Page 2 of Together on Parade
“Campbell said it would show my range.”
“He’s right. I’m not sure if you’re ready to look on the bright side yet, but I’m pleased by the turn of events.”
Monty rubbed his eyes. “Not yet.”
“Figured. Let’s get you something to eat.” Hilliard slid a hand under Monty’s arm and helped him up, then guided him to the kitchen.
Monty couldn’t yet afford the staff to take care of his elegant house. He hired a few maids to come in and dust it once a week, just to keep everything in good condition. But the gleaming kitchen was empty as they walked into it and Hilliard switched the light on.
When he first moved in, Monty had tried eating in the huge dining room, but it had felt too lonely, so he’d switched to eating in the kitchen. It was still lonely, but it felt homier. As he sat at the large kitchen table in the center of the room, Hilliard’s presence continued to settle him even more. He’d repeatedly invited his friend to move into one of the many spare rooms, but his offers had been rejected every time. Nevertheless, whenever Hilliard visited, he moved about the space as if he belonged in it. As he opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of eggs and a bottle of milk, it almost felt as though he lived there too. Monty felt the warmth in his chest he always felt when Hilliard was around.
“I’m going to get another drink.”
“How many have you had?”
“Do you want one?”
“Sure. Horse’s Neck.”
Monty went back to the bar and fixed two drinks. He made Hilliard’s a little less strong, as he knew his friend’s preferences in that regard. When he returned to the kitchen, Hilliard was at the stove, grating a block of cheese that Monty didn’t even know he’d had. He passed the drink over.
“Thanks, darlin’,” Hilliard said with a grin before taking a sip. “Mm. You always make them just how I like ‘em.”
“Heavy on the ginger ale, light on the cognac.”
Hilliard winked. “And a healthy dash of Angostura bitters. They’re good for you, you know.”
Monty snorted as he sat back down at the table. He sipped his own drink. It tasted a damn sight better than his earlier one. He ran a hand through his hair and leaned his cheek against his palm.
“What am I gonna do?”
Hilliard glanced at him over his shoulder. “Besides starring in a film with yours truly?”
“It’s not going to make me a star. That’s what I really want.”
“How do you know?”
Monty frowned at the question. “How do I know what I want?”
The toaster dinged, and Hilliard smoothly plucked the toast out and buttered it. The pillowy eggs were still steaming with the cheese melting invitingly on top when Hilliard placed their plates on the table. Monty dug in without hesitation.
“How do you know this movie won’t make you a star?” Hilliard asked, clarifying his previous question as he claimed his usual chair.
Monty chewed his food as he considered the question. “Because I’m a musical actor.”
“And Cal Campbell’s a dramatic one. That didn’t seem to stop Ezra.”
“I think I might have gotten under their skin on the tour,” Monty admitted.
Hilliard chuckled. “You just don’t know when to turn off the charm.”
Monty frowned. “Don’t you mean?—?”
“Nope.” Hilliard sipped his drink, one pinky curled elegantly up.
Monty finally took in his friend’s clothes: a white suit with a yellow and pink neckerchief. He’d been so distracted by his troubles, he hadn’t even noticed before. Hilliard was always impossibly stylish. “Nice outfit. Plans tonight?”
“Thank you. And yes. I’m enjoying them right now.”
