Stay Gold - Tobly McSmith Page 0,61

the crap out of me. “How’s dinner coming along?”

“Five more minutes!” I say, making up a number that felt right. Ted London leans on the kitchen counter. He’s lost more weight than Victor.

“Aye, aye, aye!” Ted says. He snaps his fingers, then coughs. “Do you want a margarita?”

“Sure,” I say.

“Just one for you, young man. I’ll be in the dining room.” He meanders off slowly.

Ten minutes later, I carefully balance the tray of enchiladas and plates and bring it into the dining room. It’s a huge banquet hall, meant for lavish dinner parties. Ted is seated at the head of the long table with a margarita.

“How exciting is this?” he says. I set the tray down in front of him, steam rising from the light-green-and-dark-red casserole. Ted leans over the dish and laughs. “This looks like something that came out of The Fly!”

“David Cronenberg is one of my favorite directors,” I admit.

“Ah, he was a friend! I was in one of his lesser-known flicks.”

I listen as Ted unleashes one of his amazing stories while devouring too many enchiladas. They are green chili and black bean, spicy but not too hot, cheesy but not too much, and the sauce is perfection. Hollywood stories and good food—this is exactly where I should be tonight.

I take a big drink of my margarita to cool down the spice, leaving me light and silly. I try to keep a straight face, but Ted sees right through me. “I figured if you only have one drink, I better make it strong. Thanks for babysitting me, Pony.”

“I wanted to hang out with you.” I’m feeling warm from the alcohol and chatty. “I want to work in movies. Not as an actor. More behind the scenes. How did you do it?”

He sits back and crosses his arms. “Tinseltown is all about who you know. Don’t forget that, Pony. Make connections with people. That’s what will pay off.” He takes a big drink of his margarita. Does that mean he wants to help me?

I’m feeling daring. “Can we play another round of show-and-tell?”

Ted straightens up in his chair. “Certainly. What did you bring me tonight?”

I hand him the picture from my pocket. He pulls out the glasses from his shirt pocket and takes a look. His eyes go from curious to angry. He flips the picture over and reads what it says.

“Who is that guy, Mr. London?” I ask.

“That is none of your business, boy,” he says, then pushes himself up using the table. “You shouldn’t be asking me questions like this.” He starts walking off. I watch him, eyes wide and mouth open.

Before leaving, he turns to me. “Get out of here.” Then he coughs. It starts small but quickly builds to loud, booming coughs. I think he’s going to pass out. I get up to help.

“Leave!”

“You know I can’t, Mr. London. I promised Victor.”

“Oh, Victor. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself!”

I don’t move an inch.

“Fine,” he says, the coughing slowing. “After you’re done clearing the table, go wait in the study until Victor gets back.”

“Are you kidding?” I ask.

“No,” he says, then takes off down the hallway.

A movie star just put me in time-out. I sit back in my chair, frustrated. My phone buzzes.

MAX: POST THE PETITION OR WE ARE DONE

Now it’s official; this day is fucking awful.

After clearing the dinner table, I lie down on the couch in the study and scroll through my old texts with Georgia. I wonder how the date is going.

Ted comes limping into the study, palming the cane in one hand and his drink in the other. He sits down at the desk and begins digging around in the drawers. After a few minutes of shuffling papers and cussing under his breath, he pulls out a cigarette and immediately lights it up. “Don’t you dare tattle to Victor about this, Pony.”

“It’s your life,” I say.

He relaxes and puts his feet up on the desk. “I owe you an apology.”

“No, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry, Mr. London.”

He waves me off. “Call me Ted, please. It’s still challenging for me to talk about this stuff. But I’m dying, so la-di-da!” He laughs and takes a drag off his forbidden cigarette. “The movie I told you about, The Gigantic? That Oscar wasn’t the only thing I won. I also met Lee Grayson.”

“The man in the picture?” I ask.

“Yes, that’s him. With a smile that could stop traffic.”

“Are you gay?”

“It would appear so, Pony. Women didn’t interest me the