Oh boy. Here it goes. “We’re working on a compressed schedule in order to work with Drew’s availability.” As soon as he said it, he cringed; his mom didn’t need to know he and Drew were on a first-name basis. She’d already gotten enough ideas. “And we held auditions today and yesterday, and, well, let’s just say it wasn’t a good crop. So Hilary asked me to show them how it was done, and….”
“And then she offered you the part?”
Steve was a decent actor, but he’d never mastered lying to his mother. “Apparently Drew was very insistent.”
“And what about you? Is this what you want? You’ve always wanted to write, not act.”
He shook his head. “I don’t mind acting. I actually think it’ll be kind of fun, with Drew. And I’m still writing the script. I just don’t want to be gawked at wherever I go. Most people don’t know what screenwriters look like.”
“As long as you’re happy, baby, I’m happy for you. But if you don’t want to do it, you call Hilary back and tell her so.”
“It’s just one movie. And besides, it’s an indie production company even I’ve never heard of. No one’s going to see it. My privacy is safe.”
His mother laughed. “For now. Maybe I’ll show up on set one day and surprise you. Think Drew Beaumont will give me an autograph?”
Oh God. Steve laughed too, in spite of himself, at the idea of his mother acting like a starstruck fangirl. “I think he’d get a kick out of it.” At least judging by their interactions so far.
“I’ll put it in my calendar,” she said wickedly. “Every mother should have the chance to embarrass her children at work.”
“I look forward to seeing you,” he said dryly, knowing she’d never show.
They chatted a few more minutes about the men she was seeing—his father had passed away three years ago, and though she’d loved him dearly, now she was enjoying “playing the field.”
“Mom,” he protested when she used that phrase.
“Don’t be jealous, baby. Are you coming up to visit this weekend?”
He blew out a breath. “I don’t know. It’ll depend on the schedule, I think, and how much work I get done before then.” They were supposed to start filming Monday, which seemed incredibly fast. “Tell Rita I love her if I don’t make it up.”
“I’ll tell her.”
By the time they hung up, Steve’s cider was gone, and so was his ambition to write. He plugged his phone in, set his alarm, and nudged the coffee table back so he could pull out the bed.
He brushed his teeth at the pedestal sink in his tiny bathroom, then washed his face. Without meaning to, he scrutinized himself in the mirror. He didn’t look like the kind of guy who should star opposite Drew Beaumont in anything. But maybe that would work to his advantage. He was just an average guy with average looks, distinguishable mostly because he’d broken his nose skiing in college and it had set crooked. Drew was the character audiences were supposed to fall in love with.
That was okay, though. It fit the genre. They were supposed to fall in love with Scotty, but Scotty was too ridiculous and maybe too beautiful to identify with. It was Steve’s job to provide the human connection, in large part by falling in love with Scottyforthe audience.
Steve wasn’t the best actor on the planet, but he was pretty sure he could pull it off.
Chapter Three
WHENDrew dragged himself into the makeup trailer Monday morning, Steve was already in the other chair, looking bemused as Nina and Chantelle discussed his goatee.
“He’s supposed to be older than Scotty and Tony. The goatee lends gravitas.”
“Sure, but look at his bone structure,” Chantelle countered. “And he has nice skin.”
Drew plopped down, content to be ignored, and watched the show, cracking open the yogurt he’d picked up from craft services.
“He has a nice beard!”
“Clean-shaven would be more typical of the genre.”
“No one’s going to say that gay men don’t have beards, are they?” Steve put in at this impasse. He seemed resigned to outside influences deciding the fate of his facial hair.
Drew pulled the spoon out of his mouth. “Definitely not me.”
For a brief second, he had everyone’s attention. Steve nodded. “Cheers.”
