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I inherited my nonstick surface from my dad. Long before I moved back to LA, my mom and granddad used to tell me that I reminded them of him. Even as a little kid, I was pretty sure it wasn’t meant to be a compliment…but I tried to take it as one. My dad might not have been the best husband or the best dad, but he was a successful actor, director, and producer—all things I wanted to be when I “grew up.”
I followed in his footsteps. I was a theater kid who also lettered in baseball and basketball, and I swashbuckled my way through my teen years. I lost my virginity at age sixteen to an older girl. I was a fun project for her, and she was a good time for me, and it worked out perfectly.
I had a hell of a good time in high school, and it didn’t really occur to me at first that it was strange that I was always the one who broke it off. That I never wanted to reciprocate an I love you. It didn’t really penetrate my brain that I was unusual until I got to LA and women started asking me if I’d been in love before—which was often a prelude to them telling me they were falling for me. And they were shocked when I said no.
I’d been in LA just a year when I met April. We were filming a commercial together, and we were at the exact same hungry, ambitious moment in our careers. We hit it off, decided to become roommates, and then became really good friends—the kind who stay up all night talking, grab breakfast in an all-night diner, and have each other’s backs through all the miseries of trying to climb the Hollywood ladder.
April was the best friend I’d ever had, but she wanted us to be more than friends. I cared enough about her—for the first time ever—to take a shot at it. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t feel what she wanted—needed—me to feel.
After things between me and April crashed and burned, I confided what had happened to my dad—one of the few times I opened up to him. He shrugged and said it was good for me to realize that Hadley men don’t fall in love.
He said the biggest favor I could do myself and the women in my life was to let them know that up front.
I’ve tried to do that ever since.
“Of course,” I tell my dad. “The finger-quotes kind of wedding.”
“Well, congrats,” he says offhandedly.
It’s not like I expected champagne and confetti, of course, but for some inexplicable reason I feel let down.
I run a hand through my hair. I haven’t slept great the last few nights, since we made the video. I’ve been mentally planning for our first meeting with Hanna and Weggers, coming up this Friday. But that’s only half of what’s kept me up. I also can’t get Ivy out of my head. That dangling overall strap, the other one still clinging to her bare shoulder, the skimpy top underneath, that wrinkly fabric that hid what her nipples might have done when I brushed greasepaint over the curve of her tits. Leaving it to my imagination.
Then the sword jokes, the widening of her eyes, the softening of her mouth, the hardening of my cock.
I’m hard every time I think about it again, lying in bed, trying to respectfully not jerk off to a fantasy of stripping off those overalls and discovering her panty-less and wet for me…
And failing.
It’s a wonder I don’t have calluses.
“I wish you’d brought me into this,” my dad says. “We could have strategized it together. There are a lot of alliances I would have liked to make. Who is she? I hope you picked well.”
I picked well.
“It’s Eva Scott. Of Bridge.”
My dad hums. “I’m looking her up,” he says. “Oh. Interesting. She left acting and now she does community theater and summer programs for teens. Yes. I like her for you. Brilliant choice for image cleanup. People will know who she is, but she’s God’s gift to wholesome. And she doesn’t have a big fan base that’ll go after you when you two get divorced.”
My dad’s like this: pragmatic and no-nonsense, but for some reason this rubs me the wrong way.
“She’s bigger than you think, Dad. She has a cult following. The show’s popular on Screenflix.”
“‘Popular on Screenflix,’” my dad says scornfully. “A dying platform. Look, she’s definitely not my first choice, but she’ll do.”
“She’s my first choice.”
My voice is tighter and harder than I intended.
“Enough of that.” My dad makes a dismissive gesture. “I’ve got to get to another meeting in fifteen. Let’s talk about this Life of Thor movie. The more I hear, the more I like it for you. It’ll capture mainstream audience that’s hooked on the Marvel Thor, plus appeal to the”—he tips his nose up with his finger to indicate snobbery—“one percent. And that means good box office and good reviews.” He rubs his fingers together, indicating cash. Which is both par for the course with him and also kind of a joke because I think my dad has enough money at this point that he could burn it for fuel in his marble fireplace.
“Plus I’ve been wanting to get you an in with John Allison for a long fucking time.”
The thing about my dad is that he really has had my back. Ever since I showed up on his doorstep, he’s been looking out for ways to get me more and more success. He’s got a talent for predicting how well projects will fly. So if I was a little disappointed at eighteen that he didn’t want to father-and-son-it-up on the town, I got over it.
“I’ve also been looking at Tim Ernst’s indie project,” I tell him. “It’s not a huge money maker, but it’s a good David and Goliath story, and I think it needs to be told. The water supply is a real issue, and it’s shittiest for poor people.”
My dad rolls his eyes. “If I had a dollar for every David and Goliath feel-good, this is gonna change the world story that bombed at the box office?—”
