Chapter 7

The last time Brandon had met Scott Packer, only very briefly, was about six years ago. It had been a fleeting moment on the red carpet for some dumb event, which Brandon couldn't even remember. But he did remember Scott, who had towered above everyone else on the carpet, looking distinctively uncomfortable next to his agent, Liz Silverstein. The short, squat dark-haired woman, who seemed to have the most eccentric dress sense Brandon had ever seen outside of Africa, was busy schmoozing with everyone else milling about. But instead Brandon couldn't take his eyes off that lonely young kid beside her, a shock of platinum blond hair obscuring part of his face, his deep green eyes guarded and wary. Never going to make it, Brandon remembered thinking. He'd be eaten alive.

"Liz Silverstein?" Lonnie had shouted, and the two agents were hugging each other in glee, talking over the babble of nearby reporters for ET and Fox, while flashes kept going off in the background like lightning. Then Scott had turned to him, briefly, his eyes meeting Brandon's for just a few seconds, but Brandon had been surprised at the naked emotion in Scott's eyes. Loneliness, confusion, fear. Then Scott had looked away, breaking the weird spell and leaving Brandon caught off-guard.

"Lonnie and Brandon, this is my new client, Scott Packer," Liz had said, and they had all shaken hands and murmured introductions, and Brandon had decided that this guy, who was obviously some model who had delusions of acting ambitions, was a waste of his time, of Liz's time, of everyone else's. In two years, he decided, Scott was either going to be bigger than sliced bread, or serving him tuna sashimi in some fusion restaurant downtown. There were only extremes in Hollyweird.

Now, as he walked into the Picturehouse Studios office, Brandon was even more disconcerted to realise that the Scott Packer he had met back then was nothing like the tall, well-built man relaxing in an armchair next to Jake, chatting amicably. His hair was now much darker and longer, the colour of honey, tucked neatly behind his ears. He was more tanned and slightly more muscular, probably due to the intensive basketball training. Then he turned his head and his sharp, bottle-green eyes met Brandon's. Déjà vu hit him like a bolt of lightning.

"Brand!" Jake was now waving him over, and he reluctantly walked over to where the two men were sitting. Scott stood up, at least three inches taller than Brandon and a clear foot over Jake, who was beaming obliviously. "You met Scotty before, right?"

"Once," Scott said, surprising him. "But it was really long ago."

"Yeah, at some red carpet thing, right?" Brandon stuck out his hand, which Scott gripped in a firm, warm handshake. Damn. Even if the guy couldn't act, his mere handshake sent tingles down Brandon's arm.

"Yeah, it was." Then Scott ducked his head, looking rather embarrassed. "I remember being really psyched to meet you. I mean, Holden Caulfield was my hero in high school. I was so glad to meet the one guy who did him justice."

'You went to high school?' Brandon wanted to blurt out, but instead he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything caustic. Lonnie was right: if Brandon ever let his tongue have free reign, he would be one hell of a sarcastic motormouth. And an out of work one too, at that. "Thanks. I guess." He was struggling to think of something complementary to say about Scott or his movies, but his mind drew a blank. He just couldn't lie about those godawful Basketball High movies. "You look, uh, taller," he said at last, wanting to kick himself. That was it, Beck?

"Oh. Thanks, I think." Scott, unsure, looked over to Jake for assistance, and the producer smiled at both of them a little too brightly.

"Okay guys, let's go through a reading before Gary comes in, just to get a feel of how we're going to interpret the script. Let me just say congratulations to you both, as you were our first choices for the parts and we feel it is going to be one hell of a movie." Jake rubbed his hands. "So let us proceed to my office and we'll take it from there, yes?"

"Sounds good." Brandon's smile was a little too bright too, even though Scott looked rather crestfallen. Still, why did he care what this himbo had to say?