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“There’s nothing immoral about a night out.”
“There is when it’s in a gay bar and you’re onstage holding hands with a Middle Eastern drag queen,” Simone countered, “which is how the studio heads see it. Not to mention sniffing amyl fucking nitrite.”
“Sri Lankan.”
“Excuse me?”
“Tammy,” Patrick said. “She’s not Middle Eastern, she’s from Sri Lanka.”
“Good for her. Now what we’re going to do is a short, simple statement to clear all of this up. A single line on your socials should suffice, we don’t want to make it a whole thing. Just tell the world that you accompanied the crew to a bar while you’re on location filming, things got out of hand, and you’re sorry and will aim to set a better example in future. And you can’t wait for everyone to see the movie. Can you manage that?”
Back in the heyday of Hollywood, Henry Willson had kept any number of unseemly rumors about his client, one Rock Hudson, from sticking. Simone’s dedication to keeping Patrick’s private life private—safeguarding their mutual livelihood in the process—could put old Henry to shame.
Patrick said nothing for a moment, embarrassment giving way to sullen rage. He was thirty-one years old. He thought back to Audra’s tirade the night before, about how ridiculous it was to be denied a haircut whenever you wanted. And it was. But Audra was different in at least one regard: a secret that only Patrick and Simone knew.
Audra was straight, and Patrick wasn’t.
Of course last night had felt good, had even felt worth risking everything he’d built in that moment. It was the first time in ages he’d acknowledged that side of himself, so no wonder he’d got carried away. But this was the agreement he and Simone had made when he became her client: come out and work in mid-tier TV for the rest of his career, or keep quiet and get everything he’d ever wanted.
Well. Almost everything.
They’d come too far now. The first Kismet had been a hit, but it was this movie everyone would judge him on. Can he do it again? Can he lead a franchise? This sequel was the gateway to the wider Wonderverse on the big screen, to his pick of scripts, maybe even to directing someday. There would come a time when Patrick could hang out in any bar he wanted, be beholden to nobody. But that day was a way off yet.
“Consider it done,” he told Simone.
“Send me a draft before you post it,” she said. “And it goes without saying, but…”
“I know.” Something inside Patrick tightened and ossified. “No more gay bars. Good night, Simone.”
Seemingly satisfied, Simone hung up, and Patrick collapsed onto his pillow. He would have liked nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but 6:30 a.m. meant a training session with Hector. He had to start getting ready now if he didn’t want to miss his call time.
When the knock at his hotel room door came ten minutes later, it wasn’t Hector laden with dumbbells and an alarmingly bright demeanor for so early in the morning, but instead a production assistant bearing a sheaf of new sides.
“More rewrites?” he asked. She looked terrified. “More rewrites. Cool. Thank you. Have a nice day!” he called after her as she fled down the corridor, having already delivered the new script to Audra, who stood in her doorway flapping the pages in the air.
“Can you believe this?” she called across the hall to him. “He can’t be serious.”
Lucas Grant, their new director, had been railroading the writing team into adding whole new sequences to “make it more dynamic” and “simplify the story,” a tall order considering this movie was intended to launch a cohesive new continuity of interconnected sequels and spin-offs. At this rate, Patrick reckoned the extant cut of Kismet 2 was already five hours long and in need of a good edit—or an intermission.
“It’s wild,” he said.
“Lunch later?” Audra asked. “Sources close to me say I’m hungover.”
“Sure,” Patrick murmured, only half looking at the pages in front of him as he reached for the door handle, “but we should probably do our homework first.” He gave her an absent-minded wave and turned back into his room, but not before hearing Audra sing, tunelessly yet still sweetly: “Last night a drag queen saved my life…”
Chapter 6
1949
When the Office for the Mission to Explore the Galaxy, headed by Professor Orson Oswald, completed its top secret project—an aircraft capable of traveling to the stars—there was only ever one person who could be trusted to man the test flight. Captain Richard Ranger had proven his skills as a pilot, not to mention his bravery and valor, during the War. He succeeded in flying this experimental craft, nicknamed the Kismet, up into Earth’s orbit—but before he could make his descent, the Kismet was pulled into a wormhole, propelling Ranger light-years across the cosmos, where he crash-landed on a distant world known as Zalia. This planet is under siege by a merciless invading force called the Prox, but the Zalians continue to resist, led by their mighty, beautiful princess, Sura. When we last left Ranger, he was preparing to defend the capital alongside Sura in a battle that will determine the fate of Zalia—and all life in the universe.
But passing through the wormhole changed Ranger on an atomic level, causing a transformation he is only beginning to understand and bestowing gifts beyond imagining. Enhanced strength, rapid healing, the ability to breathe in any atmosphere, and even the power to fly. A scientific freak? A miracle? Or the next stage in human evolution? The only thing that’s certain is in order to defeat the Prox, save Zalia, and have any hope of returning home, Ranger will have to embody the indomitable strength of the human spirit. He must become…
CAPTAIN KISMET!
“This is really quite good,” said Charles, laying the recap page down on his desk.
“I’m a hack,” said his wife, Iris, over his shoulder. “But I am having the most marvelous fun.”
