Chapter 11
Has Austin Rivers been seeing someone?
The day Harvey left, I got another call from Phil.
He wanted to know if I could come by his office for a reading.
He proposed the morning after I’m supposed to get back to LA, a late arrival after eleven p.m. because of a couple of layovers.
I said yes. I’d be there. That night, I tried calling the number Harvey gave me but got a busy signal.
I know he lives with other people. Maybe Pete Laden was discussing an album or a record deal.
Either way, it’s just a few more days until I’m back in LA, and we can see each other. I never thought I’d miss him.
Bonnie and Floyd meet me at the airport, and I’m surprised.
I expected them to be in bed, but they stayed up late to get me, bring me home, give me a bunch of hugs, and make sure I’m okay.
In the morning, it’s rough getting out of bed, but I shower and shave, get in my Jag, and drive to Studio City.
Going to Phil’s office feels almost nostalgic.
Under different circumstances, this would be a pleasant visit.
Meeting up for old time’s sake. But that’s not what this is, so I’m a little anxious when I show up.
I even get a little lost trying to remember where it is.
I haven’t been at the studio for so long.
When I finally find it, my anxiety shoots through the roof when I see Phil isn’t alone.
“Austin.” He stands from his desk and offers me his hand. “Good to see you, son.”
I reach out to shake it, my eyes flicking to Arnold seated on the sofa. Beside him sits Brad Vick, smoking a cigarette. Next to him is another guy I don’t recognize. In the corner, Phil’s assistant, Clarence, pushes his coke bottle glasses up his nose and gives me a wave.
Brad quickly stubs out his cigarette and comes over to shake my hand. “It’s really good to finally meet you, Austin.”
“It’s good to meet you too.” I hope he doesn’t notice how confused I am, or my shaking hand.
People magazine called him a “dreamboat.” It’s not hard to see why. He’s a little older than me but resembles a young Tony Curtis. At some point in his career, he’ll probably win an Oscar. Being around him is intimidating.
I was not expecting him or Arnold to be here. Seems like something Phil should have told me. A telegram would have been nice.
“I watched Love Thy Neighbor all the time,” Brad says. “Reggie was hilarious.”
Before I can respond to him, Arnold comes over to shake my hand. “It’s really good to see you, kid. You look great.” He gestures to the unfamiliar guy. “This is Devin O’Neill. Our director.”
I exchange greetings with Devin. His long hair is in a ponytail, reminding me of Timber and Canyon. His teeth gleam beneath a dark mustache. I’ve never heard of him, but he must be good if Phil and Arnold hired him.
“It’s gonna be great to work with you, Austin,” he says.
“Thanks, likewise.”
Phil asks me, “When did you get back to town?”
“I got in yesterday,” I reply. “Last night, really.”
“I would’ve rescheduled this if I’d known,” Phil says. “You should’ve told me. It’s exhausting. All that traveling.”
“I’m okay,” I assure him.
Phil turns to Clarence and orders him to get us some coffees from the commissary. Clarence picks up the mess of papers from his lap and exits the room.
“Well”—Arnold looks at Phil, Brad, and Devin—“should we go ahead and do the scene?”
Oh, God. Were they all here waiting on me?
“The scene?” I ask. “Thought you wanted me to do a reading.” I hold up my copy of the script.
“No, it’s okay,” Phil says, coming around his desk. “Let’s do that scene, uh… the one with Sergeant Bailey and Officer Winfield at the crime scene?”
I flip through the script, trying to find it. I’d read through all of it, multiple times, but I’d planned to read a specific part, and it wasn’t that one.
We do a quick read through of the scene together with Devin, then Phil and Arnold have us act it out.
They’re trying to see how well Brad and I work together, and if we have chemistry.
Since I was caught off guard, I’m a little shaky at first. But then I’m able to get into character.
It helps having an experienced actor to play off.
Phil and Arnold observe us with poker faces as we act out the scene, but when we’re done, they’re smiling, clearly pleased.
“All right,” Phil says. “That was great, fellas. We should be ready to start taping in a couple of weeks.”
“That’s all you needed?” I ask.
“That’s it.” Phil comes over, putting his hands on my shoulders. “You look great, kid. You really do. You’re gonna stay out of trouble now, aren’t you?”
I glance at Brad lighting up another cigarette, pretending he didn’t hear. “Yeah. Of course.”
“Good. Go take care of yourself and rest up a bit. You’re going to have quite a hectic schedule soon.”
On my way out, Brad catches up to me, walking with me. “Hey. Just wanted to say I’m stoked to work with you.”
“Cool, yeah, me too, man.”
We pause in the parking lot on the way to our cars.
“You’ve worked with these guys before, right?” he asks, taking a drag of his cigarette.
“Phil and Arnold? Yeah, they’re cool.” Then I add, “Little old-fashioned about some things maybe.”
Brad laughs. “Yeah, I noticed that. Before you got here, they were sort of arguing about Sergeant Baily saying goddamn in that last scene. Whether to take it out or change it. If they’re gonna do a show about cops, they’re gonna need to lighten up. Otherwise, no one’s going to take it seriously.”
“I know. They’re kind of stuck in the past. Leave it to Beaver. I Love Lucy. They still idealize all that wholesome stuff, you know. And it’s just not how things are anymore. Not how real life is, anyway.”
“I just hope they become a little more open-minded.” He drops his cigarette and puts it out with his shoe. “Isn’t Todd supposed to have an affair later? With one of the policewomen? That’s not very wholesome.”
“No, it’s not. And I don’t know. Phil and I didn’t really talk about any future episodes. Where he wanted to take the character.” I shrug. “Guess we’ll see.”
“Yeah, we will.” He smiles, sticking out his hand. “I’ll catch you later, man.”
I shake his hand, then linger in the parking lot for a few moments after he leaves.
Why was Phil discussing my character with Brad instead of me?
I really wish they’d told me he’d be here today with the director.
I should demand that in my contract: no surprises.
It’s sitting on the counter at home. Phil sent it by certified mail.
I’ll have my agent to look at it before I sign.
I try to forget it all as I drive home. I’d head to Bel Air to see Harvey if I knew where Pete Laden lived, but I don’t. And it would probably be weird anyway. I don’t know what I’d do or say if Pete Laden answered the door.
Hello. I’m here to fuck your son.
When I get home, I call the number Harvey gave me.
I’m sitting on the sofa with the receiver to my ear when the doorbell rings.
I get up to answer, expecting Margie or maybe even Steve, but my whole body jolts pleasantly at the sight of Harvey leaning against the doorframe in aviator shades, looking like he just got off a photo shoot. A sudden rush of shyness hits me.
“Hey, Hollywood.”
I smile. “I was just calling you.”
“Perfect timing.”
I invite him inside and suddenly feel self-conscious, nervous, and happy all at once. I gesture around the room. “It’s not much different than, you know, the last time you were here…”
Harvey takes off his sunglasses and slips them in his shirt pocket. Why does he have to be so beautiful? Swimming in a dirty river, pushing lawnmowers, sitting across from a fire, and standing inside my home. Who gave him the right to come here looking like this?
“You want a drink?” I offer him. “I’ve got gin, I think. Bourbon.” I head to the liquor cabinet, and he follows wordlessly.
I pour a couple of glasses, and when I turn, he’s inches from my face.
He takes both drinks and sets them aside.
Then he cradles my face in his hands and kisses me.
It’s a good thing he took the glasses—I would have dropped them.
The rush I feel when his lips touch mine, when his tongue slips into my mouth, is better than any drug I’ve ever had.
It’s euphoric. I’ve got a new addiction.
Something else to crave. And the stronger it is, the worse it will be if it’s ever taken away from me.
And I still can’t believe that, out of everyone on earth, it’s him.
His hand cradles my jaw, his thumb stroking my chin. He takes a step back, head hanging slightly, like he can’t believe what he just did. “I wanted to see you. I kinda missed you.”
“I kinda missed you too,” I say.
He smiles. “I find that hard to believe.” He stands up straighter, the expression turning familiar. “So, how was it after I left? Did Timber give you some rocks too?”
“Yeah, I’ve got them upstairs. Tiger’s eye I think he said. Something else. He said they’d help me find courage.”
He smiles again. “What do you have to be afraid of?”
“Well.” I turn to look out my floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the pool. “Not much, I guess. Except failure.”
“I don’t think it’s possible for you to fail at anything.” He turns me around and presses our lips together in a searing kiss, and I groan into his mouth. He backs me toward the sofa.
I break the kiss. “You want to go to my bedroom?”
Maybe this is what he’s been waiting on; why he hasn’t tried to fuck me yet. He wants to bend me over my bed and do what he said on New Year’s.
But he grins and says, “We don’t need no bed, Hollywood.”