Chapter Twenty

 

 

LILA

Hey! That’s my dog! That’s my—Scott?

 

MORGAN

(quietly)

Shit.

 

SCOTT

(faux casual, smoothing the hair at his nape)

Oh…. Lila. Hey. What are you doing here?

 

LILA

Looking for my dog.

 

Lila holds up her phone.

LILA

GPS chip. It’s on her collar.

 

Roxy prances and wags her tail in greeting.

 

SCOTT

Right.

 

Morgan gives him an incredulous look. All that running, and she could have found them at any time.

 

LILA

(kneeling to pet Roxy, becoming agitated)

I don’t understand. I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for days, but you haven’t returned any of my calls. And now you show up and steal Roxy?

 

MORGAN

(to Scott, mouthing)

What?

 

SCOTT

(defensively)

I’m not stealing her! I’m taking her back to her rightful owner!

 

LILA

You mean Tony?

 

SCOTT

Breaking up with him to move to Vegas with your new man-skank is one thing, but taking his dog while he’s out of the country?

 

LILA

My new skank? Tony cheated on me!

 

SCOTT

What?

 

MORGAN

(to himself)

Well, that explains a lot.

 

LILA

With his secretary! God, he’s such a cliché. He broke up with me. And that man-skank is my cousin. He’s letting me stay with him until I find a place out here.

 

A pause ensues.

 

SCOTT

Oh.

 

LILA

Yeah, oh.

 

Roxy licks her face.

 

LILA

Tony and I talked about what to do with Roxy. He’s not home enough to keep her, so I took her with me. But it’s just too hot. She can barely go outside when the sun’s out. That’s why I’ve been calling you.

 

SCOTT

(to Morgan)

Your brother is a dick!

 

MORGAN

Well… yeah.

 

SCOTT

Did you know he was a dick?

 

MORGAN

(meaning yes)

He’s my brother.

 

SCOTT

How come you never told me he was a dick?

 

MORGAN

I sort of thought you’d figured it out after twenty-two years.

 

Roxy watches this exchange intently, turning her head for each speaker.

 

SCOTT

(to Lila)

I… am sorry my friend is a dick.

 

Morgan clears his throat.

 

SCOTT

And that I let Morgan talk me into kidnapping your dog when I didn’t have all the facts.

 

Lila raises her eyebrows.

 

SCOTT

Wow, nobody wants to be the bigger man today. Okay, I get it.

 

LILA

I was calling you because Roxy’s always loved you. It kills me, but she was really Tony’s dog anyway. And she’d be happier somewhere with shade. I thought maybe you’d take her.

 

The scene required a few takes due to weather interference and, once, Rita taking a bathroom break between parked cars and the three humans dissolving in laughter. But it wrapped, and Steve handed Rita off to his mother to head back to the hotel with Drew.

“Last night out here in the middle of nowhere,” Drew said, swinging their linked hands. “Think it’ll be weird to be back home?”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know.” Then he snorted. “I’m not sure I want to go back to my apartment. There’s no room for both of us in there.”

“Well, you don’t have to go back.” Drew waited until Steve looked at him. “I mean, there’ll be more scrutiny. Paps in the street, probably. I can almost guarantee someone will recognize you. And my apartment is nowhere near as nice as your mom’s house, but I—”

“Are you inviting me to an extended sleepover?” Steve interrupted before Drew could babble on.

Drew nodded emphatically, relief etched on his features. “Yes.”

“I accept.”

 

 

WHEN Steve returned from dropping his suitcase in the bedroom, Drew was in the kitchen, standing at the white Corian island that ran the length of the room. “Jorj must’ve brought up the mail,” he said when Steve walked in, and he shook his head. “Do you believe that? People are actually still sending snail mail.” He picked up a cream envelope of heavy-looking paper with embossed edges. The one beneath it was a rich brown, the paper equally thick, the seams bulging.

“What do you think…?” he murmured and slit the first one open with his thumb. He pulled out a scrap of paper that was incongruous with the quality of the envelope.

 

“Dear Drew, Sarah and Eric are driving us all up the wall because they can’t decide on wedding invitations. You’re the tiebreaker. Love, Brit. PS. The brown is the obvious choice.”

 

Drew snorted and handed Steve the brown envelope to open. “She must’ve express mailed them. What do you think?”

“Well, I don’t know about obvious.” Steve flipped the envelope over. Mr. Drew Beaumont and Guest, 1 W Century Dr., Los Angeles, California, 90067. Blue satiny paper lined the inside. Steve pulled out a heavy cream cardstock invitation tied with a matching blue ribbon. “You are cordially invited, et cetera.” He passed it to Drew.

Drew traded it for the one that came from the white envelope; this one was plainer, with a little embossed cherubic bride and groom leaning over to kiss at the top.

“Brown,” they said at the same time.

“No question.” Drew waved the embossed invitation. “Honestly, who thought this was a good idea? It looks like…. God, your mom has taste. She probably didn’t have those ugly little ceramic doll statue things mine collected—”

“Precious Moments?” Steve guessed after a second.

“Yes!” Drew laughed. “Wait, how do you know what they’re called?”

“Lorna collects them.”

For a second Drew just blinked at him. “Lorna. As in Lorna Prout? Who you met at the aquarium dinner?”

Steve cleared his throat, his cheeks and neck warming in embarrassment. “As in Lorna Prout,” he confirmed, “my fairy godmother.”

“Your fairy—?”

He shrugged. “Mom and Dad are—were—atheists, but they believed in Hollywood magic just fine.” After all, they’d met on a movie set. “And Dad and Lorna were old friends. We used to go visit her place in Jackson Hole to go skiing. Kitsch everywhere.”

“So she knew who you were the whole time and just played along?” Drew shook his head, laughing incredulously. “That little minx.”

“In fairness, you did introduce me as though there were no possible way we could’ve already met.”

Shaking his head, Drew turned his attention back to the invitations. “That’s enough work for tonight. I’ll let them know tomorrow.” He looked up expectantly. “You want your name as Stone or Sopol on the invitation?”

Steve could have pulled a complete Hollywood cliché and melted into his arms. Instead he simply smiled, full of as much affection as he could ever remember feeling. “It doesn’t matter as long as it’s on the same envelope as yours.”

Drew gave him a sappy grin. “And you’re free in April?”

Steve pecked him on the lips. “I’ll mark my calendar.”

 

 

MONDAY morning found them drinking coffee in front of the Aquarium of the Pacific—or, as it would appear in the movie, “Mandalay Bay Aquarium.” It would take some doing—the Mandalay Bay Aquarium had a distinctive look—but Editing assured Drew that with a little Hollywood magic, they could make it work. Carol was inside testing the lighting and color and whatever else DPs did, by all accounts having the time of her life figuring out how she was going to transform the place into something so iconic. Too bad they only had the place for a few hours.

“It’s not quite the same when you have to work,” Drew sighed, sagging into Steve on the bench—apparently heedless of the smattering of onlookers gathered beyond the barrier keeping unauthorized personnel at bay.

“If you’re very good, I’ll take you to see the jellyfish later.” Steve rolled his shoulder until Drew settled into a more comfortable position.

He felt Drew grin into his shirt.

Steve didn’t quite know what he expected, coming back here. Their first date was such an enchanting experience; he didn’t think anything could live up to that, especially not in daylight. But some of the magic must have remained, despite all the differences. Or maybe that was just Drew.

“Did your mom ever decide what she was going to do about Rico?” Drew asked after a moment, lifting his head again.

Steve nodded and set his empty coffee cup on the ground. “She’s taking the evidence she gathered and filing a complaint against him with the photographers’ association. It might not have any effect, but it lets her feel better about the situation. Oh, and she warned all her friends not to fall victim to his predations, of course.”

“Mm,” Drew agreed. He looked at his feet, then the sky, squinting at a seabird flying overhead. “I hate that he did that to you. Destroyed your privacy. I hate that I feel… responsible.”

Steve nudged him. “Don’t. I’ve always known this could happen. If it’s the price I pay….” He shrugged, not wanting to get too sentimental. Not in public, at least. “It’s more than worth it. And at least now no one can hold it over my head.” He spent a moment fantasizing about what would happen when he saw Austin next. He hoped Drew would be with him.

Before Drew could respond, Nina pushed open the aquarium doors. “If you’re sufficiently caffeinated, big shot, they’re ready for you by the shark tank.”

Drew made a goofy face at her, but he picked up his cup and Steve’s and walked them to the garbage near the roped-off area. He waved and said something to a little girl with an orange hat and a ponytail sticking out the back, then cocked his head at whatever she replied and laughed. “Steve! C’mere.”

Steve stood and dusted off his hands before joining Drew over by the onlookers. It was still a little awkward; he’d never be as smooth handling attention as Drew and his mother. He didn’t want to be rude, but he didn’t want to stop and talk to everyone either. “What’s up?”

“You’ve got a fan.” Drew motioned to the little girl, who looked up at Steve with wide brown eyes.

Shyly—though she seemed comfortable enough talking to Drew—she held out a book and a pen. “Can you sign this, please?” she whispered so quietly Steve could barely make out the words.

The girl’s father, who stood behind her, put his hands on her shoulders in a gesture of support.

Steve shot a quick look at Drew, who was grinning ear to ear. No trouble with the ego, then. Steve reached for the book. The cover read Scriptwriting for Kids. “I would love to,” he said. “What’s your name?”

“Shellie,” she whispered to Steve’s shoes.

“That’s S-H-E-L-L-I-E,” her dad said as Steve uncapped the pen. “Thank you so much. She saw you on Gloria, and it’s all she’s talked about since. She’s wanted to be a writer since she was six.”

“Hey, me too.” Steve wrote To Shellie and did his best to ignore the few people taking pictures with their phones.

Shellie giggled.

Steve signed his name and handed the book back. “It was nice meeting you, Shellie.”

“Thank you so much,” said her father. “That really means a lot. What do you say, Shel?”

“Thank you,” she told the book.

Steve waved and let Drew usher him back to the aquarium. “That was cute,” Drew murmured. “You’re a natural.”

“Kids are easy.”

“Sure.”

They met up with Rita, Carol, and the rest of the crew in the Great Hall of the Pacific to go over their scene. An aquarium employee with a logoed polo shirt was there too, talking to Carol about what was possible in terms of lighting in the underwater viewing tunnel.

“We do that sometimes for weddings,” the employee explained, demonstrating on an iPad. “See the little lights on the floor?”

In a heartbeat the scene before him dissolved into something lighter, happier, more romantic. The wardrobe harkened back to the first time he and Drew came here together, but the crowd… well. Steve imagined this as a lot more intimate.

Suddenly he felt like everyone was looking at him. But it didn’t matter, because he’d locked eyes with Drew and was having a hard time looking away.

Nina clapped for their attention, breaking the spell. “So the three of you are going to come in from the far end,” she said. “Run full speed through the tunnel. Drew, you’re gonna reach back and grab Steve’s hand as you get to the jellies. Rita will be running with you, off leash. Try not to let her get too far ahead.”

“Easier said than done,” Steve snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Their first run-through, Rita got excited and ran ahead of them, careening toward the crew, her paws sliding on the floor.

“Cut!”

The second time Drew misjudged when he reached back for Steve’s hand and accidentally smacked him in the face.

“Oh shit!”

Steve stopped before Drew did, raising a careful hand to his face, leaning over awkwardly. He didn’t want to bleed on his wardrobe and cost them valuable time. But miraculously he didn’t seem to be bleeding.

“Are you okay?” Drew asked even before Nina called, long-suffering, “Cut!”

Steve’s eyes were watering, but he blinked back the tears from the impact. He didn’t want to wreck his makeup. “Fine. I think. It’s still attached, right?”

“Let’s see.” Drew took him by the shoulders and put a careful hand on his jaw, turning his head this way and that. “No damage,” he pronounced finally. “You’re just as bent as ever.”

“Oh God,” Nina muttered. “Are we good to go?”

Steve wiggled his nose—sore but definitely not broken. “I’m good. Just try not to hit me again.”

“Take three!”

This time they had one of the production assistants hold Rita’s collar until they got partway through the tunnel. Steve counted Drew’s steps and anticipated the hand, and this time he caught it without breaking stride. Rita caught up to them as they reached the end of the tunnel, but the shots would be short and spliced together, so it didn’t matter.

Drew squeezed Steve’s fingers once before letting go. “I guess the third time’s the charm.”

 

 

SHOOTING wrapped on a Thursday, in the studio where they’d been shooting a bunch of green-screen shots. But instead of an actual green screen, this time they had a whole chapel mocked up: arched stained glass windows, pews, tacky flowers, an altar, and, of course—

“Better get used to the setting,” Steve’s mother teased, straightening his clip-on tie as though Will wouldn’t wring her neck. “I hear you’re booked up come wedding season.”

“Two is hardly booked up,” Steve protested. “How did you land this gig, anyway? You don’t exactly fit the casting call.”

Marla smiled her most secretive smile. “Darling. You’re not the only one who has connections in this business. Besides.” She took a step back and did a twirl, showing off her sequined jumpsuit. “I look fabulous.”

“I can’t argue with that.” Steve gestured with his head toward Will, who was clenching and unclenching his hands rhythmically. “I have to go let Will mess with my tie again. You know how it is.”

She heaved a theatrical sigh and waved him off.

Nina arrived on set with Rita, fresh from her grooming appointment. A lacy white bow with a red rose adorned her collar.

“My beautiful girl!” Marla cried and floated away to shower Rita with love.

Smiling to himself, Steve headed over to Will for primping.

When the set was prepped and everyone on their marks, Nina called, “Action!” and Steve’s mom vamped “Unchained Melody” in a passable false tenor. At the back of the “church,” the door opened and the extra playing the chapel’s wedding coordinator peeked in, headset in place. Then she disappeared again and Drew appeared, wearing an ill-fitting gray suit and holding a bouquet of dollar-store fake flowers.

For a few heartbeats Steve forgot to act, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter.

Drew got all the way down the aisle without breaking character, which impressed Steve, considering he had to do it with Marla in his line of sight. For his part, Steve was glad he had an excuse to turn away. He knew his mother, and he knew she would pull out all the stops. Making them break character to laugh would be a matter of professional pride.

Drew didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes on Steve.

They held hands over Rita’s leash and looked deep into each other’s eyes. When the film was cut together, this scene would be interspersed with shots of the two uniformed police officers who had been chasing them as the wedding coordinator told them they would have to wait for the wedding in progress to finish, and would they like to pick a package in the meanwhile?

The cops would burst in on the ceremony eventually, by which time Scotty, Morgan, and Roxy would be hightailing it through the parking lot toward the car. It wouldn’t be revealed until several minutes later, with a shot of Steve’s hand, complete with wedding band, on the steering wheel as he drove them toward home, that they’d actually gone through with the whole wedding.

But they shot that already. This was it. A handful of lines and Steve would officially have finished his first role in a Hollywood production. He’d have a filmed, if not edited and produced, writing credit to add to his name.

And his mother would have her first soundtrack credit.

She never did like to be outdone, Steve thought fondly.

Despite Marla’s best efforts, they shot the scene in one take. When Nina called, “Cut!” for the last time, Drew finally grinned, and the crew broke into applause.

Steve had just enough time to turn to his mother and say, “You are a menace,” before Drew threw his arms around his neck and planted a showy, affectionate kiss on his cheek.

All things considered, Steve didn’t mind the catcalls. He settled his hands on Drew’s waist. “This suit is hideous. Where did Will get this thing?”

Drew made a face. “I don’t know, but it itches.” He glanced up over Steve’s shoulder and lit up a little more. “Marla! I didn’t know you could sing. That was incredible. You almost got me.”

“I will next time,” she promised, using the height from the riser she stood on to swoop down and deposit a lipstick kiss on Drew’s cheekbone. “Don’t think you’ve won!” She glided off, presumably to be cut out of the jumpsuit.

With a bemused smile, Drew met Steve’s eyes. “I’m a little concerned she’s going to show up at every set I work on from now until the game is over.”

“Probably only the ones that film on American soil.” Steve patted his upper arms. “Come on. I hear the hotshot producer’s throwing one hell of a wrap party.”

 

 

THE wrap party took place at a cute Greek restaurant owned by one of Nina’s friends. In honesty it wasn’t that fancy—no themed decorations, no red carpet, no black-tie dress code. Just the cast and crew, a sprawling buffet to send everyone into a food coma, and enough champagne to keep them buzzed until the wee hours.

Steve had fun, but by midnight he had reached social saturation and just wanted quiet and space. About fifteen minutes after he started contemplating how to make a graceful retreat, Drew caught his eye across the room and tilted his head, and Steve nodded in relief.

It was tough to slip out of a party with the second-most famous person in the room, especially when he’d had a little too much ouzo. Fortunately Steve’s mother had joined the house band for a rousing rendition of “A Little Less Conversation,” so everyone was distracted. Especially the guitarist.

“Is she gonna…?” Drew had asked earlier in the evening, when the band had just gotten started.

Steve followed his gaze. “Oh, probably.”

“Huh.” Drew watched them for another few seconds. “Well, he’s cute. Good for her.”

The car service dropped them in front of Drew’s building, where Tara, the night-shift doorwoman, greeted them. “Hey, guys. Good night?”

“Good night,” Steve confirmed, and then had to reach out and grab Drew’s arm as Drew stumbled over nothing and almost took a header into a pillar. “Maybe too good, for some of us,” he amended, sliding his arm around Drew’s waist.

Tara clucked in faux disapproval. “You want me to send up some Gatorade?”

“Got some in the fridge already.” The perks of having a PA, Steve thought. Or at least of Drew having a PA. “Thanks, Tara. Have a good night!”

Drew grinned as he waved, wide and unfettered as only a very happy drunk man could be. “Bye, Tara!”

It took him a moment to get his elevator key into the slot. But then they were moving, finally. Soon Steve would be home—

He caught himself before he could finish the thought. He didn’t live there. Honestly it was beautiful but not to his taste, so he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. But home?

Home was wherever he and Drew could be alone together.

He was still chewing on that when Drew got the apartment door open, crossed the living room, and collapsed in one of his weird modern armless chairs. They’d left the curtains open, and Drew swiveled to take in the city at night.

He sighed contentedly, and Steve took a right into the kitchen for the Gatorade. Drew was bad enough at mornings even when he wasn’t hungover.

“You know,” Drew said when Steve returned, “the only thing I’m gonna miss about this place is the view.” Then he paused and added, “Okay, and the shower.”

Steve passed him the bottle and took a seat on the couch. “You’re selling?”

Drew cracked the top open and drank a few deep sips before replacing the cap. “I always wanted a place like your mom has, you know? Somewhere real, with space that’s not just for the sake of luxury. A yard, a fence, a pool, a dog. A house that occasionally needs a new roof or new windows or whatever, but it’s still your house. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

Steve thought for a moment. “You could just have the place redecorated,” he said. “Put some of yourself into it this time.”

“See, that’s the thing.” He stood again, walked over to the window, and tapped on the glass. “When I bought this place, it was right after my breakup with Corinna. I’d decided to lay off relationships, so I was only thinking about me. And despite all the space, it feels like that’s all there’s room for here.

“But I was kidding myself about what I wanted.”

Steve didn’t want to read too much into anything he said. Not when he was who knew how many shots of ouzo in. But his heart beat a little faster anyway. “So what are you saying? You’re gonna go buy a house in Beverly Hills?”

He shook his head. “It’s not the house.” He crossed the room again, set his Gatorade on the floor, and took a seat on the ottoman, facing Steve. He reached for Steve’s hand. “It’s what you put in it.”

For the first time Steve could remember, he lost his words. He was trapped in Drew’s warm, dark eyes, waiting, rapt.

After what felt like ages, Drew broke eye contact and smiled, rubbing his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “You forget to give something back to the props department?”

Steve followed his gaze. The third finger of his left hand still bore Morgan’s wedding ring. Steve cleared his throat. “Oops?”

Drew treated him to another sappy grin. “Let’s go to bed. House hunting can wait a few hours.”