7. Take care of him, okay? #2
He hung up with his mom and shoved his phone in the holder clipped to one of the air vents.
It pinged before he could pull out into traffic, so he checked it.
A text from his agent Margo asking him to call when he could.
He lived always wondering when she would dump him.
Margo was a pretty big deal. She wasn’t with one of the mega agencies like William Morris Endeavor or Gersh or any of the acronyms like CAA, UA, UTA, ABC, but she had a couple of heavy hitters and a bunch of steadily working mid-list actors.
She ran her own agency, Horizons, and had two other agents working for her.
When Hunter submitted a reel to her, he fully expected to never hear a word.
He did it on a whim the last month of his program at UCLA.
He’d finished what he thought was a particularly solid job in an indie film and just went for it.
She didn’t respond to him, but when he did a play first thing after graduation at some shitty theater off the Sunset Strip in Silverlake, she came to watch it and asked him to come to her office the next day.
She signed him. She said she saw a lot of potential in him.
Since then, he’d booked five jobs. All small.
She also got him a couple exclusive background jobs that paid more than the Central Casting stuff.
She never wavered or acted like she was going to dump him, but his anxiety told him she was regretting her decision at every turn.
“Hey, Margo. Hunter here,” he said as soon as she answered. He had her cell, which not all her clients got. That said something, right?
“Hey kid, I know. Your name shows up.” She chuckled lightly. “You got booked, kiddo!”
“I did? For the thing today?”
“No. The thing last week!” she said, excited.
“The commercial?”
“Yep! Two-day shoot. SAG spot baby!”
SAG. Fuck. That was awesome. Hunter grinned. “Thanks, Margo. That’s great news.”
“Don’t thank me. You’re the one who got booked,” she reminded him. “The details are still coming in, but I think it shoots next Thursday and Friday in Pasadena.”
“Great! Awesome. Let me know when you have call times.” Hunter was excited even though the role itself wasn’t thrilling.
He was playing half of a young married couple on a disastrous vacation, but everything was saved by their credit card, which had trip protection.
Ironically, the same credit card company refused to give him one when he applied six months ago.
“Will do. Congrats, Hunter. We’re making progress,” Margo assured him, and then she hung up.
Hunter grinned to himself. Margo was right. This was a win. A step in the right direction. He should be happy. He should celebrate. He plucked his phone from the holder and sent a text to Leandra.
What time will you be home tonight? I have a surprise.
He waited a couple of minutes, but she didn’t read it, so he assumed she was busy with Estelle.
Or was she in yoga class? He couldn’t remember her schedule.
It had been changing a lot lately. He put the phone back in the holder and drove toward Trader Joe’s.
When he got there, he parked underground and took the elevator up.
He grabbed a basket and wandered the aisles.
He couldn’t afford to take Leandra out, but he could afford to make her Chimichurri steak, which was her favorite.
He’d even include that cauliflower stuff that impersonated mashed potatoes that she insisted on eating.
He could tolerate it if he added shredded cheddar.
And he had time to make his no-bake Nutella cheesecake, which Leandra used to love.
I mean, she was doing this whole non-dairy thing recently, but then she mentioned having too many White Russians with her friend Cass at the last girls’ night, and those had dairy.
And if she didn’t want it, maybe Colby would want a piece. Did he have a sweet tooth?
He grabbed a few of the items he needed for the celebration dinner, but then accidentally started wandering the aisles looking for Colby.
He found him stocking dog treats. Colby looked up from where he was squatting, shoving organic chicken treats onto the bottom shelf, and his entire face lit up when he saw Hunter.
“I was just thinking about you! How cool is that?”
Colby was in his standard bad Hawaiian work shirt and a pair of boring khaki pants Hunter never saw him wear outside of work.
His wavy blond hair was held back in a low ponytail, except for a few pieces that escaped around his face.
Hunter started grinning back at Colby, his shoulders losing tension he didn’t know he was holding. “Do you like Nutella?”
“I mean…” Colby looked conflicted. “Yeah, it tastes fucking great, but I don’t buy it because it’s expensive and when I’m high I would probably eat it with a spoon right out of the jar, and nobody needs that, least of all my ass.”
“You sound like Leandra,” Hunter laughed. “Would you eat it on a special occasion? I’m making a Nutella cheesecake, which is honestly to-die-for, and Leandra might be picky about it even though she loves it. I just want someone to enjoy a piece with me if she won’t.”
“Oh, it’s for a celebration?” Colby asked, his whole face relaxing so much it was comical. “Well, there are no calories in celebratory meals. That’s just science, so yeah, I can eat as much as you need. What are you celebrating?”
“I got cast.”
“You got a part?” Colby’s smile somehow got brighter and bigger. His dimple in his left cheek was deeper than a Montreal pothole, but much more enjoyable. When Hunter nodded, Colby attacked, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him into a bear hug.
Hunter almost dropped his basket, and his whole body froze, not in fear but in shock.
Colby was genuinely over-the-moon about the news.
For him. And he was hugging him like he’d just said he won an Oscar or something.
It was fucking great, but it instantly made Hunter feel like an imposter. “It’s just a credit card commercial.”
“Just?” Colby pulled back a little, but his arms were still around Hunter’s shoulders.
Their torsos were still pressed together.
Hunter felt a flutter he hadn’t really felt since he first kissed Leandra, which was absurd.
“Dude, it’s a paying gig. You’re gonna be on TV, and I bet you make me get a fucking credit card.
Me and like half the world. You’re gonna be that good. ”
“You don’t have a credit card?”
Colby shrugged as best as he could while still holding onto Hunter. “No fixed address makes it kinda hard. But also, I like living on what I have, even if it’s not much.”
They stared at each other, and Colby must have realized they were still holding each other because he squeezed Hunter quickly and then stepped back almost a foot.
One of his wayward waves was sticking to his high cheekbone, and Hunter started to reach out to brush it away but caught himself and shoved his hand in his pocket instead.
“Dude, this is definitely worth celebrating. Congratulations.”
“Thanks.” Hunter smiled again. “So, if she won’t eat the cheesecake, you will?”
“Fuck yeah,” Colby replied. “Except I have a gig thing. Jamming with those dudes who are looking for a lead singer. I haven’t said yes yet, but I think I will if tonight goes well. It’s our third time playing together, and I don’t hate it. I actually kind of like it.”
“I’ll save you some dessert. Come up and knock when you’re back.” Hunter thought for a flash that perhaps he would be getting lucky tonight. For the first time in almost a month. So he decided to change that offer. “Actually, text me first, and I’ll bring it down to the van.”
“Sounds like a plan. And congrats again.”
Hunter smiled and headed into the beef section to find the steak.
Colby finished the song and gently placed his guitar on the concrete floor of Ford’s garage.
He looked at his audience and was met with deafening silence.
But it felt like a good sign, judging by the looks on their faces.
Kenner Whitley, the drummer, was smiling so wide that he could be auditioning for a toothpaste commercial.
Trevor Bowerman, that bassist, looked stunned with his mouth agape, but not in a bad way.
Ford had his arms crossed over his rumpled shirt, a smug smirk that screamed “I told you so,” as he stared at the other two.
“Yeah. Okay. I get it,” Kenner finally said, his eyes darting to Ford before moving back to Colby. “Dude, please finally say you’re in.”
“So you’re both cool with learning some of my originals for sets?”
“Some? I’ll take all of them if they’re as good as that one,” Trevor replied, and Kenner nodded.
They were an odd trio to look at, Colby thought, with Kenner being dark, tall, and built like a bodybuilder.
He used to act, apparently. Ford said he’d even had a supporting role on the kids’ show when he was a pre-teen.
Trevor looked completely different. About five-ten with a waifish build, and in the three times Colby had hung out with them, he’d worn plaid every single time.
His hair was brown and shaggy, just like his facial hair.
He kind of looked like a lumberjack on meth.
But there was no meth… according to Ford anyway because Colby had, in fact, asked.
He was good with edibles and weed and other mostly legal stuff, but he wasn’t going to get into this band if there was serious substance use.
“So, Colby, look, we love your stuff. We think you vibe well,” Kenner said. His background in the entertainment industry was what made him more driven, savvy, and blunt. “Are we gonna do this?”