Chapter 13
Monty
Monty was in high spirits when they drove to Edie Haywood’s house.
The interview with Joan had gone well, he and Hilliard were spruced up for the party, and filming the picture was going smoother than he could have hoped.
Even better, Edie’s parties were famous for being strictly off the record.
This meant everyone, including Monty, could relax and let loose without fear of their exploits gracing the headlines the next day.
Her parties were raucous and unpredictable, Monty’s favorite kind.
He gave a happy sigh and settled back in his seat.
It felt weird riding in the Cadillac without Henrietta perched on his lap.
But he was too excited to miss her too much.
He’d earned this reprieve, and he was going to make the most of it.
“Not to sound like the proverbial fairy godmother,” Hilliard said as he pulled the car over to park on the street in front of Edie’s large house. “But please remember what we agreed to.”
They both got out and Monty leaned down to check his hair in the side mirror. He smoothed it down carefully. “I could always get a taxi if you need to get to bed.”
Hilliard shook his head. “Nothing doing. I won’t sleep at all if I’ve left you behind. We’re leaving together if I have to pour you into the backseat.”
Monty laughed and wrapped an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “You really are aces, you know that? You should let loose a little tonight too.”
“My idea of letting loose is—”
“I know, I know. Crimping pie crust.”
Hilliard nodded. “After finishing up that laundry this afternoon, I’m fully at peace.”
Monty groaned. “Only guy I know who thinks hanging up laundry is a good time.”
“It’s soothing. Practically meditative.”
“The only meditation I want tonight is to be so focused on kissing someone that I lose track of who and where I am.”
Hilliard pulled open the door and held it for him. “Well, have fun, sweetheart. I’ll be around to remind you who you are later.”
Monty gave him a peck on the cheek and then plunged into the crowd.
Everyone was dressed to the nines—well, the ones who were still dressed, that is.
Some partygoers were already slipping out of their clothes.
Monty made a quick circuit of the rooms, grabbing a drink on his way.
It was a Gin Fizz, one of his favorites.
He took a sip and relished the way the carbonation bubbled in his chest, making him feel light and airy.
The drink was frothy and foamy on top and Monty gave a little hop at the pleasure of having a well-made drink after a thoroughly dry week.
“Glad to see you in better spirits, Mr. Kincaid,” someone said behind him.
He turned to see Fred Forsythe holding a lowball glass. “Joanie told me the interview went well.”
“It did. I can’t thank you enough for setting it up for me.”
“It was my pleasure. I’m looking forward to reading it.”
“Monty!” Edie Haywood appeared on his other side. She gave both of his cheeks a kiss. “So glad to see you! I’ve heard things are going great in your world.”
“Swell.”
She looked amused. “I’m glad to hear it. Have a good time, all right, honey? I think you’ve been here before, but Freddie can show you around if you need it.”
Monty didn’t need it but Forsythe was attractive and standing next to him and, from the look in his eye, interested in a reprise of past experiences. Monty was willing.
Forsythe slid an arm around his waist. “Come on. I’ll show you around, as promised.”
He led Monty to the buffet table. The spread was huge and varied.
“What’s the theme?” Monty asked as he looked around.
“Chocolate.”
“Chocolate?”
“Mm-hmm. Everything here has chocolate in it.”
“Aren’t those empanadas?”
“Yep. They’re delicious.”
“I’ll take your word for it.” Monty was filled with a sudden desire to show the spread to Hilliard.
He wanted to know what his friend thought of the theme.
He wanted to see Hilliard’s reaction to the empanadas and the…
enchiladas? He wasn’t quite brave enough to try anything on his own.
But with Hilliard, it would have been a riot.
“Here,” Forsythe said. “Something a little more conventional.”
Monty turned to see the other man holding a chocolate covered strawberry.
Monty reached to take it, but Forsythe pulled it away with a grin.
Smirking in response, Monty opened his mouth, allowing Forsythe to feed it to him.
The juice burst against his tongue, with the sultry taste of chocolate making him moan.
No sooner had he swallowed the bite than Forsythe’s mouth was on his, sucking the juice off his lips, the arm around his waist pulling him closer. Monty moaned again.
Unexpectedly, his thoughts wandered to Hilliard. His friend had promised he didn’t mind cooling his heels while Monty had his fun. But would he be bored? Would he feel strange sitting alone in a crowded party while Monty fell into bed with someone else? Would he eat? Would he—
The kiss suddenly broke off.
“Your mind is far away. How did I lose you so fast?”
“Sorry,” Monty said. “A little distracted, I guess.”
Forsythe didn’t seem bothered. He tossed the leftover strawberry top into a nearby trash can. “Let’s go where you can focus on having a good time.”
Monty downed the rest of his cocktail and put the empty glass on a side table before he was led out to the pool.
People were everywhere, all in various states of undress and in various stages of sexual activities.
Monty noted three people sharing a patio chaise lounge, one of them likely utilizing magical dexterity as a sewist or musician by day if the level of skill they were showing off with both hands was any indication.
Powell’s biggest Western star was in the pool between the legs of a script girl, who was sitting on the edge with her head thrown back in pleasure.
He spotted Director Chen pinning someone against the side of the pool—and quickly averted his eyes at the sight of Joan Dupree topless.
Forsythe cupped his ass and then tugged him around to face him. “What do you think? Better for the mood?”
“Sure,” Monty purred.
Forsythe nipped at his lips. “Good. From what I hear, you need some relaxation.”
“Do I?”
“You’ve been hard at work and locked up in the suburbs.”
Monty laughed. “It hasn’t been bad. It’s actually been kinda nice.”
Forsythe hummed as his mouth made its way down Monty’s jaw and neck.
Monty tilted his head back to give the man better access.
Then he used the opportunity to look around a bit more.
Where would Hilliard be the most comfortable while he waited?
Would he hang out near the pool and people watch?
He couldn’t imagine the man being that voyeuristic.
Forsythe pulled away again. “I won’t be offended if you’re not in the mood. Or not in the mood for me.”
“Sorry.” Monty rubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe I need another drink first.”
“Anything particular?”
“Something strong.”
Forsythe flagged down a waitperson. He plucked two glasses off the tray and handed one to Monty before clinking them together. “Down the hatch.”
Monty chugged the drink and winced at the taste—he’d never been too keen on bourbon.
They set their empty glasses aside and then Monty was being pulled to an empty chaise lounge.
The other man didn’t seem to be in any hurry.
He pulled a cigarette case out of his pocket and lit one.
He offered it to Monty, who shook his head.
Unperturbed, Forsythe braced one hand behind him on the lounge chair and smoked the cigarette, taking long drags of it and blowing the smoke out slowly.
“I’m surprised you’re not here with Mr. Burke. From what Joanie described, you two are inseparable now.”
“Oh, he’s here.”
Forsythe arched an eyebrow. “Is he? And he’s fine with you…” He gestured between them.
“We’re not together, not like that,” Monty said.
Although something in him twinged at the words.
It sounded so flippant when he said it that way.
As if Hilliard wasn’t his best friend, as if he wasn’t constantly rescuing Monty from his own mistakes, as if he wasn’t Monty’s favorite person.
As if he didn’t make Monty feel at home, no matter where they were.
As if Monty didn’t feel safest when he was around.
“You sure about that? The look in your eyes says otherwise.”
Monty waved his hand. “Sure, I’m sure.”
“So if Mr. Burke is currently straddling some blonde bombshell right now, you won’t be bothered?”
Monty felt a bit sick at the mental image. “He’s not into girls. I don’t think.”
“Okay, then let’s call it a blond hunk. Still not bothered?”
Monty swallowed against the nausea. “Nope.”
Forsythe chuckled. “You’re adorable.”
There was something in his tone that told Monty he was definitely not about to get laid after all. He looked at his companion, who was still relaxed beside him, only now the expression on his face was one of amusement.
Monty studied him for a moment. “If you thought I was with Hilliard, why did you make a move on me?”
“I was curious. I figured if I was wrong, I’d have a good time. If I was right, I’d have an entertaining time. Either way, I have fun.”
“I feel like I should be insulted by that.”
“Are you?”
Monty considered. While he pondered, a waitperson offered another tray of drinks and he grabbed one without thinking and took a sip. Gin and tonic—a definite improvement. “We’re not together,” he said at last.
“If you say so.”
“Though I am worried about how he’s doing.”
“Mm. Feel the need to check up on him? Make sure he’s not straddling some—”
“Okay, okay, enough of that.”
Forsythe snickered as he blew out more smoke. “Fucking adorable.”
“I think you’re a bit of a jerk.”
Forsythe shrugged. “Probably.”
Monty drained his glass and set it down. “At least you’re not sore at me for not being…interested. Or as interested as I thought I was.”
“Nope. Not sore at all. Ava Parker’s been making moon eyes at me from across the pool so I’ll be fine. Weren’t you two an item a while back?”
Monty nodded. “She’s sweet.”
“That she is. Not as sweet as Hilliard Burke. But who is?”
Monty glared at him. “You’re not going to stop harping on that tune, are you?”
“I wouldn’t be harping at all if we were still kissing. But you were too distracted.”
The emphasis on the last word was delivered with another wry smile and a swirl of cigarette smoke.
Monty sighed and stood up, dusting off his trousers. “Well, I’d better go, um—”
“Rescue your friend from phantom blonds. I know. Give him my regards.”
Monty batted a hand at him as he stumbled away.
The three drinks were beginning to have an impact.
Suddenly, the inside of the house felt a bit too warm and a bit too crowded.
He headed to the buffet and felt an inexplicable surge of disappointment that Hilliard wasn’t there.
He wandered from room to room, looking among the people standing first, and then at the heads of people on the sofas, chairs, and floor.
Every time he saw a man with Hilliard’s hair color locking mouths with another partygoer, his stomach would clench, and then relax as soon as he identified them as someone else.
He blamed it on the alcohol. He probably shouldn’t have consumed so much so fast after a week of no drinking.
After he’d finished combing through the bottom floor, he begrudgingly made his way upstairs.
Edie had at least half a dozen spare bedrooms that people always put to good use during the parties.
The only room in the entire house that was off-limits was Edie’s own bedroom.
He methodically worked his way through the second floor, poking his head into bedrooms and murmuring “‘Scuse me.
‘Pologies,” whenever the occupants looked up in annoyance at the interruption.
Though one couple invited him to join them, and he hazily turned them down.
Halfway through his search through the upstairs rooms, he started to feel dizzy. Maybe once he found Hilliard, he could persuade him to take them home. He’d been Icarus, drinking too close to the sun. He didn’t even want to think about what Hilliard would make him take in the morning.
When he’d exhausted every room possible, the only option remaining was the off-limits one.
He deeply did not want to imagine Hilliard locked in Edie’s embrace.
Wait. Hilliard wasn’t into women. Right?
Cheered, he stumbled over to the final door and practically collapsed with relief.
Hilliard was sitting on a circular bed, alone.
No, not quite alone. Next to him on the satin sheets was a cat.