One of the sad rules of television acting is that you can’t look attractive on the screen unless you look absolutely ridiculous in front of the camera. The spotlights wash you out, you get sweaty, you get pale, you’re underfed, you’re stressed. So before you go on, they make you up like you’re some kind of a baby doll. Rosy cheeks, painted lips. The effect is muted a little bit on-set, but when you’re in the trailer getting the stuff dabbed on you, you inevitably look perfectly ridiculous.

That’s why it’s somewhat easier to look at Ryan Markey today. We’re both getting our makeup done, and there is nothing quite like a tall, well-built man wearing what looks in this light to be cherry-red lipstick. Not that I look much better. But it eases the tension.

Today we film the episode where Luke Hathaway meets Andrew Starr for the first time. Well, technically they met for the first time in the episode we filmed yesterday, but we’re going to start by filming the cliffhanger shot that ends that episode– Andrew Starr will walk into the room, expecting to see his ex-girlfriend/source, Ellen, and will see me there instead– and go on to this episode’s scenes to save time and costume changes. It’s a stupid detail, but I mention it because it’s the reason Ryan and I have to look at each other for extended periods of time and say nothing.

It’s a bit of a hilarious piece of soap opera life. You’ll film, thirty times over, a scene that consists solely of staring at each other for five seconds. Ryan steps in the door. My hands are folded over my chest. He glares. I glare. They bring the camera in instead of him, and I glare at the camera. He does the same thing. Then all over again after sound and light checks.

At one point during the interminable staring contest, I flare my nostrils at him. He cracks up, doubles over laughing. We have to stop for a few minutes while he gets his breath back. Carl’s frowning at us, but everyone else thought it was pretty funny.  I’m pleased with myself. And I still think his laugh is just like Cheerios. Classic and clean. It wouldn’t even get soggy in milk.

We move on to the scenes where we’re actually talking. Basically Luke takes Andrew for a ride, convincing him through most of the episode that he believes his cover story about being a therapist eager to help the poor troubled Brian Hathaway. Andrew digs for information, and Luke keeps dodging, until finally toward the end of the episode I lay down the law.

“Because you’re no therapist, are you, Andrew Raymond?” I say, using the alias he’s been peddling in town. I pound my fist on the table. “You’re not even Andrew Raymond.”

He jumps a little at the sound, and our eyes meet. His face is flawless. He’s got caught, scared, defiant, determined to see this through all in his face, all without saying a word. He’s so believable, I almost forget he’s an actor. I  have a churning urge in my gut to apologize for yelling at him.

Then Carl’s shouting cut, and we’re back in makeup for a few minutes before going on.

Elena mops Ryan’s forehead with a cloth to pull off the beads of sweat. Ryan blows air out through pursed lips and closes his eyes. I’m staring again, and I nearly jump out of my skin when he says out of the blue, “Hey, Sullivan.”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“Thanks? For what?”

His eyes open, I think. It’s barely a movement. He whispers even though Elena doesn’t speak English beyond Hello and Thank You. “For making this easier to deal with.”

There’s at least a quarter of a second in which I don’t know what he’s talking about. Ignorance is bliss, but it’s over as soon as it starts. Unfortunately, I still don’t know what to say in response. I nod and turn away.

Carl wants us back on our marks and off we go. Now Luke’s confronting Andrew Starr with what he knows about his true identity and Andrew’s fighting back as hard as he knows how. Ryan and I worked on this scene over the weekend, and we know just what to do; the timing, the motions, the way the words fly back and forth. It’s a brilliant take, he knows it, I know it, and I can see the smile he sends me through his eyes. Carl’s blown away, as evidenced by the number of times he doesn’t interrupt us. When he finally says cut, it’s in a voice that’s borderline spooked.

“Fucking Daytime Emmy material,” I hear someone say. Can’t turn my head. Too busy fielding the streams of sunshine coming from Ryan’s eyes.

It’d be so easy to grab his face in both hands and feel the light layers of his hair filter through my fingers like so much dust and lean in to touch to taste his oh god what the hell am I thinking about ?

Just before I turn away I see confusion register in his face. I shake the image away as Carl pumps my arms and congratulates me profusely on a great performance, I nailed it, what great chemistry. He doesn’t know the half of it.

Next scene and Ryan’s not as comfortable as he had been, which makes me feel terrible. I was supposed to be making things easier. At least the emotional intensity’s down a bit in this scene, as Luke tries appealing to Andrew’s humanitarian side. “You have to think about this,” I say to him. “You’re messing with real people here. A real family with feelings that get hurt, with hearts that break. Are you sure this is the kind of person you want to be?”

I feel like I’m tripping over broken glass.  Where did that come from? All of a sudden I can’t see.

Is this the kind of person you want to be?

I don’t know. I don’t know.

“Cut, cut, cut!”

Carl’s running between us all of a sudden waving his script like it’s a handkerchief and he’s on the shore saying goodbye to a parting ship. “What the hell was that? Where did it all go? What happened to you two?”

Ryan looks away. I look away. We both know the answer and neither of us are telling.

“Sullivan! What the hell was that? You look like a bee flew up your butt. Take this seriously, man! This is your brother we’re talking about. This could seriously hurt him. Think about it. Seriously!”

“That’s the third time you’ve used that word,” I drone. A camera guy sputters and then chuckles outright. It’s a convenient distraction, as Carl wheels and starts in on him, his script-hanky now brandished like a floppy sword. For a moment, it’s just Ryan and me on set. Inevitably our eyes lock.

God, it would be so easy.

Help, he mouths.

It’s OK, I mouth back. Don’t know whether I mean it, don’t have time to find out. Not sure it matters. We’ll be fine.

His face relaxes and he mouths, Thank you.

The you lands his lips in a pucker. And it would be so damn easy.

I’m about ready to break something. I haven’t felt this helpless in years.

Then, of course, he smiles, and I’m stronger than a thousand Mexican wrestlers and could eat Mike Tyson for breakfast.

The next take goes perfectly again.

–

And now I’m in the men’s room in the furthest stall from the door with my pants around my ankles staring at my almost-hard-on and panicking.

Because it would be so easy to sift my fingers through the reef of blond hair and pull his face to me and kiss his smile into a pucker again. Because I want to know what his skin feels like beneath the collarbones that flirt with me from the raised ridge of his shirt. Because it’s gotten to te point where I can’t not think it, outright and loud.

I’m attracted to him.

Ryan Markey turns me on. And he seems to be turning me, period.

But I don’t know if that’s the person I want to be.