Better Red

by Tara Lain

  His grandmother said, “Come on, honey. You’re made for the camera.”

  “Plus, we need a dose of testosterone in this hen party.” Christasy laughed and waved a hand at her makeup artist. “Grab him, Monica.”

  Red allowed himself to be primped for a minute, even though he looked scared silly, then he walked toward where the two women were sitting.

  Rog stepped closer to them. “On this first take, lets give Red something he can step into the shot and hand his grandmother. Then Christasy, you know what to do.”

  Mrs. Ridley said, “Why doesn’t Red bring in more cinnamon rolls or some of those nut and seed crackers. They’re on the counter in the kitchen.”

  One of Rog’s guys came out of the kitchen a minute later with a plate of crackers and handed them to Red who stared at them like they could attack. Rog waved a hand. “Okay Red, when I point to you, walk over beside your grandmother and hand her the plate of crackers, then turn around and walk back the way you came. After that Christasy, it’s all yours.”

  Christasy nodded. “Got it Rog.”

  Brock shifted his weight. Come on already.

  Rog pointed toward Christasy and Red started to walk toward the women. “Wait!” Rog stepped closer. “No Red, that cue was for Christasy. When I want you to move, I’ll point directly at you.”

  “Oh, okay.” He turned the color of a Tahiti sunset and glanced uneasily toward Brock.

  Cute. Brock smiled at him. Still, if the kid was too nervous and stiff, he’d never make it in font of the camera. It took instincts to be a great model, before you ever got experience. Of course, Brock still intended to find some way to get Red to his apartment in New York, model or not. The kid didn’t know the difference between talent and none.

  Rog wound his finger. “Start again.”

  Christasy began talking about something in the Granny in Jammys blog and finally Rog pointed directly at Red.

  The kid’s Adam’s apple bobbed but he walked to his grandmother, leaned over and put the ridiculously healthy-looking crackers on the table, then rose, winked at his grandmother and said, “I didn’t want you to ruin your reputation with those cinnamon rolls.” He turned and walked back the way he came.

  Well holy shit, the kid did it.

  Chapter Eleven

  Brock grinned. Both Christasy and Mrs. Ridley stared after Red in surprise. Finally, Christasy seemed to wake up and said, “Who was that and how do I get him to come back?”

  Granny chuckled and said, “Can’t you guess that’s my grandson, Redmond?”

  Christasy exaggerated widening her eyes. “That’s the grandson whose eating habits you’re always ragging about?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “Well, Nora, your methods must be working, because he looks more than healthy to me.” She looked at the camera, fanned herself, and collapsed back against her chair in a mock faint.

  “Cut!” Rog yelled. “Perfect.” He turned toward Red who was huddled back by the wall. “Hey, good one. I liked your improvisation. We’ll do a couple more scenes with you in them. Okay, let’s reset for the work area.”

  Brock walked over to the guy holding the video camera. “Can I see the footage with the kid?”

  The videographer grinned. “I thought you might be interested in that.” His chuckle had a nasty edge.

  Brock frowned at him and he wiped the leer off his face. Don’t get presumptuous, asshole.

  The guy held out the viewfinder to Brock, found the spot in the video where Red came in, and played it.

  Brock breathed out very softly. Fucking hell, look at that face. Exotic and innocent at once, totally luminous, he looked like the camera was in love with him. Every expression—the smile, the slight rise of the eyebrow, the crinkles beside his upturned eyes - -were all just enough, not a fraction too much. Talk about instincts! You couldn’t buy that kind of natural.

  Brock sauntered toward Red who stared at the tiny office that Granny seemed to have set up off the hall. Brock said, “Hey, you did great. You’re a natural.”

  “Thanks.”

  “That’s an ingenious office.” Brock nodded toward the small, narrow room that had been fitted out with a computer desk and bookshelves.

  “Yeah. Until yesterday, it was a linen closet.”

  Brock laughed, but Red got a funny expression on his face. Brock asked, “What’s wrong?”

  Red shook his head, the mane of auburn hair rippling. “Nothing. Just remembering how hard a friend of mine worked to make that happen.”

  Brock moved closer so he was looking over the kid’s shoulder toward his perfect profile. “So Red, I’d like to set up a trip for you to New York to introduce you to some people and let you get your feet wet, so to speak.” He smiled. “When can we—”

  Rog called, “Red, we’d like to use you in this sequence.”

  Red said, “Excuse me.”

  Brock got the definite feeling Red didn’t leave, he escaped.

  * * *

  My brain’s not in Kansas anymore. Red walked into the “scene” with Gran and Christasy with a pleasant expression plastered on his face. Well, it was an expression. Whether he got all the way to pleasant, was a question, since his heart currently occupied his throat. Did Brock Wolfe just invite me to go to New York—with him? No, no, not with him. He said, “Set up a trip”. Not personal. But holy shit. What does he mean, “get my feet wet”? Wet how? How wet?

  “Redmond, are you okay?” Gran cocked her head at him.

  “Oh, yes ma’am. I’m just, uh, fascinated by everything that’s going on.” Is fascinated a synonym for terrified?

  Christasy grinned. “Hey, that’s a good thing.” She patted the empty chair next to her. “Come sit. I’m going to ask you some questions about your grandmother’s lifestyle advice.”

  Gran grinned. “That may not be wise, Christasy. He might tell the truth.”

  They laughed and Red tried to join in, but he had to force his gaze away from Brock Wolfe who stood across the room staring at him with his arms crossed and a small smirk on his face.

  Red shifted in his chair.

  Rog waved his hand. “Start whenever you’re ready Christasy.”

  She smiled at Red. “Good to go?”

  He nodded once. No point preparing for unknown questions. Just take it as it comes.

  Christasy looked at the camera. “So, I’ve managed to corner Nora’s grandson, Redmond, and he’s trying to be polite and not go running out the back door.” She looked directly at him. “You like to be called Red, correct?”

  “Uh, yes please.”

  “So Red, Granny in Jammys talks about you quite a lot in her blog. You know that, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you read her blog?”

  He nodded. “Yes, but so do a lot of kids from my school.”

  “Do they tease you?”

  “Yep, but most of them really like her blog, so it’s not too bad.”

  “What kind of advice does she give you?”

  He gave Gran a smile. “Eat lots of vegetables in all the colors and don’t live on starch.”

  “I’ll bet that last part is the hardest.”

  “Oh yeah. Especially when I work in the best burger and fries place in the east, but Gran sees to it I practice what she preaches.”

  Christasy laughed. “Oh I love that.” She wagged a finger at Gran. “You have to share all your secrets with the desperate mothers of teenagers all over the world.” She leaned back in her chair. “Red, are you planning to follow in your grandmother’s footsteps and become a nutrition and lifestyle expert?”

  He glanced at Wolfe and quickly averted his eyes. Christasy seemed to follow his gaze. Red said, “No. I’m, uh, not sure what I want to do yet. I mean, I’m good with numbers and I really like small business.”

  Christasy gave a small smile. “I’m sure I’m not the first to observe that all the talent scouts of America must be lining up to put you in front of a camera.”

&nbs
p; Red’s face turned hot. “Uh, I don’t know about that.”

  “Obviously I shouldn’t be embarrassing Red anymore.” She turned to Gran. “What say we get into the kitchen and start showing off some of those great recipes that changed my life?”

  Rog yelled, “Cut. Great. Let’s move to the kitchen setup.”

  Gran and Christasy moved toward the kitchen as Rog said, “We might ask you to bring in some of the ingredients, Red. But we’ll start with just the two of them. It’s pretty tight in there.”

  Red nodded and tried to get close enough to the kitchen to see, since Gran was sure to ask him, but the light guys, the makeup artist, the cameraman and Rog all blocked the two doors. Backing up to get out of the way, Red bumped into a warm barrier. Strong hands gripped his arms and he didn’t even have to look.

  “Since we’re just in the way, why don’t we sit down and talk for a while?” Brock didn’t let go of Red’s arms.

  Despite feelings so mixed he could have made a cake, Red nodded. If he had his way, Brock Wolfe would vanish along with whatever his proposition was, and Red could go back to deciding whether or not he was cut out for junior college. But it didn’t seem like Brock was going away. Red stepped far enough forward that Brock had to let go, then turned and strode into the living room, sat in a chair to avoid being on the couch next to Wolfe even though a big chunk of him wouldn’t have minded at all, and crossed his legs.

  Brock perched on the edge of the couch, leaning forward attentively. “So I get the feeling you’re uncertain about the idea of coming to New York.”

  Red glanced at him.

  Brock rocked back and laughed. “I think that look said, ‘Duh.’” He leaned forward again. “What’s troubling you?”

  Red frowned. “I’ve got no idea what you have in mind.” Damn, that came out wrong. “I mean, get my feet wet doing what? Who do you want me to meet? I know you’re this big modeling agent, but what does that have to do with me? I’m no model.”

  “But you could be.”

  “Me? Hell no.” Red stared down at his folded hands.

  “Why not you? You have the look, the body, and you’re obviously comfortable in front of a camera. In my professional opinion, designers and clients would snap you up, but that’s one of the reasons I want you to come to New York. I’ll introduce you to a few designers, get some professional shots taken of you, and see what they say. If they’re discouraging, then you come back to Ever After and go on as before. But if, as I suspect, they’re enthusiastic about hiring you, then you sign with me and start making enough money to give you and your grandmother a comfortable life.”

  “We already have a comfortable life.”

  Brock leaned back on the couch and stroked a thumb along his firm jawline. “But at what cost to your grandmother, Red? She’s not getting any younger. I know she wants big things for you, and she won’t rest until she sees a bright future in your grasp.”

  Red huffed in frustration. Sadly, Brock was right about the toll on Gran. Since she’s retired, she seemed to have slowed down a little. Still, he said, “My future looks plenty bright enough for me the way it is. My gran’s the most sensible person in the world except when it comes to this Never Neverland dream of hers and on that subject, she’s just plain cracked.”

  “Is it her, or is it you?”

  Red frowned. “What do you mean?”

  Suddenly, Brock slid off the sofa and knelt in front of Red, taking hold of his hands. Red kind of wanted to pull away and mostly wanted to hold on as Brock gazed into his eyes. “I think it’s fear, Red. I think you have a solid idea that you can do this, that you can master the biggest dream, but you’re scared to embrace it.” He tightened the grip on Red’s hands and it felt so strong and sure. “All you have to do it reach out and grasp your future. Let yourself believe in who you really are. Know that your grandmother’s dreams for you are only a small reflection of what’s possible if you just let go of your fear.”

  Brock’s dark eyes sucked at Red’s soul, like a sexy dementor, but in a good way. Red wanted to believe. He wanted to let go—

  The soft whimpering sound came from his left. Red dragged his eyes away from Brock who knelt only inches from his face and turned toward the entry.

  Mark stared at Red—no, he had to be staring at the tableau Red made with this dude who looked like sin in flesh, kneeling in front of him and holding his hands for crap sake, like some kind of wacked-out proposal. Yeah, proposal of what? What kind of fuckling cosmic joker made this happen again?

  Red jumped to his feet, almost knocking Brock Wolfe over in the process, and hurried to Mark. “Oh hi. You came. I’m so glad. Gran will be so happy. I mean the place looks so great. I mean, I don’t even know how you did so much work in one day, and come on I’ll show you what’s going on.” He took hold of Mark’s big, rough hands—rough as sandpaper, where Brock’s had been as soft as that plush stuff they made bathrobes out of.

  Mark didn’t resist being dragged, but he didn’t enthusiastically participate either.

  They got to the kitchen door just as Hathaway said, “Cut. Good. We got that.”

  Red wedged his way in. “Gran, look who’s here.” He yanked on Mark’s arm until he stood partway into the kitchen, his big body taking up more than his share of space.

  Christasy’s eyes widened and she blinked a couple times in what had to be unalloyed admiration. Yeah, back off bitch. Red softly snorted at his own reaction.

  Gran smiled but it was—funny. Not inauthentic—Gran didn’t do that—but measured. “Mark, how nice of you to come over when I know how busy you are.” Gran walked the few steps between them and gave him a hug. He hugged back a little awkwardly, partly because she was so tiny and he was so big. Gran stepped back and looked at Christasy. “This is Mark Woods, Ever After’s premier auto mechanic and the brilliant person who created my office out of a small space and made sure our house was ready for prime time. She hugged his arm. “He’s my hero.”

  Christasy said, “Well, I can certainly understand why.”

  Mark said softly, “I’m a big fan, ma’am.”

  “Oh.” She pressed her hand against her chest. “I’m thrilled and please call me Christasy.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  They both laughed and Red tried to see pink and not red.

  Rog said, “Take a break, guys.”

  Gran slipped her arm through Mark’s. “Let’s have some tea and cookies, shall we?” She led him back into the living room. That would be the room where Brock Wolfe sat, leaning back, legs crossed, one arm stretched along the back of the couch, relaxed as a cat in the sun. Gran said, “Oh, Brock, meet our friend, Mark Woods. Mark, this is Brock Wolfe, the head of BrandFace. BrandFace is—”

  Mark said, “I know what BrandFace is.”

  Brock stuck out his hand. For one beat, Mark stared at it, then finally extended his much larger, rougher hand and took Brock’s.

  Brock said, “I remember. I saw you at the restaurant, right? Mom and Pop’s where Red works? You two must see a lot of each other.” Brock smiled like he didn’t have a single agenda. Hell, maybe he didn’t.

  Mark, however, got a big crease between his brows. “Everyone in Ever After eats at Mom and Pop’s.”

  Weirdly, even though Mark spoke the total truth, Red felt a kick in his stomach, like maybe Mark really didn’t come into the restaurant to see Red at all.

  Gran said, “Sit down everyone. Let me grab the tea.”

  With Gran out of the room, the four of them paused awkwardly, and then all spoke at once. Christasy won. “So, Mark, you’re a mechanic.”

  Red’s voice sounded too bright. “Yes, Mark owns Woods Auto, the best mechanic shop in town.”

  Brock barked a short laugh. “In a town this size, it’s probably the only mechanic in town.”

  That was essentially true except for the gas stations, but Red didn’t comment.

  Christasy gave Brock a frown and then smiled at Mark. “You’re so young to be a bu
siness owner.”

  Under his breath, Brock murmured, “Well, there is Bill Gates and Mark Zuckerberg.”

  “Shut up, Brock! I think it’s brilliant.”

  Funny. In some ways, Christasy was just as condescending as Brock, being so impressed with the cute boys from the tiny town.

  Just in time, Gran came back with the makeup lady behind her, both carrying trays with tea and cookies that looked great. Cups got passed around, and everyone calmed.

  For a few minutes, they all chatted nicely and ate delicious cookies—delicious no matter how healthy they were. Brock looked relaxed, and Mark seemed to be enjoying talking to Christasy, damn her eyes. Red dared to take a breath.

  That’s when Gran looked up. “So, Mark, has Red told you that Brock is taking him to New York to make him a famous model?”

  How many fucks was he up to?

  Chapter Twelve

  Red sat on the edge of his bed and stared at his phone. Again. He needed to call Mark, but sweet Jesus, why did he have to spend half his waking hours explaining himself to Mark?

  He sighed. After Gran had dropped her ill-timed bombshell, Rog had stuck his head in and called them all back for the next scene and said they wanted Red to be in it. No time to explain to Mark, and of course, by the time they finished the video, Mark was gone. Brock was still there, but he just grinned like some evil Cheshire Cat and said zip about anything he might have told Mark. Who knows what Mark thinks? They’d wrapped the video and all gone their separate ways with an invitation from Brock to have dinner at Mom and Pop’s later to celebrate the completion of the video. If Red was going to call Mark, he needed to do it now.

  A gentle tap on the door made him frown. He kind of wasn’t looking forward to talking to Gran. She didn’t usually do dumb, thoughtless things.

  The tap came again.

  “Okay, Gran, come in.” He didn’t move as she slipped quietly into the room, removed his crumpled jeans and T-shirt from the chair, and sat. She didn’t look embarrassed, which made him kind of pissed.

  Red pressed his lips together to keep from speaking first.

  She caved. “Red, I know I upset you by revealing to Mark your plans with Brock Wolfe.”