When the Stars Come Out (45 page)

Choice Awards, so he was doing something right. And if he was

doing it through likeability, rather than talent, more power to him.

If he were smart, he was putting his money in the bank like his father had done
. . .
like his stepfather, Dean, for that matter.

Stockpile it now, and escape from Katherine later. It was a sound fi-298

R o b B y r n e s

nancial policy for anyone within the larger-than-life web of Kath-

erine Randolph.

They were filming the final scene of the episode, and for once

everyone—Q. J. included—was at their professional best. Quinn

stood to the side of the set, behind a fake wall, waiting for his cue.

“I’ll miss Uncle Jake,” he heard his son say on camera.

“Hey,” said Jason, and Quinn knew from rehearsals that the

actor was wrapping his arm over Q. J.’s shoulder. “He’s not dead.

He’s just going back to Midland City.”

“Which is a fate worse than death,” said Q. J., earning a laugh

from an audience that was strangely undemanding, given the

hours they had spent sitting in chilly bleachers watching take after take of the same scene.

“You’re gonna have a long time with him,” said Jason. “A long

time.”

A production assistant—Quinn noted with only a trace of an-

noyance that it was that insufferable one named Chris who kept

talking about those damn ants or whatever—cued him, and he

reached for the doorknob. It turned, and he walked through the

door into the bright lights of the set.

“Uncle Jake!” said Q. J., leaping up from the couch.

Quinn frowned and grumbled, “Stop screaming! Are you trying

to kill me?” The undemanding audience laughed, as he knew they

would, since they had laughed each of the four times he had made

the same entrance and said the same line.

“How are you feeling?” Q. J. asked solicitously.

“I’m not dead yet.”

“Told you,” said Jason. Another laugh.

It was Quinn’s turn again. “I’m packing my bags and getting out

of your hair. You don’t need an old man around.”

“But—” Q. J. began, but his father—no, his
Uncle Jake
—cut him off.

“Young man, I came here because I thought you needed your

uncle’s guidance and companionship. But I learned something.

You don’t need me.” As rehearsed, Quinn put one hand on the

shoulder of each of the younger actors. “You’ve got each other, and that’s all the companionship you’ll ever need.”

W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T

299

“
Awwwwwwwww
,” said the audience.

Back to the cantankerous old man: “Now get my bags and let me

get the hell out of here.”

Q. J. and Jason scrambled, and the audience began applauding,

and suddenly Bernie was yelling “Cut!”

And that was that.

For a half minute, the set was general confusion, with cast and

crew moving randomly onto or off of the set, until Jason St. Clair jogged to the edge of the soundstage and, addressing the audience, said, “Ladies and gentlemen, the cast!” As he announced

each name, the cast member took his or her spot next to him.

“Mary Ann Rolison!”

“Debi Bain!”

“Ed Henzel!”

“Paul Berlioni!”

“Joseph Lee Gramm!”

“Ron Palillo!”

“Quinn Scott!”

“Q. J. Scott!”

Hitting his mark, Q. J. motioned to Jason and—returning the

favor, as he had done at the wrap of every episode since Jason be-

came the true breakout star of
The Brothers-in-Law
—screamed,

“And Jason St. Clair!!”

At which point, the cast joined hands, raising their arms tri-

umphantly as an already enthusiastic crowd went wild, jumping to

their feet and applauding what appeared to be the entire cast, but was really only Jason St. Clair. Jason knew it
. . .
they
all
knew it
. . .

everyone, that was, except Q. J., who took bow after bow.

Jason finally broke the human chain, dropping Q. J.’s hand on

one side and Ron Palillo’s on the other. As the cast congratulated themselves all around him, he strode up to Quinn and offered his

hand.

“I owe you an apology,” he said.

“For what?” Quinn asked.

“The way I behaved on the set. Specifically, the way I acted to -

ward
you
.”

Quinn waved him away. “Don’t worry about it.” He was actually

wondering if the young actor would mention the sabotage, but cor-

rectly assumed that he wouldn’t.

300

R o b B y r n e s

“No,” said Jason, unwilling to walk away without delivering his

full, and carefully rehearsed, apology. “I was a punk, and you were the consummate professional, and I should have treated you with

respect.”

“Well . . .”

“And I shouldn’t have touched the gay thing. I mean, I actually

admire you for your courage.”

Quinn allowed himself a slight smile. “It’s very big of you to say that, Jason. But don’t worry about it
. . .
I’ve got tough skin.”

Jason snapped his fingers at someone out of Quinn’s field of vi-

sion, and seconds later the gofer appeared with two books.

“How about an exchange?” the younger man said. “I’ll give you a

signed copy of my new book, and you sign my copy of
your
book.

Fair?”

Now Quinn allowed himself a broader smile, and took the vol-

umes. “Fair.”

He opened the copy of
When the Stars Come Out
, took a pen from his pants pocket, and jotted: “
To Jason, Who Someday Will Be One of
the Greats! Quinn Scott
.”

It was only then that he noticed the other book, and thought to

ask, “Uh
. . .
you wrote a book?”

“No,” he said, with a laugh. “I didn’t write anything. But I posed for 138 photographs—shirtless, swimsuits, underwear, et cetera—

and the books are flying off the shelves.” He winked at Quinn. “I

probably should be more careful with the beefcake image, but I figure if it’s making me a lot of money, why not?”

“Why not?” Quinn agreed.

“Just one thing,” Jason added, as he autographed Quinn’s copy

of
Jason St. Clair: A Life in Pictures
. “Promise me you won’t, uh
. . .

you know
, when you’re looking at these pictures. It would kind of creep me out if I knew that someone I respected was spilling seed

over my Speedo shots, y’know?”

“Oh, Christ,” muttered Quinn, but his demeanor lightened when

the younger man looked up and he saw he was smiling. “Don’t

worry about this old pervert, kid. I’ve got a wrinkled old man

standing over there who is still the only male flesh I lust for.”

Seeing them look in his direction, Jimmy waved. The actors

waved back.

W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T

301

*

*

*

Much, much later—after almost everyone had gone home and

only a few technicians still worked on the stage—Quinn finally al-

lowed himself to say good-bye to the set. He walked slowly into the darkness, arm in arm with Jimmy, limping slightly from the damn

hip that would never give him peace. Tonight, though, his hip was

an afterthought; he had found his peace on the set of
The Brothers-in-Law
, and no one—least of all Katherine—could take that away from him.

Ten yards behind Quinn and Jimmy, Noah and Bart also ambled

slowly into the night air.

“It was a good night, right?” asked Noah.

“The best.” Bart’s eyes turned to the skies. “But, alas
. . .
no stars have come out.”

Noah couldn’t suppress his smile as he watched the older couple

walk ahead of them, supporting each other not only physically, but in ways he could only dream of.

“I wouldn’t say that,” he said. “I think the stars came out tonight quite brilliantly.”

Bad news, they knew, spread fast; good news, not so fast. And as

fast as Quinn Scott’s reputation had been shattered through the

manipulations of Kitty Randolph and Dean Henry, it should have

taken much longer for Quinn to regain his reputation. But that was decidedly not the case.

Everyone had his or her own theory. Quinn thought his speedy

rebound came from a public that embraced his performance as

Uncle Jake. Noah believed that the same public wanted to cheer

for the elderly man who had come out of the closet and into the

limelight, and when he showed he still had his acting chops, they

were quick to disregard the vicious rumors. Bart saw it as a simple case of good winning out over evil. Jimmy saw it as his lover’s reward. And Lindsay Flynn thought—no,
knew
—that his rebound

had everything to do with her publicity efforts, and left herself a note to bill Palmer/Midkiff/Carlyle for an appropriate bonus.

But some things aren’t quantifiable, and they all—with the ex-

ception of Lindsay Flynn—knew that, so they were careful not to as-302

R o b B y r n e s

cribe too much to a specific cause. If the answer was magic, then it was magic that rehabilitated Quinn’s laughingstock image within a

week and a half.

They knew they had turned a corner when Lindsay fielded a call

wondering if Quinn might be once again available for an appear-

ance on
Larry King Live
. The show’s booker was apologetic about the earlier cancellation, blaming an unnamed and now allegedly

fired underling for not promptly rescheduling. It was a transparent lie—even the booker knew it was flimsy—but no one wanted to

dredge up the past, so the apology was accepted and the interview

rescheduled.

Within a week, David Carlyle received more good news. The

book sales that had gone soft were now rebounding, due to both

that long-absent good ink and the revival of Quinn’s publicity tour.

Although the numbers weren’t quite back to where they stood be-

fore
The Brothers-in-Law
debacle, they were stronger than David would have ever believed when Noah pitched him the idea one

year earlier.

And three weeks after departing Burbank—once again in

good graces with the industry that had shunned Quinn for more

than three decades—the phone rang in the Southampton house.

Jimmy answered, and heard Noah’s voice on the other end of the

line.

“Aren’t you supposed to be closing down your Washington apart-

ment?” asked Jimmy.

“I am. The plan is to be out of here by the end of the month.

But PMC just tracked me down with a message to pass along to

Quinn.”

“He’s fighting with his physical therapist right now.”

“Just tell him to give this guy a call when he gets a chance.” Noah reeled off a name and phone number. “Get this. He’s interested in

optioning Quinn’s story.”

“Optioning? As in a movie?”

“Exactly.”

Which led to an item a few weeks later in
Variety
revealing that Quinn Scott had reached a development deal with a major motion

picture studio, and that
When the Stars Come Out
could begin production by mid-winter. Among the names bandied about in associ-

W H E N T H E S T A R S C O M E O U T

303

ation with the project was Quinn Scott Jr., who was said to be interested in playing his father.

And, of course, none of it—not the talk shows nor the book sales

nor that her son wanted to portray her ex-husband in a major mo-

tion picture—made Kitty very happy.

But she was about to get a whole lot unhappier.

Chapter 14

You know what they say: what goes around comes around,

and usually at the most inappropriate moments . . .

W
hen the call came from Stan Roth, officially the executive producer of
The Brothers-in-Law
but, in reality, Kitty Randolph’s hand-picked agent overseeing all her interests at PorchStar International, Kitty and Dean were just finishing a light breakfast spent in near-silence over the butcher-block table in the center of their kitchen.

Even though more than a month had passed, he was still in the

doghouse for letting Quinn escape the show’s taping unscathed,

and had been consequently blamed for everything good that had

happened to Quinn since then.

As Kitty took the call in the sunroom, Dean reflected on their

withering relationship. Every time he started to dig himself out,

something new would arise—the
Larry King
interview, the movie deal, the book’s debut on the nonfiction bestseller lists—and he’d be right back in that doghouse. He was beginning to wonder if

things would ever get back to what passed for normal in the

Randolph-Henry household.

Kitty had been unreasonable—that was the only word to de-

scribe her behavior. The public was mildly titillated by Quinn’s depiction of her, but—so far—her reputation hadn’t unduly suffered.

A few late-night talk show jokes, but that was about it. Most people, especially the people who populated the entertainment industry,

wrote off Quinn’s memoir as little more than an ex-husband’s re-

venge on an ex-wife. This was Hollywood; it was expected.

As for the movie, Kitty should have known that she couldn’t stop

it. As powerful as she was in that town, the almighty dollar was

much more powerful. When Quinn began appearing on all the

major talk shows and his book hit the
Times
bestseller list, her chance of quashing any resulting movie vanished. There were a lot

of people who would do almost anything for Kitty Randolph—