Chapter Six

WITH Drew gone for the morning, Steve went back to his usual morning MO. He got up early and went jogging, showered in his microscopic bathroom, and then took his laptop to the café down the street. Carlos the barista kept him supplied with a steady stream of coffee until he realized that was going to wreak havoc with his shooting schedule in the afternoon, and ordered a breakfast sandwich and a cookie instead.

Two hours passed with the tap of fingers on keys. Finally the crumbs ran out and Steve pulled himself out of his script long enough to check his phone.

Heads-up, our private party might get some publicity soon. Drew’s talking about you on Gloria.

Steve barely refrained from squawking. Drew did what? Why would he do that? What would he even say?

He didn’t have to wonder long, though; Hilary followed that text with a link to a clip on the show’s website.

With no small amount of trepidation, he took out his earbuds and plugged them in. Then he clicked.

His palms were sweating and his cheeks warm by the time Drew said, “Besides, he’s good.”

He watched until the clip ended, then pulled out his earbuds and put them away. You think I’m safe? he replied, not knowing how to address anything Drew had said.

Hilary must have been watching her phone, because only a few seconds went by before it buzzed on the table. For now. Might get some paparazzi hanging out around the set. I’ll have a word with security on Drew’s behalf.

Thank God he had friends he could rely on. You’re the best.

After that, though, he had to pack up or he was going to be late to set. He emailed Nina and the producer the updated script, closed his laptop, and shoved everything in his shoulder bag. He made it to Makeup just in time to almost bump shoulders with Drew as they both reached for the door.

Their camaraderie had always been easy. Steve wasn’t prone to starstruck moments, and Drew might be a diva, but usually only about his Perrier and the way his pants fit. But now for the first time, Steve felt awkward.

“Hey.”

Drew smiled back. “Hey. Nice morning off?”

“You had a morning off,” Steve retorted, trying to find his conversational feet. “I was writing your lines.”

“And yours, I imagine.” Drew held the door and let Steve through, even though he obviously had leftover stage makeup on and would need to get started first.

“And mine,” Steve agreed. He proceeded to the farthest chair, then went another step and opened the minifridge to grab two bottles of water. He tossed the Perrier to Drew.

“Thanks.” Drew caught the bottle and plopped into the chair. “Any idea where Chantelle is?”

“Nope.” Steve looked around, but there were no notes, and he knew nobody else had texted him. “Guess we wait. Maybe you can de-goop in the meantime.”

Sighing, Drew reached for the dispenser of makeup-removing cloths. “Seems a waste.”

Steve nodded wordlessly, mulling over the right phrasing. Did you have a nice time pimping yourself and our movie on television this morning just didn’t have much of a ring to it. “Productive day?” he asked instead.

Drew huffed and waggled his hand in a so-so gesture before raising the cloth to his face. “Parts of it were good. Parts not so much.” He broke into a grin. “I bragged about you on TV today. Watch out, you’ll be famous any second now.”

Oh goodie. “Can’t wait,” Steve said dryly and hid his smile in his water bottle when Drew laughed, unrestrained and unscripted, his face tilted toward the ceiling. Ignoring the tightening in his stomach, he prompted, “What parts were not so good?”

“Ugh, I don’t want to tell tales out of school.” Drew wiped vigorously under one eye, then apparently gave up and reached for his water bottle. He cracked it open and escaping gas hissed into the room.

Steve snorted. “Oh, I don’t think so. You’re a better liar than that. You don’t even want me to buy that.”

“Ha!” Drew sat up straight and gave him a guilty look that lacked any repentance. “All right, you caught me.”

“I promise not to tattle,” Steve said solemnly.

“I guess since your aspirations are not casting, acting, or producing, I can let you in on a few secrets.” Drew leaned forward, darting his gaze to the door to the room before resettling it on Steve. “The thing is, I don’t actually like everyone I’ve ever worked with.”

“Oh, you don’t say,” Steve said. “Gosh, there’s a shocker. I feel so jaded now. I don’t know if I’ll ever recover. Where are my rose-colored glasses?”

“Shut up! You asked for this revelation and now you’re stuck with it.”

This time Steve didn’t bother hiding the smile. “All right, I’ll bite. Do you hate Gloria Pearl? Leigh Miller?”

“I don’t hate anyone,” Drew protested. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m….”

“A diva?” Steve suggested innocently.

“Difficult,” Drew finished, shooting him unconvincing eye daggers. “But Austin Sparks wanted your role in this movie, and I am so glad you took it before someone said yes to that.”

Steve felt a moment of vicious satisfaction, but it faded, and then he didn’t know whether to be surprised or touched. Finally he settled on “Aww. You like me,” and batted his eyelashes. Juvenile, yes, but so was this whole project.

“I do, but it’s just—something about him rubs me the wrong way. He….” Steve got the impression he was about to say more, but something must have stopped him, because he shook his head and changed directions. “You know how some people you click with right away and everything’s smooth and good, and you just get along with them and trust them? And after a short time it’s like you’ve known them forever and you’re totally comfortable?”

Not anymore, he didn’t—or at least he hadn’t before Drew. But lately he was remembering it did happen. “Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Drew echoed. “This is like, the opposite of that. He’s like a hemorrhoid. In the right circumstances, you might forget about him for a while, but he’s still a pain in the ass.”

Steve didn’t bother trying not to laugh. “I see. Well, I’m glad I don’t have the dubious honor of being a pain in your ass.”

At that moment the door opened and Chantelle came in carrying a six-pack of Perrier. “I’m not even going to ask,” she said. “Steve, can you put these in the fridge?”

When he stood up to take them, he caught the expression on Drew’s face: pinched around the eyes and mouth, lips pressed uncharacteristically flat. Did he regret that Chantelle had interrupted them? Had he been about to say something else, and now he felt like he couldn’t?

No. That was reading too far into it. He was probably just holding in a fart.

Sure enough, when Steve turned around from stashing the water bottles in the minifridge, Drew looked perfectly relaxed.

Steve was just seeing things he wanted to see. It wouldn’t be the first time. He took a deep, quiet breath and reminded himself to focus. This movie could make or break his career as a writer. He needed to be at his best.

And that meant no distractions.