His Leading Man

by Ashlyn Kane

  Then whoever was on the other end hung up even before she had an opportunity to reply, and Steve’s mom went ballistic.

  “I should have thrown his ass to the curb months ago,” she snarled. Steve had never heard such vitriol in her voice—at least not when she wasn’t acting—and her face was twisted in a grimace. He nearly took a step back in surprise. Beside her, Drew looked up sharply, the Perrier bottle halfway to his lips.

  “Is this about Rico?” Steve asked. It had to be, right? Unless one of the others had done something? But the odds of that…. Surely his mother had better taste.

  She blew out a noisy breath, so much so that she ruffled her hair in the still afternoon. “I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t think it would come to this.”

  Steve frowned. “Didn’t think it would come to what? Mom, you’re not making any sense.”

  She stepped forward and grabbed his hands, and Steve’s heart sank. “You were right. It was Rico. He’s the one who leaked those pictures of you and Drew to the press.”

  Oh. Of course. Rico was a photographer by trade—that was why he and Marla had been working on a gallery opening. And she had warned Steve he might be at that benefit at the aquarium. He exhaled slowly. “Well, I’m glad you broke up with him. What an asshole.”

  “Darling.”

  In the periphery, Drew and Nina exchanged glances and stood up to give them some space.

  Steve’s mouth went dry. He knew that tone—he recognized the self-recrimination from her regrets over not dragging his father to the doctor sooner. His throat tightened. He already knew what she was going to say. “What, Mom?”

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” She sighed, for once looking her age, or at least most of it. “If I’d been more careful with my companions, this never would have happened. I never wanted you to have to give up your privacy.”

  “Well. That’s….” Like he’d said before, it was only ever a matter of time. Though he hadn’t thought it would be this small a matter of time. “Why? I mean, what does he want?” Stupid question, probably. Assuming he was also the blackmailer, he’d asked for fifty grand.

  “From you? Nothing. Just to punish me for daring to break up with him. And now he’s asking for more money—enough to buy out my half of the gallery.” She huffed. “Darling, I…. When I started dating again, I didn’t think about what might happen to you. And I’m sorry about that. I should have done better.”

  Oh jeez. “Mom!” he protested. He didn’t want her to feel guilty about something integral to her healing process. “You’re not responsible for anyone’s actions but your own. This is his doing, not yours. And it’s not like it’s going to ruin my life. I’m glad you started dating again. I just want you to be happy.”

  She blinked rapidly, shaking her head as she dabbed at the corners of her eyes. Steve felt paralyzed. His mother rarely cried, at least not if she wasn’t being paid for it, and never over something this minor. Rita raised her head and leaned against Marla’s legs; Marla tangled her fingers in her fur. “Whatever shortcomings your father and I had, we did a good job raising you.”

  He swallowed hard. “Thanks.”

  Drew returned a few minutes later, when Marla and Rita drove off. He held out a cold bottle of water and waited for Steve to take a few deep sips before he spoke. “Tough news?” he asked finally.

  “Mom’s ex-boyfriend is our mystery blackmailer. She’s pretty mad at herself.” Steve took another long swig to ease the tightness in his throat. “Now that I think about it, that must’ve been his car that passed us when we were jogging.” His stomach soured. Maybe he’d drunk too much cold water.

  Drew took the bottle back and set it down in the chair. “Hey.” He tilted Steve’s chin up so they met eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m… yes? I just….” Steve opened and closed his fists, feeling helpless. “Mom feels shitty and I feel violated, and it’s probably only going to get worse when we come out and—”

  Drew tugged him into a hug, and the rest of Steve’s words died on a shaky breath. Steve let the tension soak out of him and into the fabric of Drew’s shirt. “Sorry,” Drew murmured. He leaned their heads together. “We can cancel the interview.”

  “No.” Steve pulled back, shaking his head. “I’ll feel better when it’s over with. And I don’t want to give him the satisfaction. This way we control what’s said and when.”

  Drew smiled. “All right, then. Let’s go.”

  IT was a long drive into LA. Steve spent the trip on the edge of his seat, fidgeting, his stomach turning. Twenty minutes in Drew took his hand, which helped a little, and started talking, which helped a little more.

  “Gloria Friday Night is pretty relaxed. Normally we’d have a list of questions she’d ask, but we’re a last-minute substitution, so I just had Alan forward some no-gos.”

  That, Steve supposed, was worth having a publicist in itself. “What if I throw up in front of a live studio audience?”

  “You won’t,” Drew assured him. Then he paused. “Though if you do, you probably won’t have to worry about being asked to do another live show for a while.”

  “Ha-ha,” Steve grumbled, but the levity did help him relax.

  Traffic nearly made them late. They pulled into the lot and were immediately rushed to Makeup, where a motormouthed production assistant went over how to wave and clipped on their mics.

  “I cannot wait until filming wraps and I don’t have to wear this every day,” Steve said under his breath when she finished.

  In the next chair, Drew threw a wadded-up tissue at him. “Some of us get our bread and butter this way.”

  “Yeah,” Steve said, “but not me.” His stomach squirmed worse than ever now. What if he didn’t throw up onstage? What if he let out a huge fart instead? Would their mics pick that up?

  Without looking, Drew reached over and squeezed his hand. “Hey. We can do this.”

  The guy fluffing Drew’s hair stopped as the final powder went on Steve’s nose. “Okay, you’re done,” he announced. “A PA will take you to the ready room.”

  Their PA gave them the rundown as she navigated them through the studio. “You’re the featured guests, and then Gloria will bring in a musical guest for a five-minute segment with the two of you. After that they’ll perform. Just stay on the couch unless you feel like dancing or whatever. Okay, we’re here. I have to go prep the house band—”

  Steve watched her go, dizzy. He should’ve eaten something on the drive, but there wasn’t time to stop, and he didn’t think he could’ve kept anything down anyway.

  “Come on,” Drew urged quietly, his palm warm on Steve’s back. “We have to go.” He pushed open the door to the ready room—

  Where Cooper Miles sat waiting on the couch.

  Steve stopped so abruptly Drew ran into him. The writhing mass of snakes in his stomach turned to lead.

  Steve said, “What the fuck.”

  Cooper glanced over, his expression blank—and then his eyes bulged.

  Steve turned around. Drew had locked gazes with Cooper, his face pale under the makeup, his mouth slack. “Did you know about this?” Steve hissed.

  Drew broke Cooper’s gaze and shook his head. “I swear. Alan made all the arrangements, and he never mentioned it.” He looked like he might be sick. “Do you want me to fire him?”

  The earnestness of the offer almost made Steve laugh. Or maybe that was hysteria. “Let’s not play into your diva reputation just yet.” He took a deep breath and then another one, reaching for anything to defuse the moment.

  A clock on the wall above the door read 4:17, counting down the minutes and seconds until they would be called on set. Not helpful.

  “Uh,” Cooper said, finally finding his voice. “I take it history did not repeat itself.”

  What a mess.

  “Pretty glad I didn’t take your advice,” Steve answered, turning around. He smiled as best he could because they were going to have to play nice on camera, and he didn’t want to make
things more awkward. “No offense.”

  “No, no, none taken.” He stood. “I’m glad it was unwarranted.” Cooper took a fortifying breath of his own and turned to Drew, who stiffened at Steve’s back. “Drew.” He extended a hand.

  Drew’s lips thinned and his eyes went pinched, and for a second, Steve thought everything might get even more awkward. But then he took Cooper’s hand and shook it. “Cooper. I owe you an apology.”

  You could’ve knocked Steve over with a feather.

  The clock read 2:57.

  “Probably one I can’t deliver in three minutes,” Drew continued with a grimace. “I didn’t treat you very well. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I… I’m sorry. You deserved better.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Steve said sotto voce. The anticlimax felt unsatisfying, but he didn’t want to complain.

  Cooper didn’t look nearly as surprised. “You rehearse that?” he asked neutrally.

  Drew shrugged one-shouldered, that easy charm creeping into a self-deprecating smile. “Maybe a little. And Steve’s been helping me with my improv.”

  Laughing, Cooper shook his head and turned to Steve. “Man, good luck,” he said. Steve was pretty sure he meant it. Fame made people weird.

  He didn’t have time to offer more than a weak “thanks” before the stage door opened and another PA beckoned. “Drew and Steve, that’s your cue.”

  Drew put his hand on the small of Steve’s back again. “You got this.”

  Steve did not “got this,” but he also didn’t have a choice. He took a deep breath and let Drew precede him onto the set.

  The PA had told them it’d be tough to see the audience—the stage lights almost blinded him, and the audience sat in comparative darkness. But he could hear them clapping and whistling and cheering for Drew, who grinned and waved, haloed in the spotlight. Steve almost tripped over his own feet, but he caught himself, and then he caught Drew’s eye, kind and fond, and mustered a smile. His wave felt weak, but no one would care; they were all watching Drew.

  Automatically his feet carried him to Drew. He and Drew shook Gloria’s hand—Drew first, then Steve, who could barely make out Gloria’s welcome over the roaring in his ears. When he looked at Drew, he was fussing with his mic, which had apparently come askew, because it dropped into his lap to the sound of the audience’s titters.

  Steve smiled too. “Trying slapstick now?” he teased, forgetting his mic would pick up everything until the titters turned into laughter.

  Drew shot him a sly wink, and Steve realized Drew had created a diversion to give Steve time to collect himself. A pleasant warmth calmed the butterflies.

  “I thought you were supposed to be the professional,” Gloria chided.

  Drew smiled winningly and clipped on his mic. “Hey, everyone gets the jitters.”

  Gloria laughed like she was supposed to. “Right, of course, I’m so intimidating. Drew, thank you so much for agreeing to be on the show on such short notice. I know it’s been an eventful week for you.” The screen at the back of the set switched from the show’s logo to the incriminating photo Rico had leaked. Gloria inclined her head to indicate Steve. “And this must be the lucky man.”

  “I’m the lucky one,” Drew said over the murmur spreading through the crowd.

  Gloria nodded and addressed Steve again. “Of course. And I don’t mean to give you second billing, but for most of our audience, this is their first time hearing of you, and I wanted to give you the full introduction.”

  The picture changed—a candid shot of the two of them between takes, relaxed and laughing.

  Drew picked up the thread—and Steve’s hand, which he pulled into his lap. “This is my boyfriend.”

  Cheeky, Steve thought, his face flaming as the audience cooed.

  “I was thinking I’d do more of a balanced view,” Gloria said wryly. “You know, ‘script doctor,’ ‘screenwriter.’ Maybe include his name.”

  Steve elbowed Drew in the side, just enough that the audience picked up on it. Improv. Good thing they’d been practicing for weeks. “It’s fine,” he said. “I can introduce myself. I’m Steve Sopol.” Then he took a deep breath and added, for the first time in public, “Well, that’s what I go by, anyway. My birth certificate says Steven Stone.”

  Another ripple went through the audience, and Gloria’s mouth opened in a perfectly lipsticked O. “As in the son of Marla Stone?”

  “Uh, yeah,” Steve said sheepishly, more keenly aware of the audience than ever. Drew squeezed his hand. Steve appreciated that Gloria didn’t bring up his dad; this was difficult enough. “Long story.”

  Gloria nodded and crossed her legs. “So. I know you’re very busy getting this movie filmed, and let’s face it, most people don’t enjoy giving these ‘yes, we’re in a relationship’ interviews. Shall we cut to the chase?”

  Drew bounced their hands once on his thigh. Steve guessed that was his way of saying the ball was in Steve’s court. “Please.” The sooner they did this, the sooner he could go hide.

  Gloria shot him a quick smile. “Okay. So recently a photo of the two of you at the Aquarium of the Pacific surfaced in the media.” The picture switched back again. “Drew, you went on record as saying you were happy but trying to keep a low profile. What changed?”

  Right for the throat, but Drew took it in stride. “We weighed the pros and cons. We’re going to be together for a long time, and the truth was going to come out eventually. This way it’s on our terms, in our own words, and not because some hack with Google and a camera figured out who Steve is.”

  Gloria nodded. “That’s understandable. Steven, tell me a little more about yourself. You say you usually go by Steve Sopol.”

  He wiped his free palm on his pants, needing an outlet for his anxiety as attention returned to him. “Yeah, that’s the name I used growing up. It was important to my parents that I have a ‘normal’ childhood. And that’s really who I am, more than Steven Stone, who everyone expects to be worldly and glamorous.”

  Gloria nodded sympathetically as though she understood. “So how did the two of you meet?”

  Drew took over to begin the story of falling in love with Steve’s script and the botched auditions for the part of Morgan. Steve got a few seconds to relax until it was time for him to chime in with the end of the story.

  “And the next thing you know, Hilary—that’s my agent—tells me Drew wants me to play the role,” Steve finished when Drew looked at him.

  “Had you always wanted to act?”

  Drew squeezed Steve’s hand again as his heart raced. “No, not at all. I’ve always been more interested in behind-the-scenes stuff, mostly writing. But as Drew put it the other night, I sort of couldn’t resist.” He sneaked a look over at Drew, who was smiling in encouragement, though it was his public smile, not the one Steve usually got. “Letting a writer on a movie shoot is dangerous. We can be control freaks.”

  “What’s it like working with Drew?”

  Crap. Another question for him. “Easy. We got along really well from the start. If we hadn’t clicked during that first read, I don’t think he’d have asked me to be in the movie, and if he had, I wouldn’t have said yes. But he never makes me feel stupid or less important or a total beginner, even though I am one.” The audience cooed, and he felt himself flush further. “And the acting is easier than it should be, which I think is down to Drew being so good at his job. I’m having a lot of fun. But I don’t think I’d enjoy it this much with anyone else.”

  “Of course not.” Gloria turned to Drew, and Steve’s pulse ratcheted back down a few notches. “What about you, Drew? What’s it been like working with the son of two of Hollywood’s most famous?”

  With some effort, Steve held back a wince. Of course Drew took that in stride too, unfazed. “Well, I didn’t know at first. He didn’t exactly have Steven Stone as his byline on the script. And I certainly didn’t recognize him. He was just another guy—a cute, talented, funny—”

 
Steve cleared his throat, pleased but half-mortified; the audience laughed.

  Drew shot him a sly look from the corners of his eyes, a smile playing on his lips—this one just for Steve. “Oh, am I gushing again?”

  “Yes,” Steve and Gloria chorused. Then she continued, “But you can go on if you want.”

  “No,” Steve said, and they both raised their eyebrows. He tried to convey I’m still not used to getting effusive compliments from a gorgeous movie star who isn’t my mother in private, never mind on national television via his expression.

  Either Drew’s acting tips had paid off, or he was just that good at reading Steve. “I didn’t find out who his mom was until we’d already been dating for a while. Steve’s pretty down-to-earth—easy to get along with, totally manageable ego. He’s got a great understanding of movies and character motivations and plot and especially comedy—we’re always pushing each other to get more laughs—but I never would’ve guessed who his parents are.”

  “This movie you’re filming,” Gloria said. “It’s your first writing credit, right? But you’ve worked on other projects before in other capacities.”

  Steve nodded, relaxing into it a little. Work—writing—he could talk about. “Yeah, I’ve worked as a script doctor. I’m pretty good at finding where things fall apart, where they’re slow or boring or the dialogue doesn’t work. Which is really funny because for this movie, I actually hadn’t written the end yet when we started filming, and I had to rewrite a couple scenes on the fly. It was a lot harder to do with that extra attachment.”

  Gloria asked a few more questions, mostly about the movie, and Drew took over answering without spoiling too much. Finally Cooper came out and took some more pressure off. Steve was relegated to the seat farthest from Gloria, where he concentrated on not passing out as the show continued.

  When Cooper got up to perform, Steve’s joints went weak in relief. By the time the show wrapped, he needed Drew’s help to peel himself off the chair. Gloria shook their hands again and congratulated them, and then it was over.