Stars in Your Eyes(10)
The only people who have visited me in my hotel room are from the wardrobe department, to fit me for the costumes they’re preparing, and the makeup and hair folks, to let me know what they’re planning. I stand on the balcony, watching the pale blue sky turn pink and gold as I dial my sister’s number on FaceTime.
Emma picks up on the first ring. “Mattie!”
“God, I miss you, Em.” So much that I might just start to cry. Every time I feel tears well up, I hear my father yelling at me to be a man. He never believed that men should have emotions.
“I miss you, too. Mom’s stalking you in the news. She tells me every time her Google alert for your name goes off. Which is, like, every five minutes.”
Emma and I look a lot alike in facial features, but that’s about it. We had a white person somewhere in our lineage, like most Black families, so my skin tone turned out different. She has medium brown skin with thicker black hair and dark brown eyes. I have golden-brown skin that’s covered with freckles and the sort of curly-wavy texture of hair that makes most people assume that I’m white with a strong tan, like Ariana Grande or a Kardashian when they were still in their appropriate-Black-culture phases. Either that, or they’re not sure of my race at all. The “look” of ethnically ambiguous has been trendy in LA for a while now.
I know it’s because of colorism and racism that I’ve even made it this far. The characters in the novel Write Anything were both white, but the studio decided to take a risk and let me and other people of color audition instead. I lost out to Gray for the lead, and I thought that was the end of it—until they rang me up two months later and asked if I wanted to be the love interest.
I was surprised that they were willing to give two Black men the lead roles, even if colorism was a big part of our acceptance. Logan is mixed—Black and white—with lighter brown skin and wavy black hair. He could easily be mistaken as white.
My agent, Jacqueline, is all business in comparison to Paola. I barely interact with her except when she’s offering me roles or information. “There’s been an uptick in financial success for movies featuring Black leads. Write Anything on its own isn’t enough to stand out, with the growing popularity of queer films. They’re hoping you and Logan Gray will bring more success to the film with your diversity.”
I wasn’t exactly sold on her pitch—it sounded like an invitation to microaggression hell—but Paola spoke to me after the phone call. Yeah, it sucks to be the diverse inclusion, but this is also one of the few chances I might have to propel my career forward. And, if I’m successful, I can really start to make change from within the industry. I’m disappointed I didn’t get the main role, but I have to admit: it’s pretty cool to be the love interest of a blockbuster romantic film, and not being the white, blonde-haired, blue-eyed prince that I had to grow up with. Seeing only one kind of person as the one who is worthy of love messed with my head when I was younger. It made me think that I wasn’t good enough for that role, too.
Emma is seventeen, about to start her first year at Sarah Lawrence. I’ve always been overprotective of my little sister. I have memories of being ten years old and clutching her hand when she was four, making sure she wouldn’t fall down. I’m afraid for her to go off to a new place by herself, but I’m excited for her, too. I can’t help but grin. “Are you finished packing?”
She groans. “Not you, too. Mom won’t leave me alone about it.”
It’s like she’s summoned our mother. She sticks her head into the frame. She looks more like Emma with her darker brown skin and thick hair. “You finally found a moment in your busy life?”
“I’m sorry, I should’ve called sooner.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “Mom needs to realize you can’t speak every single day anymore. You’re famous now.”
Maybe it’s ridiculous that I’m twenty-three and I still talk to my mom all the time, but I love her too much not to call. She’s always supported me—always, no matter what. She’d drive me into Atlanta to enroll me in acting lessons when I was young. A lot of mothers would probably insist that I go to college, I think, and find a reliable source of income, but she understood and supported me when I decided to defer my acceptance to Boston College to focus on auditions. She flew with me to LA when I turned eighteen, always there as a shoulder to cry on when I wasn’t offered roles. Love Me Dearly was a miracle, and maybe the opportunity came because my mom prayed so hard. It’s like she demanded my dream work out for me. I’m here because of her.
“Have you been looking at the blogs?”
“No, not really.”
“They love you,” she tells me. “They say you’re a sweetheart. But of course they do. I raised you right.”
People think that I’m polite and that I have Southern charm. They think that I’m too good, and that I’m boring. I wonder what my mom would think of this whole scheme with Logan Gray. She’s definitely not going to be happy when she sees in the tabloids that I’m dating him. “I get a little worried,” I say, “that I might start to lose myself out here.”
“You’ve always been so grounded,” my mom says. “You never let things like money or fame go to your head. You’d never let anyone change you.”
I hesitate, mouth opening to tell her and Emma the truth. But, well—I already know what they’d say, don’t I? They wouldn’t be happy with me or the idea. My mom would be shocked that I’d even consider it. I already made my decision to move forward with this. I might try to admit the truth to them eventually, but not right now. There isn’t any point.