Redesigning Landry Bishop Page 14

  Chapter Twelve

  “WHY won’t they tell you what’s up?” Jordan asked.

  They’d passed over the California state line many miles back, and now he piloted the Benz past scattered Joshua trees. Westbound traffic was annoyingly heavy, yet he maintained open car lengths between the Benz and the car in front of them. When other drivers inevitably cut in, he never once called them names. He seemed much more interested in Landry’s news from Nebraska than in getting home.

  “I don’t know,” Landry whined. “To torture me.”

  “Or tempt you.”

  Landry snorted. As if anything in Nebraska could tempt him.

  A BMW zoomed into their lane so abruptly that Jordan had to brake, but he didn’t even flip the guy off. “Do you have any inkling what’s going on in Peril?”

  “Missy says our aunt Trudy is scheming something that involves me, but that doesn’t narrow it down. She could be up to anything. Once, when I was twelve, she bought a bunch of cans of paint at the hardware store in Alliance. They were on clearance, and every can was a different color. She made all the cousins come over to her place, and then she split us into teams and gave each team a room and a can of paint. She timed us to see who could finish their room first.”

  “Did your team win?”

  “Yes,” Landry said, chuckling. “We got Dairy Queen as our reward.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound painful.”

  “Another time she ended up with about a million yards of the most godawful dinosaur-print flannel fabric. She made us all pajamas with it. And took our pictures wearing them. That was painful.”

  “A fate worse than death.”

  Okay, it hadn’t actually been too awful. She’d also hosted a slumber party for everyone that night, with popcorn and cupcakes and scary movies on her TV. Landry’s cousin Bob, two years older and with a tendency to bully, had screamed louder than anyone when the alien burst out of the crewman’s chest. That scream had been entirely satisfying.

  “Aunt Trudy sounds like a lot of fun,” said Jordan, slowing as he neared a lumbering RV.

  “She’s a force of nature.” Then Landry remembered something he never should have forgotten. “She’s the one who encouraged me to apply to colleges outside Nebraska. She helped me with the applications and everything. Almost everyone else was trying to convince me that Omaha would be plenty exotic enough.”

  “And what does she expect from you now?”

  “Dunno. Missy tells me Aunt Trudy keeps saying I’m a good role model, whatever that means.”

  “So you have to go, then.”

  Ugh. “I guess. After I finish taping the Suzee Show.” Hesitantly, he added, “Do you want to come with?”

  “As your boyfriend or PA?”

  Boyfriend. Huh. Had they progressed that far? Landry supposed so, and the knowledge was surprisingly satisfying. “Both.”

  Ah. A ten on the Stryker Scale. “Cool!”

  “It is not cool. It’s the polar opposite of cool—no pun intended. If there were a contest for the least interesting, most prosaic place on the planet, Peril would be an excellent contender. The banality of the town knows no bounds. So don’t expect to be charmed or amused by Peril.”

  “I get to meet your family, right?”

  Landry sighed. “Yes.”

  “Then I’m not so sure about the no-amusement clause.”

  Landry didn’t bother to argue. Soon enough, Jordan would see for himself.

  TODD listened earnestly as Landry explained the next segment. Again.

  “Your part in this is completely uncomplicated.”

  “Sure, boss. I just carry in that little table. Easy-peasy.” Todd flexed an arm muscle, maybe to demonstrate his ability to haul furniture, or maybe just out of habit. He undoubtedly flexed in his sleep.

  “You carry in the little table, you set it in front of the guest, and you smile at the audience.”

  “They do like it when I smile.”

  “They do indeed. And after you smile, you open the cabinet beneath the table, take out the gift-wrapped box, and set it on the tabletop. You are welcome to add flourishes and flexes, if you care to. Then you exit, stage left.”

  “Got it.”

  “Don’t trip over the power cables this time.”

  “I won’t.” Landry had reached the final day of his five-day run as guest host, and so far things had run pretty smoothly. In the segment on using masa harina, the show’s kitchen staff had burned the pupusas and there wasn’t time to make another batch. So Landry improvised a poblano sauce, which he poured over the scorched bits, and he took big bites while pretending he wasn’t eating charcoal. Nobody in the studio audience seemed to notice, which was good. Another day, Todd had done a face-plant just as he went offstage. But he wasn’t injured, and again Landry extemporized, this time doing an impromptu lesson on first aid. The show went on.

  Now all he had to do was get through a segment on making cookie cups from which to drink sweet Kahlua shots, look amused as a stand-up comedian did a brief bit, and then interview Dain Kilpatrick, an up-and-coming actor pimping his new rom-com. Easy.

  As Landry watched the studio audience chat among themselves before the show, Jordan emerged from backstage with a bottle of water. Some of the audience members cheered and clapped. Over the past week, people had cottoned on to the fact that Jordan was more than just a PA, and that seemed to have sparked enthusiasm. Yesterday one of the show’s interns had informed Landry of the existence of Landry/Jordan fanfic, a fact Landry tried hard to unknow.

  “Want anything else?” asked Jordan, handing Landry the bottle. “Something to eat?”

  “No, thank you. We can go out after we finish here.”

  “Fancy-schmancy or casual?”

  “I was thinking pizza, actually.” A few slices of cheese-and-pepperoni-laden indulgence might help alleviate some stress even as it reminded him he was an ordinary mortal.

  “Perfect. I got our flight booked to Nebraska and a rental car once we arrive. Man, it’s not easy getting to Peril.”

  “Or escaping,” Landry said darkly.

  Jordan ignored him. “We change planes in Denver, then we get a puddle jumper to Scottsbluff. Does that sound okay?”

  “It’s fine.”

  “What about lodging?”

  Landry waved his arms theatrically. “Book us the penthouse suite at the Peril Ritz.”

  “Hmm. I was gonna get us a room at the Byway Inn, which I learned is the only choice in town. But then Missy emailed—”

  “Oh no.”

  “—and we’re staying with her.”

  Landry deeply regretted having given those two each other’s email addresses. They’d been sending messages back and forth for days. “She has four-year-old twins.”

  “Who have never met their Uncle Landry. Anyway, she says her house is plenty big enough, and also the Byway Inn is a dump.”

  Both statements were true. The Byway had been a dump when Landry left Peril, and he doubted the intervening years had been kind. Missy lived in the house they’d grown up in, an early twentieth-century structure that had suffered multiple additions built by generations of Bishops. It would be far more family togetherness than he’d experienced in a long time.

  “We could probably—”

  “Landry. You know perfectly well there are no good alternatives, plus you’re going to hurt Missy’s feelings if you stay anywhere else. You’re on thin ice with her as it is.”

  It occurred to Landry that if Jordan had been simply his PA, he wouldn’t have voiced these thoughts so strongly. But Jordan was more than that, of course. And maybe those thoughts needed to be voiced.

  “Okay,” he said quietly.

  “Um… I haven’t exactly told her that you and I are a thing.”

  “Why not?”

  “I figured she’s your sister—you should decide what and when to disclose.”

  Landry took a big swig of water and then blotted his mouth with the back of his han
d. “She knows I’m gay. When I was seven I used to steal her Barbies and make them stunning little ensembles out of fabric scraps. Now, I admit, that didn’t guarantee I’d grow up liking boys, but the odds were in my favor.”

  “She knows you’re into guys in general, but she doesn’t know you’re into me specifically. Um, unless she reads the fanfic.”

  Landry shuddered. “As far as I know, Missy pays little or no attention to my professional life. I doubt anyone in Peril cares about my career, in fact.” After another hefty swallow, he handed the bottle back to Jordan. “Anyway, you can tell her if you want to. If you don’t, we’re going to end up in separate bedrooms.”

  “The horror!”

  Jordan was joking, but Landry was at least somewhat serious. He and Jordan hadn’t slept apart since they returned from Vegas, and he’d already become accustomed to Jordan’s big, warm body in his bed. Even when they weren’t touching, he liked to listen to Jordan breathing, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in the world.

  The stage manager approached, clipboard in hand, her ponytail as closely regimented as always. She ran a tight ship, which Landry admired. She pointed the clipboard at him. “Ready?”

  “I think so.”

  Jordan leaned in to give Landry a peck on the cheek. “Break a leg. And not by tripping over something.”

  Within minutes Landry was seated onstage in one of the red armchairs. Suzee had ordered them custom-made for the show, wanting to make sure that she and her guests could sit comfortably with no temptation to slump. Jordan had chosen outfits that looked good against the fabric and fit the informal vibe Suzee’s viewers were used to. Today Landry wore the turquoise sweater and a pair of charcoal trousers.

  After a round of spirited clapping from the audience, Landry smiled out at them. “Many of you first saw my next guest when he burned up your Instagram feed. Now he’s proving that he acts even better than he poses. He’s currently starring as a lovelorn veterinarian in Bark If You Love Me. Please welcome Dain Kilpatrick!”

  Dain sauntered onto the set, waving at the audience as he walked. When he reached Landry, who’d stood to greet him, they shook hands and then sat.

  “Thanks so much for coming here today,” Landry said.

  “It’s a pleasure.”

  Landry hadn’t known him previously, but they’d had a few minutes to chat before the show. Dain seemed nice enough, if a little vain. He’d asked Landry for tips on skin-care products—seeming to truly want the advice, not just flattering Landry—and he’d recommended a restaurant in his hometown of Charleston. He’d also flirted a little, but Landry hadn’t responded in kind. He had no interest in a closeted actor, especially now that he had Jordan.

  But now, with people watching and the cameras focused their way, the conversation was light and easy. Dain told an amusing story about getting locked out of a hotel room wearing nothing but a towel, then an anecdote about a modeling gig he endured while recovering from food poisoning. The audience ate him up.

  “Let’s talk a little bit about your movie, Dain.”

  “What? I have a new movie coming out right when I’m booked on your show? What a coincidence!”

  “It’s uncanny. In Bark If You Love Me, you play a man who’s better with animals than with humans.”

  “Right, right. I’m sort of a pet whisperer, but when it comes to people—especially women—I can barely function. But then this pretty young woman inherits her cat-lady grandmother’s houseful of felines and, well, love might find a way.”

  At one time, Landry’s smile in response to such talk of love would have been entirely manufactured. But lately some of his cynicism had rubbed away. Sometimes maybe love did find a way. Temporarily, anyway, and that was far better than not at all.

  “It sounds very sweet,” Landry said.

  “It was a joy to film. The cast, the crew—everyone was fantastic. Even the critters. I know W.C. Fields said never to work with animals or children, but I had a great time.”

  “And I think we have a clip. Would you like to set it up?”

  The audience roared at the scene, a cute one in which the love interest watches while the vet gives an enema to a boa constrictor. The movie wasn’t really to Landry’s taste, but he wondered if maybe Jordan would enjoy it. Landry hadn’t been out to a fluffy popcorn-and-Junior-Mints flick in years.

  When the clip ended and the house lights came up, Dain looked pleased. “I’d never handled a snake before we shot that. It was pretty cool, except he kept trying to slither down the back of my shirt. It tickled.”

  Landry waited for the laughter to ebb. “So you don’t mind creepy-crawlies?”

  “Not snakes, no. And anything with four legs is cool. But once you start adding more legs than that, well, things get a little dicey for me.”

  “Understandable. Dain, we have a surprise for you.”

  “I love surprises.” Dain rubbed his hands together.

  “Good. Todd?”

  Right on cue, Todd entered the set carrying the small table. As always, the crowd cheered and whistled. He managed not to trip over anything, and in fact he made it all the way to Dain without mishap, then set the table carefully in place. He made a little show of bending to retrieve the gift box, deliberately aiming his well-formed posterior toward the appreciative audience and even giving it the tiniest of waggles. He placed the box atop the table, waved to the crowd, tipped a wink to Landry, and exited. Without a single disaster.

  Landry hoped the cameras didn’t pick up his probable look of relief.

  “What’s this?” Dain asked, looking at the brightly wrapped box. He knew perfectly well what was inside—a realistic rubber tarantula—because Landry had told him before the show. The producer had wanted to make it a true surprise, but Landry didn’t believe in terrorizing guests. He also preferred to control the set as much as possible. If a guest was truly shocked, any kind of chaos might break out.

  “It’s just a little gift,” Landry said.

  Moving a bit overtheatrically, Dain untied the large bow and lifted the lid. As planned, the sides of the box collapsed outwards, revealing an enormous furry spider. Dain shouted quite credibly and lurched backward. The audience roared.

  And then the spider moved.

  A lot of things happened at once. Dain shrieked and scrambled backward over the chair, causing it to overturn. He fell to the ground with the chair on top of him. The audience members screamed. Landry leapt to his feet just in time to watch the tarantula skitter off the table and toward the front of the stage. Unsure what to do first, he made the split-second decision to extricate Dain. And Todd—oh, bless him—sprinted onto the set, scooped the spider into his huge hands just before it fell over the edge, and raced away into the wings.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I AM so sorry,” the producer said for the umpteenth time. It was unclear whether he was talking to Dain, who was holding an ice pack to his face, or to Landry, who was imagining creative ways to cause the producer pain. Landry was, in fact, in imminent danger of testing one of those methods when Jordan stepped in.

  “I think you better give Mr. Bishop some space,” Jordan said to the producer. “And maybe have a chat with your lawyer.”

  “I thought it would be funny. More genuine!”

  Jordan made a shooing motion and, after watching the producer trudge away, turned to Landry. “Are you all right?”

  “Ask Dain. He’s the one who landed on his face.”

  Dain waved a dismissive hand. “I’m okay.” His voice sounded nasal. “But do you think they’ll air that bit?”

  Landry sighed. He didn’t want to tape another segment, but without that final interview, the show would be too short. “We’ll replace it with something, don’t worry.”

  “No, don’t! If you show it, I bet it goes viral. Great publicity for the movie.”

  “Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

  “Sure, whatever. Any publicity is good publicity, right? Besides, my character’s su
pposed to be kind of bumbling, so….” He spread his arms. His nose and one eye were turning interesting shades of red and purple.

  “Thank you for being so good-natured about this. I assure you, I didn’t—”

  “Didn’t know the fucker was gonna be real. I believe ya.”

  Jordan gave a satisfied nod and spoke to Landry. “You’re not freaking out?”

  “No.” Landry dropped his voice to a whisper. “But we’re going to need to stop for hamburgers on the way home. Greasy ones with bacon. And milkshakes.”

  “Done. And after we get home, you’ll put on your Vegas sweats and we’ll binge-watch The Simpsons.” He gave Landry’s shoulder a squeeze. “In the meantime, excuse me while I go rip that producer and his minions a new one.”

  “Not Todd. I don’t think he knew about the spider either. And he stopped it from getting into the audience.”

  Jordan grinned. “Not only that, but he actually saved the little guy’s life. It’s now safe and sound, back in its cage, and it’s got a hell of a story to tell its grandspiders someday.” He squeezed Landry’s shoulder again and kissed him for good measure, then walked purposefully in the direction the producer had gone.

  “I wish I had a PA like that,” Dain said wistfully.

  “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Even better.” Dain prodded cautiously at his nose and winced. “The whole work-personal intersection isn’t a drag?”

  “We’re new.”

  “Well, good luck with it. Seems like he’s a keeper, huh?”

  “It’s looking that way.”

  SUZEE phoned that evening, just after Landry and Jordan finished the last of the curly fries and as they were getting ready to cuddle on the couch.

  “Voicemail,” Jordan pleaded.

  “This will be quick, I promise.” He answered and turned the phone on speaker mode.

  Suzee called her producer a lot of swear words and apologized for what had happened. Landry told her not to worry about it. She hadn’t known anything about the tarantula swap before it happened, and anyway, most of his anger had drained away. Now he was full and sleepy, and all he really wanted was time alone with Jordan.