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“Rodriguez’s newest venture more resembles a rambling, empty-headed visual conquest than a film. Lacking in both direction and execution, Our Father who art in Hell has a barely functioning plot, and instead, mirrors a junkyard of cinematic gimmicks, including an overkill of pectoral flexing. Not even Rodriguez’s impressive endowment could salvage this uneven drama masquerading as a script. A brash attempt to overcompensate for its shortcomings sadly results in a product that depends on excess for its impact. Though Rodriguez’s performance is adequate, at the end of the day, Our Father who art in Hell, is nothing more than an amateur production trying to be more than it ever had the potential to be.”
“Adequate performance? Who the hell does this idiot think he is?” Lito Rodriguez mutters under his breath as he climbs out of his car. He double-checks the address that’s been angrily crumpled in his hand and makes his way towards the apartment building like a man on a mission.
“Amateur production—I’ll give him a piece of my fucking mind—fucking amateur production.”
He nearly runs into two women in his hurry towards the stairs. He mutters an apology under his breath while ducking his head away.
He’s not sure exactly what words he’s going to say to this critic—Hernando something—but he’s got a pretty good scene in his head: clearly this guy has no idea what the fuck he’s talking about. The film might not have been an Oscar winner, but it wasn’t that bad. Certainly not deserving of the scathing review it got. A shiver runs up his back, followed by another surge of anger as Lito recalls the harsh words again.
He huffs out a breath as he finds the right apartment number.
He removes his sunglasses and checks the paper again.
Apt 142.
This is it.
KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.
It’s unclear exactly what he was expecting behind the door during the brief moment that he was waiting. A middle aged man, maybe? Balding? His best days behind him, so he feels the need to shit on someone whose career is just taking off—but nothing quite prepares him for the man who opens the door.
He’s young, handsome, with adorable glasses framing an absolutely gorgeous face. Any words he might have had prepared have completely gone out the window as he panics—because his mouth has gone dry, he’s pretty sure he dropped his sunglasses, and blood has started to pool in his nethers—and he’s realizing that he’s staring at an extremely attractive, bearded, cardigan-wearing young man, and this is a situation that he has trained—forced himself to avoid.
The other man looks as shocked as he does. His dark eyes widen as he takes in Lito’s frame standing in his doorway; they flicker down his body before quickly coming back up to meet his eyes. It’s only momentary, as he seems to recover much quicker. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips as he watches him.
“Mr. Rodriguez… what a… pleasant surprise.”
Oh fuck, even his voice is gorgeous.
Lito opens his mouth to say… no words come out. An awkward moment passes, but… still there are no words. Finally he clears his throat and tries to gather his bearings. He remembers why he is here is the first place and hastily pulls out the newspaper stuffed in his back pocket.
“I am here, because of this!” And he holds the article out at arms length. He tries not to look at the other man. He’s glancing down at the floor, then up at the door, and to what little he can see of the apartment behind… oh and then Hernando is tilting his head to the side as he looks at his film review. He slowly smiles as his eyes meet Lito’s and—wow—it is absolutely radiant.
Lito’s mouth goes dry again.
“You read my review.”
He nods, because it’s about the only thing he can do right now.
“How did you get my address?”
Lito hesitates, “I called your editor.”
“I don’t think they’re allowed to give out personal information.”
Lito clears his throat again. “I can be very persuasive.”
The other man nods, a smile on his lips. “I’m sure you can be. Would you like to come in, Mr. Rodriguez?”
Lito awkwardly shuffles in place. He doesn’t want to come in. His heart is pounding in his chest so hard he can hear it in his ears. But he doesn’t have a choice; he’s come so far. He can’t exactly walk away now. He nods and steps through the threshold.
“Call me Lito,” he says softly.
The other man steps aside and closes the door behind him.
“I’m Hernando.”
“I know who you are,” Lito mutters.
“I take it you aren’t happy about my review.” Hernando says behind his shoulder as he heads towards his kitchen. “Can I get you something to drink? Water, juice, a beer?”
“Diet Coke?”
A smile breaks across Hernando’s face even as the man clearly tries to hide it, and Lito is immediately kicking himself in the ass. Diet Coke? What is wrong with you?
“I’m sorry, I don’t have Diet Coke… How about iced tea? It’s non-sweetened.”
“Yes, yes that will be fine,” Lito says hastily. “Thank you,” he adds.
“Sorry about the mess,” Hernando says as he pours them two glasses. “I wasn’t expecting company today.”
Lito finally takes a good look around the apartment. He doesn’t see any of the mess that Hernando is referring to—except for a few magazines and papers strewn about the coffee table, and an open laptop sitting on the couch. The rest of the apartment looks like it came straight out of a magazine. There’s artwork on every wall, the shelves are filled to the brim with books, even the furnishings look classy and elegant. Lito sneaks a glance at the other man as he comes closer with their beverages. He looks like he could be younger than Lito himself, and his own apartment looks no different than when he was in university a few years ago.
Hernando sets the beverages down on coasters on the coffee table, and quickly gathers up the papers into a neat pile. “Take a seat, please.” He gestures towards the sofa.
Lito stiffly sits down, grateful for the few feet of space left between them. He’s practically sweating through his nerves.
“I suppose you have some words to say to me regarding my review.”
Lito takes a long drink from his glass—still avoiding eye contact. “Your words were… they were very hurtful.”
Hernando smiles at him, “I’m a critic, Lito. I’m not supposed to be nice.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I stand by what I wrote, the film was an atrocity.”
Lito can only sputter a nonsensical response.
“The plot—if you can call it that—was shaky at best, incomprehensible at its worst. None of it made any sense. The characters’ actions were consistently inconsistent; the audience could barely follow along. There were so many gimmicks, throughout the film—completely unnecessary; characters being killed for no reason, with no emotional fallout. It all seemed…” he shrugs his shoulders, “tacky.”
A moment of silence passes before Lito realizes he’s just staring. He’s just about to respond with—
“Honestly, your nude scene was probably the only saving grace of the film. That was very well done, and very much appreciated.”
Lito doesn’t miss the emphasis. He blinks, unsure of what to make of this. Is he flirting with me? I think he’s flirting with me. What should I say?
“You’re a terrible critic,”—probably shouldn’t have said that.
But Hernando throws his head back in a beautiful laugh and Lito slowly feels himself relaxing. God, he’s gorgeous when he laughs.
“I suppose… you have some valid points,” he says, nodding his head, “about the film.”
“This can’t be the first bad review you’ve gotten.”
“No… but it was the harshest.”
Hernando shrugs. “It was your worst film.”
Lito blinks at him, intrigued. “You’ve seen others?”
Hernando nods. “Sure. The Passion of the Sinner, The Mirror has No Heart, they were very well done. Even that doctor, medical soap opera you were on for a few episodes, I saw them. You were great.” He gives him an affectionate smile. “You’re a fantastic actor, Lito. You’ve got talent. But not every production you’re in is going to be a masterpiece. Or… perhaps you need some help choosing the right scripts for you.”
“I have an agent,” Lito mutters. To be honest, he’s never been very good at choosing scripts to read for. He mostly goes along with what his agent gives him—Gabriella—she insists that they’re all A-list productions. With all the scripts he gets on a daily basis, deciding what he likes, what he doesn’t like, whether one is sure to be a box office hit or a flop… it all gives him a headache.
“Well, I’m glad you liked other… films of mine.” He lets out a short laugh. “I assumed from your review that you hated all of my performances.”
“Only the bad ones,” Hernando says with a smile. He takes a sip from his beverage, and Lito can’t help but stare at his lips as the glass leaves them—Hernando is biting his lower lip and it is fucking intoxicating.
“If I had known a bad review would have you at my doorstep I would have written one ages ago.”
Lito’s eyes widen almost comically.
“I’m kidding, of course. I take my work very seriously.”
Lito lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “How long have you… been a critic?”
“Only a few years. I first started after university. Movies, books, even paintings. I love it all. It’s always been a great passion of mine. I love art, all kinds of art. There’s nothing like it, you know?”
Lito finds himself nodding along as Hernando continues.
“There’s always a story to be told, from the artist to the audience. Seeing that story, understanding the meaning behind all of it, even finding meaning that was never intended, I love all of it. It’s beautiful.”
Lito lets out a nervous laugh. He never expected to have a real conversation with the man who gave his film such a bad review. But there’s so much passion in Hernando’s voice as he speaks, he can hear the avid intensity and devotion that he has for his work. He can’t help but admire that. “I don’t know anything about art.”
“Sure you do. You are an artist after all.” He takes another sip from his drink and continues when Lito doesn’t respond. “You’re an actor. You take the words on a script and you bring them to life. You give these words your own interpretation, you transform them, and you give them meaning. The same as a painter takes paint and canvas, and turns them into a work of art.”
“I guess I never thought about it like that.” He feels a smile pulling at his lips, a genuine smile. There’s a beautiful aura radiating from Hernando. Being around him is like… being enveloped in a glowing warmth. It’s exhilarating.
“Are you staying for dinner?” Hernando says suddenly, as he stands abruptly.
“Dinner?” Lito asks dumbly as he looks up at him, shocked by the sudden change in conversation.
Hernando taps the back of his bare wrist as he walks past him towards his kitchen.
Lito glances down at his own wrist where his watch displays the time. He’s been here for nearly an hour. Right then his stomach lets out a large growl. “I—I don’t want to impose…”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hernando says loudly from the kitchen, where Lito can hear him taking things out of the fridge. “There’s enough for two.”
He awkwardly stands for a moment before heading over to the kitchen, where Hernando is chopping vegetables and preparing the meal. He’s standing with his back towards the other man, and Lito can’t help but take the opportunity to admire the view.
He never lets himself look. It’s a rule. He always wants to, but he never lets himself look. He’s had these desires since before he could call himself a man. He’s never acted upon them, of course, because he knows well enough that his chosen career could never survive his… unorthodox inclinations.
But there’s something different about Hernando. Something… special, something he wants to hold onto and explore. He wants to learn so much more about this man. He wants to know everything about him.
“It smells good. What are you making?”
“Picadillo,” Hernando responds. “With a side of elotes.”
Lito sighs, “I love elotes.” A man after his own heart…
Hernando just turns and gives him a smile over his shoulder.
Oh fuck, what a smile. He can feel himself falling—hard.
Lito takes a deep breath and prepares himself for the upcoming meal. It’s either going to be awkward and difficult… or it could be perfect. He’s already sitting at the small dining table when Hernando sets their dinner in front of him.
And of course it all tastes wonderful, like a professional chef just served him his meal. Lito himself has the cooking ability of a twelve year old.
“You’re a good cook,” Lito manages to get out with a mouthful of picadillo.
“I am an excellent cook,” Hernando smirks at him, and damnit Lito finds himself smiling in return.
The conversation is never ending, and never awkward. They jump from topic to topic during their meal—it’s mostly Hernando leading the conversation, but Lito finds that he doesn’t mind. Hearing the man speak… it’s like there’s a force that’s drawing him in closer and closer…
“I certainly never imagined I’d see Lito Rodriguez at my door,” Hernado says with a smile, gesturing with his fork. “I nearly had a heart attack when I opened the door. Thought I must have been dreaming.”
“It was rather rash of me, I admit. I… I don’t normally do this sort of thing.” He’s shaking his head and laughing at himself. “I swear I’m not usually this impulsive. Although I was pretty angry when I first got here.”
“Because you can’t take criticism.”
“You were very critical,” Lito says with a look. Their eyes meet and they share a smile. It takes him a moment before he manages to look away. “Anyway, my agent gave me a new script to look at. I’ve only read through it once, but I love it. The audition is in a few days. I’ve been preparing for it a lot. It’s a love story, but the two are from different families who hate each other. It’s like a modern day, Mexican Romeo and Juliet, except less depressing of course. I really hope I get the part.”
“You love your work,” Hernando comments with a soft smile.
“Being an actor?”
“Mhmm.”
“My whole life all I’ve wanted to be was an actor. When I was a small child, growing up, my family had no money, but we had television, and my whole family would spend hours crowded in front of it watching telenovelas. They loved them. I knew then that I wanted to be an actor, because my family loved those movies so much. I wanted to be a part of that.” He pauses and takes another bite of his food. It’s strange because he’s never told anyone this. Yet here he is, telling it to a complete stranger. But the more he looks in Hernando’s eyes, the less he feels like a stranger.
“I don’t do it for the fame, you know, or the money. I’d say I don’t do it for the critics but you might not believe me.”
They laugh together at that, and it’s nice... Lito can’t remember feeling so comfortable around another person.
The topic changes again.
“I certainly don’t know what it’s like to be famous, but with so much of your life in the public eye, I can only imagine it can be… very difficult at times. I’m sure you value your privacy.”
Lito gives a small nod, and his eyes drop down to his plate. “It’s hard at times. I’m still getting used to it. Seeing paparazzi everywhere I go, strangers asking for pictures or autographs, I feel like… sometimes I feel like the public is judging every move I make. Like I can’t… like I can’t be myself… around anyone.”
A moment of silence passes between them.
“Have you ever read any works by Octavio Paz?” Hernando asks.
Lito shakes his head.
“He had some wonderful thoughts about politics in his later years.” He pauses briefly to wipe his mouth with a napkin. “He said, there can be no society without poetry, but society can never be realized as poetry, because it is never poetic. And the two seek to break apart, but they cannot. You see, society is strict with rules and expectations; it lacks the freedom and beauty that comes from poetry. What the public expects from you, what it demands from you, they try to fit you inside this perfect little box, a perfect mold of what they think Lito Rodriguez should be… it’s cruel.” He shakes his head and glances away, “it’s not fair.”
Lito doesn’t know what to say to that. Hernando’s words somehow make perfect sense to him, and are so beautiful in the way that he says them, like he sees the world in a way no one else does.
“Thank you. I don’t think anyone else… quite understands. No one close to me anyway.”
“That sounds isolating.”
Lito nods. “It is.”
They watch each other for a moment before returning to their plates. After all the food is eaten—and it was delicious—Hernando stands and starts gathering the empty dishes.
“Let me help. It’s the least I can do.”
He grabs his own plate and the glasses, and follows Hernando into the kitchen, where the other man sets the dirty plates in the sink. Lito reaches out to hand him the rest of the plates in his hands when Hernando’s fingers close over his own—a shock runs all the way through his arm when Hernando’s fingers make contact with his own.
He jumps, just slightly—and the plate he’s holding just barely slips through his fingers and crashes to the floor with a deafening shatter.
Hernando stares down at the broken pieces for a moment before looking up at him with a raised eyebrow.
“Really? You come into my home, you insult me, and you break my dishes? After I fed you?”
“I’m sorry.” Lito whispers. A beat passes. “You insulted me first,” he adds as an afterthought.
Hernando’s dark eyes are warm as he smiles. He’s not really upset about the broken dish. “It’s okay. You can make it up to me,” he says softly.
Lito takes a shaky breath, because Hernando is looking him straight in the eyes. It feels like they’ve been doing this the whole evening, but this time is different. He’s almost afraid to ask… “How?”
“Go out with me.”
Lito blinks at him like he didn’t hear right—or maybe he misunderstood. “What? Go out with you? Like… like a date?”
Hernando nods expectantly.
“You’re—you’re asking me on a date?”
Hernando nods again.
“I—I don’t… I’m not…” he shakes his head frantically. “You—you’ve made a mistake…” he’s laughing—awkwardly—almost hysterically.
“A straight man would have had a much easier time saying no,” Hernando says softly.
His frantic laughter dies out in a short breath. Fuck.
It’s not like Lito’s never been propositioned before. Growing up an attractive man in drama, there are always propositions. But he’s never said yes. He couldn't risk it. He couldn’t go down that path. Saying yes, means giving in, admitting that there is something different about him, something wrong, something… disliked. It’s a line that he’s never crossed before, one that he thought he never would.
But watching Hernando’s hopeful face, his handsome face, his warm eyes, and gorgeous lips, and suddenly he wants to know what it feels like to kiss those lips, to stroke that face, and to see what he looks like under those clothes… to touch him… and explore a world that he’s denied himself his whole life.
And Lito does something that he’s never done before.
A short while later, he leaves Hernando’s apartment with a phone number, a time and a place, and a small smile on his lips.
He’s got a date.