Star Bright

by Shelly Greene

  Rafi frowned. “Not your father’s?”

  “No. It looks like Leo was helping my father gather evidence. Whatever they knew, I don’t think they’d told my mother yet—she’s the one who let Uncle take me to the audition that day. I wonder, if she hadn’t, would Uncle have changed his plans? Or just killed me too?”

  Only one person could answer that, and Rafi wasn’t interested in anything he had to say. He drew Julian in closer, stroking his hair.

  “The police say there’d been allegations against my uncle before, but they never went anywhere. I’m sure my father didn’t believe them. Until he did. Something tipped him off—Uncle’s behavior toward me, maybe. I remember my father canceling a couple of outings I was supposed to have with Uncle, shortly…before.”

  Rafi wondered what kind of history Leo Gault had had with his uncle, and whether that had been a factor in his father suddenly believing the allegations. “Your father—and brother—were going to turn him in.”

  “So they had to go,” Julian said. “My mother too, for good measure. No one left to interfere with Uncle getting custody of me.”

  “Helen said she tried.”

  “She tried.” Julian turned his face into Rafi’s hand, so that he was stroking Julian’s cheek instead of his hair. “In some other version of the world, perhaps she succeeded, and none of this happened.”

  “It sounds like we wouldn’t have much evidence of all this,” Rafi said, “if Christian hadn’t stolen those papers. The list is too old to have him on it, I wonder why he got involved?”

  * * * *

  “Oh, that,” Christian said, doing a passable imitation of flippancy despite his weak and raspy voice. He looked even smaller than usual in the hospital bed, throat bandaged and arm hooked up to a bag of blood. “I thought I could sell ‘em to the tabs, you know? Or to Julie here, if he bid higher.”

  Julian raised a brow, and Christian rolled his eyes.

  “Okay, yeah,” he said in a tone of reluctant admission, “I saw a chance to nail Uncle Eddie to the wall, if we were super lucky, and I ran with it. Usually I’m the one getting nailed, so, turnabout felt nice.”

  Amber looked ill at this breezy declaration. Rafi didn’t feel too good himself.

  “Uncle Eddie would have thrown it all in the fire as soon as he’d looked through it,” Julian said. “You had good timing.”

  “Every director says so,” Christian said lightly. “Where is he now, anyway? Uncle Eddie.”

  “Handcuffed to a hospital bed. Not this hospital,” Julian added when Christian tensed. He laid a hand on Christian’s. “You’re safe here.”

  “It was you that beat him up, right?” Christian said to Rafi, eyes glittering maliciously. “Did you hurt him bad? I hope you hurt him real bad.”

  “Broke some teeth,” Rafi said, and Christian sagged back against his pillows, nodding.

  “You should rest,” Julian said. “Your body needs it.”

  “I’m fine,” Christian grumbled, his eyes drifting closed. "I'm a tiger, and I bit hard."

  "You did," Julian said.

  “You need rest, too,” Amber said. “Both of you.”

  “I’m not going to leave him alone here,” Julian murmured.

  “Of course not. I’ll stay.”

  Julian looked surprised. “There’s no reason you should—”

  “Should what? Hang out with a hurt friend? It’s not what I’d call a punishment. And I’m not the one who spent the day tackling evildoers and getting grilled by the cops. Rafi, go home, and take your pet peacock with you.”

  * * * *

  They had the hospital elevator to themselves. Julian took his hair down, combed it with his fingers, put it up again more neatly. Rafi stood close enough that Julian’s arm brushed him every time he moved.

  “You told your uncle you didn’t believe him,” Rafi said, when a few seconds had passed with no more noise than the beep of passing floors.

  Julian glanced sideways at him. Nodded.

  Rafi shifted his feet. “I realize I’ve got to be pretty low on your list of priorities right now. I don’t…expect anything from you. I just want to know if we’re okay.” Is it okay to talk to you, touch you, offer you what you need…?

  “If it weren’t for you,” Julian said, “Christian would be dead. Aaron would be dead. My uncle would have won, and that would have killed me sooner or later.” He reached for Rafi’s hand, interlaced their fingers. “Yes, we’re okay.”

  * * * *

  They walked out of the hospital into an ocean of flashbulbs.

  “Julian, is it true your uncle’s been arrested?”

  “Julian, are you being charged with a crime?”

  “Is Chris Petrie in there? Is he injured?”

  “Are you injured, Julian?”

  “Rafi, tell us what’s going on!”

  “Are the sexual abuse allegations true?”

  “Are you two back together?”

  Rafi looked at his scabbed, aching knuckles and wondered how many more faces he could get away with breaking today.

  “Julian, were you raped? Is that what turned you gay?”

  Rafi actually took a step toward the one who said that, fists clenched, but the man’s eyes widened with glee instead of fear.

  “Julian, did Rafi hurt you?” he continued. “Is that why you’re at the hospital? Is he threatening you? Should we call the police?”

  “If I’m threatening anyone, it isn’t Julian,” Rafi growled, but Julian hooked an arm through his and steered him away.

  “Lyle’s on his way with the car,” Julian said.

  “Well, he isn’t here yet, and I’d love to tell him my opinion of that.” The hubbub was increasing, paparazzi pressing in closer. One jostled Julian, making him wince, and Rafi had had enough. He lifted Julian onto the wide ledge of the nearby fountain, and climbed up after him.

  “If you were hoping to draw less attention to us, I don’t think it worked,” Julian said, looking down at the crowd spread before them, still shouting out questions and taking pictures.

  “At least now if they try to touch us, I can step on their fingers and claim it was an accident.”

  Julian chuckled. “My protector.”

  “Someone should be,” Rafi muttered. “You don’t need a bunch of vultures watching your every move, not right now.”

  Julian smiled, and put his arms around Rafi’s neck. “Let them watch,” he murmured, lips brushing Rafi’s ear. “I want them to. I want everyone to see.”

  Rafi swallowed. “See what?”

  Julian kissed him, and Rafi wound his arms tight around him and gave himself to the joy and sweetness of Julian’s mouth against his. The crowd was losing its mind, cheering and shouting and whistling, but it was a distant and irrelevant thing.

  Julian pulled back, flushed and breathless, and said, “I want my bracelet back.”

  The sky was still dark and cloudy beyond the lights of the hospital, and Rafi thought it might be because the sun and all the stars were inside him right now. He went down on one knee—carefully, on the edge of the fountain—and brought out the bracelet he’d had in his pocket all day.

  Julian took the chunky heirloom gold off his wrist, and let Rafi replace it with silver and opals. Then Julian knelt down as well, his face soft and smiling and on the edge of tears, and put his own bracelet on Rafi.

  It was all so obviously staged that the tabloids spent three months insisting their relationship was fake.

  Chapter 12

  You may not think you’ll make it through the night

  You feel as if the dawn will never break

  It’s easier to give up than to fight

  Just trying was a terrible mistake

  But lonely as you feel, you aren’t alone

  And even in the blackest night there’s stars

  Reaching, reaching out to guide you home

  Leading us into each other’s arms

  We found our way through all the night could giv
e

  This time, this time the star-crossed lovers lived

  —“Star Crossed,” from the upcoming album Book of Fables by Distant Kingdom

  * * * *

  September

  Alleged Murderer and Child Molester ‘Uncle Eddie’ Found Dead in Jail Cell

  By Anne Marshall, September 30, 2019

  Influential Hollywood talent agent Edward Gault, known to the entertainment industry as ‘Uncle Eddie,’ was found dead in his cell at Otis Bantum Correctional Center on Riker’s Island early this morning. Though the death is still under investigation, preliminary findings indicate that he may have overdosed on contraband barbiturates.

  Gault, facing trial for three counts of murder, one count of attempted murder, and a variety of charges involving the sexual abuse of minors, was denied bail as he was considered both a flight risk and a danger to the community. A great deal of the evidence against him on the sexual abuse charges was discovered in a safety deposit box kept by his brother, whom he allegedly murdered in order to keep him silent. Since the initial charges, many other victims have also come forward accusing him of similar sexual abuses. Gault entered a plea of “not guilty” on August 31st and his trial was scheduled to begin on Monday.

  Recently referred to by comedian Jimmy Fallon as “the Harvey Weinstein of little boys,” Gault was the establishing force behind the careers of a number of young actors, such as Aaron Pratt, Chris Petrie, and his own nephew Julian Gault—all of whom he is now suspected of abusing.

  Gault’s family could not be reached for comment, but Aaron Pratt made a statement on Twitter in which he called Edward Gault’s death “a gift from God.”

  —The New York Times

  * * * *

  October

  It was the kind of place, in the kind of area, where a couple of celebrities could have coffee and expect everyone to keep their cool. Maybe a surreptitious phone shot, as long as it was discreet. Still, people were bound to at least notice when Julian Gault walked into their coffee shop.

  He swept off his sunglasses, adjusted the satchel on his shoulder, and crossed the room looking only at the man whose window-side table he was about to join.

  “Oh,” someone whispered as he walked by, “that must be Rafi over there.”

  Julian lifted his lip a bit. Mistaking Carlos for Rafi was like taking pyrite for gold. The thought spurred him to raise his voice a bit more than he would have, as he approached the table.

  “Carlos! Fancy meeting you here.”

  Carlos looked up from the picked-over remains of his sandwich and blinked in confusion as Julian sat down across from him.

  “Expecting someone else, I know,” Julian said. “She’s not coming. She won’t be home when you get there, either. The bruises on her arms are fading, but the one on her stomach is still nice and vivid. You’ll be happy to know the doctor says she’s not miscarrying after all, despite the spotting.”

  Carlos bristled, face reddening. “Wha—what are you—That was an accident, and no business of yours!”

  Julian shrugged. “Bo feels differently. She doesn’t think you should be near a child, ever. Not to worry, your daughter will be well cared for, once Bo’s done cleaning you out for child support.”

  “We’ll see about that!” Carlos made to rise, but Julian grabbed his wrist, pulling him to a halt.

  “My point,” Julian said pleasantly, “is that you couldn’t pay her to be in a band with you anymore. She’s dropping her claim to Distant Kingdom, and so are you.”

  “Oh, am I?”

  “Yes,” Julian said, “unless you want every gossip rag in the country to know how you’ve treated your pregnant fiancée. Not to mention the fact that you leaked your own brother’s nudes last year.”

  Carlos froze in place, eyes shifting nervously—proof enough of guilt if Julian had needed it. “How could you possibly—”

  “Bo told me. She was very free with secrets like that, as I helped her pack. You’ve been a very naughty boy, Carlos, and very light-fingered with other people’s money. Rafi’s, your father’s, your record label’s, and lots of other people who are going to be unhappy with you.”

  Carlos’s face went ashen. He gritted his teeth. “Fine. Your boyfriend gets the band.”

  “Oh, no, you misunderstand me. That’s already settled by the matter of the nudes, which won’t become public knowledge as long as you cooperate. Cory deserves justice too,” Julian sighed, “but he’d find a legal debacle embarrassing. We’ll be making it up to him in other ways. I can’t control who finds out about your other misdeeds, however. Ah, here they are. Sooner than I expected.”

  “What? Who?”

  “The nice men who are coming to arrest you.” Julian stood and rearranged his satchel.

  Carlos, spinning toward the window, could easily see two officers leaving a police cars, moving as if they didn’t need a fight, but weren’t opposed to one. Carlos looked wildly around the coffee shop, where there were a lot of wide eyes, a few visible phones, and no one offering him help.

  “Is my brother behind this?” Carlos demanded. “He is, isn’t he—”

  “Your brother is entirely above this kind of thing, and you know it. Fortunately for him, I am not.” Julian moved toward the door.

  “You ice-queen bastard, this isn’t over!” Carlos snarled.

  “I think you’ll find it is.” Julian blew a kiss over his shoulder as he left, stepping neatly out of the way of the police as they entered.

  * * * *

  November

  “I still can’t believe you wouldn’t shell out for movers,” Christian said as the elevator doors opened, releasing him, Julian, Rafi, and the boxes they carried into Julian’s apartment.

  “You don’t have enough stuff to qualify for movers,” Julian snorted, kicking aside the pair of Christian’s shoes that had gotten left in the foyer.

  Rafi wasn’t so sure about that. Christian had more clothes than any human being could possibly need, not to mention video games, anime collections, skating and surfing equipment—and he was pretty sure the box he carried now was filled solely with nail polish. True, everything had fit in one truck…but now it had to all fit in what used to be Julian’s office.

  “I think you just like watching your boyfriend do heavy lifting,” Christian grumbled. “You spent half of last weekend drooling over his biceps, that’s for sure. Hey, yeah, did I mention this is the second weekend in a row that I get to spend doing manual labor?”

  “You’ve guessed my secret,” Julian said, smiling. He brushed a kiss against the bunched muscles of Rafi’s shoulder as he passed, scooting ahead to open the bedroom door. “Or maybe I think the manual labor will be good for you. Build character.”

  “I’m an actor. I have character. I make a living from having character.” Christian stepped into his new bedroom and turned in a circle, looking woebegone. “This stupid room gets smaller every time I look at it.”

  “Yes, I put the walls on tracks for precisely that effect. One morning you’ll wake up with the doorknob up your nose.” Julian set his box down in a corner.

  “Your place is almost as small as Tasha’s. Why on God’s green earth did Aaron want to move into that golf divot?”

  “Because Tasha’s in it,” Rafi said. “You want everything over here, or you gonna sort as we go? That might make unpacking easier on you.”

  “I have to unpack my own stuff too? Ugh, fine, put that one over there. But what I mean is, why didn’t both of them move into Aaron’s place? It was way nicer.”

  “Well, since Aaron is taking a break from acting, he may not have enough income to keep his old place,” Julian said.

  Christian considered this, nodded thoughtfully. “Poverty will be good for Aaron. Help him build character.”

  Rafi snorted, moving back toward the elevator. “Isn’t Aaron an actor too? Making a living from character?”

  “Um, yeah, I guess, in the way that Brussels sprouts are technically food.”

 
; Julian shoved lazily at Christian’s head as he passed it. “You’re a Brussels sprout.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense!”

  It didn’t escape Rafi’s notice that for all his grumbling, Christian did not even once, as they trekked back and forth, mention wanting his old room back, or say they should have kept the house where he lived with Uncle Eddie. Christian and Julian had inherited Eddie’s estate; Julian had put Christian’s half in a trust, and divided his own among a handful of charities for survivors of child sexual abuse. Rafi included his gift to Aaron in that category, too.

  On their next trip, Rafi tripped over a chair rocker, and the box in his hands tumbled and burst open. Books spilled in all directions.

  “Careful, you giant oaf!” Christian ran past Rafi, dropping his own box on the couch, and began gathering up the books, looking them over for damage and muttering curses on Rafi’s lineage. The rings of a heavy and well-used binder had popped open, and he struggled to get all its pages back inside—pages of Pokémon cards. Rafi chuckled under his breath and began gathering up the nearest books.

  Graphic novels, he realized. Special edition omnibus copies of Freaks.

  “Well, well,” he said, grinning at Christian. “Taking an interest in Julian’s movie after all?”

  Christian scowled and snatched the books away. “Just because Julian’s in something doesn’t make it automatically terrible. Just increases the odds.”

  “You know, no one’s actually going to think less of you if you admit to liking people.”

  “I don’t like people.” Christian glanced surreptitiously toward Julian, who was propping the bedroom door open and pretending not to listen. “Just, you know, some individual people are not as bad as others. You’re pretty awful, though,” he added, looking at Rafi again.

  “I’m sure I am,” Rafi said cheerfully, and finished packing the books back into the box.

  “Hey, these too.” Christian handed up the ones he still held as Rafi stood.

  The motion exposed, for a startling moment, the fading red scars on Christian’s throat. He was self-conscious about them, Rafi knew—he’d caught Christian looking in the mirror at them once, tracing the red lines with his fingers—but Rafi had no doubt the make-up artists would make quick work of them when he started filming his next gig. Which was in a month, if he remembered correctly, some sweet family dramedy whose deciding advantage was that it was filming in New York. Everyone wanted to stay close to home for a while.