Chapter 2
ALEX
Ican’t even remember the last time I walked into a club with a sense of excitement instead of dread.
I can feel the bass thumping in my bones, but in my head all I hear is Danny Glover’s voice.
Because I’m getting too old for this shit.
Joke’s on you, last year’s US Weekly list of Hollywood’s Most Eligible Bachelors.
Your token single dad director doesn’t even look forward to meeting horny drunk women anymore at the ripe old age of thirty-two.
Should have just given my spot to Leonardo.
He needs all the help he can get, and he doesn’t keep wet wipes and juice boxes in his glove compartment.
I’m just here to see a couple of my favorite people.
Every few years, Barry Weiner decides to celebrate his birthday baller style.
The fifty-something man created the Disney Channel show that launched the careers of such beloved stars as Shane Miller, Nico Todd, and yours truly.
So we endure ear-splitting music, insane valet parking fees, and hearing the same old stories and jokes over and over again, to pay homage to him.
He always invites a bunch of film and TV industry assholes along with his former cast and crew for a little reunion and a lot of alcohol at the bottle service table of some trendy bar or club.
At least Barry reserved tables up on the mezzanine, away from the DJ and the dance floor.
I’ll have one beer, stay for half an hour, and then I’m going home.
I haven’t been to this venue on the Sunset Strip since it was rebranded, and I already hate it.
I will never let my son come here when he’s old enough.
I don’t even care if that’s a double standard. He can do as I say, not as I do.
…
Fuck, I’m old.
I pass a group of five women on my way up the wide staircase.
They’re all wearing tight shiny mini dresses, they all look airbrushed, and I’m pretty sure they were in kindergarten when I graduated high school.
The giggling suddenly stops, and they suck in their cheeks while tossing their hair to one side.
It’s the club girl salute. I nod, say, “How’s it going?
” to no one in particular, and continue up the stairs, resisting the urge to offer them cab fare and a lecture about safe sex and self-respect.
I do a quick visual sweep of the VIP tables.
There’s the CAA agent who didn’t want to sign me when I was a theatre director and now calls me every week because he wants me to cast his clients in my movies.
He can kiss my Tony-nominated ass. There’s the producer who didn’t want to hire me to direct that family comedy because he thought my work was “too highbrow for a four-quadrant studio film,” and now he’s always calling my manager to get me attached to his HBO project.
He can kiss my twenty-million-dollar-opening-weekend ass.
And there’s the two best-looking guys in the club, huddled together, probably arguing about which one of them has a hotter wife or cuter kids.
Shanico.
Everyone was so in love with the fact that Shane and Nico were two cute guys who played best friends on That’s So Wizard!
and became best friends in real life. Well, I was friends with them too.
I had a prominent recurring role in Seasons One and Two as Greyson Manning’s super cool high school nemesis who—spoiler alert—turned out to be a werewolf.
But I was friends with both Shane and Nico.
You never read about it in Tiger Beat magazine, but I was the guy who told Nico Todd he should learn to play guitar.
You’re welcome, ladies. And I was the guy who showed Shane how to use hair product to make his hair stand up.
You’re welcome again, ladies. But all anyone ever talked about was Shanico.
I actually tried to make Shanicolex happen for a while, but…
Whatever. I left LA as soon as I graduated high school and moved to New York for theatre school, but we stayed in touch.
I’ve always had my own thing going on with each of them.
Back when Nico and I were both single, we’d get into some trouble together whenever he was in New York for gigs.
When Shane heard that I was going to be a dad, he called me up, said he was there for me if I ever needed to talk, and told me what I had to look forward to—endless love for the kid, sleepless nights for the foreseeable future, zero sex drive, and probably divorce.
That sounds dick-ish, but he said it in a really sweet, honest way. And he was one hundred percent correct.
Now they’re both happily married with kids, and I’m depressingly divorced with a kid, and good for fucking them.
They deserve it. Been a while since we’ve all seen each other out in the wild.
It’s usually a work-related lunch meeting or dinner at home with the families.
Shane’s wife is pregnant, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Nico’s is too one of these days.
I’m so happy to see them, it’s embarrassing.
“Vega, baby!” Shane and Nico call out to me at the same time, raising their hands in the air, but they don’t stand up.
They know I’ll be paying my respects to Barry first, or maybe they’re just lazy assholes.
I saunter over to the balding birthday boy, who’s holding court at another table.
He pauses mid-sentence to pull me down and kiss me on the top of my head.
“Happy birthday, sir.” I still call him sir—I can’t help it. “You don’t look a day over fifty.”
“Look at this ridiculously handsome guy—Mr. Big Time Director over here. This kid used to call me Professor Wiener. Little prick! Now look at him! Great to see you. Thanks for coming, Alejandro.” He’s always called me Alejandro, even though my legal name is Alexander.
Disney loved to play up the fact that I’m half Spanish.
He hooks his arm around my neck, raises his glass, and launches into the story about the time I had a hot mic on when I was chatting up one of the extras on set.
And everyone listens and laughs like we’ve never heard it before.
I order him a bottle of the club’s cheapest nine-hundred-dollar champagne (fuck you, club owner) and excuse myself to join Shane and Nico because it looks like they’re already thinking about going home.
“Gentlemen…”
Shane gets up to give me a bro hug and lets me slide in to sit between him and Nico.
I say hi to everyone else at the table, pretending to ignore Nico, even when he wraps his arms around me and bites my earlobe while Shane takes pictures with his phone.
Even when he puts one leg up on my lap and messes up my hair.
“You love me, you dick,” he says, finally giving me a shove. “Don’t try to hide it.”
I hold my hand out to shake his. “Hi, I’m Alex Vega. I love your work. ‘Your Body is a Wonderland’ is one of my favorite songs.” I can’t even say it with a straight face, but anytime I can get a John Mayer dig in, I go for it.
He smacks my hand away. “Asshole.”
“God dammit, you both smell amazing.” Nico’s sister/Shane’s wife is a perfumer who custom designs scents for them.
I nearly choked to death from all the Axe body spray and overpowering cologne and perfume when I walked through this club, but these guys are literally a breath of fresh air.
“I’ve missed you guys.” I put my arms around their shoulders.
“We’re leaving in like five minutes,” Shane says apologetically. “I promised Willa I’d pick up matzo ball soup from Canter’s on the way home.”
“And I promised Kat I wouldn’t stay here past ten because I don’t want to.”
“I knew it.” I shake my head. It’s barely ten o’clock. “I should have come earlier. But I didn’t want to.”
“Par-tayyyyy!” Shane flashes the sign of the horns with his hands, and then we all show each other the latest pictures of our kids like total badasses.
“Ryder with Nova tonight?” Nico asks.
“Yeah.” I don’t need to get into why I haven’t seen my son in over a week. They were never big fans of Nova’s, even back when I was madly in love with her.
“Let me guess,” Shane says, reading my face like a creepy face reader. “She’s been feeling down lately and asked to keep him at her place because he cheers her up.”
“You’re not an actual wizard, okay? You can’t read minds.”
“No.” He blinks at me, empathetically reaching for my hand. “But I can read hearts.”
I snatch my hand away. “You’re both assholes.
Yes, that is basically why I don’t have him this week.
She hasn’t booked any dance gigs in a while.
I miss Ryder, but it’s better for everyone if she’s not depressed.
And don’t tell me it’s too much responsibility to put on Ryder, because it was his idea. ”
“Okay,” Shane says, patting my knee and obviously thinking it. “I won’t tell you that, then.”
“Let’s talk about your sad love life instead.” Nico smirks. “You still seeing that goth makeup artist?”
“She went to one goth night thing one time, and no. I finally introduced her to Ryder, and it…wasn’t a good match. Haven’t seen her in months.”
“So you want us to be your lazy wingmen?”
“No, I do not.”
“Let’s be lazy wingmen,” Shane says, ignoring me.
They both lean back, cross their arms, and do the annoying comedy bit that they’ve been subjecting me to ever since they both became smug married people.
Surveying the all-you-can-eat buffet of totally inappropriate female clubgoers before us, Nico raises his chin at an orange-tinted busty young lady who’s currently taking a selfie about twenty feet away.
“How about this guy? You two probably have a lot in common,” he mutters, pointing his thumb in my direction while looking at his phone.
She can’t see or hear him, and that’s the point.
Hilarious, right?
“She looks nice.” Shane nods in the direction of about ten women. “Hey,” he mumbles into his glass of seltzer water. “This guy’s great. You should bone him.”