21. Will
WILL
Icame downstairs late Friday morning and found Mom sitting at the kitchen island, drinking coffee with Theo.
“Look who’s awake,” she said, leaving a smear of lipstick on her mug. I’d actually been up for hours. I’d just been waiting for her to leave. Apparently, my timing sucked.
When she showed up last night, I’d expected her to grab James by the dick and snarl, “Mine.” But when she learned about our fake-dating scheme, she merely rolled her eyes.
She wasn’t done, though. She was just waiting until we were alone.
Then she’d give me hell, tell me this was bound to blow up in my face, ruin Dad’s last shot at an Oscar, and leave her cleaning up my mess, yet again.
“And just in time, too. We leave in ten minutes,” she said.
I grunted and reached for the last inch of coffee in the French press. “I think I’ll just hang here today and finish my book. James said he’d go with you, though, and run lines with Dad. He’s from Vermont, so he’ll be better anyway. And he’s always wanted to see how movies are made.”
“You’ll have plenty of time to read there.
The first day of shooting is always a shit show.
And James can’t go. It’s a closed set. You know that.
Oh, and in case it wasn’t obvious, I’m not paying him extra for this little stunt of yours.
And your little cry for attention can’t interfere with his duties or the wedding. Understood?”
“It’s not his fault,” Theo said, quick to come to my defense. “I’m the one who told everyone they were dating. Don’t be mad at Will.”
Mom laughed like it was all some amusing lark. “Believe me, I’m not mad. In fact, I’m fully on board. This might actually do wonders for William’s image, show people his sweet, lovable side.”
“I don’t have a sweet, lovable side,” I said.
Mom smiled into her coffee.
“And you don’t mind that Derek and Ryan are coming over later?” Theo asked.
“Of course not,” Mom said. “It’ll be like old times. I miss having a full house.”
The front door creaked open, and James called from the hall, “That’s the last of ’em.”
“Great. And while we’re gone, maybe you can chop some wood. That way we can have a fire later,” Mom said.
James padded into the kitchen, drenched in sweat.
He looked at me, his eyes begging the question, “Did you ask her?” His shirt was soaked under his arms and down his back, and I wanted so badly to bury my face in his armpit and inhale like it was an oxygen mask on a crashing plane.
I jerked my gaze away. Jesus, I was one sick fucker.
“I can do that,” James said. “And when I’m done, I can bring you guys lunch.”
Mom set her mug beside the sink. “Don’t worry about that. That’s why we have craft services. Plus, as I just told William, it’s a closed set. Maybe another day, when we’re not hosting a dinner party.”
James wiped the sweat from his brow. “That’d be great.”
“What are you smiling about?” I asked as Mom gunned it down the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dust behind us.
“Can’t a mother be happy for her son? I mean, it’s not just anyone who can pull off having both a fake husband and a fake boyfriend.” She adjusted her rearview mirror. “Although, if I’m being honest, I preferred the beard. I suppose the mustache is cute, too, if you’re into that sort of thing.”
I didn’t respond, and Mom spent the rest of the drive complaining about the cinematographer, who wanted to postpone shooting the interior scenes until they acquired a hazer to make dust motes in the farmhouse. “Doesn’t he know we’re on a strict schedule?”
It was strange being on a movie set again.
The Beautiful had been a small production, nothing like this.
Derek and I each had trailers, but they were crappy, and everyone was so worried about going over budget that we had to shoot every scene in five takes or fewer.
I hadn’t been on a proper movie set since I was a kid, back when the makeup artists used to paint fake scars and realistic tattoos on me and tell me I should have my own Disney show.
I studied the row of trailers, wondering which one was Derek’s.
“It’s this way,” Mom said, not looking back, her red hair whipping behind her like flames.
Normally, they’d shoot some scenes on location and the rest in studios in L.A.
or New York, but because of Dad’s illness and the time crunch it created, they were shooting the whole movie on location.
To make this happen, they’d converted the newer barn into a makeshift studio.
The main stage was set up as the interior of a rundown farmhouse, with vertical wood paneling, orange shag carpet, a shredded recliner, and a tan couch covered in tiny log cabins.
Dad was in hair and makeup when we arrived, and Roger, the cinematographer, immediately pulled Mom aside to discuss the importance of dust motes, so I took myself on a short tour of the farm.
I was just making my way down to the pond when one of the trailer doors swung open and Derek’s manager, Tony, stepped out, his gold hoop glinting in the sun.
“What are you doing here?”
Great. Now Tony probably thought I was stalking Derek again.
“Just heading down to the pond to read my book.” I turned the cover to face him, as if that proved my innocence.
He didn’t look convinced.
“Will, is that you?” Derek appeared shirtless in the doorway behind Tony.
I looked away, resisting the urge to take a census of his many tattoos. “Just pretend I’m not here. I’ll walk the other way next time.” I started down the path.
“Hey, wait. Can you do me a favor?” Derek’s deep voice pulled me back. “This accent is killing me, and you were always so good at accents. Mind helping me out?”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Tony said.
“Relax, Tony. You don’t always have to be such a papa bear. It’s all in the past now, right? Isn’t that why we’re doing this?”
That definitely wasn’t why Derek was doing this.
He was here because his last two movies bombed big time and he needed Dad’s clout to salvage what was left of his career.
He might’ve won an Oscar for The Beautiful, but that was ten years ago, and in this business, you’re only as good as your last film.
“Fine. I’ll just stick around, then,” Tony said.
Derek laughed. “Get the fuck out of here, Tony. I’ll be fine.”
Derek’s trailer put my apartment to shame, with a white leather sofa, a massive TV, and an array of stainless steel appliances.
“Sorry about that,” he said, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge. “He’s just overprotective.”
I accepted the water, my breath catching as our knuckles grazed. “It’s fine.”
“I see you’re no worse for wear after the other night.” He nodded toward the sofa, and I sat.
“Sorry I was such a mess. It’s been—”
“You don’t need to explain. I know how much you worship your dad. This has got to be harder on you than anyone.”
Growing up, Dad taught us to never hold back our emotions.
They were an actor’s bread and butter. But teaching required superhuman levels of composure, and I’d gotten pretty good at maintaining an even keel, even when everything was falling apart.
I was grateful for that now. “What’s tripping you up about the accent? ”
“I’ll show you.” Derek handed me his script, and we read through the sunglasses scene.
Reading the scene with Derek felt different, and not just because I was reading the other part.
With James, it had been messy, but intimate, like reading someone’s diary.
With Derek, it felt easy, almost trite, probably because, other than a faint southern drawl, he played Travis the same way he’d played Oliver in The Beautiful.
Derek was like Sandra Bullock or Brad Pitt. He didn’t have much range, but watching his movies was like hanging out with an old friend for two hours.
He scratched his chest, releasing whiffs of his musky cologne. “What do you think?”
“It was great,” I lied. “But remember, while it’s rural, it’s not southern.”
I tried to demonstrate the differences, but Derek was incapable of sounding like anyone other than Derek. If anything, after my tutoring, he sounded even more southern.
He collapsed onto the sofa next to me. “Whatever. Rednecks all sound the same.”
He turned on the TV, and for one thrilling second I couldn’t breathe. He’d done this exact thing when we were preparing for The Beautiful. “Let’s do some research, shall we?” he’d said, then gay porn appeared on the screen.
This time, it was a low-budget movie called Man with a Plan. “This is the best the dialect coach could find for us, and it’s completely unwatchable.”
“You’ll figure it out.” I stood and looked out the window at the majestic weeping willow hanging over the pond.
In theory, this was exactly what I’d been hoping for: Derek opening up, seeking my advice like he used to. Yet, for some reason, I wanted nothing more than to be down by the pond, reading Persuasion in quiet solitude.
“You could always go listen to Howard, the guy at the stables,” I said. “He’s got a Vermont accent.”
“That’s actually a good idea. Thanks, Will.” Derek turned off the TV. “So, tell me about this new boyfriend of yours. Is he really hotter than me?”
My pulse spiked at the mention of James.
“Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to show up tonight feeling self-conscious.
But I’m happy for you. When Tony said you’d invented some fake boyfriend to make me jealous, I was worried this wasn’t going to work out.
Now that I know he’s real, though, we can show the world we’re just friends and get you back in the game. ”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Right.”
“Do you miss it? Acting?”
Acting had been my dream since infancy. While Andy had been out playing sports with friends, I’d been in the library running scenes with Dad. “Sometimes, yeah.”
“We’re going to get you back out there, I promise.” Derek smiled, but all I could see was the thin white scar slicing through his eyebrow.