Page 9 of Starring Role

Chapter five

Weirdly, the partyturned out to be the very night of his television debut. But he'd already agreed to it, and really, he could fit in both if he timed it right, kept the party time short. But to be real, he knew he might not even be able to turn on the premier ofWolf Cop. Yes, he was vain enough to want to see how much of his work had made the final cut, and obviouslyhoped his acting and his body would hold up. But he was still feeling so damned low about it, he didn't know if he could stand to see it yet. He'd given everything, and the fact that it hadn't been enough left him really feeling raw and vulnerable. Sitting up and watching it wouldn't be a good way to end the night. Even a party would probably be a little better.

Probably.

Obviously, he wouldwatch it someday; it would be an acting credit, and he'd be able to separate himself from the role enough someday to watch it objectively and see how he'd shown up in the production. He might learn something; he might grow as an actor, or a person. Maybe both.

But if he watched it tonight, he might want to do himself some form of harm. It was all well and good to say he would never stoop toharming himself, but there were lots of ways to harm yourself—stupid decisions like calling his ex, or drinking too much, might be the least dangerous at this point.

The industry chewed people up and spit them out, and Coop wasn't hard, strong, or tough; he'd struggled with his mental health in the past, and he felt so fucking fragile right now, he really didn't want to find out what he'd do.If the debut was horrible, he could put off watching it. If it was wonderful, the wait wouldn't hurt anything, either.

Better safe than sorry.

So he put on his tux and straightened his collar and fixed his hair as rakishly as possible, then looked at himself in the mirror, searching his eyes.Am I a sellout?A boy toy?he wondered.

Would he see something different in his eyes if thisall went down the way Allan was obviously hoping? He'd be a much easier client if Allan didn't have to chase interviews for him, if he could instead just handle some paperwork because a rich boyfriend was supplying all the well-paying roles instead.

Would I even be his boyfriend?Or just a kept man?He shuddered at the thought.Never thought I'd even consider something like this.It wasn'texactly an easy way to keep his self-respect. Maybe the fact that he was going to the party showed there wasn't much to respect in the first place.

But he wasn't going to back out, damn it. He'd agreed, and he'd see it through. And try not to drink too much or do anything else foolish. At least it would keep his mind offWolf Cop. Why should he even give a damn about the show? He didn'twant to be typecast as a wolf, anyway.

Right?

The party was as loud and bright and flashy as could be imagined outside, with reporters allowed at the gates but not past them, taking pictures of everyone who came and went for the gossip rags and dirt-dishing websites. Cooper flashed his best smile, knowing he showed up to advantage in a tux, and hung around the gate for a little while toanswer questions and chat in the hope it would earn him a few extra sentences of publicity somewhere.

One reporter remembered he was going to be inWolf Cop; they asked a couple of questions, and he gave the rote polite answers: a pleasure working with Lincoln, delightful to be cast in a big production, excited about the show, humbly hopeful that people would like it. It was all the usual stuffand probably wouldn't make the cut. The questions were short, all softballs. Nobody brought up the controversy of playing a wolf, and nobody was all that interested in his answers. They were just trying to get some footage and a few words in case some space needed to be filled. He might rate a few words or a picture, but he wouldn't count on it. Being cute in a tux didn't mean he was actuallya scoop.

Then he went into the party, greeted and chatted and sipped champagne, enjoyed the canapés and got to see the inside of a mansion that was, frankly, gorgeous. He'd seen some pictures in a lavish home decor magazine spread, showing Swindon and his boyfriend at the time lounging on white fur and showing off the decadence of good taste and money and offbeat style combined into a headymixture. There were mostly pictures, not many words in the article, but even so, he'd managed to glean the impression that the boyfriend (an artist/designer) was a bit of a jerk.

If he likes jerks, he won't like me.Right?Coop laughed nervously to himself as he studied the art on the wall. Was it possible Swindon really owned it, or had it been borrowed from a museum for the event? Eitherway, having it out here in public, if Swindon didn't have some damned good security, left him ripe for some kind of real-life art heist.

Coop amused himself with the idea as he studied the abstract designs, a small smile curving his mouth. He didn't realize he was smiling to himself that way until a man spoke. "A fan of Pittman?" the man said casually, and Coop saw next to him a squat, muscularman with graying hair that he recognized from the magazine, now older and wearing a casual outfit. Coop couldn't tell if it was stylish or not, which probably meant it was on the cusp of what would be stylish, but only really in-the-know people would wear it at this point.

He looked sideways at Rorke Swindon and decided to be a bit naughty. He could tell Allan that he'd tried, that they hadn'thit it off. "I was just thinking how easy this would be to steal. If this was a heist movie."

"Oh?" said Swindon. "Feeling a bit larcenous, are we?"