7. Monty
Monty
Monty went to bed in higher spirits than the previous night.
Even waking up in Hilliard’s spare bedroom for the second morning in a row didn’t bother him as much as it might have.
He hadn’t caused a scene at the bar. His name wouldn’t be pasted all over the papers—at least, not for another week, and then it would be for good reasons.
He’d even maybe made a couple of friends? He couldn’t be entirely sure.
Other than making a pass at Hilliard, he felt reasonably sure that he hadn’t embarrassed himself too much.
His face got hot at the memory of that proposition, and how swiftly it had been turned down.
Hilliard had been kind, as he always was, but it still stung a bit.
Monty sat up in bed and opened the curtain before leaning back against the pillow.
He’d slept with a fair share of his friends.
Now in his morning sobriety, he was pretty sure he’d slept with Fred Forsythe at the party the man had referenced.
But he and Hilliard had never even fooled around.
Not for lack of trying. After all, the man was remarkably attractive, and Monty had long suspected that Hilliard’s warmth and kindness would translate beautifully in bed.
But Hilliard had always gently sidestepped the issue, outright ignored it, or sweetly turned him down.
Monty’s magic was an effective one, and he knew how to wield it.
But there was always the opportunity for the other person to rebuff his charm.
Monty was not one to force anything. And every so often, someone did turn him down, and his magic bounced back.
Hilliard was the most frequent offender of this.
Monty had lost count of the times his friend had gently pushed the charm magic away.
Sometimes he wondered if it was causing him to be under his own spell a little, because he was never upset by it.
He sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. Then he got up, got dressed, and went out in search of his host. He found Hilliard in the kitchen, watering the plants on the windowsill. He smiled at Monty over his shoulder.
“Good morning, darlin’! I just put the coffee on. Fix yourself a cup.”
That was another good thing about Hilliard: things were never awkward after Monty made a pass at him.
Monty kissed his friend’s cheek on the way to the coffee pot.
“You going to read the script today?” Hilliard asked.
Monty slumped against the counter. “Ugh. I guess.”
Hilliard chuckled. “It really is going to be a fun film to make. Lots of snappy dialogue. I always love that.”
“Have you ever been in a movie you don’t like?”
“Sure,” Hilliard said with a shrug. “Who hasn’t?”
“You certainly never seem to complain about it.”
“I figure I can handle a bad situation for a few months. That’s the longest they usually last anyhow. I’m not typically cast in those epics or musicals that take forever.”
“Well, I guess I’ll take a shot at reading it today,” Monty conceded as he poured himself a cup of coffee.
“Want me to pick you up for the party tonight?”
Monty turned and stared at him. “What party?”
“The Powells’ party. We’re all invited.”
Monty groaned. “God, I hate those. Their house gives me the creeps. It’s too big.”
“You’re one to talk.”
“Hey!”
Hilliard grinned and bumped his hip against Monty’s. “I’m kidding. Your mansion is a perfectly respectable size.”
Monty took a sip of the coffee. “I think I’ll drive myself, thanks. If I’m lucky, I won’t leave alone.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Hilliard shook his head but he was smiling. Something loosened in Monty’s chest at the sight. Things were going to be okay after all.
* * *
Monty did not read the script. Instead, he spent the entire day agonizing over what he would say when Joan Dupree came to visit him for the interview.
He practiced sitting on the sofa, offering her a drink, showing her the kitchen.
He didn’t completely ignore the script, though.
He kept moving it around with him as he practiced, placing it at an angle that would look enticing or responsible.
The biggest issue was that throughout his mock interviews, he could feel his magic bubbling under the surface.
It took a concerted effort to shove it back down, even though no one else was around.
By the time he was getting ready for the party, he was exhausted, not only from his rehearsals and the strain against his magic, but from the guilt of not reading the script, yet again.
Jack and Kay Powell lived in a sprawling Spanish-style estate tucked into the hills overlooking Los Angeles.
The smooth stucco exteriors and clay barrel tile roofs fit effortlessly within the palm fronds and cherry trees.
Past the arched entry gate sat a cobbled courtyard with a centerpiece fountain that would make the groundskeepers at Versailles look twice.
Monty parked his car on the side of the long driveway and got out, his stomach fluttery with nerves.
After giving a footman his hat and coat, he strode inside, nodding in greeting at the crowd of guests as he passed.
He usually looked forward to these sorts of events: a chance to schmooze a bit, make connections, and impress some people.
But he was now hyper-aware of how people perceived him.
Had everyone always thought his charm was too much?
One of the waitstaff offered a tray of assorted cocktails.
Monty grabbed a highball without even thinking, sipping the cool drink to soothe his unsettled state.
But when he caught a few surreptitious glances in his direction, the glass felt heavy in his hand.
How many people were aware that he was on thin ice with the studio?
How many people had read about his antics at the Pink Peacock? How many were waiting for him to fail?
He very nearly put the drink right back down, but instead opted to wander to a less crowded part of the house.
The garden was set up with a jazz band and a paved dance floor.
Chinese lanterns were strung up across the space, offering a soft glow for the dancers.
It was an inviting sight. Hollywood parties, and especially the ones thrown by the Powells, were often used as opportunities to show off a bit.
People liked to prove that they were excellent dancers, could hold an audience’s attention.
Sometimes the parties turned into unofficial audition spaces, with prime roles being offered on the sidelines.
Monty had partaken in that exercise many times.
It had even garnered him his first role in an Ezra Allen production.
But he wasn’t looking to impress anyone tonight, so he simply watched as the dancers moved across the floor.
“Montgomery!”
He turned and immediately straightened at the sight of Kay Powell gliding toward him.
She was a beautiful woman in her forties who looked as though she hadn’t left the decade prior.
Her brown hair was cut into a bob and styled meticulously into finger waves, her lips painted into a perfect Cupid’s bow, and she was wearing a shimmery drop-waist dress under a fur-lined satin Poiret cocoon coat.
Only Kay Powell could wear fashion ten years out of date and still look glamorous as hell.
She planted air kisses on either side of his face and leaned back to give him a once-over.
“I heard the tour went well.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he answered, feeling his face get hot at the thought of what Ezra probably reported.
She beamed and tucked her hand around his arm, leading him down the walkway. “And I heard you found us some fresh talent.”
“Yes, Jesse Morgan. Have you met him?”
“Not yet, but I’m hoping to tonight. He had a feature in The Stargazer this morning. A handsome young man.”
“Yes.”
“Ezra tells me they’ve put you in a comedy film.”
He cleared his throat. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I’m looking forward to it. It’s nice to see our stars stretch themselves. And Ezra is uncannily good at their job.”
Monty didn’t know what Ezra Allen’s magical power was.
As far as he could tell, no one really knew, except perhaps the woman standing next to him.
There were a million rumors though. Monty had always favored the one that Ezra’s magic told them what would make a movie good.
From what Kay said, he wondered if he had guessed correctly.
Monty’s stomach had gone sour at the topic of his casting and Ezra’s decision, but he pasted on a smile. “Thank you, Mrs. Powell.”
He’d always wondered what her magic was, too. After his first meeting with her, he’d decided inspiring awe was the most likely possibility, and nothing in his time since then had changed his mind.
She gave him a motherly smile. Then, when she turned her head, her smile spread into one of surprised delight. “Why, there he is now!”
“Who?”
“Jesse Morgan. You can introduce me.”
It was not a request, but a command. Reluctantly, Monty allowed himself to be led forward toward the other man, who was standing on the edge of the dance floor.
Monty barely remembered the details of his visit to the Pink Peacock, so he took in the sight of Jesse Morgan with fresh eyes.
He was just as attractive as Monty remembered, with a clean-shaven face, his hair free of pomade, and his outfit well-fitted but unassuming.
The clothes were the most noticeable change, so different from the well-worn outfit he had been sporting in the speakeasy.
Everything looked crisp and clean and new.
“Mr. Morgan,” Monty greeted.
Just as Monty had done when he saw Kay, Morgan immediately straightened his posture at the sight of them. “Mr. Kincaid,” he said, his tone cautious.
“This is Mrs. Kay Powell, one of the heads of Powell Productions.”
Morgan’s eyes widened slightly but he held out his hand politely. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
She shook it and then leaned forward to give him air kisses on both of his cheeks, as well. “It’s so lovely to have you join our studio, Mr. Morgan. I trust Cal has been taking good care of you?”
The other man blushed slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”
“I saw your feature this morning. It was very good.”
The blush deepened. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing your picture. I’ll leave you both to enjoy the party.” She unhooked her hold on Monty’s arm and gave them a small wave before wandering off.
Monty stood awkwardly next to Morgan, unsure if he should leave him alone again. But then Morgan spoke. “This party is something else.”
Monty hummed in agreement. “A far cry from the bar where we met.”
“You can say that again.”
Monty chuckled, relieved by the easy topic. His magic, which he’d been keeping a tight rein on throughout his encounter with Kay, loosened a bit as he relaxed. “How are you taking to life as a movie star?”
“I like the work. The lifestyle sure is different though.”
Remembering that he still had a drink in his hand, Monty took a long sip. “I can only imagine. What was it you did before?”
Morgan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I worked for the U.S. Postal Service. You?”
“I worked in a department store selling shaving cream.” Monty wrinkled his nose. “Hated it.” The thought of having to return to that life if his contract wasn’t renewed made him feel sick. He downed the rest of his drink and set the empty glass on a nearby table.
He turned back to Morgan to find the man watching him with a thoughtful expression. “I’m sorry you were pulled from the picture. That must have been disappointing.”
“Yeah,” Monty replied on an exhale. “It was. Still is, if I’m honest.”
“The dancing’s my favorite part of this gig. I’d be pretty upset too.”
Monty nodded, grateful for the sympathy, even if Morgan was only touching on a small part of why the change hurt so much. He looked at the dance floor and they stood in silence for a few moments, watching the dancers bounce to the rhythm.
The drink and quiet companionship were working well to soothe some of Monty’s nerves. He gently eased his magic up a bit and turned to Morgan again. “It may be a far cry from the bar where we met, but a dance floor is a dance floor in any state. Care to hoof it with me?”
Morgan gave him a friendly smile. “Sure.”
Monty grinned, taking the other man’s hand and leading him to the dance floor. He slid his arm around Morgan’s waist, allowing the music and the alcohol and his magic to buoy his mood.
Dancing with Morgan was just as thrilling as he’d remembered.
The other man moved effortlessly to the beat, his whole demeanor transforming with his evident joy.
As Monty danced alongside him, he couldn’t take his focus off his partner’s face.
Morgan’s eyes were bright and his smile was wide.
Monty had to catch his breath from the way his stomach fluttered at the sight.
His magic surged within him, desperate to please.
They danced for three songs before Monty had to call it quits.
He led his partner back to where he’d found him.
“You really are a great dancer,” Morgan said, sounding only a little winded from their exercise.
“I could say the same,” Monty said smoothly. He offered Morgan his most dazzling smile, feeling his magic give the expression a bit more oomph.
Morgan blinked at him a little and then turned back to the dance floor. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for the dance. Well, dances. It really helped to calm my nerves. I feel so out of my element here.”
“Happy to help.” Monty leaned close to the other man’s ear and said in a soft voice, “I know a few other tips to help with that, if you’d like.”
“Oh?”
Monty reached out with his magic to gauge the other man’s interest and was met with curiosity.
His arm slid back around Morgan’s waist, almost of its own accord, and he pulled the other man close.
But just as he bent his head to kiss him, Morgan’s hand landed on his chest, and with a gentle firmness that surprised him, Monty was pushed away.