Merle smiled. “So did you decide about joining us for drinks?”
Ru sighed very softly. “Sure, why the hell not?”
Ru stepped into the bar and glanced around the crowded tables. He’d gone home to get a touch clubbier and currently sported tight black slacks, the pink-polka-dot-and-black shirt he’d tailored himself, and, of course, his bow tie. Black jet earrings in each ear and a dab of eyeliner completed the portrait of fashionable gay boy on the town—a picture he’d carefully crafted over the last eight years.
A hand waved from the back of the club, and Ru started toward it. Three of the cast members—Merle, Beverly, and Phillip—plus Artie gathered at a table with pitchers of beer and bowls of snacks. Tilda must still be working on her Stanislavsky method. Merle waved him forward and pushed back a chair next to him. “Hey, Ru. Don’t you look adorable?”
Ru grinned. Apparently being a teenybopper heartthrob TV star didn’t keep Merle from advertising his homosexual status. “Thank you. You look edible yourself, darling.” Too true. He’d donned jeans so tight they should have prevented sitting, much less drinking, and a blue sweater that skimmed a boyishly lean but beautifully muscled body and screamed, “Look at these eyes.”
Merle gave him a melting look.
Artie nodded, probably trying to throw a little water on the gay mating ritual. “Glad you could join us, Ru. We were just talking about getting some food. Where’s a good place?”
“I like Rick’s. It’s about two blocks from here. It’s really popular, though, so I don’t know if we can get in.”
“Want to give it a try? All they’ve got here are burgers and fries. I’ve had enough of those this week.”
“Sure.” He stood before the seat even got warm and led them out the door, up the Pacific Coast Highway to the popular restaurant. It was still early, so the line only stretched to the sidewalk, not all the way in front of the patio as it would later. Ru slipped between the bodies, up to the hostess in her black slacks and white shirt. “Hey, dear.”
“Ru, sweetheart. How are you?”
“I have a few VIPs with me. A big Hollywood director and three actors. Any chance we can get in—?”
“Holy shit.” She looked past Ru. Her lips opened and stayed open. Ru slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. Whatever was back there would surely turn him to a pillar of fucking salt. Yep. Ru stared first at a collar button, then up into the storm-tinted eyes of Gray Anson.
The hostess collected herself. “Yes, of course. I’m sure we can find a spot for Mr. Anson and his party. Why didn’t you say so, silly?”
“No, I mean—”
Gray smiled and time stood still. “Thank you so much. I actually think there are nine of us. Is there any way to put tables together? I know it’s a terrible inconvenience.”
She giggled. “Yes, yes, of course.”
People behind Gray didn’t even complain. They just stared and scooted a little closer to his glittering aura. Three people who’d just been seated on the patio got booted from their table with hearty apologies and attempts to accommodate them indoors, while tables scooted loudly and chairs got moved.
Ru looked up at Gray. “Don’t you feel bad?”
For a second the shiny face dulled a little. “Yeah.” Then the Gray mask fell back into place. “But I feel more hungry.”
“Do you really want all of us with you?”
Gray tilted his head and gazed at Ru. “Yes. Very much.”
Before his cock could take off for unknown territory, Ru scooted back through the line and gathered up Artie, Merle, Beverly, and Phillip. “You may have noticed, Gray showed up, so they’re moving heaven and earth to seat all of us.”
Artie grinned. “Shameless, but I’ll take it.”
Merle didn’t look quite so happy.
By the time they apologized their way to the front of the line, Gray, Penelope, and Benson were seated. Their group filled in the remaining spaces, which put Artie at the head of the table, Phillip and Beverly with their backs to the sidewalk, Merle next to Artie, and at the last second, Gray moved Penelope’s purse from the seat next to him and offered it with a nod—to Ru. Jesus, forget about eating. His erect cock would take the place of his fork.
Be casual, for God’s sake. “What happened to Chris?”
Gray glanced behind him with a nod. Chris sat at a two-person table near the wall, facing the door, looking big, mean, and vigilant.
Ru shook his head. “It’s hard knowing people are out to get you all the time.”
Silence.
What? What did I say? He looked up at Gray, who gazed at him with a quizzical smile. “Sorry, I mean, I bet it’s hard. Must be très weird never feeling completely alone or safe.”
“Yes, it’s very weird.”
The waiter showed up, clearly ready to either have a heart attack or post his entire life story on Facebook. He took orders all around and delivered two bottles of champagne that Gray ordered.
As he sipped bubbly, Ru looked past Gray at the beautiful Penelope. “Did you enjoy the rehearsal?”
Cool and elegant. Man, she oozed money. “Yes, although I didn’t get to see Gray do any real acting yet. I’m looking forward to that.”
A flash of something strained passed over Gray’s face. “We’ll get to the ‘to be or not to be’s’ soon enough.”
Penelope looked toward Beverly, who was chatting with Phillip. “Miss Howard, I’m a great admirer of your work.”
Beverly, one glass of wine past her limit, flushed. “I’m honored. Thank you.”
Penelope turned her cool gaze on Merle. “My sister is a huge fan of yours, Mr. Justice. Your posters litter her walls.”
“Litter may be the appropriate fate for those posters, but I’m glad she likes them.” Merle cracked his cute grin.
“I thought perhaps you and the lovely Ophelia were an item.” She smiled. “Though it would break my sister’s heart.”
He laughed. “She might be more heartbroken to learn I don’t prefer women at all, but then she probably knows it. Most of my fans do.”
She raised a golden eyebrow. “Really. Have we progressed to the point that heartthrobs can come out of the closet?”
“Some can. I was never in the closet, so people who hate fags hate me. Just that simple. It makes life less complicated—although also less profitable. There are roles I don’t get offered because the producers don’t want to lose the homo-hating audience.”
“How inspiring of you, nonetheless. And you, Mr. Maitland—”
Ru’s brain snapped back from its dwelling place on his thigh that absorbed the heat from Gray’s leg. “Me?” He quickly rewound the conversation. “I’m a fashion designer, dear. Being gay adds to my mystique and credibility.”
She laughed. “I meant to say that I’m also an admirer of yours, and yes, you have a great deal of mystique and credibility.”
He about swallowed his tongue and fanned his face to cover it. “Oh my, how could one of the world’s best-dressed women know about little me?”
“Shaz styles me.”
“He does? That devil must be keeping you all to himself.”