by M. J. O'Shea
My ass.
Jenna coughed. Her cough had an undertone of “bullshit.” Blair tried not to snicker.
“Are you okay Miss Maple?” Devon asked.
“Yeah. Sorry, I had to cough. Don’t mind me.”
“Jenna, you play the character Brooke on the show. What have you learned about Brooke so far?”
Blair could practically feel Howie’s animosity coming off him at Jenna for stealing his spotlight. Blair wanted to cheer out loud.
Jenna and then Lizzie talked to Devon Jones about their characters. The girls were charming, and he supposed from a distance so was Howie. Devon looked distinctly uncomfortable, though. Blair didn’t blame him.
“So, if you could recast yourself in any role, male or female, on the show, who would you like to play? Blair. Why don’t you take this one first?”
Blair hadn’t been ready for that. “I think I’d like to be either Joey or maybe Robbie. Joey is more like I was back in school, but it would be fun to play a total bad boy.”
“Like you could ever pull that off. You’re so, like….” Howie swished his wrist and made a nasty face.
Seriously. He swished. His. Wrist.
“Howie,” Jenna murmured.
“Am I wrong?” He played it off with a laugh but it still stung.
So now I’m too gay to be gay? What the hell is that supposed to mean?
“You know, uh, I think I’d like to play Ryder,” Jenna cut in. She winked at Blair. “Blair’s great at Ryder, but everyone knows the best schemers are girls.”
Blair chuckled at her, relieved the moment was over.
“Lizzie?” Devon asked.
They all breathed again….
“COULD YOU be any more of a dick, Howie?” Jenna swatted him hard.
“What, just saying what I think. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do in interviews?”
“Not if it makes you look bad and by proxy makes us look bad. That was seriously douchey, not to mention homophobic. You’re gay. You’re on a gay drama. What the hell was that?”
Blair just sat there in his director’s chair and looked at the ground. He didn’t want to respond to Howie, not if it made anything worse, and no matter what you said to Howie, it always seemed to make the situation worse. Howie was amazing that way. Blair felt bad for the interviewer, who probably was reeling in the awkward, stuck in the middle of what was clearly an uncomfortable situation.
Howie just shrugged, slid out of his chair, and walked off onto a different part of the set.
“Thank you for coming by today. It was great to meet you.” Jenna turned on her most brilliant smile and flipped her hair at the interviewer. Her face was like night and day the second she turned around.
Poor guy probably forgot Howie even existed. Which was a good thing in their case. Nobody did the sultry brunette thing quite like Jenna. Her character, Brooke, was a little uptight and neurotic, but Jenna was the exact opposite. She was a laid-back surfer girl by nature, and she shined in interviews. Blair was a little jealous but grateful when it worked in their favor. He just smiled and tried to act like he’d actually spoken instead of looking like an embarrassed llama.
When the interviewer had gone his merry way and he and Jenna were on their way back to makeup, she elbowed him. “Sorry about that. He’s a total tool.”
“I know. I try not to take too much offense. Maybe he can’t help it. Like he has some sort of disease.”
Jenna snorted. “You’re coming tonight, right? Cast party at eight.”
Blair smiled. He’d been charmed by her just like everyone else. “Of course I’m coming. Need me to bring anything?”
She shrugged. “I’d say chips, but Whitney would have a heart attack, so carrots and some low-fat dip?”
“Tortilla chips or potato?”
Jenna practically moaned. “Oh God, both. Please. And guacamole. And queso. Oh, and sour cream.”
“I can definitely do that.” Blair laughed. Junk food had definitely become the forbidden fruit. They all lusted after it constantly.
Blair thought of the scene they’d shot the week before where he’d given her shit about eating a single roll while he rolled his eyes like a pro and flipped through his phone. It was amazing how different they all were in real life. At least most of them.
“I’d better get to hair, babe. See you tonight!” Jenna waved cheerily.
“See you tonight.”
THE POOL deck of the Orchid Palms looked amazing. Jenna and Levi had coerced the staff at the hotel into letting them decorate with the express promise that they’d clean everything up. They’d taken over the entire place anyway, so it wasn’t as if they’d be annoying other guests. They’d put out string after string of fairy lights through the palms and hibiscus, and hung pretty paper lanterns along the gingerbread trellis that surrounded the pool until the entire deck glowed golden and white. They covered the tables with bright-colored tropical fabrics, food, drinks, and flowers. Music pumped out through the system someone had clearly dragged out from inside the hotel—Latin guitar and quiet percussion. The whole thing was really quite magical.
He’d been a little fashionably late. Blair hated to miss the one time he got to see his mom during the day, so he’d stayed home for a late dinner before he changed into his trunks and flip-flops and a bright T-shirt.
“Hey!” Blair got accosted by Tony and Jenna and Levi the minute he walked in. It felt good. Weird good but good to have people actually care that he was around.
“Look at you, adorable,” Jenna said. She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Picture?”
“Huh?”
She held up her phone and made a silly duckface. “The fans love it. All ten of them.”
It had been a joke while they were filming the first few episodes that nobody would watch them and they’d have, like, ten fans they could take out to dinner. Nobody had been expecting the show to be as popular as it already was.
Blair tilted his head into Jenna’s and made a funny face while she kissed him on the cheek again.
“I’m so tweeting that. Hashtag I heart Blair Fletcher.”
“Oh my God, shut up.” Blair elbowed her.
“You’re so cute. Where’s beefcake?” She raised her eyebrow.
“Beefcake?”
“Hottie with the tool belt. He looks like he belongs all oiled up on the beach. I figured you’d bring him along.”
“Sander?”
“Ooh, he has a name. When did you ask? Did you get his digits?”
Blair rolled his eyes. “I went to high school with him. I don’t need his digits because he lives next door. Did you talk to Tony or something?”
“Maybe.”
“I hate both of you.” He blushed furiously. He hated that his ancient and ridiculous crush on Sander was so easy to see.
After that, drinks were pressed into Blair’s hands—a mojito, then a Cuba libre, which made him cough and sputter at first, and finally a humongous caipirinha. The hours went really quickly, faster by the drink, until everyone was cleaning up and packing away the extra food. Blair made sure to eat another handful of chips before he unlocked his bike and headed home.
“HEY. HOW’S it going?” Sander lifted his bottle in a casual greeting.
Blair loved that he typically ran into Sander when he was tired, sweaty, drunk, had just gotten out of dealing with Howie…. Okay, maybe there wasn’t a good time to run into Sander. It seemed like Blair’s lot in life to make a fool of himself.
“It’s pretty good. Just got home.” Blair gestured at his bike. Of course you just got home. God. You weren’t cleaning your bike at midnight.
“Yeah, I see that. Out with the cast?”
Blair nodded and propped his bike up against the porch and ran the lock through it. He didn’t think anyone was going to steal his POS bike, but he couldn’t afford to lose it either, so better safe than sorry. “Just for a little while. I don’t have any scenes tomorrow, so, day off.”
He th
ought he saw Sander smile in the darkness. He was wearing what seemed to be his typical home attire—thin tank top that hugged everything he had and a pair of low-hanging track pants with flip-flops. Blair wasn’t complaining at all. He might want to drag the track pants and tank off Sander’s body and lick every inch of his skin, but still…. Not complaining. Sander must’ve just gotten out of the shower, because he had his hair down for once, and it was damp and curling around his jaw in the humid night air, thick and blond and beautiful. He looked like he belonged in one of those movies about the Vikings. Blair could easily see him in armor instead of Adidas pants, boots strapped to his calves, thighs straining and speckled with mud. Mmmmmm.
“You okay over there?” Sander asked. He chuckled a little.
“Yeah. I’m okay.”
“Hey, you want to come up here? I have another beer.”
The last thing Blair probably needed was another drink, but he wasn’t in any shape to say no to Sander. He probably wasn’t ever in shape to say no to Sander, to be honest. Sander was kryptonite. He was the apple in the garden of Eden. He was ooey-gooey caramel cake with lush vanilla ice cream, in the middle of a diet. Blair wanted a taste more than he could remember wanting anything in his life. Even the part of Ryder. How can you know to want something that never seemed remotely possible? Somehow in the dim light of Sander’s veranda serenaded by chirping crickets, he seemed possible for once.
Don’t be an idiot.
“Here, man.” Sander handed him a Big Rod Ale. Blair snickered. Hey, a few drinks at the pool and everything was funny. Or maybe that would be funny even if he were totally sober. Sander smiled. “Something funny?”
Blair snorted. He was sure it was charming and adorable. “C’mon. Big Rod?” He laughed again.
Sander reached over and ruffled his hair.
Ruffled. His. Fucking. Hair.
Blair screamed internally. It had to be the first time Sander had ever touched him other than a handshake or two. He tried to look super casual. Sip the beer. No big. Blair tried to cross his foot over his knee and he missed. Super casual. You’re such an asshole.
“You’ve seemed kinda tense whenever I run into you on set,” Sander said quietly after a few moments of very casual Big Rod sipping.
Blair panicked for a moment, then realized that no, it wasn’t because he was about to pass out whenever Sander was near, which, true, he was, but he was tense because he was still having a hard time getting into Ryder’s headspace sometimes and it made him feel like a failure. There hadn’t been anyone like Ryder at his actual high school. Blair hadn’t ever met anyone like Ryder before. How was he supposed to know how to act like him?
“Yeah, I guess I’m a little tense. I’m having a hard time with my character.”
“Explain him to me.” Sander leaned forward, closer to Blair, and propped his elbows on his spread knees.
“Really?”
“Sure, why not? I’m not an actor, but talking about it can’t hurt.”
“Like I’m an actor.” Blair huffed. “If I was, I’d be having a lot less trouble, I think.”
“Tell me about….”
“Ryder.”
“Okay, tell me about Ryder.”
Blair chuckled. “You still haven’t watched any, have you? I guess you could call Ryder the queen bee. He’d have been played by a girl on any other series, usually the dark-haired girl, because of course the blonde gets to be everyone’s favorite, right? Anyway, he has the best clothes, almost the best house, the best everything, but he’s still jealous of his closest friend because everyone likes him more.”
“So basically, Ryder’s a big bitch because he’s insecure. And not blond.”
Blair snorted. “Pretty much.”
“What are you having trouble with?”
“His attitude. I mean, I was insecure in high school too. Who’s not? But I dealt with it by being shy and not talking to anyone.”
Sander was quiet for a minute. Thoughtful. “Okay, so let’s assume you couldn’t be quiet. You walked into the school every day, and everyone already expected you to be a certain way—a leader maybe, or a bitch, or queen of the world—but you were still insecure. What do you do?”
“Put on armor, I guess. Be what people expect me to be?” Blair shrugged.
“Exactly. Everyone does that in high school. Whether people expect you to be a wallflower or a queen bitch or a douchey straight jock. You just do it because it’s really fucking scary to do anything else.”
Blair’s head spun. A douchey straight jock? Was Sander talking about himself? No way. Zero chance.
“So basically if I play every scene like Ryder is scared to death of people finding out that he’s insecure and all of his attitude is just expectation and body armor, then I should be able to do it?”
“Yeah. Just be you, be the guy who wants people to like him, but then pretend you’re the guy who everyone expects to be, well, Ryder. You underneath, Ryder on the outside.”
“Maybe you should’ve been on the show,” Blair muttered.
“Nah, I just know a little bit about pretending to be the guy everyone expects. A lot, actually.”
Alcohol must’ve given Blair some courage he didn’t know he had. “Are you going to tell me what you mean by that?”
Sander chuckled. It sounded a little sad. “Yeah. Probably. But not tonight. I’m bushed, and unlike some people, I don’t have the day off tomorrow.”
“Oh.” Blair shot out of his seat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you up.”
“That’s okay. I invited you over.”
Sander cupped Blair’s shoulder with his warm hand. “It was nice talking to you.”
Blair didn’t know what to say with Sander’s hand on his shoulder and his insides about to turn to mush. “Uh, you too. Thanks for the help. I needed it.”
“Not really. You’ll get there. I’ll see you Friday.”
BLAIR WANDERED down Sander’s steps and across the tiny driveway to his own little house. He could practically lean out his bedroom window and touch Sander’s house. Their whole row was like that—tiny little bungalows, mostly neat and only slightly faded with age and lack of upkeep, squashed together like codependent dwarves in front of a rangy backdrop of mangroves growing in the marshy tributary behind them.
Usually Blair wished for space, but that night when he looked out his window and saw Sander’s house sitting there, dark and quiet, it was a little comforting somehow.
Chapter Six
MIAMI VOICE
February 16th
Coconut Fever!
By
Letitia Kyle
Coconut Cove fever has swept the nation! Our sleepy Florida vacation hamlet of Key West has turned into a hotbed of industry bigwigs and star-struck natives. Back in August the film crew of teen drama Coconut Cove set up shop on one of the older and more sprawling estates on the island. Buzz quickly grew with the locals, but as soon as the first few episodes aired, it seemed like the whole country wanted in on the action. It’s hard to blame them. Nothing this glamorous has happened to Key West in years.
Lines of fans and walk-on hopefuls have crowded the once serene shores, but it looks like they have good reason to think it could happen for them. Hometown boy Blair Fletcher nabbed a plush role as Coconut Cove’s scheming socialite Ryder, and Palm Beach native Lizzie Pelman is playing Charlotte, one of his right-hand conspirators. Bit parts have been passed out right and left to locals, so it looks like there’s always hope, future starlets! Until then, bring your sunblock and book your accommodations early. It looks like Coconut Cove is here to stay… and the crowds with it.
“HEY, BLAIR. You want a ride to work today?” Sander asked. Blair usually left his house before the sun rose, but for once Sander was leaving at the same time as him, tool bag slung over one brawny shoulder.
“Honestly, that would be great. I’m going to be there forever, though. We have a lot of scenes on the schedule and a trip to the beach. Ryder is watching o
ne of Joey’s surfing competitions.” At least it looked like it was going to be a mild early-winter day. Nothing like a nice storm to screw up hours of prep work at the beach.
Sander shrugged. “That’s fine. I’m going to be there a long time too, but we can always toss your bike in the back if you want me to.”
True. Blair wasn’t about to turn down a free ride. He hefted his bike into the back of Sander’s truck and laid it down flat. “What’s going on with you guys that you’ll be there late?”
“There’s a new set being added, and I’m in charge of construction.”
“Oooh, really? What is it?”
“It’s….” Sander pulled a stapled stack of papers from his bag. “It looks like Joey’s bedroom. I guess they’ve never shown it before.”
“He’s not homeless anymore.” Blair smiled. “So lemme guess. Lots of surfer stuff and… blue walls?”
Sander chuckled. “You are correct, sir.” He clicked the button on his key fob. “Get in so we can go. I’m kind of excited to get started on this one.”
Blair hopped into Sander’s truck and buckled in. Sander turned the key and blushed when his stereo blared to life really loud on some sort of techno-dance station. “Sorry. I was a little tired on the way home last night. Needed a pick-me-up.”
“No kidding.” Blair laughed and acted like he was trying to get his hearing back. “You sure you’re not deaf?”
“Pretty sure, yeah.”
Blair looked over and noticed Sander smiling at him. He’d noticed it a lot over the past few weeks. When they’d be on set and run into each other, Sander would often shoot him sweet, shy smiles so unlike the cocky king-of-the-world grin that Blair remembered from high school. He knew a lot of things must’ve changed for Sander. He wouldn’t be at home if they hadn’t, but it was still a little unnerving.
WHEN THEY got to the sprawling Coconut Cove compound—which Blair found out had been some insanely rich old guy’s empty, ginormous mansion and extensive grounds before their production team rented it out and turned it into bits and pieces of a small town—there was already a crowd forming. The sun had barely started to peek over the horizon, but still, people were there, ready to meet actors and get autographs. Blair shoved a baseball hat over his signature hair and down his face a little. He loved meeting the fans, and it was still a novelty, but he didn’t want to piss Xara off by being late. Stopping nearly always guaranteed that.
