Chapter 27
Jesse
Jesse looked up from the tray he’d just acquired and scanned the studio commissary for an open seat.
He wasn’t all that hungry, but after an entire morning of recording tap foleys, he knew he needed to eat something.
It had become routine for him to have lunch with Cal, either there at the studio or out at one of his co-star’s favorite spots, but Jesse hadn’t seen him all day to make those plans.
So Monday meatloaf and lumpy mashed potatoes it was.
When a familiar voice called his name, Jesse turned and found Hilliard waving at him.
He and Monty were sharing a table by the windows.
Jesse claimed one of the two open chairs and sat with a tired huff.
The mood at the table already felt a little somber, so it seemed like as good a place as any to rest with his troubles.
Hilliard’s forehead wrinkled.
“What’s the matter, doll?”
“I’m beat,” Jesse said, making no moves to start picking at his food. He poured himself a glass of water from the carafe in the middle of the table and downed half of it in a few big swallows instead.
“You been dancing?” Monty asked around a mouthful of bread.
The rolls did look soft, but Jesse still made a face at the one on his own tray. It wasn’t that he wasn’t hungry, he decided, but that he had no appetite.
“Yeah. They needed the sound for the tap scenes.” He fought the urge to bury his face into his folded arms for a nap on the table and propped his chin on his palm instead. “All of them.”
Monty made a show of peering around Jesse before he leaned back in his chair with a smug expression.
“Did Cal have to stay behind to catch up?”
“No, it was just me.”
Monty snorted. “You can put the man in a musical, but you can’t put a musical in the man,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Couldn’t even record the audio for his own dance numbers.”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard chided softly, before placing a comforting hand on Jesse’s upper arm. “Is anything else bothering you? I’m not sure I’ve seen you looking so serious since that night at the Pink Peacock when our friend here was making a fool of himself all over you.”
“I was making a first impression,” Monty retorted with a saucy bounce of his dark eyebrows in Hilliard’s direction.
“We already met before,” Jesse reminded him.
Monty paused, pursed his lips, then said in the exact same tone as before, “I was making a second impression.”
“You’re lucky there was a third, or I’m sure Jesse would’ve wanted nothing else to do with you,” Hilliard said primly, earning himself a cry of protest from Monty.
Jesse watched across the table as their eyes met, the banter replaced with a mutual gaze of unmistakable affection.
Maybe sitting with them hadn’t been the best idea, after all.
Jesse picked up his roll just to have something else to look at and began pulling it apart.
He stuck one piece in his mouth and forced himself to chew.
Even though Cal had said and done all the right things to dispel his worries, Jesse couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let the man down. Stronger yet was the feeling he’d let himself down.
How many years had he secretly longed to be where he’d been that night?
To be held close, and kissed, and cherished.
He’d gotten what he’d always wanted, only to fail miserably in giving Cal what he’d admitted to envisioning between them.
The worst part was that Jesse had wanted to give it to him.
He still wanted to, if Cal would give him the chance to try again.
“Jesse?”
Hilliard’s voice shook him from his daze. He sat up from where he’d slumped in his seat, dropping the hand he’d been supporting his cheek with to the table. His friends were staring at him with opposite expressions—Hilliard showing genuine concern while Monty rolled his eyes.
“He’s fine,” Monty said casually. He lifted his glass of iced tea, tilting it toward Jesse before he took a sip. “I’d recognize that look anywhere.”
“What look?” Hilliard asked, studying Jesse closer now.
“The same one he was giving Campbell in the back seat of your Cadillac,” he purred, putting a special smack of emphasis on the end of Cadillac.
“Cal?” Hilliard sounded confused at first, but as realization dawned, the man softened like butter across from him. “Cal?”
Jesse did bury his face in his arms then, a desperate attempt to hide how he went scarlet from head to toe. His dilemma was bad enough without getting teased for his feelings on top of it.
As embarrassed as he was, Jesse’s next thought took him by surprise.
Friends were allowed to have a little harmless fun, but they were also meant to be supportive, weren’t they?
Seeing as Jesse didn’t have many other people to turn to, and he’d technically known Monty longer than anyone else in Hollywood, he decided to put this new friendship to the test.
Cheeks still hot, he lifted his face toward the most knowledgeable person at the table when it came to such matters.
“I think something’s wrong with me,” he said in a hushed, hesitant way.
Monty’s brows lifted, then settled again.
“Relax, kid. There’s not a he, she, they, or otherwise in this town who hasn’t dreamt about getting into Cal Campbell’s bed. You’re in good company.”
“Only, I messed it up real bad,” Jesse added, even quieter this time, his face pinched in a regretful grimace.
Monty’s carefree persona hardened into something more serious. Jesse’s stomach dipped at the reaction, but he breathed through it as Monty bent closer over the table.
“What do you mean?”
“We…I couldn’t…” Jesse struggled to find the words to explain himself.
“Oh, I see,” Monty said, his confident air returning. “Happens to the best of us from time to time. You know, a little liquid courage wouldn’t hurt—”
“Montgomery,” Hilliard warned.
“I’m just saying, is all!” Monty threw his hands up in a show of innocence, crossing his arms as he pushed his chair back, balancing it on two legs. “Nerves can wreak havoc on even the most willing of peckers. You gotta relax.”
As Jesse considered this advice, not entirely sure if it was even remotely helpful or relevant to his situation, Monty brought his chair down on all four legs again with a bang of metal against tile that had the people at the tables around them giving dirty looks. He ignored them.
“I know what you need.” Monty’s eyes dipped like he could see the rest of Jesse through the table. “You need to work your own magic.”
Jesse’s brow furrowed. “My magic?”
“Your dance magic,” Monty enthused. “I saw it myself that night we first met. You were the brightest light in the place, so confident and sure of yourself. It was sexy as hell.”
Jesse shot a glance at Hilliard. He was watching Monty speak with a gentle grin.
“I’d just lost my job,” Jesse argued weakly. “And you were definitely drunk.”
“And those feet of yours were on fire,” Monty concluded. “You can’t tell me your magic doesn’t make you feel ten feet tall.” He gave a single, decisive nod. “The four of us are going out dancing on Friday, and you’re going to jitterbug your way right back into that bed for a night full of—”
“Okay!” Jesse yelped, laughing despite himself. “Okay. Dancing. Friday night. Got it.”
* * *
Busy schedules kept Jesse and Cal apart for most of the week after filming wrapped.
There’d been a small party to celebrate the conclusion of on-set work, which consisted of everyone standing around eating a slice of fancy cake while Director King made an animated speech that made everyone laugh and some grow weepy.
Jesse had never expected to become close with so many of the cast and crew in such a short time, but after spending countless hours with them over the previous weeks, there was a definite sense of familiarity and connection.
Of course, none of those connections compared to the one he’d formed with his co-star.
Even with other things going on, Jesse found that Cal was always at the front of his mind.
He found it difficult to go more than an hour without wondering what the other man was doing, if his day was going well, what he’d eaten for lunch.
More than anything, he wanted to know if Cal was looking forward to their night out with Monty and Hilliard as much as he was.
His answer came when Hilliard stopped mid-sentence to shout Cal’s name over the band playing in the swanky dance club they’d selected.
From floor to ceiling, everything was a different shade of purple, including Hilliard’s entire outfit.
Jesse had gone simple with cuffed gray slacks, white shirt, suspenders, and a tie.
Monty, to Hilliard’s mortification, had opted for denim jeans.
Jesse turned, and time slowed.
Cal looked as sleek and dashing as ever, his hair flawlessly coiffed, shoes shined, celebrity smile on his impossibly handsome face.
But when his eyes connected with Jesse’s across the room, there was a subtle shift.
His smile softened. His shoulders relaxed.
And when no distance remained between them, his hand found the small of Jesse’s back like a key slipping into its lock, designed to do that—and only that—from the moment it was cut.
“About time you showed up!” Monty passed Cal the drink they’d ordered for him.
“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Cal said, eyes wandering. “I haven’t been here in ages.”
“I’m surprised you’ve been here at all,” Jesse told him. The club was very clearly designed with dancing in mind. The standing tables scattered around the edges of the dance floor and stage were not made for lingering.
“Edie and I used to drag him here on rare occasions,” Hilliard said.
“Drag being the operative word,” Cal added pointedly.
Hilliard gave him a wink as Monty reached for both of his hands, walking backwards as he coaxed Hilliard out onto the crowded dance floor. Jesse watched them until he felt Cal’s thumb rubbing against his back.