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Still, the need to prove himself as a man able to do the work and carry a movie without the help of his last name or the world's most talented special effects department was what lit a fire in him hot enough to burn down the Hollywood sign.
Right on cue, his phone rang.
"Carter, my man." His brother and agent, Byron, didn't sound the least bit winded even though odds were he was calling during the middle of his workout. The sicko trained hard and with the dedication of a body builder for the fun of it, not because the studio made him. "How are you and are you ready for me to send the rescue helicopter yet?
Carter glanced toward the sliding glass doors leading to his balcony. He could still see the New York skyscrapers in the distance. "We probably haven't even hit international waters."
"Did you get my gift?" his brother asked in one of his trademark oh-look-a
-squirrel change of topics.
"I did. The condoms are a nice touch."
There was mountain of fruit, wine, cheese, and a box of condoms in a plastic wrapped basket that had been waiting in the middle of Carter's double bed when he'd opened his door. In addition to being his brother and agent, Byron was also the biggest troll alive so there was no doubt he'd included the condoms just to rub it in that Carter wouldn't be getting any during this cruise. The last thing he needed was getting his cover blown by getting a little too up close and personal with a rando or having someone spot his stupid birthmark.
"Hey, just because you’re the uptight nerd version of Carter doesn't mean you have to stay celibate," Byron said as if he didn't know well and good that the very opposite was true. "My therapist says that it's important to express yourself and not bottle things up."
Carter rolled his eyes. "Isn't your unlicensed therapist also your weed dealer?"
"Hey man, it's L.A., everyone has to hustle."
"Speaking of hustling for work, is everything lined up for New York when I get back?"
Allyson Hernandez had all but triple-dog dared him into making this trip. It had happened during one of those awful Hollywood lunches at a restaurant almost no one could get reservations for. With several shelves full of awards for her movies, she didn't need Carter to get a table, however, being seen with him and even having it whispered that he might be attached to her next project could do wonders for getting financing for her next award contender. Meanwhile he wanted a shot—a real shot—at the lead part of a single father with a genius kid who had an attitude problem. So it was a transactional meeting, yes, but the tolerable kind where everyone involved was in on the real situation.
He'd made his case and Allyson had called over the waiter, asking the guy who she was sitting with. His answer? The Admiral. She called over a couple of others from the staff and got the same answer every time. He'd asked for one shot to prove he could disappear into a character, he'd do anything, all she had to do was name it. She'd told him about the cruise. He'd booked his spot right there at the table.
"I'm hurt that you'd doubt me on making that meeting with Allyson happen," Byron said with a huff. "We are brothers, you asshole."
"Exactly," he shot back. "That means I know you better than you know yourself."
And the truth of it being that his brother wasn't so thrilled with giving up guaranteed work for a chance at a maybe. Byron only believed in sure things.
"Such a dick. If only America knew what a pain in the ass The Admiral is." He paused, drawing out the moment as if they both didn't already know the answer. "Yes, it's all set up. You know she doesn't think you can carry it off. She says if you dock in New York and everyone on the boat hasn't made you, that she'll add another point of the box office if your audition is good enough for you to get the part."
"I don't want the points." How many times did he have to have this discussion with his numbers-obsessed brother? "I want the project. The story is amazing, it's—"
"Snore fest," Byron interrupted, his voice taking on the no-nonsense, cold-ass shark vibe that had earned him the reputation of being one of the scariest agents in the business. "Look, I love you, Carter, but I care about the points and believe me when you're too old to play The Admiral and get that kind of stupid money you will too. No one wants to end up like Mom and Dad."
Now that was the truth. It was amazing that when the parts dried up, the champagne ran out, and the cocaine dealer stopped delivering on credit how fast everyone fled. By the time their parents had to sell their house, the ranch in Wyoming no one ever visited, and all of the flotsam and jetsam from film sets that they'd collected over the years, there wasn't anyone left by their sides except for Carter and Byron. Their parents hadn't taken it well—that was one way to describe what happened, the tabloids had called it a Hollywood nightmare murder-suicide.
"I'm not crashing my career," Carter said, retreating from the edge of all those bad memories. "I'm diversifying. It's smart."
"I know, I know, just don't get too classy to think about the bottom line," Byron warned. "I know you love acting, but it's still business."
"That's why I have you." Byron was the one person in the world who he could trust to always have his back.
"And you're damn lucky for it." The unmistakable beep of the treadmill being turned off echoed through the line. "Have fun, nerd."
Carter chuckled. "You too, meathead."
"Always, man," his brother said, the booming, cocky confidence back in his voice. "It's hard to be as good looking as I am and not have fun."
Carter was still smiling when he hung up, but he couldn't totally shake the oh-fuck feeling in his gut. This part mattered and he would do whatever it took to make this cruise a success and prove to Allyson that he could disappear into a part so well that no one saw even a hint The Admiral when they looked at him. Everything was riding on him staying under cover.
Three
At the mandatory safety briefing Carter was sandwiched in line between a pair of guys who looked like they'd lifted so much their necks had permanently disappeared and the petite, just graduated from college-aged brunettes who had already hit the pool bar hard—all of whom ignored him as if he was just some regular guy in a stupid Hawaiian shirt. It was amazing. It had been years since he'd been ignored and he was kinda digging it.
