Summer Stock

by Vanessa North

  “He cast me as the lead.”

  “Yes.”

  “You got a secondary part—I would have cast you as Benedick.”

  “I’m happy to play Don Pedro—I love this role.”

  “I thought maybe I’d be lucky to be Ursula or Margaret.”

  Ah, so that’s what’s bothering her. Ryan understood this—he’d always been a character actor, never a leading man. Even when his name was the biggest, most well-known in a film, he was always playing somebody’s brother or roommate. But if he were in the lead role . . . Yeah, he could definitely see where her brain was tripping up on this.

  “Excuse me? Are you Bryan Hart?” A young woman approached them, grinning.

  “Um, yeah.” He gave Ann an apologetic shrug.

  “I can’t believe it! Can you sign this for me?” The woman held out a T-shirt. “Hold on, I think I have a Sharpie somewhere—here!” She pulled one out of her beach bag. “This used to be my diaper bag and I wrote the dates on bags of milk after pumping. Thank god for small, strange favors, right?”

  “Right. Um, your name?”

  “Lorie. L-O-R-I-E. I know, it’s weird. I think my mom smoked a lot of pot in the seventies.”

  Ryan gave her a tight smile, scribbled off a quick inscription—Dear Lorie, thanks for the luv, Bryan Hart—and then handed her the Banker’s Shoals lighthouse T-shirt back with a grin. “Thanks for watching!” he called after her as she walked away.

  “Are you supposed to be doing that?” Annsley asked.

  “Doing what?”

  “We signed an NDA, dude. Your castmates aren’t allowed to acknowledge you’re here, and you’re signing autographs.”

  Oh. Oh shit. “Well, I think pretending not to be myself would be a way bigger story than signing an autograph for a random person on the beach, yeah? I mean, who’s she going to tell? She isn’t press.”

  Annsley wasn’t impressed—and on top of that, she seemed deflated. “Okay, whatever. Let’s get back to rehearsing.”

  “Wait, no. We were talking. This is important. You’re nervous about playing the lead?”

  “Wouldn’t you be? This is my first professional job.”

  He nodded. “Sure. A working actor getting paid is a glorious thing no matter what role, right? But you got the lead. And now you gotta show them all you’ve got or you might peak at— What are you, twenty-one?”

  “Twenty-two.”

  “Twenty-two. So, it’s more than a paycheck; it’s like an audition all over again. That’s what scares you?”

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “I get that. But what you did just now—we ran through the lines one time and you nailed it. You nailed it. What’s it going to take to get you to play it like that on stage?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, let’s do it again until it feels natural. And we can run some other scenes if you like too?”

  “You’re asking me?” She shrugged. “Sure? I mean—I can use all the help I can get.”

  “Annsley, you’re the star of this production. You deserve to be here. You earned this role.”

  “Okay.” She nodded and smiled, visibly buoyed by the pep talk. “Okay. I deserve to be here. I earned this.”

  “You really did.” He grinned back. “Now, ready to do the work?”

  “Yes. Let’s do it.”

  “All right. From ‘Your father.’”

  Who Is the Mystery Girl Spotted Canoodling on the Beach with Bryan Hart?

  Oops. Ryan stared at the image under the headline on his phone. It would have made a damned good publicity still if he and Annsley had been acting in a movie. It was tender, intimate—they did look like lovers. He skimmed the article—it speculated about how long he may have been seeing the recent UNC graduate. It was actually a nice profile of Ann. The commentary about their cozy embrace on the beach approached saccharine, but not mean-spirited. It was, of course, complete fucking bullshit too. What was Mason going to say? He couldn’t really be pissed, could he? Ryan and Annsley had been rehearsing. It was ten till six in the morning—Mason would probably be up. If Ryan didn’t lace up his running shoes and get out to the beach in the next few minutes, he’d miss his window to see Trey and the beast.

  Fuck. He had to deal with this first. He hit the sharing link and texted it to Mason. Do you want to warn Annsley or should I?

  Mason’s reply came a few minutes later, as Ryan was tying his shoes and getting ready to head out the door. I’m not doing your dirty work, damn it. Clean your own mess.

  About what he’d expected. Oh well. He shoved his phone into the armband, locked up the house, and headed down to the beach.

  Ferdinand saw him first, letting out a bark that would have terrified Ryan a few weeks ago. It still gave him pause, even more so when Trey waved and very deliberately unclipped the leash.

  Ferdinand’s rolls of loose skin flopped and swung as he ran toward Ryan, and the effect was too hilarious to be scary. Ryan braced for impact, only to have the dog stop short and crouch into what could only be described as a bow. Then he abruptly turned and ran back to Trey. Laughing, Ryan followed.

  “What’s he doing?”

  “He wants you to play,” Trey called, bending over to pick up a piece of driftwood. When Ferdy got close, Trey threw the driftwood down the beach for Ferdy to chase.

  “Hi,” he said as Ryan approached. God, he was gorgeous. Ryan hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since the morning they painted the set. The smell of paint and visions of Trey’s big, strong body had haunted his dreams—sleeping and waking.

  “Hi.” Ryan clasped his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t reach for Trey. He hadn’t seen his photographer-shadow yet this morning, but then, he hadn’t seen him when he’d been rehearsing with Annsley, either.

  “Did you see—”

  “Are you going—”

  They laughed.

  “You go first,” Trey said.

  “Did you see the Herald this morning?”

  Trey squinted at the horizon. “Yeah.”

  “You know it’s not true, right? We were acting—rehearsing a scene.”

  “Fine.” Trey shrugged. “But even if you weren’t, even if it were true, it’s not like I have any claim.”

  Ryan stared at him. “Of course you do.”

  Trey stared back, then shook his head. “Let’s walk.”

  “Trey, come on. You have— We’ve had sex.” And why did Ryan want that to mean so much more than Trey seemed to think it did?

  “So what? I don’t own my lovers. I don’t get to make decisions for them. You made it pretty clear the other day you wanted to be friends—and that’s fine. Friends is good.”

  “Okay, that’s not what I meant at all. Yes, I want to be friends. But I also want—” He buried his hands in his hair. “Oh my god, why is this so hard when we’re sober?”

  Trey threw another stick of driftwood for Ferdy, and then put a hand on Ryan’s shoulder. “Maybe we shouldn’t have this conversation in public.”

  “What, why not?”

  “Because my ideal ending to this talk involves us being naked.”

  Relief flooded Ryan, and he grinned. “Okay, so, um, so does mine.”

  Trey bit his lip, almost like he was holding back an answering grin. “You realize any plans we make now are going to feel like just an excuse to get naked together? I’ve totally ruined our friendship.”

  “Fuck it. Ruin it, I don’t care. Who needs friends anyway?”

  A surprised shout of laughter bubbled up out of Trey, and it must have been contagious because Ryan was laughing too, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this light.

  “Movie night,” he said when he finally stopped laughing long enough to get the words out. “Caro and I do movie night on Thursdays at eight. Why don’t you come over and watch with us? And then when she leaves, you stay.”

  “What about Ferdy?”

  Ryan shrugged. “Bring him.”

 
Ryan didn’t think anything could dampen his mood, but then he walked into the theater for the Julius Caesar rehearsal and everyone glared at him. He glanced down at the phone in his hand. Was he late? No. So why was everyone acting like he’d burst in on them not only late but naked too? He searched out the few friends he’d made in the room, his eyes settling on David. He did that c’mon man, help me out here thing with his eyes, hoping David would catch his meaning.

  But David glowered, then looked away, clearly furious. It wasn’t until David turned his back and knelt down that Ryan saw Annsley. Her hands were shaking and she was crying.

  “Ann—” Her name caught in his throat.

  He watched helplessly as David handed her a tissue and squeezed her hand, then stood and crossed the stage. Ryan was already stepping backward when David stormed down the aisle to forcefully turn him around and shove him toward the door.

  “Outside,” David murmured. “She doesn’t need to see this.”

  A frisson of fear slithered icy cold down Ryan’s spine. “Dude, I’m not going to fight you.”

  David raised one eyebrow. “I’m not interested in kicking your ass. I’m not Annsley’s daddy, I’m her roommate.”

  “What happened? It was just a stupid gossipy article written by a hack. It’s not that big a deal.”

  When the heavy front door of the theater had swung shut behind them, David turned to face him. “We were all laughing at it this morning. It wasn’t a big deal. Then Annsley got on Twitter and checked out your mentions.”

  “My Twitter men— Oh.” Ryan didn’t do Twitter much. He liked Instagram better. And he never, ever looked at his mentions.

  “Yeah. Most of them are nice, actually—people really happy for you and your new ‘girlfriend.’ But there’s a lot of racist garbage in there too. And that’s what’s going to come up when you google her name from now on.”

  Oh god. This was bad. “Shit. I need to talk to her.”

  “What are you going to say? Leave her alone. You’ve done enough.”

  The door opened, and Mason joined them on the steps of the theater, cigarette in hand.

  “Well bless your heart,” he muttered as he lifted it to his lips to light it. He took a long drag, let out a stream of smoke, and glared at Ryan. “You shit the bed on this one. I cast a fan-fucking-tastic actress and beautiful sister as the lead in this year’s comedy, and your so-called ‘fans’ have her in tears.”

  “You know, Mason, I can’t control what every redneck asshole on the planet says or does. What I can control is how I react to it. I’m going to go talk to her, and fuck you both.”

  He didn’t look over his shoulder to catch their reaction as he made his way back into the theater, and he didn’t look at the rest of his castmates when he crossed the stage and approached Annsley. They parted for him, and she stood up.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said. “Are you okay?”

  “Damn right, you’re sorry.” She gave him a small shove and wiped at her eyes, then crossed her arms over her chest. “A little warning would have been nice.”

  “Those assholes on Twitter are just—well, assholes on Twitter. You’re an amazing actress and a beautiful woman, and if that story happened to be true, I’d consider myself a lucky man.”

  “You always say the nicest things.” Her voice dripped sarcasm. Damn, she was making this harder than he expected. Time to try for comic relief.

  “Unlike the assholes on Twitter, who you should never, ever listen to.”

  Rolling her eyes, she shook her head. “It’s not like I’ve never been called names before. Though the sheer volume of it was awful.”

  He glanced around the theater—the other actors were watching them: some seemed sympathetic, but a lot of them looked angry. None of them would hold his gaze when he met their eyes. The unfairness of it hit him hard. They didn’t know what it was like, the dance he had to do with the paparazzi. They didn’t— Oh.

  “I should have told you the paparazzi had been following me. I didn’t think. I’m sorry.”

  “Finally,” someone whispered behind them.

  Annsley’s head snapped up and she glared over Ryan’s shoulder at whoever had spoken until there was a murmured “Sorry,” then turned her attention back to Ryan.

  “Yes, you should have. I get that you’re used to this kind of shit, but I’m not. And I had no choice but to deal with it because you took that from me.”

  “I am truly sorry. Seriously, what can I do?”

  “Nothing. What’s done is done.”

  “I’m so, so sorry I put you in this position. And the stuff on Twitter—you never should have had to see that.”

  She laughed a watery laugh. “God, stop groveling. You suck at it. And I’m never looking at your Twitter mentions again, so.”

  “Good. I never look at them either. Are we okay?”

  She nodded. “Yeah, we’re okay.”

  By the time Mason and David returned to the theater, Annsley’s face was dry, even if her eyes were still puffy.

  “Are we ready to work?” Mason looked at Ryan, not Annsley.

  Ryan nodded.

  “Ann?” Mason turned to her. “How about you?”

  “Yes, absolutely.”

  “Excellent. We’re going to pick up where we left off yesterday on blocking act three, scene two. I need Brutus, Cassius, and the citizens with lines on stage. If you’re in the crowd but not speaking, stay seated for now.”

  Annsley was playing the third citizen, so she squeezed Ryan’s hand one last time, and made her way to the stage.

  After rehearsal, Mason stopped Ryan outside the theater. As he lit his customary cigarette, he studied Ryan’s face. “Thank you for handling that gracefully.”

  “She’s a good kid. I wish I’d understood sooner the position I put her in.”

  “I don’t mean to be an asshole to you.”

  Ryan’s jaw dropped open at Mason’s unexpected candor. “Then don’t be? I’m trying, dude. I know I fuck up all the time—and you’re right to hold me accountable—but I would never have purposefully done anything to hurt Ann, or the theater.”

  “My temper is short for—” Mason blew out a breath and rubbed his eyes “—for a lot of reasons I can’t discuss. But I shouldn’t take it out on you, and I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted.” Ryan leaned against the wall. “I wish—” He paused. How could he explain to Mason how much his good will meant? “I understand why you don’t trust me. But I hope by the time I go back to California, you will.”

  “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I cast you, didn’t I?” Mason gestured at the theater. “I haven’t—I haven’t been fair or given you credit for how far you’ve come. And no, Caro didn’t make me say that. When a man does wrong, he admits it.”

  Ryan warmed at the unfamiliar furrow in Mason’s contrite brow. He’d known Mason for a long time. He’d found him by turns intimidating and inspiring, prickly or impassioned, but had never seen him anything less than self-assured. Maybe his expectations of Mason had been every bit as rigid as Mason’s expectations of him.

  “You gave me a job and a place to figure my shit out. I’m not going to fuck this up. I swear, Mason. This means the world to me—I respect what you do here.”

  “I know you do.” Mason’s smile was the most hesitant Ryan had ever seen from him.

  “Yeah, we’re good.” Ryan held out his hand, and Mason shook it, then pulled him into a tentative hug. Ryan clapped Mason’s back and grinned. Something major had just shifted in his friendship with Mason—for the first time in many years, they were family again.

  Anticipation bubbled and churned in Trey like a glass of champagne as he pressed the Call button on the gate at Ryan’s place. Or rather—Ryan’s friend’s place. It was set back from the main road and a painted wrought iron fence surrounded the property. Ryan buzzed him in, and he drove along a sandy path to a sprawling beach house with a massive front porch and sloping gables. The carpenter in him was
immediately covetous. The quality of the craftsmanship shone out from all the small details—the geometric trim on the porch, the stained-glass transoms over the door and windows, the patinated copper weathervane. The house didn’t just occupy the landscape, but inhabited it. Its unpretentious charm felt perfect for who Ryan might become ten or twenty years from now, and Trey had a strange yearning to know the friend who so generously allowed him to stay here. Surely Ryan couldn’t be the fuckup he believed himself to be if his friends trusted him with this quiet luxury?

  All this was on his mind when Ryan threw open the door and grinned at him, but it disappeared when Ryan murmured, “Hi,” grabbed his face between both hands, and kissed him deeply. Trey had only a moment to register the sleek slide of tongue slipping into his mouth, before his hands were in Ryan’s hair and he had backed him up against a wall. He dropped Ferdy’s leash and pushed the door shut with his foot. Time seemed to slow as he tasted the man he’d been thinking of nonstop the last few weeks. A sharp, tense heat flared between them, and Ryan’s teeth closed down on his lip. Trey grunted and tugged at Ryan’s hair, and they broke the kiss and stared at each other, chests heaving.

  “Oh god, I was afraid—” Ryan twisted and squirmed in his grip “—I was afraid this wouldn’t be as hot as I remembered.”

  A laugh rumbled out of Trey’s chest, but a bubble of hurt came with it. “Why not? Were you afraid you wouldn’t want me sober?”

  Ryan’s eyes widened, and he grabbed Trey around the waist and pulled them together, chest to chest, groin to groin. Trey’s eyes rolled back.

  “I want you fucking constantly. I was afraid because I couldn’t remember anything about our first night together except being absolutely completely gone for you. And when all you remember is that tug of heat and want and goddamn-I’ve-got-to-have-him, how do you reconcile that with everything you’ve had before? My god, Trey. I never wanted anyone the way I want you when I try to remember that drunken night. I wish I could remember it. I really do.”