Chris sat in business class on the flight back to LA that evening. He couldn’t quite justify first-class status yet, but he’d earned enough frequent flyer points during the shooting of Galactic Crusaders that he could easily upgrade to business. Settling in and buckling his seatbelt, he recalled the last time he’d left Oregon for Los Angeles: he’d made the fourteen-hour drive in his third-hand Nissan, and the air conditioning had quit on him barely half way into the journey.

He might not be able to justify flying first class on a regular basis quite yet, but he was definitely going in the right direction.

In less than 24 hours he’d reconnected with Victor, Simon and Joy; thanks to Joy’s friend Eva, he’d been able to rent a nice house that belonged to a professor who was on sabbatical for a year; and he’d gotten himself involved in a good enough cause to—he hoped—placate Sherri.

Otherwise, it’d be fat kids and whales.

But something nagged at him, a sense of something forgotten or left undone. Part of it was the play. He did not share Victor’s confidence in his ability to direct Shakespeare, even in a community theater production as low-key as this one.

Victor was right about Midsummer Night’s Dream—it was a crowd-pleaser—but it was also a big cast. It was familiar enough that people had high expectations of it, but not so familiar that the audience could be relied on to follow the story easily. There were multiple scenes that needed to be blocked, and in each of them, he’d have to find humor, romance, or both, and convey it to the audience.

Victor and Simon were on hand to help him, of course ... but only to an extent. Simon clearly had his hands full as Victor’s caregiver, and Victor, Chris could tell, had only a fraction of the strength and energy he’d had before he fell ill. Victor’s involvement would have to be minimal. He was failing in strength, and even a few minutes of conversation wore him out.

Chris would have to be careful not to tire him out or expect too much from either of them.

He stared out the window at the tarmac as the flight attendant began her spiel about inflight safety. He wasn’t ready to explore his feelings about his old mentor quite yet, but he couldn’t help being drawn back into his memories of college.

Chris hadn’t actually majored in theater—though if he’d stayed on to finish his senior year, he would have tried to switch. It had taken just one elective acting class with Victor—Professor Blumen back then— to make him realize that wherever he thought environmental sciences would take him, it wasn’t where he wanted to go. It had been at Victor’s suggestion that he had stayed in town the summer between his junior and senior years—that strange and wonderful summer that had changed everything—and had joined the Silver Scene Players.

And met Joy.

The airplane rumbled beneath him as it began to move toward the runway, and Chris had the sense that he was coming closer to grasping the elusive sensation that nagged at him. Joy ... who was, if anything, more beautiful at the age of forty than she had been at the age of twenty-seven. Who still indulged him in the witty banter that had been a hallmark of their friendship.

Who, through no fault of her own, had been the cause of both heartbreak and humiliation and, more obliquely, the beginning of his career as an actor.

To whom he still, thirteen years later, owed a Texas-sized apology that he wasn’t sure how to bring up.

And who would be close at hand over the coming summer.

A passing flight attendant interrupted his thoughts to point out that his seatbelt was still undone. Absentmindedly, he fastened it, and the plane took off.

* * *

Joy stood in line at Safeway on Sunday evening staring listlessly at the tabloids that lined the shelves above the checkout counter. Chris McPherson dominated the covers of at least three. The Chris on the covers looked stern and serious, tough and a little bit angry—nothing like the relaxed and cheerful man she’d had coffee with just yesterday. Part of his image, she supposed. But where did that leave the real him?

It was funny: for over a decade, she had successfully not thought about Chris; now suddenly he was everywhere—including in her thoughts.

Charlotte came trotting up with the tub of yogurt they’d forgotten to put in the cart. “Got it! Hey, is that Chris?” She reached for the nearest magazine. “We should get this.”

“It’s trash, Charlotte,” Joy sniffed, hauling a large bag of flour onto the counter. “Put it back.”

“But you’re going to be working together. This is, like, research.” She flipped through the magazine. “‘He may be Hollywood’s newest bad boy, but Chris McPherson has a flair for the art of charm,’” she read in an faux-deep voice. “Is he this hot in real life?”

It was bad enough hearing her daughter refer to a man almost twice her age as “hot”; given that the man in question was Chris, Joy had to pretend for a moment that lifting a gallon of milk out of the cart rendered her unable to respond.

“He’s very good looking,” she said finally. “But he doesn’t have the best reputation. He got in another fight just a few weeks ago.”

Charlotte, who naturally knew everything about Chris’s latest scandal, snorted. “Big deal. He shoved some guy in a bar. Sounds like the dude was a total dickhead anyway.”

“Language, Charlotte,” Joy murmured, more out of habit than any actual expectation that Charlotte would stop swearing.

“Sorry, Mom.” Charlotte sounded penitent as she placed the magazine on the counter next to a carton of eggs.

“Nice try.” Joy picked it up and put it back on the shelf.

Charlotte snatched it off again. “Fine. I’ll buy it with my own money. Now that you’re single, maybe you guys could hook up.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Why not? Dad said he had a crush on you when you were in the Silver Scene Players together. Maybe he still does.”

Joy thumped a bottle of olive oil down on the counter a little harder than necessary. “When did—? Never mind. Look, Chris was—is—a nice guy, but he’s a lot younger than I am, and he’s a movie star. We really don’t have that much in common, except that we both really want to do something nice for Victor. Plus it looks like he’s dating Vanessa Swink.” She nodded at the cover with “Hollywood’s newest power couple” on it, a snapshot of Chris with his arm around a laughing Vanessa.

“Meh, rumors and innuendo,” Charlotte replied.

“It’s all rumors and innuendo,” Joy retorted. “In other words, trash.”

“Oh come on!” groaned Charlotte. “You could like, take private jets to cool places and meet lots of famous people. Wouldn’t it be fun to date a movie star?”

Joy glanced disapprovingly at the magazine. “Not if he’s ‘Hollywood’s newest bad boy.’” She heard the prissiness in her voice; she was starting to sound like her own mother. But her tone belied the anxiety she felt for Chris. He had the looks and the talent to be hugely successful, but he also had an outsized personality that attracted both good and bad attention, along with the ego to think he could get away with things other people couldn’t. She could see him crashing and burning just as easily as she could see him rising to the top.

“You know that’s just tabloid talk,” Charlotte replied. “You don’t need to take it seriously,” she scolded.

“Then why do you need to buy the magazine?”

Charlotte looked sheepish for just a moment before brightly admitting, “For the pictures of your sexy movie star friend. Come on,” she waved the magazine under Joy’s nose, “You’ve gotta admit, he’s hot. He could be your next boyfriend,” she added in a sing-song voice that was just a little too loud.

“I don’t need a boyfriend, thank you.”

“You need something. You’ve been blah ever since dad took off. Which, I admit, was a shitty thing to do, but it was over a year ago now. Time to move on.”

“Language, Charlotte. And I have no interest in discussing my private life in the middle of Safeway.” Joy kept her voice low, hoping that Charlotte would get the hint and lower hers.

Charlotte shrugged and went on as if she hadn’t said anything. “I mean, at least you’re not knocking back your Valium with mojitos like Cat’s and Zena’s moms, but you’re definitely in a funk.”

The person in line ahead of them paid and moved along and the counter began to slide forward. Joy unloaded the last of her groceries as space opened up and wondered how someone as reserved as she was had raised such a very unreserved daughter. Her best bet was probably to just not respond and hope that Charlotte lost interest in goading her.

“Will you be home for dinner?” she asked instead.

“Way to change the subject, Mom. Anyway, Cat and Zena and I are getting together at Zena’s house to deconstruct the prom.”

“Early dinner, then,” Joy asked, relieved that she wouldn’t be eating alone, but disheartened at the thought of another night by herself.

Charlotte gave her a knowing sideways glance. “You need a life, Mom.”

Joy placed a last bag of onions onto the counter and studied her groceries. “I forgot Parmesan,” she murmured. “Would you be an angel and run back to the cheese section and pick some up?”

Charlotte huffed but trotted off obediently. Parmesan wasn’t actually on the list, but Joy wasn’t ready to face her midlife crisis while doing her weekly shopping at Safeway.

For all the resentment that she still harbored for Scott, she sometimes envied him. Sure, his mid-life crisis had taken the form of a humiliating and painfully public affair—but at least he’d known what he wanted and hadgone after it.

Joy on the other hand, had no idea what she wanted. All she knew was that it wasn’t the life she had now. She stared at the groceries as the counter slid forward, her eyes landing vacantly on the magazine.

Chris’s eyes stared back at her.

* * *

“I trust Jenny went over the publicity schedule with you?”

Chris was back in Sherri’s office, staring out the wide window into the hot, smoggy day. This afternoon, he promised himself, he’d go for a swim. Being able to swim in the ocean was one of his favorite things about California, and he’d rented a house right on the beach for that reason. It was modest by movie star standards, but he didn’t need anything big or flashy. Quiet and near the beach: that was enough.

“Hm? Yeah, the press conferences and all that. Yes, I have a complete schedule of where I need to be when.”

“Good. How’s this play of yours in Oregon shaping up?”

He braced himself. “I’m going to be moving up there in a couple of weeks.”

There was a long minute of disapproving silence. “Really.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I rented a house for the summer. Figured it’d be easier than going back and forth from LA every weekend. But it won’t be a problem to come back here or get to New York or wherever,” he assured her. “I won’t miss anything.”

Sherri sat down at her desk and leaned back in her chair, steepling her fingers like some James Bond villain. “And the play itself?” she said finally.

He shrugged and turned to face her head on. “Not much to report yet. I went up there over the weekend and met with Victor, my old teacher, and his partner, Simon, who wrote the letter. We’ll be performing Midsummer Night’s Dream in August, and I will be directing.”

“Partner.” Sheri narrowed her eyes. “As in business partner, or lover?”

“Both, I guess, as far as the theater group is concerned. But yeah, they’re together.”

Sherri nodded her head approvingly. “LGBT ally. That’s good. And the dying mentor is a great human interest angle.”

Chris cringed. He liked Sherri, but despite her masterful ability to massage a star’s image in the press, she had all the sensitivity of a crocodile when it came to personal relations. “Jeez, Sherri. They’re friends, not ... angles.”

“Sorry.” Sherri managed to look contrite despite her frozen forehead. “I am truly sorry your friend is dying. But like I said, if you’d like to use this as an opportunity to bring attention to a good cause, one that would mean something to your friends—bone cancer research, for example—we could make that happen. Wouldn’t it be nice to see something good come out of this?”

Chris nodded, somewhat mollified. Since Simon’s letter had sparked his desire to save the Silver Scene Players, he’d been thinking about ways he could do more good in the world. Until now, his life had revolved around work—better roles, better scripts, doing whatever his producers asked of him—but now that his career was more firmly established, he stood a good chance of being legitimately wealthy—possibly to the tune of many millions of dollars.

He liked the money—it was nice not having to think about making rent payments or wondering if he could afford something—but he didn’t really see himself needing most of it. It was all still a bit abstract, but maybe he should think more seriously about a good cause.

“Maybe ... let me think about it.”

Sherri nodded, seemingly satisfied to have planted the seed in his mind. “I’m going to see about getting you on the entertainment segments of some of the Portland network affiliates. Home town boy makes good sort of thing. We’ll promo Crusaders, and you can spin your little Shakespeare company while you’re at it. I’m sending out press releases to the major newspapers and some of the local radio stations as well.”

Chris looked at her, eyebrows raised in surprise. “Thanks, Sherri. That could be awesome free publicity for the Players.”

Sherri sniffed. “We’re revamping your image, remember? You’re not some lout who gets in fistfights. You care about bringing culture to the masses, giving back to society, and supporting your friends. Especially the gay ones.”

It was hard to say for sure, but he might have caught just a hint of humor in her ice-grey eyes.

“I’m onto you, Sherri.” He grinned at her. “You act all tough as nails, but underneath it all, I’m beginning to think you might actually have a heart.

She gave him a stony glare over the top of a pair of Armani glasses. “Don’t be ridiculous, young man. I’m nails all the way through. Now, let’s discuss the interview you and Vanessa are doing on E! Entertainment next week.”