Sunday, March 10, 2024
🎬🎭Oscar Night 2024🎭🎬
Summary:
A Nick Williams Mystery #14
Friday, July 8, 1955
Ben White, a movie producer working on Nick's dime, is ready to show off what he's been up to, so Nick and Carter head to Hollywood to see what there is to see and, to be polite, it stinks.
Ben's director has an idea and he says it's gonna make Nick even richer than he already is.
But, before they can start the cameras rolling, leading man William Fraser is found murdered at the lavish Beverly Hills mansion of seductive silent screen star Juan Zane. Carlo Martinelli, Ben's lover, is arrested and charged with murder even though everyone in town knows he's innocent, including the District Attorney.
Meanwhile, the Beverly Hills Police Chief makes sure that Nick knows that his kind of help isn't wanted in the posh village, home to some of Hollywood's most famous stars. The chief is running a good, clean, wholesome town, after all.
From Muscle Beach to Mulholland Drive, Nick and Carter begin to piece together the clues that point to who did it and why. Somehow they manage to do so in the sweltering heat and noxious smog of the Southland.
In the end, however, will anyone be brought to justice? It's Hollywood, so you'll have to wait for the final reel to find out.
Gotta start by saying this is the first of Frank W Butterfield's full-length novels I've read in the world of Nick Williams and Carter Jones. As a series-read-in-order kind of gal it's unusual for me to start in the middle. I was looking for recs that had a Hollywood/acting theme as Oscar season had arrived and The Pitiful Player came to my attention. I knew starting the middle would normally throw me for a loop but I also knew(or suspected to be more accurate), having read Butterfield's Nick & Carter Holiday short story series there probably wasn't too many side characters that I wouldn't recognize and that for the most part it sounded like these mysteries were standalones.
In I jumped . . . what a glorious splash landing it was.
I won't talk about the mystery part so I don't spoil it for anyone but I loved it, I loved the intricacies, the twists and turns that Nick and Carter found in their quest to free their friend. Sometimes it seemed like every time a question was answered it only led to more questions but eventually everything works itself out with the aid of N&C and their merry band of ever-growing employees and friends.
I'm afraid my knowledge of the LA landscape comes from what I see in films/tv shows so I can't speak to the accuracy of said setting but I can't help but think Butterfield got it pretty spot on considering how awesome his attention to detail was in the N&C Holiday shorts. I do know that the inclusion of real Hollywood actors helped to pull me into the story, to make me feel like a customer at the Brown Derby or Joe's Diner witnessing everything firsthand.
A couple of examples that stood out, that made me stop reading for a second to appreciate the author's efforts:
1. William Hopper at the fundraising event. I'm guessing not too many people realized that Bill Hopper, aka Paul Drake from TVs Perry Mason, was the son of Hedda Hopper. I'll admit I didn't know it until about 10 years ago when I thought I saw him in a bit part of an old movie I was watching and looked it up on Wikipedia. Such a tiny blip in this great story and yet for me it went a long ways to express the respect of the era the author has.
2. The speech Nick gave at above mentioned fundraising event for polio research and vaccine. Nick speaks of a cop's daughter he met not needing an iron lung but still dealing with the disease and probably will for years to come. My grandmother had polio when she was younger but also did not need the iron lung. I think too many people don't understand there were other ways polio hit and just how important the vaccine was. Butterfield including this again spoke volumes to me, such a small point in terms of wordage and pages but a huge point in establishing the era.
Now that those points have been made, I'm going to close out my review by saying even when the time comes and I've read all 32 entries as well as a few others in the Nick and Carter universe, the couple and their found families will never get old, will never fail to entertain. They are just so likeable and loveable you just can't help but gravitate towards them.
Summary:
Winter Magic #2
What happens when a player gets played?
Actor Dylan Frasier is known as one of the biggest playboys in Hollywood, infamous for seducing men and women alike. He’s also half in love with his two best friends. Unfortunately, Jason and Ben are madly in love with each other, leaving Dylan the odd man out. When Ben suggests an extended Christmas vacation at a resort modeled after his favorite 80s TV show, Dylan reluctantly agrees. Sure, his heart breaks a bit every time he sees them together, but it’s a vacation in the Bahamas. How bad can it be?
At first, the resort seems like any other. Dylan plans to work on his tan, get laid, and hunt for Hollywood’s most in-demand director – not necessarily in that order. Then he meets Connor, a tennis instructor still hurting from a bad breakup. Connor knows Dylan’s reputation and refuses to be seduced. Dylan sees Connor as just another conquest, but this tropical island isn’t as mundane as it appears. It has its own kind of magic, and it’s about to make things interesting.
Original Review July 2023:
I wanted to read Winter Dreams last Christmas but time had other plans so what better time than Xmas in July to sink my teeth in?😉
Is Dreams as good as the first one, Winter Oranges? No but let's be honest, how many sequels/follow-ups in any form of entertainment is as good? Very few. So I was okay with Dreams not grabbing me quite as tightly as Oranges because it is still a brilliant read. We got to catch up with Jason and Ben and Dylan gets to discover a little winter magic of his own.
Fantasy Island. Awesome scenario for this magical holiday series. I always loved the show when I was a kid, don't recall watching it when it was on primetime but in reruns in the afternoons. So fun. Watching Dylan navigate his not-quite-believing despite what he witnessed with Ben and the snowglobe two years earlier makes for some interesting moments as well as provides me with the urge to smack him one or two times(okay maybe it's in the low double digit area but you get the idea😉). Connor may speak to my more Mama Bear hugs side but he's not without his moments of getting a light smack or two as well.
As equal parts heartbreaking and heartwarming, Dylan and Connor's journey is entertaining, memorable, and worthy of Marie Sexton's Winter Magic moniker. I think it was the friendships that spoke to me the most. Yes, I was rooting for the pair from the minute they met but watching the friendship form first was a nice twist. I say "twist" because we all know that Dylan is not a commitment type of guy so seeing the flirting grow into more was quite lovely.
But it isn't just the budding friendship between our two MCs but also between Dylan, Jason, and Ben. Is Jason a bit too hard or snarky with Dylan at times in reference to his non-commitment history and habits? Sure, but I think if he wasn't Dylan would think something was wrong and that it's just their way because let's face it, Dylan isn't exactly snarky-less toward Jason either.
As for Dylan and Ben, well through Dylan's inner monologues we know he believes himself to be in love with Ben and wonders what would have been had he met the young man first but we also know he understands the boundaries which to me is the first sign that maybe Dylan is finally ready for a change, even if he doesn't see himself. Ben is a very unique gentlemen and it's because of his importance to Dylan that I highly recommend reading Winter Oranges first.
I feel like I've been a bit vague in places but I don't want to spoil anything about Dylan and Connor's story nor do I want to risk spoiling Jason and Ben's story for those who haven't read Winter Oranges. Just know that Winter Dreams, Winter Magic(currently a duology as I have no idea whether the author has plans to expand) really is just that: magical. it is what the holidays are all about: friends, happiness, love, and plenty of heart all wrapped up with a magical infused bow.
Script by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Summary:LA Storm #1
Hollywood A-lister Finn might be Canadian, but he needs Cameron to show him how to hockey.
Actor Finn Kerrigan is at a crossroads. After growing up a soap star, then starring in a hugely successful trilogy of action movies, he's finally given the chance to read a heartfelt and passionate script that could change his life forever. The role would be enough for people to see him as a serious actor, and maybe even win him an award or two (and no, a golden raspberry award for his action movies doesn't count). Once established as a serious actor he’s sure he can come out of the closet and finally live his truth. When he lies to get the part of a hockey player on a struggling team, he suddenly has nowhere to hide. He might be Canadian, but the last time he skated he was ten, and no, he doesn't have hockey in his blood. With only a month until filming starts, he about to be exposed, but partnered with a player who’s supposed to be giving him tips, he doesn’t realize how many of his secrets will come to light. Falling in lust, one heated kiss at a time, is inevitable, but giving Cameron up at the end of the shoot could break his heart.
Cameron Chavkin is the face of the LA Storm. And the body, and the hair, and the smile. He’s at the prime of his career, men and women want to be with him, and he’s skating better than he ever has before. His house sits next to a famous rock star's mansion, his garage is filled with expensive cars, and he’s even been asked to mentor a once-famous actor in a new hockey movie. Life is pretty sweet. Until the bad boy of hockey meets Finn, a man on the edge with more secrets than Cameron has endorsements. Knowing better than to get involved, Cameron is swept up despite himself, and when it's time to say goodbye to the Storm’s most eligible bachelor is finding it hard to follow the script.
Original Review August 2023:
I'm not Canadian(though my Irish ancestors did settle there for a time before coming to America but no Canadian blood in my veins) but I am from Wisconsin, the frozen tundra, perhaps we're more of a football state than hockey but as I live so close to the WI/MN border and only get MN sports coverage, hockey is everywhere. Never been a hockey fan, don't hate it just never piqued my interest so I get the way Finn feels when he talks about hockey should be in his blood but not really flowing😉.
Truth is: again like Finn, I don't skate, haven't had a pair of ice skates on since 6th grade and the last winter our elementary school made an ice rink in a huge dug out hole for recess. So I completely get Finn's need for assistance as well as the pains(and the hoorays when succeeding) he feels trying to just master standing😉.
I want to wrap Finn so tight in a bone-crushing Mama Bear Hug to let him know that everything will work out, that his fans will accept his true self but in truth not everyone will. In fiction so many things work out in HEA, which is a great thing because we all need HEAs to brighten our days and to give us hope, but sometimes that makes the hate in the real world uglier. Hate may not be in the majority but there are times when it seems to have the louder voice. So again I understand Finn's reluctance to be open about who he is and what is driving him to master this upcoming role because it's more than just what it can do for his career it's about what it can do for him as a member of the LGBTQ community. I definitely teared up more than once during Finn's part of Script.
Okay, that got a little maudlin and preachy, I apologize for that. Don't let my above sentiment bring you down or steer you away from this first entry in Scott & Locey's new LA Storm series. Despite my emotional thoughts on Finn, Script is very fun, very entertaining, very dramedy bordering on rom-comy at times, and oh so very Scott & Locey.
I'll briefly mention Cameron(and it really will be brief unlike previous points), he is a player who is dealt the blow that no athlete or fan wants and yet 150% find themselves in at some point in their career/life. Falling short of that brass ring or silver trophy as in this case. Not everyone can win, somebody has to lose it's just the name of the game, if you can't accept that then you are in the wrong profession/fangirling-or-guying. Cameron understands that, doesn't mean he likes it but it's part of being in that life. Let's face it Finn couldn't have chosen a more perfect athlete to seek out for lessons in the art of hockey, skating, and losing considering the role he's training for.
On the ice and off, Finn and Cameron are a wonderfully matched pair and I can't think of a scenario for a more powerful chemistry-fueled start to this newest Scott/Locey Hockey Universe series. Spot on, Ladies, SPOT ON!
Was I ready to say goodbye(at least as a front and center team) to the Boston Rebels? No. But then I wasn't ready to move away from the Raptors when Rebels started, Owatonna when Raptors came, and certainly not the Railers when Owatonna began. As the Railers are the cornerstone of the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe we still get the occasional holiday/lifetime milestone novella though. Truth is we never really say goodbye to any of the players in the authors' universe as it's the same league and returning favorites tend to pop up here and there. And when LA Storm ends and a new team emerges, I'll be sad to say goodbye to them as well, but when you're a sports fan there is always the sadness of the offseason which is kinda what going from one team series to the next feels like, one ends but a new fresh start begins and the adrenaline rush of a clean slate is wildly addictive and seductive.
I don't know just how many stories the Scott/Locey Hockey Universe has to tell but long as they keep creating them, I'll keep reading them. Not too bad for a not-really-a-hockey-kind-of-gal, guess loving these stories despite of my non-fanness speaks more volume to the greatness of these stories more than anything I've said above. Keep 'em coming, ladies, KEEP 'EM COMING!!!
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse by Charlie Cochrane
Summary:An Alasdair and Toby and Cambridge Fellows Mystery #1
Alasdair and Toby Investigations #3
Cambridge Fellows Mysteries
Alasdair Hamilton and Toby Bowe are the darlings of post-war British cinema, playing Holmes and Watson onscreen and off. When they’re called on to portray their fellow amateur detectives—Orlando Coppersmith and Jonty Stewart—not only do they find distinct challenges in depicting real people, they also become embroiled in solving a century-old murder.
How did a body lie undiscovered so long in the Stewart family vaults, who’s been covering up the murder ever since and why was the victim killed in the first place?
Original Review April 2023:
Again, I can't believe it took me nearly 7 months to read The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse especially since it involves one of my all-time favorite mystery solving duos, Jonty Smith and Orlando Coppersmith, and another of Charlie Cochrane's amateur detecting duos that is definitely climbing higher and higher on the same list, Toby Bowe and Alasdair Hamilton. Can only lay it down to my slowly returning reading mojo that took a hit during the pandemic. After catching up on the most recent adventures in their individual series I couldn't not jump in and boy am I glad I did!
I'll be honest, the first time I was introduced to Alasdair and Toby wayback when in The Case of the Overprotective Ass(originally appearing in the author's Home Fires Burning duet which I read in 2015) I never imagined they would get to play Jonty and Orlando onscreen(in the book but oh wouldn't it be wonderful if it was really on our screens?) but now that she has combined the two and that is exactly what A&T are preparing to do, it seems such an obvious crossover. Hindsight, right?😉 I've read many stories where authors have linked some of their series together, in both small and huge ways, and though Undiscovered Corpse may not be the most original it is definitely one of the most satisfying.
When the pairs meet to discuss personal idiosyncrasies that should be included but also left out, i.e. the subtle and not so subtle looks of longing A&T often sneak into their portrayals of Holmes and Watson that somehow go unnoticed to many but not the knowing and watchful eye of J&O, discussion turns to the undiscovered corpse found in the Stewart vault in 1914. Unable to let that delicious morsal go the four men are off and running. Obviously trying to discover the truth from nearly 40 years prior, especially considering the poor Drayton had been lying their unnoticed for decades already, is not going to be easy.
What great mystery is easily solved? Let's face it, if it's easily solved than it probably doesn't deserve the "great" moniker.
So as you are well aware I won't spoil anything which means no details of the mystery will be found here. Will the foursome find anything definitive? Unlikely but perhaps. The fun for me is in the hunt and they definitely do a lot of hunting. I will say that for some, Undiscovered Corpse may be confusing or a convolution of too many possibilities but for me it's the many possibles and the chemistry between our four MCs that makes for such high level fun.
The above mentioned chemistry is highlighted in the bouncing of ideas off each other but it's also a growing friendship. A&T more than once ponder if they will ever be able to live as J&O but as they are in the public eye it seems a very far in the future possibility but you know it gives them hope when they see what the older pair have carved out for themselves. It's this very generational "gap"(for lack of a better term) that leaves historical in the LGBTQ genre appealing to me. I love history anyway but in LGBTQ stories it reminds us just how far society has come, we have a long way to go acceptance and equality wise but it makes me appreciate where we as humans are and heightens the hope that one day loving who we wish will never be questioned or looked down on.
My above statement is further proof that as always, Charlie Cochrane respects the past with the nitty, gritty, and her own brand of witty details of yesteryear(on multiple fronts) but those details never appear as a school lesson, The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse is cozy, entertaining fun of the highest variety.
For those wondering about reading the individual series, Cambridge Fellows Mysteries and Alasdair & Toby Investigations, prior to Undiscovered Corpse? You don't. As a series-read-in-order kind of gal, I can't imagine not having read them but it is not at all necessary. The chemistry between our two couples is never in doubt, minor mentions of previous cases pepper throughout but don't play a part in the investigations. I will warn you though, if you are unfamiliar with either or both the established series, your taste will be piqued and want to devour all their great cases. You won't be sorry, they are all brilliantly delightful, which is an odd description for murder and mayhem but no less truthful. As they say in one of my favorite shows(completely different genre but no less accurate): This is the way.😉
Ellery Mountain #3
Jason is hiding out in Ellery, grief-stricken and unable to trust anyone, until Kieran shows him it’s okay to let go.
Desperate to escape the relentless pursuit of paparazzi following his brother's death, actor Jason seeks refuge in the familiar embrace of his home town of Ellery. All he wants is peace and to find anonymity within the secluded tourist cabins of Ellery Mountain during its off-season, craving a respite from the unrelenting scrutiny of the outside world.
Enter Kieran, a determined man who knows precisely what he wants: the captivating actor Jason, tied up, surrendering to his desires, and pleading for more. Their passionate encounters quickly turn to love but scarred by his past and burdened by the fear of betrayal, Jason panics. Even in each other's arms, Jason can’t find the trust he needs, and all too soon it’s time for him to leave. Unless Kieran can get him to stay.
Re-Read Review May 2017:
Kieran the carpenter and Jason the actor meet when Jason wants quiet but as Kieran falls into a category that I would say is upbeat talker, you expect them to be at odds but that could not be further from the truth. Once again, the connection is immediate but definitely powerful but whether it has staying power is something you need to read for yourself. I know that instant attraction stories are not for everyone but RJ Scott does them so beautifully, you can't help but fall in love too.
Original Overall Series Review July 2015:
What starts out as three friends weekly get-togethers we discover how lives can intertwine over time in very unexpected scenarios that can actually create a pretty good life, community, and family. Each book in this series centers on a different couple and because of that, strictly speaking each story is a standalone but in my opinion you really should read this one in order because one half of the couple had either a cameo or was mentioned in passing in the previous book. Also, each of the previous couples have at least a partial scene in the following installments. For these reasons I'm doing an overall review as opposed to each book having their own write up. Ellery Mountain has loads of drama, interesting and intriguing characters both main and secondary, hints of mystery, and of course plenty of romance, not to mention what would an RJ Scott story be without some well placed hotness. So come along with the Ellery Mountain Fridays and see what life has in store for them.
Re-Read Series #1-3 Review May 2017:
The relationships found in Ellery have the potential to be lifelong and everlasting, which isn't surprising since this is a romance series. But as it is so often in life, the end result is not the only place where we find happiness, it is in the journey. The boys of Ellery Mountain find love and happiness with their significant other but they also find friendships, family, and most of all a place they are proud to call home. The installments of this series may fall into more of a novella length but they are jam packed with enough emotions to fill a library with drama, love, touch of mystery, and just the right amount of heat. You will not regret giving the population of Ellery a chance and for me personally I will be re-reading this series for years to come. I do recommend reading them in order as the friendships appear throughout and are a huge part of the story, each book may focus on a separate relationship but because the friendships are throughout it flows better in my opinion when read in order but technically they are each standalones.
The Pitiful Player by Frank W Butterfield
Chapter 1
1198 Sacramento Street
San Francisco, Cal.
Friday, July 8, 1955
Half past 7 in the morning
I stood up from the kitchen table and said, "No."
Carter stood and said, "Excuse us, everyone. We're gonna move this argument into the other room."
We'd been having breakfast in the kitchen with Mrs. Strakova, our wonderful cook, Mrs. Kopek, her friend and our housekeeper, and Ferdinand, our gardener and ersatz chauffeur. The other three kids who worked for us had already left the table.
I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Strakova, for another delicious meal." With that, I turned on my heel and made my way through the dining room and into the great room.
As I did, I heard Carter say, "Yes, thank you."
Mrs. Strakova replied, "You are very welcome, Mr. Carter."
As I stood in the great room, looking at the roaring fire that Carter had built while we were waiting for breakfast, I sighed audibly. I was, to put it mildly, sick and tired of having the same conversation over and over again.
Right then, I heard Carter say, "What is the problem, Nick?"
I shook my head and made my way for the stairs. As I made my way up, I could hear him following me. At the top of the stairs, I sped up, passing the two bedrooms on either side of the hallway, and breaking into a trot before banging open the door to our bedroom. I discovered a startled Gustav, our butler and valet, who was putting away the laundry he'd picked up the day before from down on Clay Street.
He looked at me from where he was standing in front of the bureau. "I am sorry, Mr. Nick," he said apologetically.
I slammed the bedroom door behind me and leaned against it. "Don't apologize, Gustav," I said with a sharpness to my voice that he didn't deserve.
"Is this about—"
"Yes."
He smiled wanly and said, "I agree with you."
As Carter knocked on the door behind me and started fiddling with the doorknob, I said, "That's fine, Gustav, but no one asked you." As soon as the words came out of my mouth, I instantly regretted it. I said, "I'm sorry."
He shrugged. "That is fine, Mr. Nick. Shall I come back again to finish?"
"Go ahead and finish. I'm not letting him in." As I said that, Carter banged a little louder on the thick oak door.
Gustav raised his eyebrows for a moment and then turned to finish unfolding and refolding the clothes he was putting away. He had a very specific way that he liked to fold our BVDs and socks. He'd stopped trying to get the laundry to follow his instructions and, instead, had decided he would just have to do it on his own each time the clothes came back.
"Nick." That was Carter. "Let me in."
"You said I was stubborn and you're right. I've already told you. It's not gonna happen." I leaned against the door and kicked off my shoes.
Gustav looked down at my stocking feet with a question on his face.
In a whisper, I said, "Makes it easier to get traction on the rug. My shoes will slip. I may need your help." I wasn't really serious but I wouldn't have turned him down if he offered. Carter banged again.
"No, Mr. Nick. I must not get involved. We all have our little fights, now and then."
I grinned but was also tempted to walk over and knock his block off for quoting me back to me. However, right at that moment, I was too busy trying to figure out which piece of furniture would be heavy enough to keep my very tall, muscular, ex-fireman of a husband from getting in the door. I knew that I had little chance of keeping him out. But I wasn't going down without a fight.
"Nick, I'm gonna start pushing my way in, son. You better get ready."
"I don't care, fireman. You don't scare me." I hoped that by saying those words, usually reserved for our romps in the hay, that I might defuse the tension.
"Look, Nick," said Carter from behind the door. "I have a meeting at 10. We need to get to work. And I don't want to have this argument again."
"If you don't wanna have this argument again, then you should stop asking me about it."
Carter sighed. "But I refuse to believe that you're gonna keep refusing me what I want." He was playing dirty. That was talk straight from our bed. I tried to get mad about it but realized I'd just done the same thing.
"Gustav is in here, fireman."
"Are you gonna stay in there with him and leave me out here, all alone?"
Gustav looked at me with a grin on his face.
I couldn't help but laugh. I stepped away from the door. As I did, Carter opened it. I bent over to pick up my shoes and should have known better because I left myself wide open. Carter took advantage of the situation and gave me a hard swat on my ass. I stood up and turned on him. "What was that for?"
"For being an ass about all of this." He looked down at me with half a smile.
For some reason, I could feel the tension come back. I nodded, walked over to the bench by the bed, and began to put my shoes on.
"What are you doing?" asked Carter.
"What does it look like I'm doing?"
"I know what you're doing. Why do you need to do it?"
"Because these are new and the soles are still too slick."
"Too slick for what?"
Finished, I stood and said, "For getting traction to keep that door closed."
Carter folded his arms. "You thought you were going to be able to keep me out?"
Gustav, who didn't appear to be finished, made a beeline for the door. Without saying anything, he slipped out and pulled the door closed behind him.
I nodded, putting my stone face on. "I did."
"Don't try that look with me, Nicholas Williams."
I melted a little, like I always did when he used my full name. But I wasn't ready to give in. Not yet. "Or what?"
"You know."
That tension was back. And it was riding on the back of unreasonableness. "Look, Carter. Cut the crap."
He rolled his eyes. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
I took a deep breath and thought about his perfectly reasonable question. After a moment, coming up with nothing, I replied honestly. "I don't know."
"Well, I wish you would either tell me what is bothering you about all of this or just get mad and try to slug me or something." His voice cracked at the end.
I blinked several times, trying to keep the tears from getting out. "I dunno. Really, Carter, I don't."
Carter, whose face had been contorted in a frown, appeared to relax. He sighed. "You've been through a lot this year—"
I exploded. "And so the hell have you! So what? Why do you keep saying that? Yes, this has been a tough six months." I waved my hands in the air. "Seven months. However long it's been, it's been tough. But it's over." I brought my voice down. "Can't you see that it's over? Life is back to normal. Why do you have to keep bringing all of that up, over and over again?" I knew I was losing it, but I had a point and I wanted to make it. "Maybe, just maybe, if we stopped talking about it and just got back to living our lives, then it would go away." I plopped down on the bench and looked out the window. "It is fucking cold as fuck in this goddam house. Why the hell do we have all the goddam windows fucking open?"
Suddenly, I couldn't stand the house any more. I wanted out of our gilded cage. I was sick of dealing with all our staff and running the business. I just wanted out.
I looked at Carter for a long moment, wondering if he understood. He just stared at me as if he did but didn't know how to reply. Not knowing what else to do, I stood up, grabbed the shoe box by the wall, and pitched it against the mirror over the bureau. It shattered into several long pieces of glass and made quite a racket. I stood there, not quite sure how to respond to my own violence, and felt really, really cold.
Carter walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder behind my neck. He ran one finger up and down my spine. It felt soothing in a way I hadn't felt in a while. I thought I was going to cry, but the tears didn't come.
There was a loud knock on the door. "Mr. Nick? Are you OK?" It was Mrs. Kopek.
Carter replied, "We're fine, Mrs. Kopek. We need some time alone."
"Yes, Mr. Carter."
I could hear her walk away down the hall. Whispered voices spoke in Czech and then faded as whoever was there made their way downstairs.
Carter grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me towards him. He looked down at me for a long moment. His eyes were red but no tears came for him either. I wondered if we were just both cried out.
He pulled me over to the bench. We both sat and he put his arm around me. We sat there for a long time. Finally, he stood and walked over to the side of the bed. He picked up the phone and dialed a number. After a moment, he said, "Marnie?" There was a brief pause. "Fine. Look, neither of us are coming in today. I have a meeting at 10. Burgess can take care of it. And, whatever is on Nick's calendar, just move it around or do whatever you have to do." There was a long pause. "We're fine. We just need to find some warm weather, that's all. Now, can you get Robert on the line for me?"
Winter Dreams by Marie Sexton
Chapter 1
They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result. It must be true. God knows it could only be insanity that made me agree to this vacation. Why else would I spend the next thirty-one days with Jason and Ben knowing it’ll result in nothing but heartache? I love them both so much it hurts. Watching them together is like feeling my heart slowly shatter over and over again, and yet I can’t stand to stay away from them either.
So here I am, on an airplane with them two days after Thanksgiving, bound for a tropical resort, Christmas be damned. We’d debated flying first class, but we were already spending a fair amount on this month-long vacation, so we settled for business class instead. Still not enough leg room for my six-foot-one body, but the drinks are free, so I’m not complaining.
“I’m so excited,” Ben says. “Can you believe we’re actually going to Fantasy Island?” He’s sitting between Jason and I on the airplane, having volunteered for the middle seat. Even now, almost two years after his miraculous appearance in Jason’s life, Ben comes across all innocence and bright-eyed enthusiasm. He’d sent off for a paper brochure from the resort because he said reading it on his phone was “dumb.” Watching him flip through it, I wonder if he’ll ever become as jaded as the rest of us.
I hope not.
“They have nine restaurants,” Ben tells us as he studies the brochure. “Two golf courses, plus miniature golf. Oh my gosh, I love miniature golf! A bunch of tennis courts. That’s boring. Four pools, one with a swim-up bar. Dylan will like that. A lazy river. I love lazy rivers! A zipline course, and parasailing. I’m working up my nerve for those. Birdwatching and dolphin-watching cruises. We have to do both of those. Scuba diving. Nope, that’s way too scary. Snorkeling. That’s less scary. Kayaks and canoes, plus stand-up paddle surfing.” He frowns. “I don’t even know what that is. A full gym. Yuck. I’m not going there. And a full-service salon and spa.”
“Definitely going there,” I say. Although unlike Ben, I’ll have to spend a fair amount of time at the gym as well. My current role is a recurring part on the HBO series Lords of Dragon Beach, often described as Baywatch meets Sons of Anarchy. I’m thirty-one years old. My metabolism still keeps me thin, thank God, and given my tall, lanky frame, I’ll never have huge, bulging muscles like the rest of the Dragon Beach cast, no matter how many weights I lift. I aim for strong, wiry, and toned. My character, dubiously named Houston McCormick, is scripted for five of each season’s ten episodes, and somehow, the writers always find an excuse for me to be shirtless.
I’ve never been so aware of my abs.
Ben laughs and holds the brochure up for me to read. “Look, this line is right out of the TV show. ‘A place where all your fantasies come true.’”
“I still can’t believe they can call it Fantasy Island, if it was a TV show first,” I answer. “Isn’t that a copyright violation or something?”
Jason shrugs. He took the window seat, and he sits with his forehead against the pane. He hasn’t cut his hair in a while, and the sun shines through his dark blond waves and highlights the faint freckles across his nose. “Fantasy Island Vacation Resort. I assume it’s owned by the same company that made the show. MGM or whoever.”
“Columbia Pictures,” Ben says. When I turn to him in surprise, he shrugs. “What? It says it during the opening credits.”
Jason and I smile at each other over his head, like parents amused by their child.
Ben turns to me. “So, what’s your fantasy, Dylan?”
Doesn’t he know better than to ask me loaded questions?
“Being sandwiched between you and Scarlett Johansson—all of us naked, of course—in a giant bowl of lime Jell-o.”
Ben blushes, just like I knew he would. Jason calls him Snow White sometimes, and it’s an apt description. Ben has blue eyes, and hair even thicker and darker than mine, so black it reflects shades of purple. He’s not as pale as he used to be, but it’s still easy to see the heat rise up his cheeks.
I lean close enough to kiss him. I can’t help but think how sweet it would be to do just that. “You’re wondering if you’re in front of me or behind me in this fantasy, aren’t you?”
Ben grins and ducks his head. Jason turns away from the window long enough to glare at me. “Dylan’s fantasy is to fuck every single person on this island before the month is out.”
I laugh. “That’s not a fantasy, honey. That’s a prophecy waiting to be fulfilled.”
Jason rolls his eyes at me at and goes back to staring out the window. Annoyed, because I never change? Hurt, because of our shared past? Or simply bemused, because he and Ben have something I’ll never be privy to, and he knows it’s far better than what I have?
I wish I knew.
“I don’t understand the premise of this TV show anyway,” I say. “People could go to this island to live out their fantasies, and yet it wasn’t all porn?”
Ben’s stunned. “You haven’t seen it?”
“It went off the air years before I was born.”
“There’s a reboot,” Jason offers. “And Blumhouse made a movie.”
“Still haven’t seen it.”
“It’s all about being careful what you wish for,” Ben tells me. “Like one couple thought they wanted to go to a time and place with old-fashioned, traditional values, so Mr. Roarke sends them to this colonial village. They love it at first, but then they realize they’re in Salem, and the rules are super strict. They can’t even dance or play music. And then this little boy gets a fever, and the woman gives him an aspirin out of her purse, and she gets accused of witchcraft, so she has to run from the mob so they don’t burn her alive at the stake.”
“Jesus,” I say, shocked. “That’s not a fantasy. That’s a nightmare.”
“Mr. Roarke liked scaring the shit out of people,” Jason says. “It’s melodramatic, but it gets pretty dark at times, too.”
“That’s what I’m in for?” I ask. “Dark melodrama?”
Jason laughs. “Something like that.”
“You still haven’t given me a serious answer,” Ben says to me. “If this were really Fantasy Island, like on the TV show, what would your fantasy be?”
It’s a good question. Sometimes, I wish I’d realized how much I needed Jason before he’d stopped needing me, but to claim Jason for myself would have meant leaving Ben trapped in his magical prison forever. As much as I wish things had gone differently, I can’t look in Ben’s sweet, guileless face and wish him gone.
In all actuality, my fantasy would be to stop being myself and become either one of them, for the rest of my life. I’ve spent untold hours wondering which would be better—to be Ben, and have Jason’s undying devotion? Or to be Jason, and have Ben’s sweet, pure heart? Being either one of them would be a thousand times better than being me.
Jason speaks up before I can formulate another smartass answer in lieu of the truth.
“If this were really a place where somebody’s greatest dreams could come true,” Jason says, “Dylan’s would have nothing to do with sex and everything to do with his career.” He stares at me in that way he’s always had, with an expression that tells me he knows me front to back. I’m an old, ratty script he’s read a hundred times. He knows every line of dialog.
And every gaping plot hole, one of which he’s just remembered.
He narrows his eyes at me. “Four weeks at Fantasy Island, missing casting calls? Only if there’s something else to be gained.”
“The next season of Lords of Dragon Beach starts filming in January. I’m tired of being the palest guy on the set.”
“There’s no way you agreed to a whole month on this island just so you can work on your tan,” Jason says. “You could have done that in California.”
See? He could always see right through me.
Except when it had mattered the most.
“You’re right,” I admit. “I have an ulterior motive.” I pull out my phone and show them a picture. “This is who I’m looking for. I hear he likes to winter here. So if you see him, do me a favor and let me know.”
Ben eyes the picture, shock and disdain warring on his face. “Oh my gosh, Dylan. He’s twice your age. And…” He frowns and pats the air around his stomach, too sweet to say the word “fat.”
“Dylan’s not out to seduce him,” Jason explains. “Although I’m sure he’d be willing, if he thought it would help.”
“I don’t understand,” Ben says.
“That’s JP Frederick,” Jason tells him. “He’s one of the most in-demand directors in Hollywood right now.”
“Exactly,” I say, putting away my phone. “Rumor has it, he’s been asked to direct two Marvel films over the next six years.”
And Jason’s right. There’s nothing I won’t do to land a role in that universe. I’ll beg. I’ll bargain. I’ll suck his cock. I’ll let him fuck me every conceivable way, if that’s what it takes, although admittedly, I hope it doesn’t go that far. I never have learned to bottom with any kind of grace. With any luck, a few drinks and a round of golf will suffice.
“What about you?” I ask Ben. “If this is really Fantasy Island, then what’s your fantasy?”
“Oh, I don’t have one. I already got my biggest wish ever. I know better than to tempt fate.”
Jason elbows Ben and nods toward me. “Maybe you should wish for Scarecrow over there to grow a heart.”
Ben frowns at him. “You’re thinking of the Tin Man. Scarecrow needed a brain.”
Jason grins at me. “Dylan needs both.”
“Boy, you crack yourself up, don’t you?” I ask.
But to my surprise, Ben doesn’t laugh. “Dylan already has a heart and a brain,” he says to Jason. “What he needs is—”
“A clue?” Jason says.
“A drink,” I tell him, looking around for the flight attendant.
Ben scowls at us both. “Fine. Don’t listen to me.” He elbows me, harder than he needs to. “Let me out. I need to use the bathroom.”
I do as he says, letting him slip past me before reclaiming my seat. Jason’s gone back to staring out the window. “Hey, JayWalk.”
He smiles. I haven’t called him that in a while. “What?”
“Ben knows this isn’t really a magical island, right? I mean, it isn’t even all-inclusive.”
“Of course he knows it isn’t magical. You know Ben. He’s just…” He waves his hand, trying to find a word.
“Fanciful?” I offer. “Romantic?”
He smiles, his love for Ben written all over his face. “Adorable.”
And there it goes again, my heart shattering into a thousand little pieces.
The Commonwealth of the Bahamas is comprised of more than seven hundred islands, cays, and islets. One of these, roughly nine square miles in size, is our destination.
After a brief layover in Miami, we board a smaller plane and take to the skies again. I’m on my third drink by then and feeling damned good. Ben’s frowning at me. Jason doesn’t bother being annoyed.
We have to clear customs before leaving the airport. All three of us hold our breath when it’s Ben’s turn. His ID and passport are fake, but they’re the best money can buy—I should know, I’m the one who paid for them—and the customs agent barely bats an eye as she waves Ben through.
From the airport, we’re shuttled to a seaside dock. On the bright side, we get to surrender our luggage, with assurances it’ll be delivered to our rooms after we check in. I’m happy I don’t have to lug mine the rest of the way. Jason and Ben can tease me about having an extra-large suitcase, plus a garment bag, but I don’t expect them to understand. After all, Jason lives in jeans, T-shirts, and hoodies, but when it comes to fashion, I have higher standards. I prefer a more tailored, upscale look, and like it or not, that means luggage, and lots of it. I thought I did well packing only one garment bag instead of two, even though it means I’ll have to iron most of my shirts before I wear them.
We’re herded onto a small, enclosed water taxi that smells like sweat with an underlying taint of vomit. We find three empty seats and sit shoulder-to-shoulder with two dozen other travelers, all bound for Fantasy Island Vacation Resort. The sea’s bumpy, the boat cramped and stuffy. I’d much rather be on the deck, but it seems to be reserved for the crew and the few people who are already seasick.
“I hate to complain,” Ben says quietly, “but this isn’t feeling very magical right now.”
For Ben, who’s always cheerful no matter what, this simple statement borders on mutiny. “Hey,” Jason says, “even on the show, guests had to fly on that tiny little pontoon plane to get there, right?”
“True. But somehow, it seemed a lot more romantic.”
I want to touch his cheek. Maybe kiss him and promise him he’ll have plenty of romance this month. Mostly, I just want to see him smile again, but of course it’s not my place, and Jason’s already on it, whispering in Ben’s ear. Whatever he says makes Ben grin and shift in his seat, trying to hide an erection.
One more little crack in my heart.
We eventually dock and emerge from the water taxi. As soon as the sun hits his face, Ben’s lack of faith disappears and his smile returns.
“Oh my gosh. Jason, look!” He bounces on his toes in excitement, pointing. “It really does look like Fantasy Island.”
I’ve never seen the show, but based on Ben’s gushing, the resort has gone to great lengths to replicate the set of the old TV show. We disembark onto a dock, then through a thatched hut, although Ben assures me this one’s twice as big as Mr. Roarke’s. Ahead of us, the gates to Fantasy Island Vacation Resort loom. Women in red and white flowered dresses line the sidewalk along the way, offering trays of fruity drinks.
“What is it?” Ben asks as we each take one.
“A mango daiquiri,” the woman tells him.
“Oh, that sounds yummy.” He takes a sip, and his eyes go wide. “Oh my gosh, this is so good, isn’t it? I think this is my new favorite thing.”
Despite his enthusiasm, he won’t finish it. Sometimes I think his time in the globe messed with his metabolism. He eats like a horse, but never gains weight. He only sleeps about five hours a night, and he’s a serious lightweight when it comes to alcohol. Half a daiquiri will make him loopy. A full one will put him right to sleep.
Not to worry though. A double-shot, double-pump caramel latte will have him awake and ready to go again in no time.
We’re in no hurry to get inside. The weather’s a perfect seventy-six degrees, the sun warm on our faces. In addition to the hotel, there’s an elaborate garden and a sprawling white house, just like Mr. Roarke’s, according to Ben. The building’s utilitarian in nature, housing an urgent care and pharmacy in one half, and island security in the other, but that doesn’t diminish Ben’s excitement. He oohs and aahs, and I hold his drink while he takes a billion pictures with his phone. Thirty minutes later, we make it through the front door of the towering hotel, where it soon becomes clear the drinks are only to distract us from the enormous line for check-in. We opt to lounge in the boxy pink lobby chairs instead, biding our time until the line subsides.
Jason—known to most of the world as Jadon Walker Buttermore, or JayWalk to his fangirls—is in the middle of a career reboot. After our last movie together, which did well at the box office, for a horror “requel,” he landed a supporting role in a romantic comedy starring Jennifer Lopez. That led to a spot on Dancing with the Stars, where he was eliminated early, much to his relief. More recently and most importantly, he played the quirky sidekick in a Netflix treasure-hunting action movie that, last time I looked, had almost three hundred million views. He’s already signed for a sequel which begins shooting in February. I’ve never seen him so happy, but I know that has more to do with Ben than with his career.
I’m no JayWalk, but Dylan Thomas Frasier has his fangirls too. Or at least, Houston McCormick does. Between the two of us, we soon have a small line of people asking for autographs and taking pictures. Jason’s better at this than he used to be. In the past, he hated this kind of attention. Now, he takes it in stride, although he’s careful to keep Ben out of the limelight and is clearly relieved when the autograph session ends. I, on the other hand, soak it up. I sign anything anybody puts in front of me, including one woman’s cleavage. I take selfies with a dozen different people. I ask anybody who’s halfway attractive and appears single how long they’re staying. By the time the fans are gone, I’ve finished my drink. Ben nudges me and hands me the second half of his, squinting at me as if he can’t quite focus. As predicted, half a daiquiri, and I know it’s a good thing he’s sitting down, or he’d be swaying on his feet.
“You okay?” I ask him.
He blinks at me. “Jus’ a lil sleepy.”
Jason’s right. Ben’s adorable.
I leave them and hunt down the hotel’s coffee station, where I fill a medium-sized cup and add cream and five packets of sugar. The smile Ben gives me when I hand it over is worth the few minutes it cost me.
“No caramel latte, but it’s still caffeine with plenty of sugar.”
“Thanks, Dylan.”
“Anything for you, honey.”
Jason ignores the entire exchange. He never bats an eye when I flirt with Ben. Then again, why would he? Ben’s one hundred percent, head-over-heels in love with Jason. Besides, Jason’s my oldest, dearest friend. I’d never do anything to hurt him, even if Ben was willing.
Which he isn’t.
I never flirt much with Jason anymore either, because I know it makes Ben uneasy. The last thing I want to do is cause trouble between the two of them, or between them and me. Sometimes I wish somebody had told me, on that first night in Jason’s new house back in Idaho, that it would be the last night I ever had with him.
Would I have done things differently?
Would I have pulled my ignorant head out of my selfish ass sooner?
I’ll never know. And now, I’ll never share his bed again. If they were any other gay couple, I might have a chance of being invited for a threesome. I’ve thought about it more times than I can count, but I also know it’s the type of thing that’s best left to the imagination. Ben would be too shy. Jason would be too possessive. And at the end of the day, I’d still be a third wheel, deeply in love with both of them, but never part of the love they have for each other.
I do what anybody in my position would do.
I finish the daiquiri and go in search of another.
Script by RJ Scott & VL Locey
Chapter 1
Finn
“But you’re Canadian.”Atlas stared at me in shock. “Wait, Vancouver is in Canada, right?” My agent pulled out his cell phone as if he were going to check where in the world my hometown was.
I stopped him. “I am, and it is.” Where did he think it was? South of LA?
His shock turned into bewilderment, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d been my agent since the early days when I was a child actor in a soap and was an uncle-type figure who’d watched me grow up. It was Atlas who’d gotten me a lead in the low-budget Rapid Action from Byrnes-Rose studios, which, after becoming a surprise hit, had spawned two sequels, Rapid Start, and Rapid Recall, and made me a lot of money. And him. In all that time I’d never seen him so confused in all that time
He had a raft of clients, and was used to having things dumped in his lap, but it seemed I’d finally done something way beyond his understanding.
“But you want to read for the lead in a hockey movie?”
“Uh huh.”
“And you can’t skate.”
I closed two of my fingers together. “A little. I skated when I was younger, but then… acting. I mean, I can stay upright. Or at least I could when I was ten.”
“But don’t all Canadians do the hockey thing? From birth? I mean, I’ve seen videos of teeny tiny Canadian babies skating around with those penguin trainer things.”
I sighed. “Not every Canadian is into hockey, just like not every American is into football.”
Atlas inhaled sharply. “Blasphemy!” And for a moment he waved in front of him as if he were making the sign of a cross—I’d insulted him and the rest of the U.S. in some way. I enjoyed watching football highlights—mostly because of the men in tight pants—but being picked up to star in a soap at ten meant my formative years had been all about the role, the marketing, being a public figure, and not anything to do with funny-shaped balls.
Or pucks.
My life had always been way too filled with other things for me to get into sports.
Unless you counted me getting into Roscoe Lewinsky, the tight end for the LA something or other, because I got into him, and he was tight and just as much in the closet as me.
I snorted a laugh, and Atlas stared at me with a comic-book open mouth and wide eyes, as if I’d lost my damn mind and wasn’t paying attention to his meltdown at all.
He pointed at my chest, turning a dark shade of red. “You told me… you said you could do this…”
“No,” I began with exaggerated patience. “What I said, when I was drunk, I hasten to add, is that as a Canadian it’s my civic duty to be the star of the next Grierson blockbuster featuring the great sport of hockey. That is what I said.”
He blinked at me as if I’d ripped the carpet from under him, which I kind of had. Case in point, me being offered the lead of a new hockey movie, The Cup, directed by the hottest director in Hollywood, Oscar winning River Grierson. The role of Hayden “Mac” McKenzie was deep, and written in such a beautiful way, it was based on a bestselling autobiography (which I hadn’t read, because… reasons). Who knew, it could even be Oscar material unless, of course, a meaningful biopic of someone cool came out at the same time. The role I’d been offered was that of Rowan Campbell. He was the classic misunderstood underdog. The one who takes his struggling disorganized team all the way to the Stanley Cup Final on sheer grit and determination alone. Of course, while also falling in love with a sassy and confident blonde woman and sacrificing that love for his team. Cue dramatic music, dark lighting, and an on-ice reconciliation as I hand my tearful yet feisty lover the cup, then skate around the rink with confidence.
All sounded great on paper.
Apart from one small detail.
I hadn’t skated since I was ten, and I didn’t watch hockey.
No hockey.
At all.
And according to my agent, I may as well hand in my Canadian card right now.
I flexed my muscles. “If it helps, I love maple syrup, and if I wasn’t keeping in shape, I could eat way more poutine.”
“But no to the skating.”
“Yeah, no.”
“Well shit,” Atlas muttered as he began to pace his office. “You reassured me… you said… fuck… you signed the goddamned contract.”
“Yeah, you’ve already said that.”
He continued to pace, punctuating each step with a curse word. It was a long perimeter to pace, at least twenty-by-twenty, so that was a lot of cursing. I focused on the posters on his wall, from movies featuring his clients, including the Rapid films with me front and center, my quirky sidekick at my side. Action movies with snark and banter had been my golden ticket to the big time. From soap opera wannabe to the face of a franchise, I’d risen like cream on milk. Who knew that an archaeologist solving mysteries with the aid of a psychic would get so big? Of course, comparisons to older whip-wielding archaeologists were made, but fuck that, there was no such thing as a new story. Add some spectacular car crashes, and the first in the trilogy grossed a lot, and with me signing up just for a percentage, it made me rich. Not only that, but I was everyone’s breakout darling.
And the Oscar goes to Finn Kerrigan for his not-quite-dramatic role in Rapid Loss! Yeah, right. No one got an Oscar for crashing cars and searching for treasure while shirtless.
“Earth to Finn!” Atlas snapped his fingers under my nose, and the hysterical thought of me being handed a golden statue for Rapid Loss drifted away. Was Atlas done with his pacing already? When he ruminated, it normally took a while, but he’d apparently come up with a solution quick as anything. Or had I been daydreaming too long?
“You’ll never get anywhere by staring out of the window!”
Take that, Mrs. Appleton, sixth grade English. Which one of us was the daydreamer with a career he loves?
Which reminded me—I needed to send my annual charity amount to her and the school. After all, besides the accusations of daydreaming, it was her after-school drama classes that had pulled the actor out of me. Maybe I should add my name to the donation this time, get an auditorium named after me, just to show the residents of Gibson Hills how far I’d come. So far, despite their doubts that the kid with verbal diarrhea who couldn’t sit still, could ever amount to anything.
Obviously, they knew how far I’d come given that I name checked the town every interview, and my mom was all about giving out bits of information from my childhood, but there was no school auditorium named after me yet.
I should get on with that.
“Jesus, Finn! Are you even listening to me?”
“I’m listening,” I lied. I could picture the new addition to the school already. A complete stage set-up where anyone could act in peace, with a designated teacher/director, that was a safe space away from the attentions of school bullies.
“So, you agree,” Atlas pushed.
Agree with what? “Yes?” I said, hopeful that this was the right answer.
“Okay. It might cost you, but for now, you taking the part is only a rumor, so it won’t hurt your brand when you pull out.”
“Sorry? What did you just say?”
“What you agreed to. That we pull you out of the movie.”
What? The fuck? No. “Now hang on—”
“You just said—”
“I wasn’t listening.”
He let out a dramatic sigh. “Finn, you know I love your need to do this project, but we have a potential Rapid 4 in the pipeline.”
“I’m not doing Rapid 4.”
“But it’s your franchise,” Atlas said. “Ten percent of ticket income, and a thirty-five-million payday—”
Like I needed more money. “No. Anything but Rapid 4.”
“Well, there’s no point in signing contracts on The Cup if you can’t skate—”
“I doubt the due who played Aquaman could really breathe underwater,” I reminded him.
Atlas closed his eyes, pinched his nose again, tense, frowning, and exasperated. “You can’t special effect away the fact that you’re not able to fucking skate, Finn.”
“I have time. Filming doesn’t start until July. So, that’s what, six weeks? I’ll learn to skate just like I learned how to rappel down a mountain.”
Atlas muttered under his breath as I stared at the movie poster for Rapid 2: Rapid Start, in which I was seen in the montage as I rappelled heroically to save my sidekick, the bespectacled psychic. I’d cleaned up good on that poster.
At least I think I did. Doubts were my constant companion, because I didn’t always see the square-jawed, blond, and blue-eyed action hero, but instead the kid from Gibson Falls with my deep dark secret. Still, the outside packaging was good, if a little airbrushed where they’d gotten rid of my random freckle. My face sold seats, and that was what the Rapid series had been—a money maker.
I could sell the lead in a gritty movie like The Cup, and I refused to doubt that.
“Listen to yourself, Finn! It was your stuntman who did all the rappelling. All you did was the six-inch hop from a box into that weird superhero landing where you flexed your freaking muscles and made that joke to the camera about rope burn.”
Hmmm. He had a point.
“But I did learn how to rappel, and that’s the main point.”
This time his frustration was so real I sat back in my chair.
“Jesus Christ, Finn, you didn’t. You had one lesson with Jeff the buff and built mountain climber—your description not mine—and then spent the rest of the week with him at your place in the Bahamas, and you know how much it cost you to stop him going to the press on that.”
Ahhh, yes, Jeff. Him of the ass, and the huge cock, and the sexy walk.
He’d certainly shown me the ropes in more ways than one. What a week, and well worth the two million I’d had to pay to keep him quiet.
I chose not to rise to his comments about Jeff, and instead, focused on the simple answer to the issue.
“Then we’ll get a stuntman to do the skating. Simple.”
“Did you take your meds today?”
I attempted to act affronted, but he was only asking because… well, because I probably wasn’t making logical sense right now with the amount of things I wanted to say.
“Of course, I did.”
He stared at me—looking for the lie. But there was one thing I never skipped, and that was my Adderall. All of this unfocused-me was just a result of the overwhelming excitement at the chance of making a movie that mattered. That was my explanation, and I was sticking to it.
Atlas sighed dramatically. “Did you even read the spec?”
“Yep,” I lied. All I saw was Grierson’s name on a script when I read the first page. Picture my character, sweating, exhausted, staring at a countdown to the end of a quarter, or a period, or whatever, as his uninspired team headed for a loss. I could imagine the expression I would use, exhausted, broken, resentful even, but maybe hopeful even as the clock ticked down. That one page was close to the limit of my acting ability, but shit, I wanted to emote the broken hockey player more than do anything with freaking Rapid 4.
“Stay with me, Finn… Finn.” This time, Atlas was right up in my face.
I reared back. Curse my squirrel brain, but I was staying with him. I was undeniably in the goddamn room right now, but I did pinch my knee to make sure. I peered back at the posters and the one for Rapid Recall which was movie three in the franchise, and noticed someone had missed airbrushing the freckle under my left eye.
Not good art-guys, not good.
I should get on to that.
No wait—I have an agent—Atlas can sort that out.
“They left a freckle on my poster,” I informed him. “They either leave all of my freckles or not—we can’t have anything in between.”
“Stop changing the subject.”
“I wasn’t. But a freckle is a freckle and—”
“Stay on task Finn.”
“Sorry.”
“Look, you understand Grierson demands full commitment, immersive—he’ll want you to understand the pain of pushing yourself to the limit. He’ll want you to freaking live the part and act your heart out.”
I waved at the huge images of Rapid 1, 2, and 3, plus the much smaller poster for the indie film, Where the Ladybugs Live, which made up the full movie resume of Finn Kerrigan, former soap star turned Hollywood star. “I can act.”
I can.
Atlas leaned over me and placed his hands on my shoulders, my chest tightening because I really didn’t like being hemmed in or trapped. “When I took you on, son, I promised you one thing. Do you remember that?” How was it that he managed to sound sixty, when he was only ten years older than my twenty-seven?
“Um. That you’d only take twenty percent of my money?”
He rolled his eyes. “I promised I’d never lie to you.”
“And?” I focused back on his face, shrugging off his hands.
“You know, and I know, that under the action hero is not another layer where an Oscar-worthy character actor lives, Finn. You’re at the level you should be at—you’re not the type to live and breathe your part and immerse yourself in understanding what makes a character real.”
I winced because this was some character assassination.
“It’s not a bad thing, okay? You’re great at what you do, flashing your abs, looking pretty, leaving the messy stuff to the stuntmen, and it’s made you more money than you could spend in a lifetime. But if Grierson thinks there is another layer, then you and me… we know he’s wrong.”
I listened to the words, but none of what he said meant I couldn’t do this movie—if Grierson was willing to take a chance on me in his gritty piece of art, then why shouldn’t I believe I could do it?
“I signed the contract; I’ll figure the rest out.”
“I want you to reconsider Rapid 4.”
“No.”
“You can’t skate.”
I puffed out my chest. “I’m Canadian, I’ll figure it out.”
* * *
Okay,so figuring it out wasn’t going so well, and I’d already gone three days into my thirty-five until filming, paralyzed with indecision.
I wrote a list, checked it twice, laughed at my own stupid joke in my huge empty house, and then it hit me.
Like I did with Jeff the mountain climber, all I needed to do was find an expert in skating, in hockey, someone who would sign an NDA, someone who could make me the best goddamn hockey-playing actor in the entire world.
In the thirty-two days left to me.
We had a team near here, the LA something or other, Thunder? Or Lightning? I looked them up, feeling remiss that I didn’t even know the name of the local hockey team. The first entry in the search showed LA Storm, so I was close. I knew it was something to do with the weather.
I clicked into an article—the LA Storm were one game away from doing something amazing in the Stanley Cup, which was the cup of all cups in hockey. I may not love hockey as much as my bloodline insisted I should, but even I recall riots in Vancouver after the local team there lost in a cup final. The LA Storm—and what a cool name that was—were fighting the Boston Rebels.
Okay, so I needed to find someone with the Storm team willing to sign an NDA and teach me. Any one of them would do, and I clicked on the fourth thing on the list: Hockey’s sexiest players.
Now this I could get into.
Number one was some pretty boy out in PA, all flicked hair and flirty eyes. Oh and married to a guy.
Gay.
How did he manage to be gay and play professional sports?
I crossed him off my mental list. That would be way too dangerous, because what if he was attracted to me, and me to him, and then we fucked, and he told my secret, and I lost all the parts, and maybe not even the team behind the Rapid franchise would want me.
No one wants a gay action hero. Right?
Second was some kid out of Florida, a rookie who looked as if he wasn’t old enough to shave.
Third was an actual LA Player. Interesting.
Cameron Chavkin, twenty-six, single, and whoa… he was all bad boy oozing with brooding sexiness.
“Jesus, look at that ass!” I said to no one. I clicked the link to a recommended video, one from a previous year’s run for the Stanley Cup, and fell down a rabbit hole of sexy, exciting men. LA had been knocked out in the second-round last year, and there was a video of the team reactions. I sought Cameron out.
There was one image of him staring up at the big scoreboard over the center of the ice and he was broken. I thought he seemed as if he was going to cry, but not in a weepy way, instead in a manly, stoic I’m-too-tough-to-cry-but-I’ll-let-my-eyes-water-up, kind of way.
His attention was fixed on a replay of a goal hitting the back of the net, in the background the other team was celebrating, and I took note of the narrowing of his gray eyes as this Cameron Chavkin emoted his pain and loss with resigned grief.
This was me.
Well, not me, but the character I was due to play in The Cup.
I wanted this Cameron guy to show me how to be like that, how to do that.
I channeled my best Liam Neeson monologue voice. “Cameron Chavkin, I don’t know who you are. I don’t know what you’ll say. If you are looking for money, I can tell you I have a lot of money, and a very particular set of skills in persuasion. I will track you down. And I will hire you.”
I laughed at my own joke.
And in my empty ten-room house in the hills, with its three pools and the marble Italianate kitchen, no one laughed back.
I was all alone, and I needed to talk to someone who wasn’t my agent.
I considered calling my sister, but she was pregnant with a third nibling, and so over my regular freakouts over a lot of things… so that was a no.
Or Natalie? She was my beard, or I was hers. Either way, we did promo every so often to keep things settled.
But she was filming in Brazil and the last text exchange we had was all about her falling in love with a woman called Chloe, and I couldn’t rain on her loved-up parade with my misery.
Maybe I could call Luca Bennetto? He played my sidekick in the Rapid films, and he was also one of my few friends in Tinseltown—growing up on a soap set was hard on friendships but he’d followed more or less the same route, albeit ten years before me.
I liked Luca, and he liked me.
So, Luca it was.
I tried his cell, but it went to voicemail, and I didn’t have the heart to leave a message as convoluted as what I needed to explain.
So much for talking to anyone.
Suck it up, buttercup.
The Case of the Undiscovered Corpse by Charlie Cochrane
Cambridge September 3rd 1952
“Good morning, Orlando. Lovely to see you.”
Those words had been spoken first thing in the morning on numerous occasions and in many different settings over the best part of fifty years. From lips that had once been young and full, but which were now showing fine lines and downed with white, rather like the hair which crowned Jonty Stewart’s head. A full set of hair—he’d inherited his paternal grandfather’s locks rather than his father’s bald pate—yet the tawny gold had now all gone to be replaced with hoary silver.
“Lovely to see you, too.” Orlando Coppersmith turned in the bed, easing into a more comfortable position. He was currently beset with an issue concerning his left rotator cuff, or so the doctor had diagnosed, one that should get better with exercise. It had been a result of over-exertion in the garden and not, as Jonty told everyone, due to Orlando having dealt the bridge cards too vigorously.
“What does your diary have in store for you today?” The airy tone in Jonty’s voice as he asked the question immediately put his partner on alert.
“The usual. College business and the like given the arrival of students is hull up on the horizon. Why do you ask?”
“I’d like to suggest a slight change to plans dinner-wise. Are you free tonight?”
“Ye-es. Why?”
“I had a phone call last evening, when you were at your orgy.” That was another line which had been used innumerable times over the years, referring to Orlando being out playing cards. He’d learned to ignore it. “It was to invite us to dinner and a discussion.”
“A commission, do you think?” It had been a while since they’d had a really good mystery to get their teeth into. Odds and ends of investigations, yes, including ones bound up with the war that they simply couldn’t accept, because they’d have had little chance of fulfilling them. Finding where Aunt Elsie had hidden the family silver because she thought that Hitler would invade—said aunt having then been so inconsiderate as to get herself killed in an air raid before she could share the location of the treasure with the rest of the family—had been a typical kind of request. As were the string of entreaties to locate the whereabouts of men who’d been declared missing in action, at least one of whom Jonty had decided had likely taken a convenient opportunity to get away from home.
At least they could now decline the commissions with dignity, pleading old age and the inability to travel as far as they used to, alongside not being up to the physical challenge of digging up bomb sites to find Aunt Elsie’s spoons. These excuses might have been seen through had the applicants observed the pair of them working vigorously in the garden at Forsythia Cottage or indeed still almost as vigorously sharing the pleasures of the double bed.
“It’s not about a commission as such, although there’s a peripheral link to an old, unsolved mystery.” Jonty raised an eyebrow. “One we might have got involved with at the time had we not been otherwise occupied. No, this is something quite different and rather exciting.”
“Am I allowed a clue to whatever you’re on about?”
“Not a single one. I want you to come to this meeting with an open mind and if I drop the merest hint, you’ll mull it over all day. Suffice to say the discussion could lead us into pastures entirely new for us, which is rather nice at our time of life, wouldn’t you say?”
“I’ll only say one way or the other when I know what these pastures new are and whether they’ll be green or arid.” Orlando was rather pleased with his analogy. “You’re not even going to make an indication as to whom I’m eating with?”
“No, because it risks giving the game away entirely. A knight of the realm. Title conferred as opposed to inherited. You’ve met him before, although that doesn’t cut down the field. Very nice chap, who has a proposal for us and—” Jonty cuffed Orlando’s arm. “That’s quite enough. You’re wheedling secrets out of me. I’m easing my stiff old bones out of this bed before you spoil all the elements of surprise.”
“Just one more question, then. Will this different and exciting whatever-it-is be the sort of thing to make me jump for joy or run away screaming?”
“I can’t imagine you running away screaming from anything, at this point in your life. Quite below your dignity. I might have to see if I can engineer it happening, simply for the novelty.” Jonty, now on his feet, stretched extravagantly, like a great cat rousing itself.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“True, oh light of my life, although that’s simply because I can’t formulate an answer. I’ve been weighing it up since last night and I honestly don’t know. All I can state with any certainty is that we’d be stupid not to explore the possibilities. Too young still to be stick-in-the-muds.” Jonty made an elaborate bow. “And now I exit, if not pursued by a bear, then pursued by your third degree. Patience, old man.”
“Patience my arse,” Orlando muttered, although he couldn’t help smiling. Whatever happened over dinner would turn out to be gratifying. If he liked this mysterious proposal, then it would add a new challenge to their lives and if he hated it then he could go into a pleasing yet dignified huff for at least twenty-four hours. And tease Jonty over his rashness for the next few weeks.
Despite the ache in Orlando’s shoulder, life was still good.
The Carpenter and the Actor by RJ Scott
Jason McInnery pulled another blanket from the pile at the bottom of his bed and used it to block up any small space around him that could let in the cold. When he’d gone for rustic he hadn’t realised he was getting the equivalent of sleeping in a tent. No heating that he could get to work, two in the morning and sleep had so far eluded him. The hot water bottle he’d found in the cupboard above the sink was still warm, but at this point it really needed to have the water replaced with steaming boiling heat. That would mean getting out of bed though and placing his feet on the icy cold wooden floor.
"So not going there," he muttered to himself. The new blanket helped and finally he had a cocoon that at least meant he wasn’t shivering. No wonder the cabin had been cheap to rent if it didn’t come with working heat. He knew he should have stopped at the chain motel he’d seen just outside Ellery. But no, his idea of hiding was self-imposed isolation halfway up the mountain and twenty minutes’ drive from the town he’d been born in. He should have gone to his parents’ house in Las Vegas and got some of that desert sun.
Freaking paparazzi. They knew where his parents lived, and would assume it was one of the places he would go. Hell, he was lucky they hadn’t followed him to Ellery, or had any inkling he would go back to the town he’d left before he was old enough to remember it. His cell phone sounded and he rooted around under the covers where he’d pushed his only link to his other life. The life where he was a popular, successful, openly gay actor who had charmed his way into millions of hearts on a successful TV comedy and in two kids’ films. The actor with the brother who had died. The screen lit brightly and the name wasn’t a surprise.
"Hey, Mom," he answered. The cell was warm from where it had been wrapped in the quilt. Midnight at his mom’s place meant his dad snoring in bed and his night-owl mom watching recorded shows. "It’s two a.m., you know."
"There was a show on, and I was thinking about you."
"You need to stop watching those gossip shows, Mom," he said patiently.
"I can’t help it, J. It’s everywhere."
Jason shifted deeper under the covers and sighed inwardly. He’d grown a thicker skin now. Having his private life plastered over magazines and TV shows was part and parcel of the whole celebrity lifestyle. That didn’t mean it had got any easier over the last seven years since the small comedy show he starred in had gone ballistic. And hell, it wasn’t ever going to get any easier for his poor mom. Not only had Ben died with too many secrets and too many lies twisted around him, but Jason had been smacked around the face with the fallout of his brother’s actions and his own subsequent arrest.
"I’m fine, Mom," he said gently.
"I just wanted to…" She didn’t finish the sentence. Jason’s throat tightened with emotion. He didn’t call her on phoning him this late—she’d wanted to hear his voice. Losing Ben had destroyed his parents. Maybe he should have gone home to Vegas and forgotten the fact that doing so would have put his mom and dad in the spotlight. They were struggling as it was.
"I can be home by tomorrow," Jason offered. He could get tickets and be on a plane in a few hours. Hell, it would probably be warmer on a plane anyway.
"No, Jason, we talked about this. I love you—I just wanted to tell you."
"I love you too, Mom."
With the call finished, he clutched the cell to his chest and pulled the blankets up and over his head. Grief balled in his chest and not for the first time since he’d left LA, he wondered what the hell had made him come to Ellery. He may as well have stuck a pin in a map as a way of deciding where to hide out.
He had three weeks. Three weeks until the next season started filming. Ellery was as good a place as any.
* * * * *
Loud noises woke him to bright sunlight streaming through the large windows and he glanced at his cell phone. The screen showed it was just after seven a.m. He’d banked five hours’ sleep, but he still felt like complete shit. His dreams had been filled with Ben and a scene that was something like a film, with him and Ben running. He hated the running dream—it never failed to leave him frustrated and tired beyond reason and had occurred on too many occasions recently. Rolling onto his side, away from the window, he screwed his eyes tight shut and willed sleep to happen.
The knocking on his door was part of a dream—it had to be. No one would be knocking on the door of this remote cabin at ass o’clock in the morning for any reason he could imagine.
Groaning, he shifted until he could listen with both ears. The knocking wasn’t stopping. This wasn’t the short, sharp knock of someone at the door. This was repetitive and noisy and…hell, right outside his window. What the fuck was happening? Pulling the blankets back over his head, he attempted to sleep. When that didn’t block out the banging, he searched on his phone for an app that could produce white noise. When that didn’t work either, he gave up sleeping as a bad thing.
Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.
Marie SextonMarie Sexton lives in Colorado. She’s a fan of just about anything that involves muscular young men piling on top of each other. In particular, she loves the Denver Broncos and enjoys going to the games with her husband. Her imaginary friends often tag along. Marie has one daughter, two cats, and one dog, all of whom seem bent on destroying what remains of her sanity. She loves them anyway.
Writing love stories with a happy ever after – cowboys, heroes, family, hockey, single dads, bodyguards
USA Today bestselling author RJ Scott has written over one hundred romance books. Emotional stories of complicated characters, cowboys, single dads, hockey players, millionaires, princes, bodyguards, Navy SEALs, soldiers, doctors, paramedics, firefighters, cops, and the men who get mixed up in their lives, always with a happy ever after.
She lives just outside London and spends every waking minute she isn’t with family either reading or writing. The last time she had a week’s break from writing, she didn’t like it one little bit, and she has yet to meet a box of chocolates she couldn’t defeat.
V.L. Locey loves worn jeans, yoga, belly laughs, walking, reading and writing lusty tales, Greek mythology, the New York Rangers, comic books, and coffee.
(Not necessarily in that order.)
She shares her life with her husband, her daughter, one dog, two cats, a flock of assorted domestic fowl, and two Jersey steers.
When not writing spicy romances, she enjoys spending her day with her menagerie in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania with a cup of fresh java in hand.
Charlie Cochrane
As Charlie Cochrane couldn't be trusted to do any of her jobs of choice - like managing a rugby team - she writes. Her favourite genre is gay fiction, predominantly historical romances/mysteries, but she's making an increasing number of forays into the modern day. She's even been known to write about gay werewolves - albeit highly respectable ones.
Her Cambridge Fellows series of Edwardian romantic mysteries were instrumental in seeing her named Speak Its Name Author of the Year 2009. She’s a member of both the Romantic Novelists’ Association and International Thriller Writers Inc.
Happily married, with a house full of daughters, Charlie tries to juggle writing with the rest of a busy life. She loves reading, theatre, good food and watching sport. Her ideal day would be a morning walking along a beach, an afternoon spent watching rugby and a church service in the evening.
Frank W Butterfield
Marie Sexton
The Pitiful Player by Frank W Butterfield
Winter Dreams by Marie Sexton
Script by RJ Scott & VL Locey
The Carpenter and the Actor by RJ Scott
KOBO / WEBSITE / GOODREADS TBR
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