Chapter Two

The taxi let Griffin off in front of the luxury hotel that would be his home for the next three months. Christian, the representative from the Actors’ Club, climbed out right behind him and paid the fare. A small group of excited young women stood together near the doorman, clutching copies of Hunters DVDs and magazines bearing his face. Apparently, word traveled fast.

He put a friendly smile on his face and shouldered his carry-on while the driver dragged his two roller-wheeled suitcases out of the trunk.

“Hi, guys,” he greeted his fans, who surged toward him.

He signed everything his fans wanted him to sign, posed for pictures, and chatted for a few minutes before he begged off on the grounds of jet lag. The group were very understanding and let him go inside, leaving him to check in more or less unmolested, although they continued to use their smartphones to film him through the hotel’s plate glass window.

“You’re very popular,” the man behind the desk noted.

“Yeah, our fan base is really supportive.”

“It must get really old to be stalked like that.”

He smiled and gave the practiced answer. “Well, they’re the reason I have a job, so it’s the least I can do. Most of them are really good people, and they’re a lot of fun to meet.”

The desk clerk shook his head and handed over his key card. “I don’t think I’d be able to stand it.”

“You might be surprised.” He took the little paper folder and glanced at the room number. It was toward the top of the building; he hoped he’d have a nice view. “It’s really nice to have so many people who support you and like you.”

“They like your character,” the man pointed out, starting to sound a little sour. “They don’t know you at all.”

“No, but they think they do. Ask them - they know my favorite color, my favorite foods, even the name of my high school.”

The clerk shook his head. “That’s creepy.”

“Maybe. I prefer to see it as affectionate involvement in my life.” He chuckled. “It takes some getting used to, granted, but they’re pretty awesome.”

“If you say so.” He shrugged. “Welcome to Chicago.”

Christian picked up his luggage and said, “I’ll carry this up to your room.”

“Thanks. I can get it, though.”

The other man, younger than Griffin and a head shorter, objected mildly, “I’m here to take care of you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

They got into the elevator, which deposited them on the seventeenth floor. The hotel was a relic from the 1920s, and the art deco style was everywhere. The place was a real jewel, from Griffin’s point of view, and because his mind had been tainted by Hunters, he could imagine it was haunted.

“I wonder what ghosts are in this hotel,” he mused to Christian as they walked down the hallway to his suite.

The younger man gave him a side-eye. “Ghosts aren’t real, you know, no matter what your show thinks.”

Griffin laughed. “I know. I just… it was just a thought.” He sighed. “Never mind.”

Pete would have understood that joke.

He opened the lock with a tap of his key card and politely held the door for Christian, feeling strange about not carrying his own baggage. The younger man walked just inside the door and put the bags down side by side.

“If there’s anything you need, the concierge downstairs can help, and if there’s anything he can’t do for you, just call Ms. Davies at the office.” He handed Griffin a business card on thick ivory stock that looked as expensive as it felt. “I’ve written my cell phone number on the back. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at eleven for a tour of the theater. Ms. Davies will introduce you to the rest of the cast at that time.”

“Am I the last one to show up?” he asked, fingering the card. The sharp corner dug into his skin.

“Yes. You were also the last one cast.” Christian smiled. “Welcome to Chicago, Mr. Lawrence.”

***

Sir Edward was in the shower, and while the water ran, Levi set out the old gentleman’s evening clothes. He was heading to the theater to see Naughty, one of the top new touring musicals. Levi still hadn’t had a chance to see the show, but he had the soundtrack and listened to it almost every day. It was the hottest ticket on Broadway, and the touring company was raking in the dough.

When bit hit shows like that one passed through town at the same time as the Actors’ Club summer session, it always made him nervous. There were limited numbers of theater goers and a limited amount of money to compete for, and a glitzy musical would always trump a regular stage play, especially one as old and over-performed as Julius Caesar.

He didn’t know what had possessed Liz to choose that particular production for this year. Last year, they’d been performing modern works, the kind of cutting-edge plays that had been the bedrock of their reputation. This swing at the classical fences was a bit out of character for them.

The water in the shower turned off, and he sighed. It was probably because of Sir Edward. The old fogey most likely would have balked at appearing in anything written more recently than 1670, and Liz had literally been trying for years to get him to be their headliner. Getting Sir Edward was a kind of coup, and if doing an old Shakespeare piece was what it took to make him happy, then so be it.

He finished putting the evening’s outfit on the door, trousers in front, shirt next with the tie over the left shoulder, jacket in the back. All of the pieces, including the tie, had been pressed into immaculate wrinkle-free perfection. He felt like a proper butler.

The last time he’d set out someone’s clothes, it had been a cutaway tuxedo for his brother’s best man. He still remembered helping that man put on the tuxedo, fastening his buttons and looking up into his green eyes while he straightened his tie. He still remembered the way he’d felt beneath his hands, and the way his aftershave had smelled, spicy with an undertone of apples. The best man, his man… until the summer they went their separate ways.

He hated to admit it, but he still missed him.

Sir Edward emerged from the bathroom, wrapped in the terry cloth robe that had been designated for after-shower wear. He was towel drying his silver hair, which was still thick and full.

“Excellent choice of suit,” the Englishman congratulated Levi. “Quite appropriate.”

“Thank you, sir.” Just call me Jeeves. He put Sir Edward’s shoes beneath the suit, taking a moment to make sure that they were shined to perfection. “Will you be dining out tonight?”

“Yes.” He sat on the couch and picked up the Chicago Stage magazine, perusing it for mentions of himself. “Don’t feel you need to wait for me. Just prepare my bed for when I return, and you may have the rest of the evening at your liberty.”

Levi nodded. “Thank you, sir. Would you like assistance dressing?”

Sir Edward gave him a pinch-eyed look. “I know how to dress myself, Mr. Rudd.”

“Of course, sir. I was just…”

“You are a dresser. I understand. This evening, I shall have no need of your services.” He paused at a page in the magazine. “This can’t be true.”

Levi frowned. “What, sir?”

He held up the magazine, displaying the offending article. One of Griffin Lawrence’s headshots filled more than half the page. “This is who Ms. Davies has chosen to play Mark Antony?”

“Yes, sir.” He took a deep breath. “She believes that his notoriety will help to spur ticket sales.”

Sir Edward stood up in a huff and tossed the magazine onto the coffee table where he had found it. “I am sufficient to spur ticket sales,” he spat. “We have no need of a man who has no acting ability and only a pretty face to fall back upon. Mark Antony is an important role and having this… person… play the part will undermine the production.”             

“Sir Edward…”

The aging actor put his hands on his hips and walked back and forth, pacing an angry path from one couch to the other. “A television personality is not the same as an actor. Shakespeare’s immortal words require a talented speaker, a measured voice, a presence. A gravitas. This… person… has none of that. He is no better than a fashion model, paid because of his looks, which have taken him further than his talent could help him go!”

He stomped into the bedroom in high dudgeon, expounding upon the offense to the Bard that Griffin’s presence would be, and swearing a hundred purple oaths that he would take this up with Liz tomorrow. Levi almost laughed in spite of himself. He had seen hissy fits, but Sir Edward’s was taking the cake.

He considered letting the old man work himself into a tizzy, but he decided that he’d take the high road just this once. He followed Sir Edward into the bedroom.

“Sir, he studied at the Performing Arts Academy in New York City. It might surprise you, but he actually is a classically trained actor. In fact, I saw him play the lead in Hamlet, and it was the best version of the role I’ve ever seen.”

He could not believe he was defending Griffin Lawrence. Sir Edward sniffed, “If that was the best version you’ve ever seen, then you’ve not seen many versions at all.”

“I’ve seen fifteen separate productions, including the films by Sir Lionel Orlando and Sir Kieran Bennett. Griffin Lawrence’s performance was the most nuanced that I’ve ever seen.”

The Englishman was not fully persuaded, but he at least was mollified enough that his blood pressure wouldn’t get out of control. He sat on the edge of the bed to pull on his socks while Levi put his after-shower robe on its designated hanger.

“I’ll be very pleasantly surprised to find that this young man has any talent, but if you insist, I will judge him on his merits.” He stood up again. “But you should know that I fully expect those merits to be lacking.”

“I understand, sir.”

Despite Sir Edward’s earlier refusal of the service, he found himself dressing the older man the same as he would between acts of a play. He wondered if that was how Sir Edward saw life: just a series of performances, one play after another, always for a different audience and never with the same co-stars twice. The more he thought about the analogy, the more he thought it was probably very apt for his own existence.

The thought made him sad. Knowing that Griffin Lawrence was just across the hall made him sadder. He wondered if Griffin had let his technique and abilities go in the decade, he’d been in his ridiculous little show. He had never been able to bring himself to watch Hunters, but he couldn’t imagine that there was much need for actual acting in a series like that. He had talent. He could have done so much better.

He should have stayed in New York with Levi.

Sir Edward finished dressing and gathered his overcoat and a walking stick, a purely superfluous affectation that somehow suited him. He nodded to Levi as he opened the hallway door.

“Enjoy your evening, Mr. Rudd.”

“I will,” he lied. “Good night, Sir Edward.”

He watched as the English actor walked away. Once he was gone and the door was locked again, he turned on the television and sat down in the main sitting area, the room service menu in his hand.

He ordered his dinner and flipped through channels while he waited for it to arrive. Infomercials, game shows, evening news casts and reruns dominated the airwaves at this post-afternoon but pre-prime time hour. He read the titles as he scrolled through the on-screen guide.

“House Flippers. No. Vice Squad. No. Bible History. World War Two in Color. I suppose I can watch Hitler TV if I can’t find anything else.” He realized that he was talking to himself, a bad habit he had picked up during the years he’d lived alone. It really didn’t matter, and there was nobody there to be annoyed by it, so he continued as he was. “Morality, which is about everything but. And Hunters.” He sighed. “Of course it would be Hunters.”

He had known that the show was long-lived enough to have made it to syndication, which made it even harder to avoid. He didn’t want to watch it. He didn’t want to see Griffin’s face or hear his voice, but he knew that he would have no choice once the morning came. It was better to get his reactions over with now. Reluctantly, he settled the channel on his former lover’s show.

The opening credits were a montage of scenes from the series, flipping rapidly from image to image while a classic rock soundtrack played. There were lots of car chases and gun work and a shirtless shot of Griffin that he could have lived without.

Well, he thought, he might have let his acting chops go to seed, but his body is still on point.

He remembered that body, remembered the heat of it and the firm muscles and the way they’d made one another feel. He remembered a romantic weekend on Martina Island and the brass feather bed they’d rocked for hours. He shook his head and wiped at eyes that had begun to water.

I’ll bet you anything he doesn’t remember me.

He watched the show against better instincts, and he was surprised to find himself drawn into the story. He hadn’t expected to find something with such a ridiculous premise quite so involving, but the episode he was watching was very dramatic, dealing with the death of Griffin’s partner’s father. Both lead actors gave extremely authentic and moving performances, and Levi found himself shedding a tear or two over the grief that they portrayed. Griffin hadn’t lost a bit of skill. In fact, he’d maintained it, maybe even sharpened it. And those closeups… his green eyes were still the same, the dimples just as deep, the smile still as sparkling.

He found himself wondering if he still smelled of spice and apples.