“I’ve read about the modeling world,” Callum had commented at the time. “It’s full of drugs.”
“No more than the university,” Clay shot back. “And I didn’t do drugs there. Stop being so paranoid.”
“I’m not being paranoid. I’m just doing what our mother asked me to do. Looking after you.”
When Clay rolled his eyes at this and once again launched into his you’re-my-brother-not-my-father speech, Callum stopped arguing with him. After all, Clay was technically right. He wasn’t his father, though he’d felt like one ever since their real father had walked out on his family when Clay had been barely two months old. Callum—six, at the time—had suddenly found himself the man of the house, a role which he’d shouldered to the best of his ability. He’d been more father than brother to Clay for all of his life, a role which Clay obviously resented.
But someone had to keep an eye on the boy. Clay was far too good-looking for his own good. And not worldly-wise enough, in Callum’s opinion. Survival in the modeling—and acting—world required a level head on your shoulders. And a degree of maturity Callum had yet to see in his kid brother.
So here he was, still keeping an eye on him. Clay was no longer strutting his stuff as a male model, courtesy of a new agent who’d been getting him some real acting work, both on TV and in the movies. He’d been all good news over the phone the last few months. Not quite so chirpy yesterday, however, when Callum had phoned to let him know his estimated time of arrival.
Callum jerked his luggage trolley to a halt. Was that what had been niggling away at his subconscious during the flight home? Had his big-brother antenna instinctively tuned into some problem Clay had been trying to hide from him?
“You got a problem there, buddy?”
Callum took a second or two to realize that the customs officer was talking to him.
“Nope,” he returned, and pushed his trolley up to the customs desk.
“At least I sure hope not,” he muttered under his breath shortly after as he made his way down the walkway toward the arrivals terminal.
Clay was there, waiting for him, which was a surprise in itself, given it was seven o’clock on a Saturday morning. Early rising was not one of Clay’s virtues. Neither was being on time for unimportant things such as picking up his brother at the airport.
When Clay smiled, waved, and rushed over to him, Callum’s suspicion increased. This was a welcome fit for a pop star, or a big brother who needed sucking up to.
“Great to see you again, bro,” Clay greeted, throwing his arms around him and giving him a big hug.
“Great to see you, too,” Callum returned, drawing back to inspect his brother’s face closely for signs of dissipation and drugs. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be the trouble. Clay was looking fit and healthy, his blue eyes as clear and bright as a cloudless summer sky.
Callum ran a few other possible problems through his mind. Clay had borrowed and crashed his big brother’s prized car? Run up a colossal phone bill? Gotten one of his girlfriends pregnant?
Surely that wasn’t the case. If there was one thing Callum had drummed into his kid brother it was the need for safe sex. Given the dubious circles he was now moving in, using protection was more important than ever. Callum had stressed this the last few times he’d been home.
“Man, but you’re looking good,” Clay complimented him with what Callum felt was decidedly false enthusiasm. Clay never gave a damn what he looked like. “Fantastic tan. Working in Hawaii agreed with you. Bet you’re sorry you’re all finished up there now.”
“Nope,” Callum said, more and more sure that something was up with his brother. “I’m always glad to move on.”
Which was true.
Callum loved his work as a traveling trouble-shooter for INCON, an American company which specialized in building shopping malls all over the world. He thrived on the challenges the job presented, finding great satisfaction in solving whatever engineering problems needed to be solved. But he also liked the constant changes in his lifestyle, the living in different places and meeting different people.
Most guys his age—he would turn thirty-one next birthday—started looking to settle down in one place, get married, have a family.
But that was not for him. Not ever.
“So where to next time?” Clay asked, keeping up his uncharacteristic chitchat about Callum’s life. Usually, the only person he talked about was himself. “What fabulous part of the world are they sending you off to next?”
“Don’t know yet. I have to go back to head office in San Francisco first.”
“When will that be?”
Callum wondered why that mattered. “A week from Tuesday,” he said. “Don’t worry, if you have to work that day, I can always catch a taxi to the airport.”
“No, no. No sweat. Tuesdays are always fine.” He flashed Callum one of his winning smiles. “So what are you going to do for the next ten days? Paint Sydney red?”
Callum knew his brother was mocking him. Clay thought he was a stick-in-the-mud, but Clay didn’t know him at all. Not the real him. He only knew the persona Callum adopted in his role as big-brother-cum-father-figure. He was a different person when he was away, when he wasn’t burdened by the feeling he had to set a good example for his brother, especially where the opposite sex was concerned. Clay would be very surprised if he knew the real facts of his brother’s private life.
“Not this time,” he replied dryly. “Between catching up on sleep and doing some surfing, I thought I might look around and buy myself another investment property. Got a pretty nice bonus last week.”
“No kidding. If you don’t watch out, you’ll own half of Sydney soon. Who would have imagined that being an engineer would pay so well? Still, being a Hollywood icon pays better,” Clay added with a grin. “When I’m making fifty mill a movie, I’ll buy myself one of those fancy harborside mansions. You know, the ones with the pool, the tennis court and their own private yacht mooring.”
“Speaking of your becoming a Hollywood icon,” Callum said as he swung his luggage trolley around and started heading for the exit. “Are things still going reasonably well in the acting department? I didn’t have time to ask you yesterday.”
“Yes and no. The character I was playing in that soap got canned and directors keep telling me at movie auditions that I’m too good-looking. But things could be about to look up.”
“In what way?”
“I’m going to this party tonight being thrown in honor of some visiting big boys from Hollywood. They’re out here, searching for a young Aussie hunk to play the lead in their new blockbuster movie. Harry said I was just the type they were looking for and wangled an invitation so that they can see me in person. This particular director and producer have a reputation for ‘finding’ their stars in unconventional ways, not at formal auditions.”
“In that case, you won’t be the only handsome young Aussie actor who just happens to be there tonight, Clay. I hope you realize that.”
“For crying out loud, do you ever get off being negative about my career? Look, I know the competition is tough, especially in Hollywood. I know the odds are stacked against me. But I still have to go for it. It’s what I’ve always wanted to do, bro. Always. I know you think I’m just a pretty face but I’m a damned good actor too. Harry says I have what it takes, and Harry should know. He’s represented the best.”
“Okay, okay, don’t get touchy. And I’m