Prince of the Playhouse (8 page)

She held up a manicured finger. “A, you’re a great actor. B—” She popped up the second finger. “—who the fuck really cares about a prissy performance in a Podunk town? You’re Gray Anson, after all.”

“Thanks for the vote, but this is important to me. There will be a lot of press there. I want to do good. Hell, even my folks are coming.”

She frowned. “Your fans won’t care a whit.”

“But I will.”

“So you’ve hired a drama coach? Really?”

“Uh, yeah.”
No need to be too specific.
He glanced at his watch. “And I have to get going. It’s not the only session. I’m at this until I get it right—or I have to show up for a shoot, whichever comes first. You might as well go home. I don’t want you wasting your important time here.”

Her frown deepened. “Don’t you want me with you?”

“Of course.” The lie tasted bitter. “But I don’t know how else to say this is something I have to do—for me. Please.”

She smiled. “Okay. I want you to be happy. I’ll go home tonight and have dinner with Mommy and Daddy. That will settle them down. I’ll call you tomorrow, and you can let me know when to come back.”

“Deal. Now I have to get going.”

“Kiss.” She puckered her lips.

He forced the smile, crossed to the bed, and kissed her. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him closer, plunging her tongue into his mouth. For a second he pulled back—
quit that
. He let his own tongue tangle with hers. When she pulled away, she gazed at his face. “Don’t be too long at this dramatic-training business. We have some serious sex on the horizon.”

“You got it.” He kissed her nose.

“What would your fans think if they knew you’re too stressed to keep an erection over a stupid play?” She laughed.

Was that a threat?
“Yeah, sorry. I never should have signed up for this, but since I did, I know you want me to do it right.”

“I suppose.” She patted his chest. “Go be brilliant. I’ll see you soon.”

He walked out of the hotel room, strode his way down the hall, and barely breathed until he exited the lobby. He dragged fresh air into his lungs, then released his inhale in a long stream. Sunshine—and no Penelope.

Chris stood outside the limo across the parking lot. He made a sweeping gesture with his arm to a POS beige sedan parked next to him. Gray laughed. His disguise vehicle. He pulled up the hood on his sweatshirt and trotted to Chris. As he accepted the keys to the sedan, his cell rang. He glanced—and smiled. “Hi, Mom.”

“Hello, darling. How’s my big star?”

“Struggling to be Hamlet.” He laughed.

“What? It’s not like you to struggle with a role, is it?” His mom had never read Shakespeare.
Hamlet
might as well be Mickey Mouse to her.

“It’s just really challenging.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll be great. Your dad and I can’t wait to see you.”

“Likewise. We’ll stay a few days in Laguna Beach while I finish up the play and then head for LA so you can watch the shooting on the next movie, okay?”

“We just want to be where you are, dear. And we can’t wait to meet Penelope. I keep reading about her in the papers, and she sounds like such a lovely young woman.”

He swallowed hard. Should he say something? What? “I’m sure she’s looking forward to it.”

“It won’t be long now. I’m buying some new outfits for the occasion.”

“Good. You don’t treat yourself enough. In fact, we have this great designer doing costumes for the show. I’ll get him to create a dress for you.”

“Silly. Don’t waste your money.”

“Hey, who would I rather spend it on?”

“Love you, dear.”

“You too. Hug Dad for me. See you in a few weeks.” He clicked off.

Chris smiled. “Your mother excited about their trip?”

“Yes. Now I’ve got to figure out a way not to stink in this play.” He shook his head. “Not that my folks will know one way or another.”

“Seriously, you’re not going to stink.”

He shook his head. “You didn’t see me. Man, new records in crappy.”

“Even if that’s true, you learn fast. You’ll have old Will S. whipped into shape in no time.”

“That may not be a good thing.” He grinned. “But thanks for believing in me.”

“I do. Sometimes more than you do, I think.” He gave Gray’s shoulder a mock punch. “Now, try out your elegant new vehicle, and text me if the damned thing breaks down between here and Maitland’s.”

“Will do.” He hopped in the car and started it up, then waved at Chris as he ferried the thing out of the Vistage parking lot. What the hell was he going to do about Penelope meeting his folks? She was already way beyond possessive. Introducing her to Mom and Pop as the little woman would totally screw the pooch. But they wanted to meet his girlfriend.
Shit.
Why did a simple visit from his parents have to be so complicated? He wanted to just look forward to seeing them, not worry about—everything.
My own damned fault.
He turned right off Pacific Coast Highway. At least now he got to spend an evening with Ru. That made him smile.

RU STARED
out the window of the cottage and watched the hooded figure hurry up the path from a nondescript beige sedan. He’d have laughed out loud if he didn’t want to throw up. An hour at the police department and the prospect of spending an evening trying not to attack Gray added up to more than his stomach could take.

Suddenly two furry missiles ran across the grass and started leaping on Gray. Gray backed up, hands defensively spread in front of him, and glanced at the sky.

Ru rushed to the door. “Flopsy, Mopsy, get the hell over here.” Both dogs looked over their shoulders like,
Aw, do I have to?
then stopped jumping and bounded over to Ru. He pointed at the ground. “Sit.” For seconds they contemplated the relative advantages of compliance—poodles were too smart for their own good—then both curled their haunches and sat. Ru looked at Gray, who still stood back from the canine attack squad. “Don’t like dogs?”

He shook his head and walked forward. “No, I like them fine. Sorry. I just can’t see much from under this hoodie, and when things come at me fast, I get spooked.”

“You get spooked a lot?”

“Yeah.” He grinned.

“Ruuuuuuu.” Mrs. O waved from her front lawn, dressed in a long flowered skirt and floppy beaded blouse, holding her purse. “I was going to call and see if you’d babysit the monsters. I’ve got rehearsals for the pageant.”

He glanced at Gray, who had turned away so Mrs. O couldn’t get a good look under his sweatshirt. Ru muttered, “Do you mind two dogs slobbering on you?”

Gray shook his head.

He called to Mrs. O, “Sure. I’ll keep them here for a while.”

“Thanks so much. See you later. Have fuuun.” She waved as she walked down the street away from Ru’s place. Flopsy let out one big bark but didn’t break his sit.

Ru held open the screen door. “Okay, monsters, come on in.”

The dogs bounded through the door, and Gray grinned. “All three of us?”

“I suppose we can close them inside and apply sleeping gas, but they’re not too bad.”

“They’re cute. Flopsy and Mopsy?” He pointed at the curling black fur surrounding the bouncing balls. “Would I be correct in assuming that’s Flopsy?”

“A+ in observation.” Which made Ru think of Gray’s photos. He turned and opened the hall closet door to cover his blush. “Want to hang up your hoodie?”

Gray pulled off the sweatshirt and thrust it at Ru, who hung it in the closet. When he turned back around, he took a breath. Under the sweatshirt, Gray wore another T-shirt, old and lived-in, that stretched across his shoulders and pecs so lovingly it made the onlooker want to do the same.
Or at least this onlooker. Whew.
Most works of art looked better from a distance. Not this one. That skin—like melted caramel. If Ru licked him, would he taste sweet?
God, I feel faint.

Gray walked into the small living room. “Nice place.”

“Thanks.” It might be small and comfortable, but the house had style. The sectional couch—his one major investment—accommodated even a big man like Gray, but the sunny yellow color he’d had special-made screamed Ru. At the moment the yellow was decorated with a healthy application of black and white fur, as the dogs made themselves comfortable. Every other chair, table, and ottoman in the living and dining rooms came from secondhand stores and secret furniture haunts he’d found with Shaz, but the fabrics and unique objects gave it an eclectic and arty look. “Make yourself at home if you can fit in between the canine cushions. What can I get you to drink?”

“How about some iced tea or just water.”

“Sure.” He walked into the old-fashioned kitchen. No open concept. Still, the house was small enough that he could be heard in the living room. “Ice? The tea is cold.”

“No. Cold is fine. By the way, I have dinner being delivered.”

Hopefully not by his fiancée.
“Great.” He leaned back against the cool fridge door.
Okay, so you knew having Gray in your house would be challenging. Just be cool. Be a friend. Probably not many people he can trust.

Shit, he can’t trust me. I might jump his bones at any moment.

He snorted, took a deep breath, and carried the glasses into the sitting area. Gray sat on the yellow sectional, which looked amazing against his brown hair and golden skin. He’d removed two copies of the
Hamlet
script from his hoodie. Ru set the tea on the big coffee table made from a slab of old barn wood covered with a piece of glass and sat on the flowered easy chair opposite the couch. “So how can I help you, darling? This isn’t exactly my gig, so I don’t know where to start.”

Gray leaned back with his tea glass and gave Ru an appraising once-over. “You look wild.”

Ru glanced down at the floppy harem pants and the linen tunic he’d layered on top, all in shades of red and gold. “What? This old thing?” He laughed. True, he had worked at the look. Might as well emphasize their differences, since he couldn’t highlight what they had in common.

“One more thing before we start, because I don’t want to forget. My folks are visiting on the Wednesday of the
Hamlet
run. They’ll be here a week. I really want my mom to have a new outfit. Any chance you could design something for her? I mean, after she gets here. I know you’re overloaded with the costumes and your collection before then.”

Wow. Design for Gray Anson’s mom.
“I’d be honored.”

“She’s almost fifty, but really great-looking. She never pays much attention to herself, so I’d love to get her some clothes that show off how pretty she is.”

“Sounds like you’re really close.”
What would that be like?

“Yeah. They live in Michigan, and I can’t pry them away from their friends, so I bought them a nice house on a lake that they really love. They’re great parents. I wish I could do more for them.” He frowned and stared into space.

“I’ll bet you make them proud every day.”

That made the frown deeper.
Odd.
Then he looked up and smiled. “That’s what they like to tell me. How about you? Where are your folks?”

“Uh, dead. My mother died of cancer when I was a teenager, and my father died after that.”
No details to be provided.

“So they never got to see you be a success.”

Ru gave a half smile. “To the extent that I am one, no, they never did.” Not that his father would have given a shit—except maybe to steal his money.

With a little shrug, Gray set down the glass and picked up his script. “So does this dude really see a ghost? I mean, are people going to take a ghost seriously?”

Ru scooched his legs under him on the chair seat. “Have you ever felt so crappy and guilty about something that you couldn’t get it out of your mind?”

Gray nodded. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Isn’t that like being haunted?” Damn, he sure knew about that.

“You think that’s what Shakespeare meant?”

“No.” Gray grimaced, and Ru laughed. “Shakespeare’s audiences did believe in ghosts, and they loved supernatural shit on the stage, so he always gave them something cool. The audience for our version of the play is coming to see you be serious, not do special effects. Hell, who could compete with your movies? What matters in this case isn’t what Shakespeare meant. It’s what you mean. If you’re agonizing over all the bad shit you did to your old man before he died—or more specifically, before your uncle killed him—then you’ve got stuff on your mind. That’s what we want to see.”

“How did you get so smart about this stuff?”

What could he say? How much? “My family was dirt poor. Dirt doesn’t buy a lot of schooling, but I always wanted to be educated. I used to, uh, go to the library and find the most challenging books I could carry.
The Iliad
and
The Odyssey
, Oedipus, French comedies, and Shakespeare. Lots of Shakespeare. I didn’t have anybody telling me what it was supposed to mean, so I interpreted it for myself based on my own life.” Yes. Based very closely on his life.

“But that’s what Shakespeare’s audiences must have done too. Based it on what they knew.”

“Exactly. We all have shared experiences, even if our lives are wildly different. Hamlet’s a really young guy. So are you. Find the stuff you have in common. Forget the words and go with the feelings. How would you feel if your mother married the guy you think killed your dad and seems to be reveling in it?”

“I’d be pissed.”

“Then be pissed. But remember, this is political. She’s a queen, you’re a prince. You know what that’s like, Gray. Don’t think for a second you don’t. Hell, you had to sneak in here so as not to be mobbed by everyone who wants a piece of you. So be a pissed political animal.”

“Did you get to go to school?”

What? Fast change of topic.
“Yes. Eventually. A, uh, mentor paid for my first year in fashion school, and after that I got scholarships.”

“What kind of mentor?”

Damn, could they change the subject? “A man from my neighborhood who saw promise in me.” He shrugged.