8. Hilliard
Hilliard
Hilliard had been to the Powell estate countless times for parties just like this one, everyone dressed in their dazzling gowns or sleek tuxedos and dripping with diamonds and gossip.
It was a spectacle, to be sure, but Hilliard knew it was best to play his part.
So rather than spending a quiet Thursday night at home reading or working on a puzzle like he would’ve preferred to do, he made small talk with celebrities and nursed a single cocktail until he finally located the lady of the house.
“Taffy,” he said with a smile, “there you are, gorgeous.”
The Powells’ blush pink cockatoo bobbed her head in his direction and let out a squawk.
She was perched on a stand made of gold in a somewhat quiet room and deserved nothing less.
It took no coaxing for her to step up onto the sleeve of his coat and begin chattering away in a surprisingly good imitation of the indistinguishable sound of a hundred people talking politely all at once.
She stretched toward the rim of his glass with her beak and he moved it out of her reach.
“Ah ah,” he scolded gently. “A fine old gal like you should stick to water on such a busy evening.” Mr. Powell had told him once that Taffy was nearly fifty. “You wouldn’t want to lose your inhibitions and bite somebody.”
The bird raised her crest feathers with a look of surprise that made Hilliard laugh.
“I thought I heard that sweet Southern drawl.”
Hilliard turned to find Edie in an elegant evening dress the color of dark wine.
Cal was close behind her looking put together as always, but even the padded shoulders of his fancy getup couldn’t hide the slump of exhaustion in his posture.
He was several days into dance rehearsals for the musical and it was starting to show.
“How did the shorts work out for you?” Hilliard asked, carefully returning Taffy to her perch. Cal had sought his advice on what style might work best for movement and he’d suggested several, all of which Cal had found objectionable.
Cal let out a weary moan. “I am not in the mood to talk about shorts.”
“Mmm,” Edie cut in with interest as she kissed Hilliard’s cheek, now that he was free of his feathered friend. “Is that what we’re calling him? I do love a good pet name, and especially one so fitting. You could tuck that boy in a handbag.”
“Edie,” Cal warned halfheartedly.
Her eyes went big and innocent like they always did when she was trying to get away with something. It almost always worked.
“What? He’s the talk of the town after Joan’s interview.” She pursed her painted lips and gave Cal a sideways glance. “Somebody is going to snatch him up, is all I’m saying.”
“Oh, is that all?” Cal asked flatly, following it with a sip of the drink in his hand.
“Go easy on him,” Hilliard said with a fair mix of sincerity and sarcasm. He reached out to put a supportive hand on Cal’s arm. “Haven’t you heard?” He leaned forward and dropped his voice. “He’s still recovering from his last high-profile relationship.”
With anyone else, it might’ve been too soon, too raw. But for Cal and Edie, it was already a thing of the past; something they could look back on and laugh about as one step on the path of their illustrious careers. They exchanged knowing half-smiles and then Edie nudged Cal with her elbow.
“That’s exactly why he needs to get back out there,” she explained. “One of us has to make headlines with a new scandal so the rest of the world can move on, and it ain’t gonna be me.”
“Why must there be a scandal at all?” Cal griped, staring down into his glass as he swirled what was left of his drink. “Can’t the world just mind their own damn business for a while?”
“Honey, the world is in shambles,” Hilliard reminded him. “Worrying about your problems is the only thing helping everyone else get through their own. Don’t you read your fan letters?” He forced some cheer back into his voice and added, “Besides, I think it makes you more relatable.”
Edie blew a raspberry at him. “Who are you to talk? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen your name in a headline in all the years I’ve known you, falsified or otherwise.”
Hilliard jutted his chin with a proud smirk. “That’s because I am entirely too uninteresting.”
Edie’s expression turned sly. “I’ll bet the world would pay a pretty penny to get a glimpse of what goes on in that quaint little home of yours, Hilliard Burke.”
“Nothing worth writing about, I can assure you.”
When Edie was called away to speak with someone else, Hilliard said a final goodbye to Taffy and put his hand on the back of Cal’s shoulder to steer him outside.
It was a beautiful night. With the lights of the city below and the stars above, it felt as though they were cushioned between two separate places, temporarily caught up in a moment that was something not entirely real.
That feeling cleaved, then shattered when Hilliard found Monty in the crowd just as he was leaning in to kiss Jesse Morgan.
Worse yet, Cal saw him, too.
“Hold it–” Hilliard tried, but Cal was already on his way over to the opposite side of the dance floor, not exactly shoving his way through but something close to it. Hilliard hurried after him.
“Mr. Morgan,” Cal said sharply but not too loud when they reached their destination. “Is everything all right here?”
Monty took a step back and scowled up at the intrusion.
Before Mr. Morgan had a chance to respond, Cal placed himself between them with his back to Monty in what was possibly the biggest public show of protection he’d ever seen.
His own unsteady emotions over the situation notwithstanding, Hilliard held back a grin.
Cal really did have feelings for the young man.
“It’s swell,” Mr. Morgan said, sounding sure of himself despite the confusion furrowing his brow.
“He said no and I stopped,” Monty added. “We were just having a little fun.”
“That seems to be a recurring theme in your life as of late.”
Monty reacted as though Cal’s words landed like a slap across the face. Hilliard watched helplessly as Monty’s jaw clenched, and then as he shoved at Cal’s back with his forearm.
“At least I work for the things I want.”
Monty said this loud enough to draw the attention of some bystanders. Dread ripped through Hilliard as he moved to Monty’s side in an attempt to shield him from it.
“Montgomery,” he whispered harshly against the man’s ear. He wrapped an arm around his middle and tried to gently coax him back without making it appear too obvious. It was no use.
“I don’t get everything handed to me,” he spat. “Especially when I don’t deserve it.”
It was such a ridiculous thing for Monty to say.
Cal had worked his way up from nothing the same as the rest of them.
And even if Monty hadn’t been around to see it happen, there was proof in every project Cal had ever worked on.
Hilliard had seen it himself during production of the handful of pictures they’d been in together.
Cal was deserving of everything he had and more.
Hilliard felt the tension in Monty ease as Cal walked Mr. Morgan inside the house without turning back.
He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the weight of everyone still watching them.
Scandalous headlines weren’t just for businesspeople and homemakers to read.
The people they rubbed shoulders with every day were just as hungry for a good story, and Monty seemed eager to give them one at every opportunity lately.
The magic in Hilliard’s heart clenched at the thought of his friend’s career ending at this very moment.
“Montgomery, please,” he breathed, moving his hand from around the man’s waist to the side of his face. “Please don’t do this.”
Monty swallowed visibly and finally looked away from the open doorway Cal and Mr. Morgan had gone through.
He pulled back from Hilliard and braced his hands on the low wall separating them from the drop of the hillside.
Hilliard remained close, still refusing to pay any mind to the onlookers behind them.
Nothing could take back the outburst that already happened, but if he could prevent it from getting worse, he’d consider it a win regardless.
“Hilliard,” Monty said, his distant voice thick with what sounded like unshed tears. “Get me out of here.”
“Come on,” Hilliard murmured, wrapping a protective arm around his shoulders and guiding him away from the party.