Beautiful Liar

Chapter 1 It’s been seven years since Johnny Thomas last sat in this chair, at this desk, across from this man. He’d been fifteen then, precocious, and one of the hottest names on prime time TV. Every teenybopper magazine had his picture splashed across the cover; every teenage girl from New York to LA had his pictures taped to her wall. He went by JT Pierce then, a rising young star with the world at his feet and nowhere to go but up. From appearances, manager Lou Merrin’s office hasn’t changed much since Johnny’s last visit. The movie posters lining the walls have morphed from the early 90’s films Johnny remembers to last year’s Oscar winners, and there are a few more signed celebrity photos scattered around the bookshelves, Lou in every single one of them. Each photo shows him shaking hands with A-listers in the industry and smiling for the camera. Though Lou only manages actors, there are quite a few musicians in the pics, Johnny notices, but a lot of singers make the transition to actors nowadays, and vice versa. Johnny thinks maybe he has an album in him somewhere, once he gets back in the public eye. Nothing like a Top 40 single to give his career a much-needed boost, is there? On Lou’s desk sits the same family portrait, a studio shot of the man, his wife, and a son who must be in college by now but looks all of ten in the frame. Johnny met him once but can’t recall the kid’s name. Samuel? Stuart? He should ask but he doesn’t want to remind Lou how long it’s been. He’s lucky the manager agreed to meet with him after all this time. Leaning back in his patent leather chair, Lou crosses his ankle over one knee and props his elbows on the arms of the seat. He steeples his fingers in front of him, then peers at Johnny over his fingertips. “JT Pierce,” he drawls, each syllable a separate word. “J. T. I didn’t think I’d ever see you again.” “It’s Johnny now.” He clears his throat and sits up a little straighter, his head c****d to the left to keep his long bangs out of his eyes. “Johnny Thomas.” Without dropping his gaze, Lou murmurs, “Johnny.” He’s old enough to be Johnny’s father. In many ways, that’s exactly how Johnny thinks of him—it was Lou who saw him at the mall all those years ago, when he was just a toothy eight-year-old with a mop of dark brown hair, clear gray eyes, and a wide grin that made hearts flutter. Lou who approached his mother, business card in hand, with the promise of making her little boy a star. Lou who walked him through auditions, who screened his scripts, who finally landed him his first television spot. A handful of commercials later, it was Lou who got Johnny a returning role on a popular Nickelodeon after school program, and after that, Lou snagged him the coveted lead in Fox’s Friday night hit series Zack’s Back, as well. Johnny owes the man so much, he knows. And here he is, like an ungrateful son, asking for more. For a moment, they stare across the desk, each gauging the other. Lou with his balding pate, combed over with fine strands of reddish-orange hair. His narrow face, his gaunt cheeks, his dark, unreadable eyes. Johnny forces himself to sit still, but despite his best efforts, one knee shakes nervously. He keeps his hands clenched together in his lap and waits for Lou to speak again. Let him run the meeting, he reminds himself. I need his help; he doesn’t need me. “Johnny.” With a sigh, Lou uncrosses his legs and surges forward to rest his elbows on the desk between them. “It’s been what, five years?” “Seven.” Johnny clears his throat again to keep his voice from cracking. “I’m twenty-two now.” Lou gives him an indulgent smile. “So why are you here?” “I want a comeback,” Johnny says, unable to hide the excitement in his voice. “I need the limelight, Lou. You told me to wait, remember? And I waited. Seven years I waited. But the calls stopped coming and the scripts dried up, and I haven’t had an offer in I don’t know how long. I just can’t wait any more. I want back in the business. I want you to bring me back.” Holding up one hand, Lou cautions, “Wait. You’re how old?” When Johnny starts to answer, he talks over him. “Have you gone to college?” Johnny shakes his head. “No, I—” Lou interrupts him again. “Acting school? Done any stage work? Any bit parts or paying gigs since Zack?” “No.” Johnny knows that sounds bad—he hasn’t done squat with his life since his show was canceled, but that wasn’t his fault. He was a star, damn it, and wouldn’t settle for commercial spots or sidekick roles. He wanted—he wants—the lead. “Lou, please,” he tries. “You’re the best in this business, and I need the best. You took a nobody from Bum-f****d, California, and turned him into a household name, remember? You took me and made me a star. So they already know who I am. They loved me once. How hard is it going to be to make them love me again?” But Lou doesn’t look convinced. “Disney has the corner market on kids’ TV nowadays,” he points out. “The Olsens, High School Musical, Hannah Montana? You can’t cash in on that without selling out to the system.” “I’m not talking Disney.” Johnny sighs, exasperated. “I’m twenty-two here. I don’t want to settle for TV, alright? I want something more, something bigger. I’m talking adult films.” Lou holds up both hands now, backing away. “I don’t touch those, Johnny, and you know it. I’m above board all the way—” “I don’t mean porno.” Johnny laughs and runs a hand through his long bangs. They fall back into place and he has to shake his head to the left so they don’t hide his eyes. “Jesus, Lou. What kind of guy do you think I am?” He doesn’t like the dark look the manager throws his way. “I’ve heard stories about what happened at your sweet sixteen.” A twinge of fear spikes through Johnny, but he shrugs it off. “Rumors, that’s all. Nothing happened. God, it was so long ago anyway.” “Yeah, well.” Lou gives him a distrustful look, one Johnny doesn’t care for much. “Rumor or not, that sort of s**t can make or break a career these days and you know it. You see the tabloids. Just because it’s the twenty-first century doesn’t mean middle America embraces the idea of queer leading men.” Johnny starts, “I’m not—” Now it’s Lou’s turn to laugh. “Please, Johnny. We both know you’re not that great an actor.” Johnny falls silent, a sullen pout tugging at his lips. This meeting’s taken a turn he didn’t expect. Suddenly he’s half ready to play the diva and storm out of the office. What will Lou do then? Find someone else. Johnny hates to admit it, but it’s true. There’s a line of hopefuls in the waiting room outside, each yearning for a chance to take what I once had. And it’s mine, damn it. I’m not giving in just yet. Lowering his voice, Lou says, “Look, kid. It doesn’t matter to me who you sleep with. I’ve been in this business long enough to have seen it all. But you’re not trying to sell yourself to me.” “I’m not selling myself to anyone,” Johnny mutters. He picks at a loose thread in the seam of his jeans and refuses to meet the manager’s gaze. “I want to act again. On the big screen, this time. I want—” “Johnny.” His name in that stern voice, so quiet, so commanding, makes Johnny’s words dry up. His mouth snaps shut and he pouts again, harder this time. He feels twelve years old, sitting here in Lou’s office waiting for an angry lecture on why he shouldn’t cuss on the set. Maybe he should’ve picked a different manager this go ‘round, someone who doesn’t know him so well, doesn’t know which buttons to push or how to bring him down with just a word, a look, a tone of voice. When it becomes evident Lou isn’t going to say anything else, Johnny says, “What.” “Listen,” Lou sighs. “Ninety-three percent of moviegoers in this country are women between the ages of twenty-five and forty. That’s your market base. That’s your audience. All those girls who grew up swooning over your pictures in Bop and Teen Beat are graduating from college now, getting married, having babies. They’re getting jobs and raising families, and finally beginning to realize maybe they aren’t going to snag the celebrity they used to fantasize about growing up. So they’re perfect for you. They’re poised, ready and waiting to fall in love with you all over again. With your persona. With who they want you to be.” Grudgingly, Johnny nods. Women love him; he’s always known this. Lou continues. “The gay market is growing, don’t get me wrong. But it’s still very marginalized. Brokeback aside, America wants traditional romances. Women want to be able to imagine they’re Kate Winslet, promising they’ll never let go. They want to be Romeo’s Juliet, Sid’s Nancy, Jack’s Sally. Movies are an escape—from chores, from kids, from everyday life. And if their leading man’s kissing on another dude, what’s in it for them? Where do they see themselves in that picture, hmm?” “I don’t want to do gay films,” Johnny mutters. “I want to do blockbusters—” “Exactly.” Lou sits back, the leather chair creaking beneath his weight, a smug smile on his face as if he’s just made his point. Johnny frowns, unsure of what that might be. Rolling his eyes, Lou sighs. “Fame isn’t how many films you’ve done—look at what’s his face, that guy in Amistad. The man’s been in just about every movie that’s come out of Hollywood since 1970. But who knows his name? Who cares? The media sure doesn’t. And without news articles or headlines, or candid pics, he’s nobody. See what I mean?” The frown on Johnny’s face deepens—he has no clue who Lou’s talking about. He doesn’t watch foreign films. “Who—” Lou cuts off his question with another sigh. “It’s the papers you have to cater to, Johnny. The tabloids you have to woo. Rachael Ray was a bubbly little girl working at HoJo’s a few years ago and now you can’t turn without seeing her face somewhere—on the TV, in the magazines, on a set of steak knives. That’s what’s called publicity. That’s what’s called kissing ass when you have to, smiling pretty for the camera, and letting the media have its day. You want the paparazzi to follow you around, I’m telling you. Sure, Britney’s not churning out hit songs anymore, but everyone still knows who she is. You get me?” Johnny nods, dubious, then thinks better of it and shakes his head. “Not really.” “How does the public get to know you?” Lou asks. “Not Johnny on the big screen but Johnny the actor? The face behind the movie? Because believe me, they want more than just headshots anymore. They want intimate details of every little aspect of your life. Go to the supermarket—half the magazines and newspapers on the stands are candid photos off the streets of Hollywood. Christina shopping for baby clothes, Hilary having her latté at Starbucks, Puff Daddy or P. Diddy or whatever the hell he’s calling himself these days playing in the park with his kids. Housewives eat that s**t up. They want to know you, the real you.” He gives Johnny an arched look. “For that, they turn to the tabloids.” Johnny hasn’t thought of it that way. When he was in the business earlier, he had a modest security force who would go in ahead of him, clear out a McDonald’s, and lead him through a crowd of screaming, crying girls just so he could order a Big Mac. But the only photographers taking his picture were hired to do so. The paparazzi he’s seen on the streets of LA just weren’t there then. A sudden panic grips him. Have they been trailing him all along? Snapping pictures when he’s not aware? How many crazy photos of himself are there online anyway? Flirting with the UPS man who delivered his flat screen TV, or adjusting his crotch as he watched the other guys in the weight room of Bally’s Gym, or hell, picking his jeans out from the crack in his ass as he got out of his car? Not to mention the nameless guys he paired off with in the clubs. Is nothing sacred? Lou must see the scared look on his face because he gives Johnny a tight-lipped, sympathetic grin. “You want to be a star, again. Fine. I can do that. You have that classic, all-American look about you, those eyes, that hair, and God, that smile of yours is enough to get you front row seats at the Oscars, believe me. It won’t take much to get you back out there, I know. But you have to want it—” “I do,” Johnny assures him. He sits up straighter, leans forward, eager. “Lou, you just don’t know….” Lou speaks over him. “And you have to live it. I don’t care what you do in the privacy of your own home but in public, you’re straight.” When Johnny opens his mouth to protest, Lou holds up a hand to stop him. “Uh-uh. Listen to me now. Every minute you’re out where someone can see you, even if there’s no one around, you have to stay in character. You can’t go picking up guys on street corners or making out in the back rooms of clubs or holding hands in line at Starbucks.” “I’m not like that.” Except the clubs bit, Johnny adds silently. Is that a lucky guess or does Lou know something Johnny doesn’t? “Find a female friend,” Lou advises. “Someone you can drag to award shows, someone pretty. No palling around with one guy, even if he’s been your best friend since birth. Ricky Martin brings a male escort to the Grammy’s one year and where’s his career now? You tell me. I’m serious here, Johnny. You want back in, you need to pay the dues. And that means acting like you don’t like d**k. Got that?” Johnny glares at Lou. After a moment, the manager’s face softens. “I’m not out to bust your balls, son. I’m just telling you like it is. It’s their game; you play by their rules. Or you resign yourself to indie art house films that will never make you a star. If you want this, I’m behind you a hundred percent. Make your mark now, while you’re still young, and you can chase after pool boys when you’re retired. What do you say?” In truth, Johnny doesn’t know what to say. Yes, he likes guys—he’d suspected it for years before his sixteenth birthday party, when he hooked up with another actor his own age. They hid in a closet during most of the party, kissing and touching in the dark, nothing more, but it’d given him a taste of something wonderful, something forbidden, something real he’s been searching for since. And where was that other actor now? The guy grew up in the limelight, unlike Johnny, and seemed on his way to making a big name for himself, until he came out a few years back. After a couple Advocate covers, he sort of faded from the scene. So maybe Lou’s right. Maybe America isn’t ready to separate the private from the public—maybe his sexuality would hurt his career. At the moment, it doesn’t matter much anyway. Johnny has no steady boyfriend, no one he’s interested in….when’s the last time he was with a guy? Last weekend, maybe, someone anonymous at a club. He’d give that up, if he has to. Anything to be famous again. The determination must shine in his eyes because when he looks at Lou, the manager gives him a slow grin, then offers a hand across the desk for Johnny to shake. “Alright then. Welcome back.”