by Ashlyn Kane
“Thank you,” she told the book.
Steve waved and let Drew usher him back to the aquarium. “That was cute,” Drew murmured. “You’re a natural.”
“Kids are easy.”
“Sure.”
They met up with Rita, Carol, and the rest of the crew in the Great Hall of the Pacific to go over their scene. An aquarium employee with a logoed polo shirt was there too, talking to Carol about what was possible in terms of lighting in the underwater viewing tunnel.
“We do that sometimes for weddings,” the employee explained, demonstrating on an iPad. “See the little lights on the floor?”
In a heartbeat the scene before him dissolved into something lighter, happier, more romantic. The wardrobe harkened back to the first time he and Drew came here together, but the crowd… well. Steve imagined this as a lot more intimate.
Suddenly he felt like everyone was looking at him. But it didn’t matter, because he’d locked eyes with Drew and was having a hard time looking away.
Nina clapped for their attention, breaking the spell. “So the three of you are going to come in from the far end,” she said. “Run full speed through the tunnel. Drew, you’re gonna reach back and grab Steve’s hand as you get to the jellies. Rita will be running with you, off leash. Try not to let her get too far ahead.”
“Easier said than done,” Steve snorted. “I’ll do my best.”
Their first run-through, Rita got excited and ran ahead of them, careening toward the crew, her paws sliding on the floor.
“Cut!”
The second time Drew misjudged when he reached back for Steve’s hand and accidentally smacked him in the face.
“Oh shit!”
Steve stopped before Drew did, raising a careful hand to his face, leaning over awkwardly. He didn’t want to bleed on his wardrobe and cost them valuable time. But miraculously he didn’t seem to be bleeding.
“Are you okay?” Drew asked even before Nina called, long-suffering, “Cut!”
Steve’s eyes were watering, but he blinked back the tears from the impact. He didn’t want to wreck his makeup. “Fine. I think. It’s still attached, right?”
“Let’s see.” Drew took him by the shoulders and put a careful hand on his jaw, turning his head this way and that. “No damage,” he pronounced finally. “You’re just as bent as ever.”
“Oh God,” Nina muttered. “Are we good to go?”
Steve wiggled his nose—sore but definitely not broken. “I’m good. Just try not to hit me again.”
“Take three!”
This time they had one of the production assistants hold Rita’s collar until they got partway through the tunnel. Steve counted Drew’s steps and anticipated the hand, and this time he caught it without breaking stride. Rita caught up to them as they reached the end of the tunnel, but the shots would be short and spliced together, so it didn’t matter.
Drew squeezed Steve’s fingers once before letting go. “I guess the third time’s the charm.”
SHOOTING wrapped on a Thursday, in the studio where they’d been shooting a bunch of green-screen shots. But instead of an actual green screen, this time they had a whole chapel mocked up: arched stained glass windows, pews, tacky flowers, an altar, and, of course—
“Better get used to the setting,” Steve’s mother teased, straightening his clip-on tie as though Will wouldn’t wring her neck. “I hear you’re booked up come wedding season.”
“Two is hardly booked up,” Steve protested. “How did you land this gig, anyway? You don’t exactly fit the casting call.”
Marla smiled her most secretive smile. “Darling. You’re not the only one who has connections in this business. Besides.” She took a step back and did a twirl, showing off her sequined jumpsuit. “I look fabulous.”
“I can’t argue with that.” Steve gestured with his head toward Will, who was clenching and unclenching his hands rhythmically. “I have to go let Will mess with my tie again. You know how it is.”
She heaved a theatrical sigh and waved him off.
Nina arrived on set with Rita, fresh from her grooming appointment. A lacy white bow with a red rose adorned her collar.
“My beautiful girl!” Marla cried and floated away to shower Rita with love.
Smiling to himself, Steve headed over to Will for primping.
When the set was prepped and everyone on their marks, Nina called, “Action!” and Steve’s mom vamped “Unchained Melody” in a passable false tenor. At the back of the “church,” the door opened and the extra playing the chapel’s wedding coordinator peeked in, headset in place. Then she disappeared again and Drew appeared, wearing an ill-fitting gray suit and holding a bouquet of dollar-store fake flowers.
For a few heartbeats Steve forgot to act, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t matter.
Drew got all the way down the aisle without breaking character, which impressed Steve, considering he had to do it with Marla in his line of sight. For his part, Steve was glad he had an excuse to turn away. He knew his mother, and he knew she would pull out all the stops. Making them break character to laugh would be a matter of professional pride.
Drew didn’t even look at her. He kept his eyes on Steve.
They held hands over Rita’s leash and looked deep into each other’s eyes. When the film was cut together, this scene would be interspersed with shots of the two uniformed police officers who had been chasing them as the wedding coordinator told them they would have to wait for the wedding in progress to finish, and would they like to pick a package in the meanwhile?
The cops would burst in on the ceremony eventually, by which time Scotty, Morgan, and Roxy would be hightailing it through the parking lot toward the car. It wouldn’t be revealed until several minutes later, with a shot of Steve’s hand, complete with wedding band, on the steering wheel as he drove them toward home, that they’d actually gone through with the whole wedding.
But they shot that already. This was it. A handful of lines and Steve would officially have finished his first role in a Hollywood production. He’d have a filmed, if not edited and produced, writing credit to add to his name.
And his mother would have her first soundtrack credit.
She never did like to be outdone, Steve thought fondly.
Despite Marla’s best efforts, they shot the scene in one take. When Nina called, “Cut!” for the last time, Drew finally grinned, and the crew broke into applause.
Steve had just enough time to turn to his mother and say, “You are a menace,” before Drew threw his arms around his neck and planted a showy, affectionate kiss on his cheek.
All things considered, Steve didn’t mind the catcalls. He settled his hands on Drew’s waist. “This suit is hideous. Where did Will get this thing?”
Drew made a face. “I don’t know, but it itches.” He glanced up over Steve’s shoulder and lit up a little more. “Marla! I didn’t know you could sing. That was incredible. You almost got me.”
“I will next time,” she promised, using the height from the riser she stood on to swoop down and deposit a lipstick kiss on Drew’s cheekbone. “Don’t think you’ve won!” She glided off, presumably to be cut out of the jumpsuit.
With a bemused smile, Drew met Steve’s eyes. “I’m a little concerned she’s going to show up at every set I work on from now until the game is over.”
“Probably only the ones that film on American soil.” Steve patted his upper arms. “Come on. I hear the hotshot producer’s throwing one hell of a wrap party.”
THE wrap party took place at a cute Greek restaurant owned by one of Nina’s friends. In honesty it wasn’t that fancy—no themed decorations, no red carpet, no black-tie dress code. Just the cast and crew, a sprawling buffet to send everyone into a food coma, and enough champagne to keep them buzzed until the wee hours.
Steve had fun, but by midnight he had reached social saturation and just wanted quiet and space. About fifteen minutes after he started contemplating how to make a gracefu
l retreat, Drew caught his eye across the room and tilted his head, and Steve nodded in relief.
It was tough to slip out of a party with the second-most famous person in the room, especially when he’d had a little too much ouzo. Fortunately Steve’s mother had joined the house band for a rousing rendition of “A Little Less Conversation,” so everyone was distracted. Especially the guitarist.
“Is she gonna…?” Drew had asked earlier in the evening, when the band had just gotten started.
Steve followed his gaze. “Oh, probably.”
“Huh.” Drew watched them for another few seconds. “Well, he’s cute. Good for her.”
The car service dropped them in front of Drew’s building, where Tara, the night-shift doorwoman, greeted them. “Hey, guys. Good night?”
“Good night,” Steve confirmed, and then had to reach out and grab Drew’s arm as Drew stumbled over nothing and almost took a header into a pillar. “Maybe too good, for some of us,” he amended, sliding his arm around Drew’s waist.
Tara clucked in faux disapproval. “You want me to send up some Gatorade?”
“Got some in the fridge already.” The perks of having a PA, Steve thought. Or at least of Drew having a PA. “Thanks, Tara. Have a good night!”
Drew grinned as he waved, wide and unfettered as only a very happy drunk man could be. “Bye, Tara!”
It took him a moment to get his elevator key into the slot. But then they were moving, finally. Soon Steve would be home—
He caught himself before he could finish the thought. He didn’t live there. Honestly it was beautiful but not to his taste, so he wasn’t even sure he wanted to. But home?
Home was wherever he and Drew could be alone together.
He was still chewing on that when Drew got the apartment door open, crossed the living room, and collapsed in one of his weird modern armless chairs. They’d left the curtains open, and Drew swiveled to take in the city at night.
He sighed contentedly, and Steve took a right into the kitchen for the Gatorade. Drew was bad enough at mornings even when he wasn’t hungover.
“You know,” Drew said when Steve returned, “the only thing I’m gonna miss about this place is the view.” Then he paused and added, “Okay, and the shower.”
Steve passed him the bottle and took a seat on the couch. “You’re selling?”
Drew cracked the top open and drank a few deep sips before replacing the cap. “I always wanted a place like your mom has, you know? Somewhere real, with space that’s not just for the sake of luxury. A yard, a fence, a pool, a dog. A house that occasionally needs a new roof or new windows or whatever, but it’s still your house. I don’t know. Does that make sense?”
Steve thought for a moment. “You could just have the place redecorated,” he said. “Put some of yourself into it this time.”
“See, that’s the thing.” He stood again, walked over to the window, and tapped on the glass. “When I bought this place, it was right after my breakup with Corinna. I’d decided to lay off relationships, so I was only thinking about me. And despite all the space, it feels like that’s all there’s room for here.
“But I was kidding myself about what I wanted.”
Steve didn’t want to read too much into anything he said. Not when he was who knew how many shots of ouzo in. But his heart beat a little faster anyway. “So what are you saying? You’re gonna go buy a house in Beverly Hills?”
He shook his head. “It’s not the house.” He crossed the room again, set his Gatorade on the floor, and took a seat on the ottoman, facing Steve. He reached for Steve’s hand. “It’s what you put in it.”
For the first time Steve could remember, he lost his words. He was trapped in Drew’s warm, dark eyes, waiting, rapt.
After what felt like ages, Drew broke eye contact and smiled, rubbing his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “You forget to give something back to the props department?”
Steve followed his gaze. The third finger of his left hand still bore Morgan’s wedding ring. Steve cleared his throat. “Oops?”
Drew treated him to another sappy grin. “Let’s go to bed. House hunting can wait a few hours.”
Chapter Twenty-One
HOLLYWOOD Magic for Beaumont, Stone
With the limited theatrical release of Dog Gone, Drew Beaumont and Steven Stone’s joint motion picture, just a week away, reviews from the film’s advanced screenings are coming in—and they’re glowing.
Though perhaps not so much as the leads themselves.
Gerald Dunwoody, our in-house critic, called the movie “gut-bustingly funny. Beaumont and Stone have an undeniable chemistry, and it crackles in every scene they share.” In the blogosphere, Crooked Cinema reviewer Donna Gill said she “laughed until my abs cried for mercy.”
Even the bro brigade had to give it two reluctant thumbs-up. “I didn’t expect to like it,” admitted Tom Woolworth, president of the Stanford chapter of Delta Nu, whom I caught up with outside the sneak preview Thursday night. “My girlfriend made me go. But it’s f—ing funny. And the dog was cute.”
The dog in question is Rita Stone, pampered pooch of Marla Stone—who also has a cameo in her son’s debut, by the way. And as you can see from the attached picture, Rita is exactly as advertised.
If the name Dog Gone doesn’t ring a bell for you, you can be forgiven. It’s a small production with a small budget and what was expected to be small-potatoes distribution—in theory Dog Gone is notable only for its surprisingly star-studded cast (longtime Beaumont BFF Leigh Miller also has a role). Either way, you’re hearing about it now.
The movie stars Drew Beaumont as Scotty, a hapless but well-meaning guy whose most fervent, flighty desire is to return his best friend’s dog to her rightful owner. Between his puppy-dog eyes and his way with words, it’s no wonder Morgan—played by Beaumont’s real-life partner, Steven Stone, who also wrote the screenplay—goes along with his scheme, to hilarious results.
But don’t be taken in by the innocence of the premise. And don’t expect a typical cheap laughs slapstick comedy either. Stone’s writing is razor-sharp, and his delivery would impress even a seasoned acting coach, though this is a freshman effort for him all around. Beaumont’s irreverence and delivery are pitch-perfect, and the dialogue gives his comic chops a chance to shine, but it’s through Morgan’s eyes that we grow to love him as a character.
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Steven Stone is so effective in this role. Since they first began dating last summer, Beaumont and Stone have rarely been apart. Stone has escorted Beaumont at every major appearance he’s made since July, including starlet Leigh Miller’s destination wedding in Fiji. And even to the untrained eye, they look deliriously happy in every photo.
When they’re not attending black-tie or Hawaiian-shirt events, it appears they’ve been dabbling in real estate. Beaumont’s Santa Monica condo hit the market last month. Rumor has it he and Stone have been looking for a home in Beverly Hills.
Looks like these two are living their own Hollywood happy ending.
“THERE he is!”
“There they are!”
“Drew! Over here!”
“Steven! Can we get a smile and a quote for Out Magazine?”
Steve shot Drew a long-suffering look, but he didn’t threaten to go back to the limo like he did the first time they walked a red carpet together. Progress.
“You know, you don’t have to come,” Drew had said after two premiere experiences failed to enchant Steve. “I can go alone.”
Not according to the expression on Steve’s face. “Ugh, no. I’m not giving the vultures grounds to start a rumor we’re ‘on the rocks already’ or whatever garbage they just put Leigh through. No, thank you. I can suck it up. It’s not like it’s every week.”
So they went, with the understanding that they would leave as soon as it was polite.
“What, no smile?” Drew teased now, bringing Steve’s hand to his lips for a kiss.
&nb
sp; “Not for them,” Steve countered, his eyes soft as his lips edged upward.
Drew couldn’t help but smile back.
Unfortunately he couldn’t make eyes at Steve all night. After all, this was their movie premiere.
Drew signed a few autographs while the reporters assembled their questions. Marla swooped in and co-opted Steve for a more structured interview farther from the crowd; he’d be more comfortable with that.
“Drew, how good does it feel to be standing here today ready to screen a movie you were so instrumental in every part of?”
He took a second to make sure he was addressing the right interviewer before answering. “Honestly it’s amazing. Back in May I knew we’d get here, but filming was so long ago now you sort of forget. Postproduction takes time. The sense of accomplishment…. It’s different. I could get used to it, though.” He glanced over his shoulder at Steve and Marla. “But the best part has been watching Steve. He’s got so much talent in so many different areas, and the way he pulls storylines together, the way he crafts jokes, even his presence on-screen—it’s been such a joy to be a part of that.” He cleared his throat a little. “I’m so proud of him.”
“Has this experience taught you anything about the movie business that you didn’t already know?”
Drew laughed. People couldn’t get enough of the idea of him as a producer. “God, where to begin. Yes, absolutely. I have a whole new appreciation for the depth and breadth of knowledge needed by every member of the crew. Not to mention respect for office staff, who have to do things like book the right animal talent and deal with the schedule falling to pieces if something doesn’t pan out.” Those people spent 40 percent of their time in crisis mode. Drew couldn’t live like that, but they thrived on it.
A third reporter chimed in. “What’s next for the two of you?”
Unable to help himself, Drew glanced over his shoulder again. Steve still seemed comfortable, though his hands in his pants pockets were ruining the lines of his suit.
