Star Bright

by Shelly Greene

  “Cassie Bayles, I assume,” Uncle Eddie murmured darkly. “He has taken such an insane dislike to her. It’s really inexplicable, she’s a charming girl. This is the sort of thing I was talking about, the other day. How is Julian really doing, would you say?”

  Rafi eyed him warily. “Oh, you know. Julian will be Julian.”

  Then the lights were dimming, the cast trooping onstage to gather around the director, who shared a few words about the film. Rafi paid it little attention, instead watching Julian. He’d managed to position himself as far away from Cassie Bayles as possible, which was doubtless a win for everyone. You would never have known he was tense by the carefree smile on his face, but Rafi could see it in his shoulders, the tilt of his head. The idea that Rafi was learning to parse Julian’s body language was strangely satisfying to him.

  Julian returned to his seat the long way, climbing over the dozen people beside Aaron rather than the three next to his uncle. Aaron gave him a dirty look as he passed, but if Julian noticed, he gave no sign. Rafi squeezed Julian’s hand as he settled into his seat, which seemed to nearly startle Julian into standing up again. Was he so unaccustomed to being reassured?

  Then the movie started, the whole crowd cheering as the lights went down and the screen brightened, and within moments, Rafael was too caught up in the film to pay attention to its audience.

  Gunpowder was…good. Compelling, clear, with high tension, complex characters, and a surprising amount of humor (some of it quite dark). Rafi couldn’t speak to its level of historical accuracy, the Revolutionary War not being high on his list of interests, but it certainly worked as a film.

  And Julian was incredible in it. His Lafayette was clever, charming, and endearingly shameless. He vibrated with energy, and quite frankly he had all the best lines. He even had some surprising moments of deep feeling and distress, particularly at the climax, when his mentor, George Washington, was badly wounded. While not the main character, he looked likely to be the audience favorite, judging from the laughter and cheers around them. It was difficult for Rafi to connect Lafayette to the young man sitting beside him—which he supposed was another testament to Julian’s skill. The man on the screen was not Julian Gault pretending to be the Marquis de Lafayette; it was simply Lafayette himself.

  Seeing Cassie Bayles on the screen so soon after their unpleasant encounter was jarring, but while she was no Julian, she did disappear into the character of Lucy Knox well enough to avoid ruining the movie. He found he could like Lucy despite the person playing her.

  At one point Rafi glanced toward Julian—would he be entranced or embarrassed at the sight of his own performance?—only to find Julian watching him instead, as if Rafi’s reactions were much more interesting than the movie. It was disconcerting, but he quickly ignored it in favor of returning his attention to the story.

  When the end credits rolled, Rafi joined in with the audience’s wild applause, feeling like he’d been through a wringer.

  “You liked it,” Julian said, the words not quite a question as the lights came back on. He was still watching Rafi’s face carefully.

  “Are you kidding? You’re going to win an Oscar for this. The movie was fantastic, and you—you were mesmerizing.”

  Julian smiled, a tiny flicker of a thing that seemed to be as much surprise as happiness, brightening his face for a single moment before vanishing again.

  “Well, Julian,” said Uncle Eddie, leaning past Rafi as if he weren’t there, “perhaps this film will not be the blow to your reputation we had feared. Though of course it’s hard to predict public reaction. There are several key moments I’d love to discuss with you—the two of you are coming to the after party, I hope?”

  The smile Julian gave his uncle looked nothing at all like the one Rafi had glimpsed so briefly. “Of course, Uncle.”

  * * * *

  They traveled separately, at Julian’s insistence that he managed to make look like Rafi’s insistence. Rafi half-expected Uncle Eddie to be hiding behind a potted plant when they arrived, waiting to ambush them in the hotel foyer, but he was nowhere in sight. Of course, he could easily be inside the ballroom. Approaching the doors, Rafi could only make out shifting blue-and-purple light, and movement building on a dance floor, where a DJ on a dais ruled over all. Thumping music leaked incongruously into the bright and tasteful corridor.

  Perhaps Uncle Eddie wasn’t here yet, but someone else was—someone Rafi would not have expected in a thousand years.

  “Cory!”

  “Rafi!” Incredibly, Cory actually looked happy to see him, if a little gobsmacked. “Oh my goodness! How are you doing?” He spread his arms, perhaps subconsciously, but clearly welcoming a hug; with only a slight hesitation, Rafi supplied it.

  “I’m—all right, I’m fine, and you look well!” The last time Rafi had seen Cory, he was weeping into the too-long sleeves of a sweater as Rafi told him, halting and miserable, that they were over, that he and Bo were getting back together. The memory had always been painful; now it was appalling to think he had hurt someone as sweet as Cory over Bo. Cory really did look well, though; his hazel eyes were bright, sandy curls cut short and fashionable. His suit was an unconventional rust-and-cream that flattered his coloring exceedingly. “What are you up to these days?” Rafi asked, as that seemed more polite than, What are you doing here?

  “Oh…this and that.” Cory’s cheeks colored, his gaze dropping, and Rafi felt his own smile slip. Cory was adorably easy to embarrass, but this was different—something more like ashamed.

  “Champagne, as requested!” The man who glided all the way into Cory’s personal space, pressing a champagne flute into his hand and a kiss against his temple, was easily old enough to be his father. Not bad looking—tall, broad-shouldered, his silver-threaded beard a note of frank masculinity in an otherwise restrained presentation—but twice Cory’s age, at least. Rafi felt something in his chest that might have been a growl, but to his surprise, Cory had perked up at the man’s approach.

  “Oscar, I’ve run into some old friends.”

  “Oh?” The older man’s eyes widened at the sight of Rafi. “…Oh. And—oh!” This as he obviously recognized Julian. “Well. It doesn’t get much more awkward than this, I suppose. All the same, it’s lovely to see you.”

  “Of course it is,” Julian said smoothly, reaching to shake the man’s hand. “Oscar, it’s been too long. This is my boyfriend, Rafael Reyes, who of course already knows Cory.”

  “That’s right.” Cory seemed relieved to have standard pleasantries to cling to. “Congratulations to you and Rafi, sir! You’re a very lucky man.”

  “So I’m quickly learning,” Julian said. “Rafi, Oscar Jorgunsen is a studio exec for Paramount. We’ve worked together before.”

  “And by ‘worked together,’ Julian means that I asked him out and he turned me down,” Oscar said with a sheepish half-smile. “Not that I blame him. And after all, if he’d said yes, I wouldn’t have Cory now.” He pulled the younger man closer, and Cory looked up at him adoringly.

  Rafi tried not to bristle. He certainly had no right to be jealous, but it was more than that; the idea of guileless, trusting Cory with a rich and powerful older man was a bit alarming in its premise. “Cory, I wonder if you could, uh, show me where the men’s room is? This place is huge, it might take me all night to find it.”

  Neither Julian nor Oscar looked fooled—or especially pleased—by this ploy, but oh well, Rafi had never been a subtle man. It worked, anyway; Cory happily led Rafi off toward a side corridor.

  “I’m fine, Rafi,” Cory murmured as soon as they were alone around a corner.

  “You’re dating some rich old perv for his money. What happened?” He pulled Cory gently by the arm, turning him to face him. “I tried to call you after the pictures got out. What happened? Did you lose your job?”

  Cory looked almost amused, as if Rafi were being very silly. “Of course I lost my job, Rafi. I was blackballed from the entire religious choral
e industry. You think the Voices of Saint Cecilia is going to keep me on after they’ve seen me in fuzzy handcuffs with a man’s cock in my mouth?”

  That was…strong language, from Cory. Rafi blushed, as if embarrassed by proxy.

  “And my family threw me out,” Cory continued. “So yes, I’m letting Oscar take care of me. He’s very kind to me, Rafi. He treats me—” Cory paused, swallowed, blinked away sudden tears. “He treats me wonderfully.”

  “What does he ask in return?”

  “Nothing I’m not willing to give. Happy to give.”

  “So you’re his…his, uh…”

  Cory crossed his arms. “I believe the term you’re looking for is ‘sugar baby.’”

  Rafi scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Well, you don’t have to be. Okay? You want to leave him, you give me a call, day or night. I’ll help you with whatever you need.”

  Cory smiled tremulously, and reached out to touch Rafi’s chest, briefly, wistfully. “You’re a good man, Rafi.”

  “I agree.” Julian’s voice was perfectly pleasant, but Cory jumped back from Rafi as if burned. “I was afraid you’d gotten lost, darling.” Julian eeled an arm through Rafi’s and gave him a kiss on the cheek. “Cory, I think your honey is wanting to introduce you to some people.”

  “Of course, I should get back.” Cheeks burning, Cory turned to go.

  Julian, to Rafi’s surprise, caught Cory’s arm before he could leave. “It really has been nice to see you again, Cory. I’m glad you’re doing well.”

  Looking a bit reassured, Cory ducked his head and scurried off.

  “All right, what am I missing?” Rafi asked as soon as he was gone.

  Julian shrugged. “Oscar prefers younger men.”

  “So, what, he’s some kind of predator?”

  “No, nothing like that. He just enjoys being able to take care of someone. Cory is lucky to have found him.” Julian hesitated. “I introduced them, actually.”

  “How did that happen?”

  “I ran into Cory at a jazz club. I…recognized him from the pictures.” He glanced warily at Rafi. “The internet rather shoved those in my face, I wouldn’t have sought them out. Anyway, I knew he was down on his luck and exactly Oscar’s type, and I was tired of Oscar chasing me.”

  Oscar thought Julian needed someone to take care of him?

  “Well, it seems to have worked out for him,” Rafi said reluctantly. “At least for the time being.”

  “Speaking of time,” Julian linked their arms, “we should get back into the fray before we’re missed.”

  Entering the hotel ballroom, the noise and chaos were like a blow, but no worse than a hundred clubs Rafi had been to. It was Julian who winced, almost too briefly to notice. The floor, Rafi noticed, was a wavering, distorted checkerboard pattern; that was going to be fun for the inebriated.

  Speaking of which. Rafi steered them toward the bar, where he snagged himself some kind of bacon-wrapped appetizer and a shot of tequila.

  “And what’ll you have, Mr. Gault?” asked the bartender, a lovely woman in dreadlocks.

  “What have you got without alcohol?” Julian replied, and accepted a Coke.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, a party animal,” Rafi said. He had to half-shout over the music, but at least it was too loud for anyone to eavesdrop. “Seriously? You’re not driving. I think you could stand to loosen up.”

  “I don’t drink,” Julian snapped.

  Wow. Okay. “More for me,” Rafi said with a shrug. “Any run-in with an ex calls for a drink, in my opinion.” He tapped the bar for another shot—and realized Julian was looking at him with that thoughtful laser-focus that meant he was giving something all his attention. “What?”

  “Did you mean what you told Cory? That he could call on you for help?”

  “Of course I did. Cory is a—what’s the term? Precious cinnamon roll? You’d have to be one cold-hearted monster not to help him.”

  “And yet you broke up with him.”

  “Not because he did anything wrong. It was just…well, it was Bo, mostly. She has a way of making everyone else seem boring.” Rafi stared moodily into the depths of his second shot, then tossed it back grimly. “Though perhaps only in the way that wrecking your car makes the rest of your commute look boring.”

  “Wreck a lot of cars, do you?”

  Rafi flipped him the bird and asked for a beer.

  They hadn’t escaped notice at the bar; a few of Julian’s co-stars approached and exchanged pleasantries, a few other acquaintances, even one or two people Rafi knew. Hollywood was a small world. Rafi decided against a fourth drink and ate some more instead, pressing a shrimp on Julian as well.

  “Your uncle says you don’t take care of yourself,” Rafi said. “If I’m hungry, you probably are too.”

  “Don’t,” Julian said, “quote my uncle at me.”

  “Fine, I’ll quote my stepmother at you. ‘Eat what you’re given and be grateful.’”

  Julian rolled his eyes, but ate the shrimp. With one eyebrow arched, hair escaping his ponytail in the whirling blue and purple lights of the club, he looked exquisite, like an elven prince in the lights of Underhill.

  “Hold still a sec,” Rafi said, and pulled out his phone.

  When he realized Rafi was taking pictures, Julian’s expression shifted, becoming resigned and almost amused. That looked even better.

  “And a few of us together,” Rafi said, turning the phone and snuggling up to Julian’s side. He got a few great shots of Julian looking fondly exasperated while Rafi grinned and nuzzled his cheek—and then Julian brushed against the padded box in his jacket pocket.

  “What’s that?” Julian asked. “It’s a bit high to say you’re happy to see me.”

  “I’ll show you soon.” Rafi had actually almost forgotten his plan for the evening; now was as good a time as any. “Fancy a spin on the dance floor?” he asked, sweeping an arm to indicate the chaotic crowd moving across the warped checkerboard.

  “Must we?” Julian said.

  Before Rafi could press his case, Uncle Eddie and his young companion found them.

  “I was wondering if you’d stood us up,” Eddie said pleasantly as he appeared at Julian’s elbow and nearly made him choke on his soda.

  “Oh, Uncle,” Julian said, smothering a cough, “you know I’ve never left you wanting.” If Rafi didn’t know better, he would think that was a longing glance he’d just given Rafi’s half-empty beer. “Rafael, I don’t think you’ve been properly introduced to Aaron. He’s another member of my uncle’s stable of young actors. We’re working together on Freaks. Quite a coup for Uncle Eddie, getting us both into that.”

  The pretty young man-bun-wearer stepped forward to shake Rafi’s hand. “A pleasure,” he said, “to meet the special someone who could steal Julian’s frozen heart.”

  “It sort of fell into my lap, really,” Rafi said. “I’ve found it warms up nicely there.”

  This time Julian did choke on his soda. Rafi patted his back as he coughed.

  “I spent the ride over here looking up horse-related stories from the set of Gunpowder,” Aaron said, his voice suddenly over-loud as the music changed to a slow song. “Nothing turned up. So what’s this about Cassie Bayles killing a horse?”

  Several people nearby were listening intently. Rafi saw Julian’s eyes slide toward them, and away again, his expression never changing.

  “Cassie told the director she was an experienced horsewoman,” he said. “The first day we started filming, I could tell that was a lie, or at least a profound exaggeration. I tried to give her advice, but she brushed me off.” He took a long swallow from his Coke. “They needed her horse to do a tricky jump on slippery terrain. Wanted to put in a stunt rider. Cassie assured them she could handle it, no problem. Instead she broke two of her horse’s legs. He had to be put down. That’s why I cursed her out and spat on her.”

  Aaron looked appalled. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “Because,” Un
cle Eddie answered before Julian could, “the source of the conflict is not nearly as important as Julian’s inappropriate behavior in the course of it. A mud-slinging contest would do no one’s reputation any good. I advised—strongly advised—Julian to issue an apology to Miss Bayles, but in the face of his refusal to do that, I decided a complete lack of response was the only option. Ignore it and hope it goes away.”

  Rafi stared at the man. He was no PR expert, but that sounded to him like a horrifyingly bad idea. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Uncle Eddie was trying to torpedo his nephew’s career.

  “Of course, Julian has always been funny about horses,” Uncle Eddie continued. “You’ll notice he even refers to himself as belonging to my stable. In the end, though, one horse is much like another. It can be replaced.” He clapped a hand on Aaron’s shoulder. “Let’s get you a drink, boy, you’ve had a long day! It was an eventful flight from New York, it’s a shame you missed it, Julian, but let me tell you…”

  Rafi quickly lost track of whatever anecdote Eddie was telling. He had no particular desire to be near the man, and anyway, he had a plan to enact. Right now, after Julian had finally gotten his own side of the Cassie Bayles story out there (the eavesdroppers were already on their phones), was probably the perfect time for it. Julian would know that, and still hate it, and Rafi couldn’t wait to see that expression on his face.

  “Julian, let’s dance,” he said, butting right in over Uncle Eddie’s voice.

  “I would love to,” Julian said without hesitation, and took Rafi’s arm as they entered the fray on the dance floor.

  He could almost feel Julian’s brow furrowing as Rafi continued pulling him along, not stopping to dance, merely pushing through the crowd. Rafi led him all the way to the middle, where the DJ’s dais rose above the rest of the floor, and up the steps.

  “Rafi, what exactly are you—”

  “Come on!”

  Up and onto the dais, where Rafi appropriated the mic from the irritated DJ. “Ladies and gentlemen! May I have your attention! Ladies and gentlemen, eyes up here!”