“I am. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but…”
“No, I get it,” he said. “That’s not something I would have picked up on. I’m a bit oblivious in real life. And I wish it wasn’t something you felt like you had to announce.” He paused. “Tommy and Germaine are going to lose theirshit. Where is the interview?”
“Rolling Stone, tomorrow. We’re all doing the interview tomorrow morning, so it’ll probably be live around dinner. Who are Tommy and Germaine?”
“My best friends. They’re a couple. TheyadoreUp Down Left Right, and that you’re going to come out? Holy shit, dude. I’ll video so you can see it.”
I grinned. “Do me one better, Bro… Skype me. Hide my box until after they read the article.”
“Oh, you’re going to make me tell them?”
“You want to keep them in the dark?”
“Nah, not when you’re doing this amazing thing for the LGBTQ community,” he said. “Proud of you, Bro.”
“Proud of you too, Bro.”
Uriah
The phone pinged inmy pocket and I grumbled. This was not the time to have a text from Austin. We were discussing the colors for the opening scene and I was just not in the mood.
It pinged again and this time, I used my smartwatch to stop off the ringer.
It buzzed again a moment later.
And again.
Then, it rang.
I stood from the meeting, which was luckily focused on the set and not the costumes, and marched out to the hallway.
“What?” I snapped into the phone.
“Uriah, I’m desperate,” Austin said. “I need your help. I am at asuperimportant interview. Aubrey is at work and can’t get out of the client meeting. The car agency double booked everything, and the kids are trapped at school.”
“Isn’t there anyone else?”
“The guys, Angela, and Hailey, are all with me, Nelson’s on set, and I can’t reach anyone else. Please save me, Uriah?”
He sounded absolutely desperate, and I knew that our meeting would be over by noon. Letting out a sigh of resignation, I caved. “What time do they get out?”
“Today is a one-fifteen dismissal,” he said. “It’s the whole reason I can’t get them.”
“I’ll get them,” I said. “Dalton School, right?”
“Yes,” he said. “Thank you, Uriah, thank you. I owe you dinner.”
“In public?”
“Pick the restaurant,” he said. “Gotta go.”
The connection ended, but I was left staring at the phone.
Pick the restaurant.
He’d never ever said that before. It was always followed up withI’ll invite the guys. What the hell was going on?
I quickly looked at the texts he sent, but they were all just the desperate beginnings of his crisis with the kids.
