“Oh dear, your hand,” Uncle Eddie said. “Come, Mr. Reyes, I’m sure there’s a first aid kit in the car. Lyle always thinks ahead.”
Rafi wasn’t at all certain he wanted to be separated from the herd like that, but Julian was making no move to rescue him, only giving Christian a stern and exasperated look. Rafi’s hand was bleeding copiously. Reluctantly, he let Uncle Eddie lead him over the sand back to the parking area.
Sure enough, there was a first aid kit in the trunk of the gleaming white Dodge Charger now occupying—in the huge empty lot—the space directly next to Rafi’s SUV.
“You and I got off on the wrong foot, Rafael,” Uncle Eddie said as he began washing off the wound. “A misunderstanding, of course.”
“I didn’t recognize you,” Rafi said, allowing himself to sound sheepish, though he didn’t intend to apologize.
“You are still fairly new to all this.” Eddie’s voice was kindly enough, but no more forgiving than Rafi had been apologetic. “Oh, yes, I looked you up in some detail. I can’t help being concerned about your intentions, after all.”
“Intentions?”
“You have to understand, Julian is like a son to me. I raised him from the age of thirteen, when his parents were killed in a car accident.”
“Oh…that must have been difficult.”
“Yes, he can indeed be very difficult,” Uncle Eddie said, somewhat mistaking Rafi’s meaning. “But we’re family, and for a long time, we were all each other had. Even now—I have Christian, but it’s different.” He shook his head, pulling a bandage out of the kit. “I miss the boy Julian used to be. So sweet, so affectionate. Perhaps it’s Hollywood that got to him, but he’s…not like that now.”
Despite himself, Rafi softened a bit toward the man. “I don’t think he’s so bad,” he said, unsure if he meant it or not.
“You can’t be expected to see it, I suppose, but Julian has been acting more and more erratic. Impulsive, reckless, pushing away the people who care about him and—forgive me—throwing himself into the arms of strangers. I’m worried about him.” He was quiet a moment, focused on bandaging Rafi’s hand. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll be good for him. Someone older, more stable, more level-headed. Someone who can keep him from doing anything too foolish, hm? Do you think you can do that for me?”
Rafi hesitated. “I intend to do my best by Julian, of course. But whatever I do will be for him, not for you.”
Uncle Eddie looked disgruntled. “Fair enough. Just don’t be afraid to call me, Rafi. Here.” He fished a card out of the back pocket of his khakis. “That’s my personal number. I can’t trust Julian to seek help when he needs it, but I hope you’ll do it on his behalf.”
Frowning, Rafi took the card. “What kind of help are you expecting him to need?”
“With Julian?” Uncle Eddie sighed heavily. “One never knows.”
* * * *
Taking selfies always improved Christian’s mood, so Julian was able to coax him into smiling for the camera phone—first a few shots of him posing dramatically on the picnic table, then a few of them together, Julian’s arm slung around the boy’s shoulders.
“You’re really dating that ox?” Christian asked once Rafi and Uncle Eddie were well out of sight.
“Yes, and I’ll thank you not to damage him any further.”
“Uncle Eddie’s not gonna like it.”
That was, of course, ninety percent of the point. Everything Julian had said to Rafi about helping his reputation was true, but it paled beside the fact that Uncle Eddie had never allowed Julian to date, had always kept him all to himself, and now he couldn’t anymore. Of course Julian didn’t actually want to date anyone, but that wasn’t the point. He could do what he wanted now, and Uncle couldn’t stop him.
“I could tell you where Uncle Eddie can put his opinion,” he said, “but Rafi wouldn’t want me saying such things in front of a child.”
Christian hooted with laughter—and pause to capture the expression on himself and upload it to Instagram.
“He’s going to get you for it, though,” Christian said. “You know that. Is he worth it? The ox, I mean. Is he that good in bed?”
Julian snorted. “I’ll let you know.”
“Uncle’s probably bribing him right now to spy on you. Or planting a bug on him or something.”
“Whatever he may say, Uncle Eddie is not all-powerful, and there are plenty of things in life that he does not control.” The brave words rang hollow, and they both knew it. Julian took a long breath, trying to keep it steady. “Anyway, what do you care?”
“I don’t,” Christian said. “Maybe mega-muscles over there will keep you occupied where I don’t have to see your ugly face anymore.”
Ah, so Christian was jealous. Afraid Julian would disappear into the arms of his new boyfriend and have no time for his little cousin anymore. Trying to reassure him would have roughly the same effect as trying to pet an injured cat; Julian could only try to respond in Christian’s own language. “Yeah, maybe he will. I’ll send you a postcard from our honeymoon.”
Rafi and Uncle Eddie were coming back from the parking lot now, sunlight gleaming on Rafi’s dark curls and the warm brown expanse of his arms. Mega-muscles indeed, but he didn’t swagger like so many men who knew their strength. Rafi’s walk was confident, certain and solid, but easy, too. Honest.
Julian raised his phone and took a picture, then was immediately unsure why he’d done it. He’d turned the lens to selfie mode and was taking more pics with Christian by the time Rafi and Uncle Eddie came into earshot.
“Rafi, I see you’ve survived my uncle,” Julian said. “Come get in the pictures with us.”
“Um, sure. Do you want…?” Rafi gestured at Uncle Eddie.
“No, I do not,” Julian said immediately, without looking at his uncle. Awkwardly, while Uncle Eddie finished his lunch in the background, Rafi joined Julian and Christian’s impromptu photoshoot.
“Well, shockingly, I don’t have all day to hang out on the beach,” Rafi said eventually. “I have to get home. Jules, walk me to my car?”
Jules? Julian tried not to let his lip curl. Pet names, he supposed, were going to be part of this role. “Certainly, sweetheart.” He made sure they were holding hands as they walked back toward the parking lot.
As soon as they were far enough away from the cabana, Julian was prepared to ask what Rafi and his uncle had talked about, and try to ascertain whether Uncle had gotten his hooks into Rafi the way Christian theorized. Just before he could open his mouth, Rafi beat him to it.
“You and your uncle seem…at odds.”
“In all things, yes.” Especially now.
“He said he was all that was left of your family.”
Julian felt his hackles rise, his hand tightening painfully on Rafi’s. So this was the way of it; Uncle had made a play for Rafi’s sympathies. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“My brother just stole my fiancée. I do have some idea of what complicated families are like. But Carlos is still my brother, and Eddie is still your uncle, who raised you—”
Julian jerked his hand away. It was a good thing he had no actual interest in Rafi Reyes, or it might be painful how easily Uncle had won him over. “Christian is a dozen times more family to me than my uncle, and he’s as likely to swear at me as smile. Do not imagine, Rafael, that you understand anything about my family. And for God’s sake, don’t trust my uncle any further than you can throw him.” He eyed Rafi’s biceps. “Than most people could throw him, anyway.”
“And how far should I trust you?” Rafi turned to Julian with a slow grin—and grabbed. Julian tried to dodge, but it was too late; he could only kick and squawk as Rafi threw him over his shoulder. “As far as I can throw you? Shall we test how far that is?”
“Put me down, you giant!” Julian was startled by the laughter in his own voice. He ought to be infuriated—but all he could think was that no one had picked him up like this since his br
other died. He’d probably spent half his childhood riding on his big brother’s shoulders, and it had never occurred to him that something similar could happen to him as an adult.
Rafi swung him down as they approached his car, straightening his clothes for him with a teasing primness and even retrieving Julian’s fallen-off hat before it could blow away.
“Looks like I can trust you from about that tree there to right over here, hm?”
“Ass.”
“Thanks, yours is pretty good too.” He dug out his keys and beeped the car open. “What do you think, can anyone see us? We should probably go for a goodbye kiss, just in case.”
“I suppose,” Julian said, and tipped his face up.
He was expecting a gentle peck. He was not expecting a tender, lingering liplock. He was certainly not expecting tongue.
He jerked back, mortifying aware of the color flooding his cheeks. “Right. Well, goodbye.”
Rafi snagged his arm when he turned to leave—not flee, he told himself, just…leave. “Julian.”
“Yes?” He trusted he had control of his express again, and that it was reflecting only cool impatience.
Rafi was watching him narrow-eyed. “There’s an important question we haven’t addressed at all.”
“Oh?”
“Are you even gay?”
Julian shrugged. “Probably.”
“Probably…?”
“Well, I’m definitely not into girls.” He’d known that much for years.
“Ha! I knew the thing with Ellie Tanning was fake.”
“My uncle’s idea. Ellie and I both hated it and actually barely saw each other,” Julian admitted. He shook Rafi’s hand belatedly off his arm. “But you’re in no position to throw stones about exploring one’s sexuality, Rafael. You wrote an entire album about your bisexual crisis.”
“There was no crisis. Or if there was, it was about Bo, not about being bi.” Rafi sounded like he’d had this argument many times. “Though, okay, it’s hard to mind being misinterpreted when you get a million LGBT fans thanking you for supporting and inspiring them. Anyway, I didn’t have much choice about coming out.”
“Ah, yes. Outed via nude photo leak. The glamour of celebrity life.” The photos had been…stunning.
“I think it did me more good than harm, in the end. I guess it’s true what they say, no such thing as bad publicity.” Rafi arched an eyebrow at him. “Unless you spit on someone, maybe.”
Julian gave that a thin smile. “One wonders if your boyfriend was able to be so sanguine about it.”
Rafi grimaced. “I’d already broken up with Cory and gone back to Bo by the time the photos came out. Cory wouldn’t return my calls, so I don’t know how things went for him, but considering his conservative religious family…probably not well. Which kinda brings me to my point.”
“Oh, there was a point in here somewhere?”
“This, you and me, isn’t just going to be a relationship, it’s going to be you coming out. When you’re not even sure if you’re gay. Are you sure you want to do that?”
“I have a fairly large following in the LGBT community, especially since being cast in Freaks.” It was a comic book movie about people with superpowers; that the superpowers were a metaphor for queerness was an open secret, or at least a popular interpretation. “Fan blogs on Tumblr and so on. I think I can count on their support.”
“Yeah, I just bet you have a large gay following,” Rafi muttered, giving Julian a discreet once-over. Julian, completely accustomed to having his body evaluated, did not blush. That would have been ridiculous. Rafi cleared his throat. “Freaks is still filming, isn’t it?”
“Yes. Not today, fortunately.”
“So I should probably visit you on the set. That’s good boyfriend stuff, right?”
Julian frowned. Yes, unlike his teenage “fling” with Ellie, he was probably going to have to spend time with Rafi outside of obvious photo ops. “I suppose. The Gunpowder premiere is coming up as well, you should accompany me to that. I’ll be in touch.”
“Oh, not if I’m in touch with you first, sweetheart.” Rafi lifted his phone, where Julian’s picture was on a contact page next to the name Pea Cock. Julian wasn’t sure what expression his face fell into, but Rafi gleefully snapped a picture of it before leaping into his car and driving away.
* * * *
“Well, you’ve gained approximately eight quadrillion new Insta followers,” Amber said, raising an eyebrow at her phone. “I gotta say, Cock Boy photographs well. He sure sounds like an ice-cold piece of work, though. Why can’t you ever date anyone with a pleasant personality?” This last was muttered low enough that Rafi could pretend not to hear it.
“Pass me another beer,” Rafi said, eyeing his own phone with disfavor. Supposedly, he and Amber were watching a hockey game; it was probably some symptom of modern life that they were both paying more attention to their phones than the TV screen. Amber tossed him the beer, and Rafi nearly fumbled it, distracted by the text message that was just popping up.
“That was smooth,” Amber said. “Who are you texting so passionately? Pea Cock?”
“I wish,” Rafi replied absently, which was…an odd response, really. “No. It’s Carlos.”
“Oh, really. What does he have to say?”
Rafi cleared his throat and read. “‘Didn’t take you long to replace Bo. Have you taken it up the butt yet?’ The conversation has gone downhill from there.”
“Why are you even replying? Don’t engage with the dick.”
“He’s my brother.”
“That makes this worse, not better.”
Rafi growled down at his phone, which had just lit up with a message from Bo. ‘We’re at dinner with my parents. Please, for the love of God, stop texting him back for just one hour. You know he’ll never let you have the last word.’ Another message on its heels—’My parents liked you better, if that helps any.’
It was blatant flattery and manipulation, and part of Rafi was infuriated that she could even talk to him without dying of shame. The other part of him was also infuriated, because he already knew he was going to do what she asked.
He turned off his phone and chucked it across the room, where it buried itself in a bean bag. “I’m going to my room for a while, Amber. Stay and watch the game, I’ll be out again later.”
“Sure,” Amber said neutrally, not looking up from the TV. It was her version of saying, ‘You’re acting weird but I’m gonna give you space for it.’ Which was part of what made Amber such a good friend. It was weird, now, to think that he’d had a crush on her when they were teenagers, before Amber figured out she preferred girls. They worked much better as friends than they ever would have as lovers.
Rafi stomped into his bedroom and picked up one of his guitars. Playing always helped clear his head; he wandered through a handful of random notes and chords before his hands settled into “Beach Song” from Epicurious. He supposed that was inevitable.
He remembered trying to write that song; he’d intended it to be happy and fun, and while the melody was, the lyrics really weren’t. They’d never released it as a single, but it always got a good reaction at shows. He’d written it in the aftermath of his breakup with Bo—the first breakup, the one before Cory—and while it wasn’t directly about that, those feelings of raw sadness and desolation had made their way into the lyrics.
Rafi knew he’d be better off writing new stuff than futzing around with the old, both psychologically and practically—he needed new material to have any hope of salvaging his career—but he didn’t feel like writing about Bo right now, and he doubted he’d be able to focus on anything else.
Write about fake-dating a movie star who doesn’t seem to like you much, he thought with a wry smile. Watch the fans try to interpret that one.
It was a dumb idea, and a bit reckless if anyone ever figured it out, but somehow that only made his brain latch onto it harder. Within half an hour he had a whole chorus written for somet
hing he’d tentatively titled “The Emperor’s Beck and Call,” and he felt oddly better about his life.
The gold bracelet on his wrist kept throwing him off, though, as he tried to play. Rafi narrowed his eyes at it. Thick and chunky as it was, he couldn’t help feeling the bracelet looked better on him than it ever had on delicate Julian. Maybe it was some kind of family heirloom? He took it off to examine, and found a starburst shape carved on the inside, around the surname Gault in fancy, flowing script. It did look as though it might be very old.
You live in it now, Julian had said. It’s our token of affection.
Hmm. Two could play at that game.
Chapter 3
Of course not everyone on set got along.
Ha ha, no, definitely not.
Is there anything you’d like to say about Julian Gault?
Look, I know it’s unprofessional to bash your co-stars, but I think most everyone’s heard what he said, what he did. I don’t think I’m the unprofessional one for calling a spade a spade.
Has he apologized to you?
Not even a little. I’d be shocked if he did. He’s a fantastic actor, I have to admit, but I wish he’d just…decide to play the role of a better person? But working with impossible jerks is part of the industry, I guess.
—excerpt from Hollywood Reporter interview with Cassie Bayles
* * * *
And forever’s an overused word
We’ll try it Hamlet style
Tomorrow and tomorrow, babe
For good, for keeps, for a while
And beloved’s an old-fashioned phrase
For the person one adores
I don’t sound cool or hip, my love
But I’m yours, I’m yours, I’m yours
—“Love Notes,” from Sword & Shield by Distant Kingdom
* * * *
Rafi had been to a red carpet movie premiere once before—a not-half-bad teen drama that used a DK song on the soundtrack—but that had been at home in New York. Gunpowder was apparently going full traditional and premiering at the TCL Chinese Theatre in Los Angeles, which meant six hours on a plane with Julian.
Star Bright Page 4
