And he needed a drink.
That last one at least he could start on immediately. He pulled a hard cider out of the fridge and opened it before walking the three steps to his living room and flicking on the TV.
Entertainment Tonightwas garbage TV, but it was familiar, comforting garbage. Growing up, he’d watched it with his parents, never seriously but to make up outlandish stories. And, of course, his mother liked to know what was in fashion.
He grabbed the notepad and pen from the end table as the hostess’s voice washed over him. Right now the script stalled in Vegas after Scotty and Morgan broke into Lila’s house and liberated the dog. Steve had a vague idea of where he wanted to go from there, but getting the words out and making them funny had been giving him fits. Now, though—well, it was easier to see the big picture now that he knew whattopicture, now that he had a handle on how the characters would come alive on-screen.
So maybe a neighbor spotted them sneaking around in the yard. And maybe someone called the police because Scotty accidentally knocked over a potted cactus or something (“Who pots a cactus!” he’d hiss, looking over his shoulder to try to see the damage he’d inflicted on himself. “It’s a goddamn desert!” “Shut up and hold still or I’ll never get the pricks out of your ass,” Morgan would snipe back. Or, hmm, maybe Morgan needed to be the one knocking things over so Scotty could say the pricks line and then add, mystified, “I’ve never had to say that before.”). And then….
Steve looked up a few times over the next half an hour. The first was just in time to see Marla Stone walk the red carpet of her comeback movie. She looked pretty good for seventy-three, and early reviews seemed to say the movie was good too. After that Scotty and Morgan pulled him back in until, incongruously, Scotty’s voice came out of the television.
Drew cleaned up pretty nice too, his thick dark hair artfully tousled and his stubble cultivated to just the right length to make him look rakish rather than lazy. Steve lived the worst possible life to have his head turned by a man in a well-tailored tux, but he couldn’t help it. Drew had a charisma that reeled people in.
“I mean, yeah, I think it’s a good movie. I wouldn’t have done it if I thought it would suck.” Steve suppressed a smile. That was the kind of honest answer only actors like Drew could get away with—ones with enough success under their belts that confidence didn’t come across as arrogance, and with enough charm to make you forgive them if it did.
Before the interviewer could ask another question, Austin Sparks stuck his head over Drew’s shoulder. “Don’t let him sell it short—it’s fantastic, he’s incredible,” he said before melting back into the background, signing autographs along the red carpet.
“I actually hate him,” Drew said in that sly, cheerful way that let you know he was really very fond.
Steve snorted without true amusement and went back to his notepad.
By the timeEntertainment Tonightsegued into whatever even less substantial slush aired after it, Steve had made several pages’ worth of progress. He was debating the humor of Elvis impersonators when the phone rang, interrupting his groove.
He always answered for the Shirelles, or his mom would think he’d forgotten about her. “Hi, Mom.”
“Hi, baby.”
Steve put the notepad down and flicked the TV off. “You’re home awfully early, aren’t you?” She never made phone calls in public.
“You’re not trying to keep tabs on your mother, are you?” she teased. “I’m my own woman, you know.”
Steve laughed. Now there was an understatement. “I wouldn’t dare. So, to what do I owe the pleasure of this call?”
“Unlike you, Iamallowed to call to check up. Mother’s prerogative,” she said loftily. “Besides, Hilary texted me. Something you want to tell me, Steven?”
“Hilary’s a snitch.” He kicked his feet up on the couch and leaned his back against the armrest. “I was going to tell you this weekend. Wanted to do it in person.” He hadn’t wanted to tell her before the project really kicked into motion. So often scripts got optioned and never went anywhere. He didn’t want her to get excited over nothing.
“Congratulations, baby. I know you work hard. Is this the comedy script you’ve been writing? I thought it wasn’t finished.”
“It isn’t,” he admitted. “Hilary must be a little bit magic.”
His mother clucked in admonishment. “Hilary works hard too.” Then she paused. “Though I have to say she does seem to be having a solid run of luck. Did I read right that Drew Beaumont signed on to play the lead? That’s quite a coup for your first script, and an independent film at that! He must be taking quite a pay cut.”
Steve was suddenly glad hedidn’thave to tell her in person because it meant she couldn’t see him blush. “Apparently he insisted.”
“He has good taste.” She sniffed. “Did you know he’s bisexual? Handsome too, wouldn’t you say?”
Oh God.“Mom. Please tell me you’re not suggesting I hook up with an actor.”
“Hook up!” she echoed, delighted. “Well, why not! Honestly, Steven, you need to have a little fun sometimes.”
The suggestion would have mortified him under regular circumstances. These circumstances were far from regular, and he reacted accordingly. “I’m not going to sleep with a costar!” he protested.
His mother’s silence told him Hilary hadn’t spilledallthe beans.
Oops.
“Costar?” she said carefully, giving away nothing.
