Page 53 of If the World Was Ending

Margo kept her eyes on the menu. “If you want to be out, be upfront about it. From the get-go. Humility and honesty are key. And then happily accept the roles that you’re going to be designated to. And that isn’t the action hero, the superhero, or the Rom Com lead. It’s the best friend. The quirky brother. The hilarious sidekick.”

“That is absolute bullshit,” Hunter whispered, shaking his head. “It’s acting for God's sake, which means pretending. Why can’t queer actors pretend to be straight and get away with it?”

“They do. You just don’t know it because they’re closeted. Because the old white men up in the glass corner offices have a hard time believing that the women and teenage girls that make up a big chunk of the demographic will be able to believe a guy who saves the girl and makes out with her on camera if he’s walking the red carpet with a guy and kissing him in paparazzi photos.” Margo finally put her menu down and met his stare. “And yes, it is absolutely complete and utter bullshit. I personally don’t care who you kiss off camera. It’s hot either way. My favorite genre of books is MM romance. It’s all I read on vacation, which is the only time I get to read something other than scripts and contracts. I want to see a dude make out with another dude. It’s hot, and it’s safe, and it’s free of the stupid stereotypes women have to live with in media and real life. But I am, admittedly, not a middle American Christian mom. That demo, they aren’t likely to as open-minded or as forgiving. Because they’re as dumb as a bag of rosary beads and about as useful. Except they have money and they spend money, and so they matter to the industry.”

Hunter stared at her, open-mouthed and at a loss for words. This was a side of Margo he hadn’t met yet. The blunt feminist liberal who read gay romance. Hunter liked her even more now.

The waiter came up, set down their martinis, and took their order. Margo ordered for them, as he anticipated. She got a Cobb Salad, and she ordered him the Lobster Club with a Cesar salad instead of fries. When the waiter left, she turned her gaze back at Hunter. “Look, honey, I have a feeling our business relationship is ticking down, and that’s okay. I like you. I saw your talent, but I also like you, so I’ll be honest with you.”

“I’m not dumping you, Margo. Why do people keep thinking I will?”

She smiled, but it was sad and placating as she reached for her martini. “You won’t want to, but the big agents at the big agencies are going to come for you when that movie hits. They’ll be banging down your door day and night and slipping cards in your pockets at every event and sending you gifts that cost them their whole fucking bonus that year. I know I would if I were them.”

“I said?—”

“You’ll move on, and it’s okay,” Margo said quietly. “I can’t do for you what they’ll do for you. I don’t want to. I left a big agency because I wanted a quieter life. I kept my agency small on purpose. I make very decent coin, kiddo. I do. I hit the jackpot with you and a couple others over the years who have also moved on. I’m a springboard, not a crash pad. Happily. And when you move on, I can always be there for you as a mentor and a friend. Don’t lose my number.”

“You’re my agent, and I’m not moving.”

“Okay,” she said, and it was beyond clear she was amused by his loyalty. But she changed the subject before he could argue more. “So, let’s get back to the morally democratic but fiscally republican industry we live in. That’s what it boils down to, Hunter. Surface-wise, Hollywood is all for gay rights and equality, and love is love, but if it impacts even a penny of their revenue —and an out, proud, open gay man as, say, James Bond or Superman would— then they aren’t having it. Not even in the slightest. But they’ll always be the first to slap a rainbow on a side character. Superman’s bestie can be as queer as he wants, but not the man in tights. So ironic it’s laughable.”

“Chris basically explained that to me too. He couldn’t get any role for over a decade, though, after he came out. Not even one of the sidekick ones.”

“Because he took those straight roles and came out after the fact.” Margo sighed and put her martini back on the coaster. “Not willingly either. He was caught. People are angry because he duped them. I think it’s bullshit. As I said, I still would have paid money to watch Chris Westchester read a grocery list, even after the outing. But… It’s an unforgiving, archaic industry when it comes down to it, Hunter.”

“So, there’s not one gay dude in Hollywood?” Hunter questioned, bringing his own martini to his lips.

“There are, and you know it,” Margo leaned closer across the table. “There’s a ton more you don’t know about. A-listers rolling the same dice Chris Westchester did and hoping they don’t lose the house like he did.”

Hunter put his martini back on the table a little too abruptly, and it sloshed, leaving a wet spot on the linen tablecloth. “I don’t think I realized how homophobic this industry actually is.”

“It’s not just homophobic. It’s equally as breathtakingly misogynistic,” Margo added with an overabundance of sarcastic enthusiasm. “Are you going to walk away? Give up everything that you’ve wanted your whole life, kill the dream, on principle?”

“No.” The word came easily, as did the strong feeling in his chest. He wanted this career no matter what.

Margo nodded without an inkling of judgment on her face. She pulled the scripts out of her purse on the banquette and dropped them onto the table. “Then let’s read the script and discuss. This is my last chance to make bank off you, honey.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Okay.”

It was four weeks later, when Hunter was driving to Chipotle on Sunset because he was too lazy to walk and too depressed to grocery shop, that he heard Colby. On the radio. Tidal’s first single, Uncomplicated Ending, had been released as a teaser for the album and their tour with Hannah Wolfe that started last week. And it was on the freaking airwaves! Hunter pulled over on one of the narrow side streets in Spaulding Square, cranked the volume, and immediately called Colby. He didn’t answer. Hunter’s heart sank, but he left a message.

“You’re in my car! On the fucking radio, dude! I am freaking out! I wish you were here! I—” Hunter caught himself. He was going to say ‘I love you’. Of course, he meant it like a best friend loves a best friend. Nothing more, but still. Because of their forays into the benefits section of friendship, it would be nothing but awkward if he said that now, so he stopped himself. “I am so fucking proud, buddy. Gonna tell everyone at Chipotle I know you!”

He ended the voice message, took a photo of the song on his radio screen, and posted it to Instagram stories. “Famous” was the caption, but he couldn’t tag him because Colby had blocked that option, which sucked. He tagged Colby’s bandmate Travis instead, who had his profile open.

Then Hunter pulled back onto the road. God, he would do anything to see Colby again right fucking now. How did this ache so fucking much? He got his chicken burrito and chips and salsa and drove back home, deciding to eat it in the courtyard by the pool, at the one picnic table, because being alone inside that apartment sucked.

He’d gone back to working at Range. He’d taken two shifts so far, but he’d be quitting again, this time for good. He hadn’t needed to go back. He still had a hefty sum in the bank from the movie, and he started filming the Staycation movie next week. But he was bored and borderline depressed just hanging out in the apartment and going to the gym. He’d run into Leandra, who mentioned she was single and would like to hang out again, maybe try to be friends. He’d also been getting texts from Mikayla inviting him out. But he avoided responding to both women because he was lonely, and that would lead him to make choices he wasn’t sure he wanted to make. So he’d taken some shifts instead. More money was a good thing.

But next week he was off to Atlanta, where Staycation was filming. And they’d even booked him a first-class ticket, which he’d never had before. Hunter had also never been to Atlanta before, and he was a little bit bummed it was filming so far from LA. But what did it matter? Colby wasn’t expected back for another two months anyway. He’d finished the album, and the group had gone back to touring, opening for Hannah Wolfe.

His phone buzzed, and his whole body felt twenty pounds lighter when he saw Colby’s name on the FaceTime request.

“Hey! Oh my God! You were on the fucking radio!” Hunter blurted out as Colby’s handsome, smiling face filled his screen.

Colby laughed, but it echoed. No. Wait… there were two people laughing? He wasn’t alone. Hunter’s smile dimmed. “I’m so bummed I wasn’t with you. I haven’t heard it on the radio. But it’s trending on Spotify.”