Under the Lights

“Hey, is that Scott Lassiter?” Jeremy asks, keeping his voice low. We all look up, and see that it is indeed. Lassiter’s the fastest-rising young director in Hollywood right now, but he’s also picky and neurotic as balls. Getting an audition with him is next to impossible. The other guys all sit up a little straighter, like that’ll suddenly give them a shot in hell of getting noticed.

“Any of you guys auditioning for his Iraq movie?” Royce asks.

Jeremy snorts. “My agent’s been trying to get a meeting with him for months. No luck. He’s such a dick.”

“What about you, Chester?”

Royce’s mouth is curved up just enough for me to know he’s actively trying to be an asshole right now; he knows there’s no chance Holly could score me an audition. Lassiter’s impossible enough, and Holly’s a junior agent. If I could’ve gone with anyone else — and I mean, anyone—after getting dropped by Calvin, I probably would have.

“There’s not a single hot chick in that movie,” I say flatly. “No chance I’m going to sweat my balls off in the desert for that shit.”

“The asshole doesn’t even return my agent’s calls,” mutters Paz. “Self-righteous prick.”

“Paz, you’ve got like nine inches to grow in every fucking direction — including your dick — before you can play a soldier,” says Royce. “I’m perfect for that shit.”

“You’d look like an actual dick in a uniform,” Paz shoots back. “But Holloway…fuck, man, you’d be perfect. You auditioning?”

Liam doesn’t get a chance to answer, because suddenly, the man himself is standing before us.

“Mr. Lassiter.” Jeremy jumps up, sticking out his hand like an overeager tool. “Jeremy Hill. I’m a big fan.”

Lassiter looks at Jeremy’s hand, ignores it, glances around at all of us. His gaze settles on Liam. “You. You look familiar. Who are you?”

“Liam Holloway.” I swear, the way he says it, you’d think he was about to tack a “Sir” on the end. He really is kinda perfect to play a soldier, all respectful and disciplined and shit. “I was in James Gallagher’s last movie, The History of Us.” Sir.

“Oh yeah. Fuckin’ Jim. That movie was all right. Who’s your agent?”

“Evan Cooper, Sir.”

I knew it.

The rest of us laugh, and so does Lassiter, but he’s not walking away. “Lift up your shirt.”

Liam’s so stunned, he doesn’t even respond. Fortunately, I have no such problem with my reaction time, and at least one of us recognizes this for the opportunity it is. I yank up Liam’s shirt as far as I can, revealing his eight-pack to the entirety of Circuit.

Half the fucking club stops and whistles, and I grin as some girl calls out “Nice body!” from the front.

“I’m inclined to agree,” Lassiter says wryly. “Here, Sir. Tell Evan Cooper to give me a call.” He hands over a card, gives Liam’s abs another quick glance, then walks off toward the bar.

Liam whirls around to see us all gaping at him. “Did that shit seriously just happen?” he asks me.

“That shit seriously just happened,” I confirm, giving him a bro-five that nearly breaks my palm in two. “Scott fucking Lassiter! That’s a Fourth of July movie, man!”

Just like that, the goofy, bewildered smile on his face falls. “Right. A Fourth of July movie. Which means filming starts soon.”

“So?” asks Paz.

“So it overlaps with Daylight Falls,” he says miserably.

Which means there’s no chance in hell he’ll be able to do it.

He sighs and drops back down to his seat. I don’t really know what to say him now — none of us do — but it doesn’t matter. He pulls out his phone, and I know we’ve lost him to Ally for the night.

* * *

“Chester, this place looks absurd,” Liam observes as he walks around the pool area, taking in the last few weeks’ worth of planning. “Hasn’t Ally told you a million times, no fire?”

“She said no fireworks. Or fire dancers. She’s never said anything about setting the hot tub on fire.” I watch one of the burlesque dancers touch up another’s makeup, and I wonder how badly it’ll stain my pillowcase later.

“And don’t you think a Gray’s Papaya cart is a little excessive? I didn’t even know they had carts.”

“It’s vintage.” I was particularly proud of that find. “And this party’s for your girlfriend. You’d think you’d be a little more appreciative. Especially since you insisted on being painfully boring for your birthday. Which, by the way, if you think you’re getting away with for your twenty-first…”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t worry — you’ve already made it plenty clear that next year we’ll be acting out the Grand Theft Auto edition of your choice.”

“Excellent.” We head over to the bar and help ourselves to a couple of bottles of Stella while the guys set up. “How’d the Lassiter audition go?”