Silver Screens and Broken Dreams (Echoes of Us #2)

14. Alone was better. And then, suddenly, there was you, and you knew me. You saw me. Anya from Buffy

Austin

F ive Months Later

My baseball cap was pulled low as I exited the main doors at LAX. I wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that there were no waiting paparazzi to take photos of me as I left the airport. I had been fairly sneaky in Heathrow, arriving only moments before the flight departed with my driver's car driving me directly on the tarmac, so it was only a couple of stairs into the aircraft, and safely seated on the plane without any of the London press being any the wiser. The thought occurred to me whether I even needed to be so sneaky. What if the press was truly bored of me and wouldn't have shown up whether they knew I was there or not?

Shaking the thoughts from my increasingly anxious brain, I looked down the row of black Mercedes cars that lined the edge of the pickup zone. Men and women held up signs with their clients' names either etched on a scrap of A4 paper in half-faded biro or, for the more professional approach, professionally printed stationary with embellished designs and decorative names. As Mitzy, my agent, was the one who had arranged my transport, I looked for the driver with the cheapest possible car. Sure enough, there, with a handwritten sign on what appeared to be the inside of an empty pizza box, was my name in black Sharpie. The man holding the sign looked as if someone had summoned him from the dead, with grey skin, hollow cheeks and pure white hair.

As I'd left a lot of my clothes in storage and any of the clothing that I wore in the UK would have made me cook in the LA heat, I'd opted only to bring a small mid-sized suitcase. I waved across to the driver, whose glassy faraway expression clued me in pretty fast that his vision wasn't what one might call 20/20. The man was standing in front of a caramel-coloured Lincoln town car that had to have been from the mid-90s. There was rust along the wheel arches and the once-black trim of the car was now worn and chipped in too many places to count. The front headlight was secured in place by some black duct tape and from the looks of it, some malevolent black magic.

"Austin Ridge?" I announced as I got within five feet of the hunched-over kidney bean of a driver.

"Yes son, I'm here to pick up Mr. Ridge," the man smiled. His teeth were stained yellow, set behind thin crusted lips. "So if you wouldn't mind moving along, I don't want to miss him."

"No, I'm who you're here to pick up." I tried my best for a friendly smile, but the bumpy plane journey from Heathrow meant I'd gotten no sleep whatsoever, and my social battery was just about depleted.

"Nice try kid," the driver snorted, "but there are no free rides in this world."

"Yes, I know," I sighed through gritted teeth, "I'm fairly sure Mitzy has already factored the cost of this ride into my fee."

"You know my Mitzy?" The man immediately perked up. "How do you know my daughter?"

"You're Mitzy's father?" I gasped involuntarily before realizing how rude that had probably come across. I quickly schooled my features into something a bit more polite. "I'm sorry, I just haven't met any of Mitzy's family before." Also, Mitzy wouldn't be caught dead wearing anything from more than one season ago, and drove around LA in a hundred-thousand-dollar convertible. The old man standing in front of me appeared to be down on his luck with a car that could fall apart into a hundred pieces at any given moment.

"So you're a client of my Mitzy?" he grinned.

"Yes, I'm Austin Ridge." I gestured towards the pizza box sign in his hand.

"Why didn't you say so!" he chuckled, snagging the luggage from my hand. I also didn't point out that I'd spent the last few infuriating minutes explaining to him that I was in fact, Austin Ridge. "Make yourself comfortable Mr. Ridge. I'll get you to Mitzy's office quick as a flash." He pulled the rear passenger door open and gestured for me to get in.

Whilst the car was in fact a relic of the early Bill Clinton presidency, Mitzy's dad didn't let that stop him from flooring the gas and burning rubber through the streets of Los Angeles. Forty minutes later, we pulled up outside Mitzy's offices. After dumping me and my luggage curbside, her dad sped away down the street like a low-rent Knight Rider.

West Hollywood stretched out around me, its streets a vibrant tapestry of modernity and old Hollywood charm. The buildings there, an eclectic mix of sleek, contemporary office blocks and charmingly weathered art deco apartments, reflected the dynamic and diverse spirit of the area. Just a block away, the legendary Sunset Strip buzzed with activity, its famed billboards and neon lights a stark contrast to the palm tree-lined residential area that offered a more subdued kind of beauty.

I could see the Hollywood Hills in the distance, their iconic signage peeking through an early evening haze, casting a dreamlike glow over the city. The energy of West Hollywood was palpable, a blend of high-octane glamour and laid-back Californian cool that somehow managed to be both exhilarating and daunting, both welcoming whilst being somewhere you could be surrounded by people and still be totally alone.

There was a sense of magic in these streets. This was the place where dreams were pursued, sometimes found, often lost, but always fervently chased with a relentless optimism that seemed uniquely Angeleno.

I took in a deep breath as I pushed through the double glass door and approached the receptionist's desk on the polished marble floor of the high-rise building.

"How can I help you today?" the young girl behind the reception desk sighed as if I had interrupted something of immense importance rather than the group chat on the phone I spied on the desk in front of her. "Rude!" she exclaimed, and a hand with talon-like red painted nails slammed over the screen of the device and slid it into a desk drawer.

"I'm here to see Mitzy Barrett," I announced loudly, hoping loud noises would distract her long enough to do her job.

"And you are?" she gestured toward me.

"I'm Austin Ridge," I bit out.

"Hold on a moment," she huffed, raising a finger in the air toward me. She plucked the handset from the phone on the desk next to her brightly decorated computer and tapped on the keys. "I have someone to see Mitzy," she sang as the other person on the line answered. "A Mr. Bridger." Omg it's her!

"It's Mr. Ridge, actually," I corrected her loudly.

"Then who is Mr. Bridger?" she snapped.

"No one! No one is Mr. Bridger! I don't think anyone has ever been Mr. Bridger! It's Austin Fucking Ridge." The plane ride, the turbulence, and the ride with Mitzy's dad were all too much and now the she-devil on Mitzy's reception was just the last straw.

"Please mind your language, Mr. Bridger," she exclaimed, laying her claws over her heart.

"Mitzy! Mitzy!" I shouted at the top of my voice. I didn't have the mental fortitude to deal with her for a second longer.

"Austin, darling!" a voice cried out. I turned to see Mitzy walking towards me from a set of swinging double doors on the far side of the floor. "Shall we go into my office? Be a dear Rachel and bring Mr Ridge a coffee."

"Sure thing boss!" the she-devil smirked with feigned enthusiasm.

After walking through an office full of agents busy on phones or in meeting rooms with some famous faces that left even me star-struck, I followed Mitzy into her office.

Mitzy's office was an oasis of style and efficiency within the bustling environment of the agency. As I stepped through the doors following her, the space opened up into a large, sunlit room that exuded a blend of professionalism and personal flair. The walls were adorned with a collection of vibrant artworks ranging from classic Hollywood portraits to abstract modern paintings that seemed to pulsate with life. Each piece was carefully curated to reflect the dynamic, cutting edge and frankly, chaotic aspects of Mitzy's life that she brought directly to her work.

The office was dominated by a large, sleek desk made of polished chrome and glass, situated directly beneath a contemporary chandelier that cast a soft, ambient light over the surface. Behind the desk, floor-to-ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of West Hollywood, and the bustling streets below framed perfectly as if they were part of the décor. The skyline was a backdrop of inspiration, with the iconic silhouettes of the city's architecture melding into the distant hills.

On one side of the room, a cosy sitting area was set up, featuring a plush velvet sofa flanked by two chic armchairs. A low coffee table sat in the middle, piled with the latest issues of industry magazines and scripts that seemed ready for review. Mitzy gestured to one of the armchairs as she slid into the other. We had barely sat down before a sharp bang on the door drew our attention.

"Come in!" Mitzy yelled as the door was thrust open by Rachel's thigh as she held a tray with two cups and a carafe of dark coffee. The smell wafted across the room, invading my nostrils, and making me crave the caffeine. After placing the tray onto the small coffee table, Rachel bowed almost reverentially before backing out of the room.

"So, how have you been Austin?" Mitzy smiled, reaching across to pour two cups of coffee, offering both milk and sugar. Declining them both, I took one of the cups offered.

"That's a very long story Mitzy." I chuffed out a laugh.

"Okay then," she nodded thoughtfully, "how's the wife?"

I stared at her dumbfounded. "Mitzy, you met my ex-boyfriend Dylan."

"Oh dear," she pressed her free hand to her chest, "did your wife find out about your boyfriend then?"

"Mitzy, I don't have a wife!" I exclaimed, exasperated, struggling to keep my tone light despite the mix-up and realization that Mitzy didn't have a single clue about anything other than my work.

"Oh dear, she went and divorced you, didn't she? I knew something like this was bound to happen!" She plucked a file from the table in front of her and began to leaf through it. "Did she take the kids as well?"

"Mitzy!" I snapped. "I don't have children!"

"Oh no! Full custody! How did she manage that?"

I reached across the space between us and rested a hand on her knee. "Mitzy, just so we are clear. I'm Austin Ridge. I'm super gay and I've never had a wife." I smiled hopefully.

"That's the spirit!" She snapped her fingers from side to side. "Like the bitch never even existed."

I lost the will to argue and as in actual fact the bitch had never actually existed, I didn't even have to pretend. "Anyway Mitzy, moving swiftly on!"

"Of course." She waved a manicured hand in the air briefly, before lifting a small rectangular tablet from a side table next to her chair. "So anyway Austin, it has been forever since we've managed to have one of our little catch-ups. Tell me, what have you been up to?"

I looked at her perplexed as she regarded with me what appeared to be genuine curiosity. Surely she of all people knew exactly what I'd been up to. She had arranged my travel from London to here. I considered this for a moment, taking in the expensive surroundings, the pale orange Birkin bag on the desk and the super expensive Louboutins clacking against the marble floor, before realizing that the she-devil on the front desk had obviously made all the arrangements. It explained a lot. It explained why on the flight, where I'd been placed in coach, the attendant had brought over my vegan and gluten-free meal, despite me not requesting either, and it likely explained the white knuckle terror ride from Mitzy's father.

"Well Mitzy, as I hope you know," I started, "I'm just finishing up the last of the movies I'm shooting in London. You know? The three-picture deal you made for me at Graywood?"

"Oh of course!" she gasped, placing the tablet back down on the table. "Of course, that's why we haven't met for a while! Silly Mitzy." She made a show of rapping her knuckles on the side of her head. Oddly enough, this movement seemed to shake something loose in her brain. "Just to make sure, we did take our cut from that deal right?"

"Yes Mitzy," I rolled my eyes hard, "the giant chunks of out my check assured me you were definitely taking your fee."

"That's just darling, darling!" Mitzy exclaimed, her voice tinged with that theatrical flair that made every word she uttered sound like a stage direction. "Now, tell me, what do you want to do next Austin? What can Mitzy do to take you to that next level?"

I took a deep breath, my heart heavy with the weight of past losses and the pressing need to forge ahead. "Mitzy, I've played the 'straight role' for far too long, both professionally and personally," I began, my voice steady despite the tumult of emotions within me. "I'm tired of hiding who I really am. It's exhausting and dishonest. Losing Dy… losing a part of me was hard – devastating, actually – but I also need to work, to build something. I can't work to get back that piece of me empty-handed, with nothing but the remnants of a failed career I crafted under a fa?ade."

Mitzy's gaze softened, the spark of her usual vivacity giving way to rare, sincere solemnity. "Darling, while Hollywood is a rainbow tapestry behind the scenes, it's still a place where those who step out in front don't always play the roles that reflect their talent. There's a reason why none who are openly queer have landed leading roles in superhero films, straight romances, or as the face of big-ticket action movies. The public, or at least the studios, just aren't ready."

I leaned forward, fueled by a resolve sharpened by personal trials and the ache of lost love. "Maybe that's true, Mitzy, but I believe the public is more ready than we give them credit for. Change has to start somewhere. Why not with me? Why not now? I'm not just doing this for myself – I'm doing it for all the other Austins out there, and for the next generation who shouldn't have to choose between authenticity and ambition."

She studied me intently for a few moments, her features shifting as the seasoned business mogul surfaced once again. "Oh Austin," she sighed, her tone rich with both admiration and a hint of challenge. "You've certainly got guts. If you're really set on breaking barriers, you'll need more than just determination; you'll require a solid plan and a robust PR strategy."

Her smile then returned, more confident and infused with the sharp cunning that had cemented her status as a legend in the industry. "Alright, let's make it happen. We're going to carve out a place for you that's so impactful, it will be impossible to ignore. You're going to be the first gay man to land a role that doesn't just meet the diversity quotas but shatters all expectations. We'll present them with a superhero, a heartthrob, a maverick – someone real and unstoppable. I may have a little something that crossed my desk a few days ago, but let me think about that for a while. But first," she paused, her eyes twinkling with humour, "let's ensure that staff can at least remember your name correctly, and I love him to bits, but maybe a driver who isn't stuck in a 90's racing game?"

I couldn't help but laugh, the sound mingling with a newfound sense of purpose. This wasn't merely about reclaiming lost love or reshaping my career, it was about redefining success and authenticity in an industry that thrived on appearances. With Mitzy on my side, ready to disrupt Hollywood, I was ready to embrace whatever came my way.

"But before we get ahead of ourselves," Mitzy added, her voice dropping to a more serious tone, "we should really talk with your publicist about this. Make sure everything aligns perfectly on all fronts before pulling any triggers. I'll sort everything, I'll arrange a meeting with them later today. You go get yourself acclimated back to Hollywood, let Mitzy handle everything."

Nodding, I felt a stir of anticipation coupled with a twinge of loneliness – a reminder of the personal costs these choices might entail.

***

Later that week, I wandered along the Hollywood Boulevard, my steps aimless amidst the thrum of tourists. The glitter of the sidewalk stars did little to fog the solitude enveloping me. My attention was captured out of the corner of my eye by a newsstand on the edge of the sidewalk. I plucked a copy of a glitzy tabloid out of the metal stand, my fingers gripping the page hard.

"You break it, you buy it handsome," the red-haired middle-aged woman manning the stand chirped. "Also, this ain't a library honey. You buying that?"

"Huh?" Realizing she was talking to me, I nodded and tapped my phone against the card reader in her outstretched hand.

I glared at the front page of the magazine, a glossy gossip rag that after today, I vowed I would no longer buy. The front page featured an exclusive about Jax Conway from Amore Blue , stepping out with confirmed new beau and the show's head writer, Dylan Cooper.

New York's Hottest New Couple! Spotted cosying up at the chic Le Petite Maison last night, Jax and Dylan, strongly rumoured to be Manhattan's new power couple, were later seen partying into the small hours with a group of friends and the who's who of the small screen. Sources close to the pair say they've been inseparable, working closely on and off set, turning their professional relationship into a romantic one that's set to be this year's most talked about courtship.

As my eyes scanned an accompanying photo of Dylan and Jax standing in the middle of a dance floor, Dylan's head thrown back in laughter as Jax pressed his mouth against my man's neck! , a hollow feeling settled in my gut. He wasn't my man. He wasn't my anything. I was his past. The image of them together, so happy, so unburdened, stirred a mix of longing and loneliness within me that was hard to dismiss. As I turned away, the echoes of my own past with Dylan whispered painfully through the crowded boulevard.

It was amidst the daze that two faces emerged from the crowd. Two faces whom, aside from within the pages of the very same gossip rag that was scrunched in my fist, I assumed I'd never see again. I watched, mesmerized, as Christina and Yiannis from my first TV gig emerged like specters from the crowd, and perused the stars outside Mann Chinese Theatre.

Our eyes met, and a tangible discomfort immediately set in. Christina's eyes flickered away almost instantly, seeking refuge anywhere but in my gaze, while Yiannis paused, his feet rooted to the spot as if grappling with the urge to flee. They exchanged a brief, tense look, a silent conversation passing between them – should they stay, should they go? I could almost hear the strained cogs of their minds clocking, the air thick with hesitancy.

After what felt like an eternity but in reality was only a few seconds, Yiannis linked his arm through Christina's and walked towards me. When only a few feet separated the distance between us, Yiannis regarded me with a wary expression. "Hey Austin."

"Um… hi," I ventured cautiously. I figured that caution was the best approach when having any type of dialogue with these two. For one thing, because I'd thought Christina was my friend. Instead, she'd detonated a bomb within our show and put a lot of people out of work. Luckily, me and the rest of the cast had been able to find other work, but it hadn't been so easy for the crew. I also maybe subconsciously was bitter towards them for finding love through the show, when I'd given up the only love I'd known before or since for the damned production.

Yiannis grimaced, looking down at the floor momentarily before a steely resolve seemed to settle over him. Taking a deep breath, his gaze snapped up to meet my own. "Austin, um, I'm really sorry about everything that went down with us and the network," he blurted out, the words tumbling out in a rush. "We honestly never meant to cause such chaos. We didn't know it would play out the way it did."

Christina, still not meeting my eyes, added in a murmur. "It was never intended to go so far. But things… things got out of control." Her voice was soft, filled with regret but underscored with the undeniable truth of their feelings. "Yiannis and I – we fell in love. We never planned it. Neither of us saw it coming."

Yiannis squeezed her hand, a gesture of his support and affirmation. A warm smile crossed his face as he looked at her, his feelings right there for all the world to see. "I've hurt people I care about," he continued, his tone earnest. I saw the remorse and the guilt simmer just under his surface, but his eyes showed defiance as if anyone should dare to question his love for Christina. "I hurt my ex-wife and… well, you all. But I can't regret the path that it led me on, not when it brought me here, to this place, with the love of my life."

"Babe," Christina sighed, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"Our careers might never fully recover," he shrugged, "but that seems insignificant when I think about our future, waking up next to her every morning, being there for her when she is sick, bringing her soup and lying with her in bed till she gets better. The big moments like watching our child open presents from under the Christmas tree." His voice softened as Christina instinctively touched her belly, her actions revealing more than her words ever could.

Their admission reminded me of a Christmas, one where Dylan had donned a cheap Santa suit to surprise me with a gift. His playful shock the next morning, his whispered dreams of a future filled with laughter and children, echoed painfully in my heart. He had been so sure I'd make a great father.

Swallowing the knot of emotion in my throat, I managed a small smile. "I honestly wish you both the best," I said, my voice stronger than I felt. "Really, what is the point of holding grudges? Professionally, I am in a good place. We all find our own paths, and I hope yours brings you the happiness you deserve."

We said our goodbyes and closed a chapter in our lives. Turning away, the weight of their impending life contrasted sharply with my solitary existence. They had chosen each other, braving the storm for a love that promised them a future of shared moments and mutual support. Meanwhile, I had chosen safety, fame, solitude and shielding my heart and my mind from potential pain, but missing out on the very essence of what made life worth living.

My cell vibrated in my pocket. I flipped open my phone to see Mitzy's number flashing on the screen. "Hi Mitzy," I sighed, resting the cell to my ear, "what's up?"

"I might just have a job for you!" she gushed. "One I think you are going to love. Can you come into the office tomorrow while I run you through it?"

We arranged for me to meet her for lunch at her offices. She even promised that the front office super evil mega witch would be extra nice to me. I didn't believe her for a second.

As the voices of the street faded behind me, a resolution formed, full-fledged, in my head. Perhaps it was now time to redefine what I was truly seeking. Maybe it was time to chase a future not just filled with accolades, but with laughter, love and someone new to share it all with. Maybe, just maybe, it was time to find my own path to happiness.