The first two days of location shooting were brutal. Costuming had apparently been told to make as much of Jax’s hard body as they could, which would have been fine if they were shooting in June, but it was fucking freezing up in Yonkers by the river in nothing but a long-sleeved T-shirt. He felt even worse for his tiny costar, whose little nose had to keep being wiped. At least the kid had a doll as a stand-in. Jax was there through all the setup.
Being back on the soundstage was a lot more familiar. And a hell of a lot warmer.
Jax was looking forward to seeing what the catering was like when they weren’t out on location, but when they broke for lunch, a PA came up to tell him there was someone waiting for him at security.
Oz? No. Although Jax’s foray into honesty hadn’t ruined things completely and they’d managed a few texts to set up a tentative dinner and sex date for Saturday, Oz didn’t know Jax’s last name. Assuming he’d stumbled onto one of Jax’s few screen appearances in recent years, Oz wouldn’t have any way of knowing Jax was working on Dead Man Talking.
To have tracked Jax here meant someone who was in the business. Would Theo have bothered? Jax knew he owed his friend a call, but Jax’s three-night fiasco of an Off Off Broadway show still stung like a bitch, though Theo had refrained from any vocal I told you sos.
Jax was completely unprepared to find Blaze Marshall waving at him.
“Jax Conlon. Dude. You look awesome. Incredible. What is the secret potion, and how much does it cost?”
Jax wished he could say the same for Blaze. He looked years older than the image in Jax’s head. Blaze was only ten years older than Jax, had been twenty when they’d started the run on Family Daze, cast in the role of the free-spirited surfer who finds himself raising his three younger half siblings when their parents are killed in an avalanche.
Blaze had worked a lot more than Jax in the years right after, getting another series that lasted two years. Now he looked haggard. It was an even bigger surprise when the suit next to Blaze turned around and Jax recognized Paul Blanchard, the showrunner on Family Daze.
Mr. Blanchard—well, maybe Jax could call him Paul now—shook Jax’s hand, a big smile on his face. “Great to see you, Jax.”
Blaze clapped him on the shoulder. “Damn, Jax, you really filled out. How many times did they make you take your shirt off in Straight to Hell 3?”
Jax laughed. “As often as they could splatter the sheriff’s uniform with blood and guts.”
“I tracked you down through your agent and was hoping you might be free for lunch to talk about a project,” Paul said.
“Let me check.”
Someone sent out a PDF schedule every morning, but that changed six times by lunch. He dug in his pocket. He’d been through the we’re-on-the-pink-pages-now-people script changes and had the new lines down for his last scene. He hoped this yellow sheet was the latest shooting order.
Crap. Figured when a producer wanted to buy him lunch, he only had thirty minutes. But Paul and Blaze assured him that would be great, so he signed out, and they walked along the pier where the studio was.
On the water, it was still fucking freezing, the area populated solely by cast and crew members desperate for their smokes. Blaze immediately became one of them, offering his pack to Paul and then Jax, who shook his head. While the other two were puffing away, Jax eyed a coffee cart along the walkway. Maybe they had a protein pack?
“I’ve been given a tentative green light by the studio for a sort of next-generation project,” Paul began.
Blaze burst out, “We’re getting the band back together, man.”
Jax eyed him and then looked back to Mr. Blanch—Paul. “Second generation for Family Daze?”
“Yes, the concept is that you and Gwen—well, Alicia Drummond, who has expressed interest—would be married and raising your family when you have to take in Blaze. Sort of a reversal thing.”
Being Brian Anderson on Family Daze had been, aside from college, the best time of Jax’s life. He’d loved everything that came with it. Never minded standing for hours surrounded by overly perfumed tween girls while he signed autographs and posed for pictures, loved that people knew his name—so what if the name they knew was Brian Anderson. And they were going to let him be that again?
Even if he had to work with that bitch Alicia—every on-set kiss she loaded up on raw onions, like he was about to molest her or something—it was more than anything he’d been offered in years. It could be the road back. The path to doing something amazing like his mom had said, to changing people’s lives.
“What studio? Who wants it?” Jax asked as they reached the coffee cart. Sandwiches under plastic, but the coffee smelled good and the turkey looked edible, minus the bread.
“KIDZNet.”
Back in ’98, when CBS hadn’t renewed the show, the brand-new KIDZNet had tried to shift them over for another two years. But there’d been contract issues and then his costar Ren’s overdose—making them three brothers instead of four—and it fell through. Still, KIDZ had kept them on in syndication through 2012. Jax could believe this was more than just a maybe.
Paul paid for three coffees, a pretzel, and Jax’s sandwich.
“It definitely sounds like something I’d be interested in.”
“Yes.” Blaze pumped his fist and tossed away his butt.
Jax controlled the urge to go smother it with his foot as it sputtered on the concrete.
“What about Konnor?”
“Ah, he’s not working anymore,” Paul said. “If you’re really interested, I’ll contact your agent with some details. The studio would like to feel out an audience base. Maybe with some sort of reunion appearances.”
“Get us back into circulation,” Blaze added.
Exactly the kind of thing Jax had loved doing. He waited for the other shoe to drop. No free lunches was truer in show business than anywhere else. They were nearing the studio entrance when the size twelve landed with a thud.
Paul steered him away from Blaze. “Jax, I know it’s no business of mine, and I know you’ve kept it well out of the public eye, but KIDZNet and their parent company, well, they aren’t Disney. They have a very conservative approach to some topics.”
The bite of turkey turned to chalk in Jax’s mouth, and it took half of the burning coffee to wash it down to a stomach already churning with bitter acid.
Paul wasn’t saying anything Jax hadn’t been told early on in his career, hell, that he hadn’t told himself—and Dane—a million times. But it hit harder today. First, after a week of working on this grown-up, smartly funny show with these talented people. Then handed a beautifully wrapped package of something he’d have sold a kidney for two months ago.
No kidney needed. He just had to make sure that there continued to be no unpleasant truths about the lead actor’s sexuality besmirching the family-friendly sitcom. Risqué jokes were one thing, and Jax was sure he’d spend plenty of time without a shirt on, but the fact that Jax would rather kiss Blaze—even after his cigarette—than Alicia would have to be kept safely hidden away.
“I understand, sir.”
“You were always a gentleman to work with, Jax. A complete professional. From the first day on the set. Never made an ounce of trouble.” Paul patted him on the back like the grandfather Jax had always seen him as, then turned to look for Blaze. “Now where did that idiot go?”
JAX KNEW he’d nailed his last scene on Friday. The writing on this show was amazing, and the other actors great to play off of. He was coming back from turning in his costume, wiping away the rest of his makeup on a towel, when a PA came up and said Mr. Rede wanted to see him.
Jax followed the girl behind the monitors where Hanson was directing, talking to cameras as they set up the next scene.
Hanson turned immediately. “Jax, great work. Knew you were exactly what I wanted. I’m angling to get you extended to a day player. I can see this taking off. Got plans for this character, and the writers are totally on board.”
“Thanks. Really appreciate the support.”
Hanson scratched his scraggly beard. “Thank me if I can make it work. Preferably in large bills.” He spoke into the mike around his neck. “Get me more of an angled shot, Bryce. Tonya, can you do something about that glare off Nick’s forehead?” The makeup artist darted forward.
Taking in one more breath of the familiar chaos, Jax left.
Episode shooting schedules were always tight, and Jax had been worried they wouldn’t wrap in time for the Saturday date with Oz. He’d been forced to leave things vague, which left neither of them happy. But now he had a clear shot, and he was going to make this totally worth the man’s time.
The producers might not have offered accommodations, but they did send a car to take him back and forth from his hotel. On the ride up to Thirty-Ninth Street, he called Theo.
“Hey, Thee, what’s a really hot new place for dinner, like impress-a-native-New-Yorker hot? And someplace I could get into tomorrow.”
“Hi, Jax. And how are you?”
Jax’s cheeks heated. “I’m good. Everything good with you?”
“Yes, thanks for asking.” The laughter in Theo’s voice made it hard to be pissed with him for, well, taking the piss out of Jax.
He knew how to get a leg up, though. “And how’s—” Shit. What was the new boyfriend’s name? The one so important Theo blew off their reunion ride on the Cyclone. Keith? Kevin? “—Kieran?” Jax finished triumphantly.
“Nice save. He’s good too. I’m totally nuts about him.”
“Good to hear.” Again.
“Didn’t know you were in New York.”
“Uh, yeah. Got a two-episode part on Dead Man Talking.”
Theo’s interest level rocketed, sharp focus coming into his voice. “Is that the new dark comedy crime thing?”
“Yeah.” Jax wanted to pump his fist like Blaze. Theo rarely took an interest outside of theater.
“That’s really great. Been hearing lots of good buzz about it. So, dinner for two, and I’m guessing I’m not invited?”
It had been a while. They used to meet up for dinner all the time. Before Kieran took up so much of Theo’s time. And before Jax’s disastrous theater debut. “Ah, maybe next week we could—”
“I’m kidding, Jax. Let’s see. There’s a new celebrity-chef place, but that’s crazy to get into, even if you just won a Tony. Though I hear keeping Hugh Jackman and Daniel Craig waiting in line out front is the only way they’re staying in business because it’s not the food.”
Translation: Even Theo couldn’t get in, so an actor whose major claim to fame had been over for seventeen years wouldn’t be getting anywhere near the maître d’.
Jax shifted the phone to his other ear. “Think more low-key and with really good food.”
“Where are you staying?”
“Midtown.”
“My condolences. Hmm. If you could put it off until Sunday, you could probably get into this new sushi place, but Saturday night would be tough.”
Jax was starting to think it would be Saturday night before Theo ran out of negative suggestions.
“Oh, wait. I heard about this Ethiopian place. Just opened, but it’s supposed to be fabulous and really authentic. It’s above 125th, though.”
Into Harlem, Theo meant. The only associations Jax could make with Ethiopia were famine and coffee. “What kind of food is that?”
“Pretty spicy, but lots of variety. Meat, fish, pork, veggies, pretty much everything you’d want. New and trendy, so it should impress. I think you sit on cushions and eat off bread trays or something.”
Great. Bread. Who knew how tight the costuming would get next week? But it sounded cool, assuming it wasn’t too tacky to take Oz to an African-style restaurant.
“Thanks. Got a name?”
“Gimme a sec.” Theo was back in a couple. “Meserete.”
Jax put it in his phone.
Theo’s voice shifted to cajoling—ha! It was what Dane’s description of their roles had now fixed in Jax’s head as Theo’s mama voice. “I said I was kidding, but I would like to see you while you’re here. Sorry the show in August didn’t work out.”
“Yeah, but those are the Off Off Broadway business breaks, right?”
Not like Theo had ever had a minute’s worry with his career. Or with being out like Elton freaking John. Theo was behind the curtain, no need for him to live up to anyone’s heterosexual ideal in order to function as every woman’s fantasy boyfriend.
“Having a show close early is never fun.” Theo sounded sympathetic, but Jax knew Theo had never had that happen to him.
“And after three nights, it’s a whole new depth of funny.”
“Not really. I’ve heard of shows that didn’t make it past the first intermission.”
“Can’t even top the loser list?” Jax shook his head even if Theo couldn’t see it.
“Nope. But I am sorry. I wanted it to work out for you, Jax.”
“It’s fine. Things are actually kind of working out well right now. Just wasn’t meant to be.”
“Good. So you owe me a dinner now. Next week?”
“As long as you make the reservations. Maybe I’ll finally get to meet Kieran?”
“I’ll ask him.”
Jax looked up the restaurant as he rode in the elevator. It did look like a cool place. But would Oz think Jax was trying to make some kind of statement by taking him there?
He’d sworn off listening to Dane on honesty, but this was a different situation. Growing up all hippy, Dane ought to be able to provide some insight into interracial dating so that Jax didn’t make a total ass of himself before they sat down.
“Wow. How often did you call me before you started dating this guy?”
“I called you.”
“Oh yeah. There was that bitching about the shits from the PEP. How’s that going?”
Because that was just what Jax wanted to think about while planning dinner and fucking. “It’s better. Down to one volcanic eruption per day.”
“Sounds like a blast.”
Jax burst out laughing. “God, how I hate you.”
“You wish it was that easy. So, what’s the what this time?”
“Is it cool to take a black man to an Ethiopian restaurant on a date?”
There was a pause. Too long.
“Don’t,” Jax said.
“I didn’t even say anything.” Dane’s tone was too innocent.
“I can hear you shaking your head in disgust. All the sand in your ears rattles.”
“Okay. First of all. Cool and you? Mutually exclusive terms, babe.”
“Why did I call you?”
“Because you were desperate.”
“Right. Knew there had to be a reason. Aside from the insults, which are not all that hard to find other places.”
“Is this guy from Ethiopia?” Dane asked, like that would solve it.
“No, he’s from Queens.”
“Gods save me, Jax. Then ask him what kind of food he likes. You know, like you would a white guy.”
“He said anything was fine with him.”
“Perfect. Then go wherever you usually take guys that you want to impress while cowering in dark corners.”
This bullshit was inescapable today. At least Paul Blanchard could admit it wasn’t any of his business.
“I don’t cower in dark corners.”
Dane made a long-suffering sigh. “Babe, I want to share something with you, since you called for my sage council. In my many years on the planet, I have learned that you aren’t any less of a skilled actor whether you’re just going out to dinner with a guy or riding his cock.”
“Fuck you.”
Dane laughed. “Spencer’s out of town. If he’s that hot, bring him over. We could work something out.”
“Oh, he’s beyond hot. You’d love him. But I have two words for you, Uncle Dane.”
“Oh yeah?”
“In. Cest.”
&nb
sp; “Technically—”
“Bye, Dane.”
“Bye. I love you, brat.”
Jax called and managed to get a six-thirty seating for two, with a sixty-dollar hold to his credit card if he didn’t show up. It was early for a New York dinner, but it wasn’t like there weren’t fun things they could do after dinner.
He was about to text the time to Oz when his phone buzzed with one from a PA at Dangerous Waves Productions: Reshoots tomorrow. 6:30 a.m. call.
Maybe it wouldn’t take twelve hours.
Or maybe Jax was just fucking cursed.
Chapter 10
OZ STOWED Ayla and Regan’s little overnight cases in their cousin Bobby’s room. He could barely believe his oldest nephew was off to college already. It made him want to freeze time with the girls. While he pulled out their pajamas and toothbrushes, Ayla and Regan scooped up their sleeping bags.
“Aunt Angle said we can sleep over with the TV,” Regan announced.
Oz nodded. “Don’t forget to thank Aunt Angle for inviting you to sleep over.” Regan’s mispronunciation had stuck as a family joke.
As they started back downstairs, Ayla said, “Aunt Angle says it’s ’cause you have a date.”
Thanks a bunch, sis. At least she’d said date. Trying to explain a hookup with dinner to his daughters wasn’t something he was ever going to do. As far as Oz was concerned they’d never be old enough to know about that.
Oz flailed around for an explanation as the girls draped their sleeping bags on the floor. “Sometimes grownups like to spend time—”
“Daaaaaaaaddy.” Ayla drew the word out with impatience. “I know what a date is. Tamara is dating Chris, who’s in third grade. They hold hands everywhere, and once they kissed on the monkey bars.”
Ayla’s horrified-sounding description reassured Oz she wasn’t trying to land an eight-year-old player of her own.
“A kissing date?” Regan seized on that with a screech of interest. “Like Ella kiss or Flynn Rider kiss?”
Oz parsed through the Disney references with the character prompts on their sleeping bags. The Ella kiss between sisters in Frozen was chaste. The smirking Flynn Rider on Regan’s bag had a bit too much in common with Jax’s flirtatious appeal. He remembered that kiss from Tangled. A long romantic affair on a spinning boat.
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