since Rick last saw Cliff, but Cliff looked like almost a decade had passed and he finally caught up to his age. Even the smile he gave now seemed to go only half as wide as it used to. And when Rick ran to embrace him in a tight hug he could feel Cliff had definitely lost that toned body he kept for stunt work.
“B-b-but how? I went t-to find you a-and they said they didn’t know wh-where you were.”
“Yeah, I told them where I was a few months back once I settled down. Told them if anyone came snooping around looking for me to tell them that they didn’t know where I was, but if it was some asshole named Rick Dalton then give me a ring. So I got up at the crack of dawn, drove down to grab the ticket and tux from them and,well, now we’re here.”
Rick was feeling overwhelmed. But his joy was quickly shifting to anger. “You fuck, I thought you might have been dead! I feared the worst, why did you never try contacting me??”
“Well. Why didn’t you?”
“The fuck I did! S-sent you a goddamn invite every premiere.”
“That’s not the same, man. You didn’t contact me for the same reason I didn’t. All that ‘reached the end of the trail’ bullshit. The whole reason you got married. We both knew we could never be more than just friends or go back to being just friends after Italy. I don’t know about you since you at least got yourself a lady, but I couldn’t live in limbo anymore. So I hooked up the trailer and spent the first couple months driving around San Joaquin Valley before an almond farmer outside of Fresno allowed me to park her on his property. Now I do work for him and whatever odd jobs around town I can find to get by.”
Rick frowns not liking how he said the ‘get by’ part. Yeah, Cliff was barely even getting by when he was paying him but he at least knew Cliff was being kept fed and in good enough health. Now it looked like he hadn’t eaten in weeks. “So do you, uh. I mean. A-are you seeing someone? Someone to keep tabs on you, at least?”
“Why? Would you be jealous?”
“Wh-what? N-n-no!” The look on Rick’s face said otherwise.
“Ah, well. If you insist. On Sundays when I’m off for the day I head into town to see this guy I’ve got feelings for. But unfortunately, I think it might be unrequited as it seems like it’s very one sided. He does all the talking, I do all the listening. I guess you could say he reminds me of you a lot.”
“G-g-guess you have a type, huh?” Rick tried not to sound jealous, but his reply came out a little snarkier than ideal. But he guessed he was saved from having Cliff reply when the bathroom door opened and some of the audience started filing in. Of course they all recognized him and tried to engage him, but Cliff went into bodyguard mode and excused Rick for him as he leads him out into the lobby and through the exit out the back of the theater.
“Guess you’re a big hit in this town again, huh?”
“No. N-not really.” Rick looks back at the door wondering if Francesca was looking for him and how much time he’d have left before he was caught out back with the stray she thought they got rid of over a year ago. “Wh-where you staying? Wanna come over? I-I don’t care if Francesca m-m-minds.”
“Thanks but I gotta head back for work tomorrow. Don’t really have the luxury of time off.” Cliff digs around in his pocket until he finds a scrap of paper and hands it to Rick. “There. That’s where you can find me. Feel free to come up if ever you wanna break from your lady. Could probably do some horseback riding or fishing somewhere. Hell, I still haven’t gone up to Yosemite yet so maybe we could take a day trip there.”
Rick looked the paper over, reading the address and phone number on constant loop as if he had to memorize it before it self-destructs in his hand. “And your, uh. Your Sunday boy w-won’t mind?”
Cliff gives him the widest grin he’s seen all night, almost back to what it used to be. “Man, you are jealous. No. No I’m pretty sure he’d encourage me to, actually.”
“You’ve told him a-about me? About us? H-h-he don’t mind that you’re…”
“No, he doesn’t care that I am. And yes, he knows about you. I’d say you’re his favorite actor, actually.”
“I see.” Rick was starting to believe that Cliff was just making this guy up. He always knew Cliff liked to fluff his ego, and boy, how he use to get off on it. But maybe enough time has passed that it just seems forced now.
“Well. Better get going. Gotta long drive back.” Cliff wants to go in for that embrace like he always gave him. Even when he would be seeing him in just a few hours, he always hugged him like he hasn’t seen him in weeks while keeping it one handed so he didn’t seem too desperate for contact. Instead, he just claps his shoulder and gives him a silent nod, but unable to actually make himself move beyond that as he eyes fall to Rick’s feet. Well. Now it’s long enough to be awkward.
“Do you regret Italy, Cliff?”
Italy. Yeah, Italy revealed a lot of shit. Like how it hit Cliff in the first month that he relied on Brandy as a deterrent to funnel his affections towards her. Now there was nothing to prevent the far from subtle pinning and frequent innuendos directed towards Rick. But that did lead to what he would call the three best months of ‘married life’ he’s ever had only to have the rest of the trip feel like correcting a mistake.
“Nah. I’d rather be sent on that suicide mission to kill Hitler than give those memories up. Being out with you made me finally realize how much I was dying inside.”
Have you even looked at yourself right now? Fucking look like you’re dying right now.
“Cliff… I-“
But the sound of the back door opening and the Italian accent stopped him. Not only that, but Francesca didn’t even recognize Cliff when she asked who this was that he needed a private conversation with.
“Hey, Francesca. It’s just me, Cliff Booth.” That name definitely changed the expression on her face, like a cockroach she thought she killed came back again. “Just thought I’d stop by since this is our last picture together. I’ll get out of your hair, now. You keep taking care of this prick, ya hear?”
And with that, Cliff gave one last squeeze on Rick’s shoulder and turns to head towards the parking lot. It took every ounce of Rick’s will to not call after him with Francesca there watching him. There was no fairytale, happily ever after bullshit for him if he followed that man. At least, that’s what he has to keep telling himself to stay sane.