Gray’s snort interrupts the quiet. “Seriously?”
“We’ve been having meetings with publicity to figure this out. We agreed you’d help each other,” Dave says. His tone is more delicate. “Matthew has a softness to him. He’s got that Southern charm thing going on. All manners, politeness. If you start to date each other, that could affect your image, too,” he tells Gray. “People will likely start to feel you’re being—er—saved. Evangelized in a way. That you’re starting to change, and that Matt’s helping you.”
Audrey is thoughtful. “That might not be a bad idea.”
Paola might be nervous, coming into a big meeting like this, but I hired her for a reason. “But why should Mattie—sorry, Matthew—agree to something like that?” she asks. Her voice only quivers a little. “I mean, the opposite is possible too, isn’t it? His image might…” She hesitates, probably not wanting to offend Gray.
“We thought about that, too,” Dave says. He shrugs a little. “No offense, kid, but some early response to you has suggested you might be a little boring. You’re just…too good, you know what I mean?”
I know exactly what he means. I’ve seen that response also—and I can’t blame anyone for thinking it. I am boring in comparison to someone like Gray. I’ve wished I could figure out how to break out of my shell more. Be more spontaneous, not care so much about what people think of me. If I could be more exciting, then I might be able to break out into different roles also. I’m honestly a little jealous of people like Gray, who give zero fucks—just a little. “No offense taken,” I say.
Gray rolls his eyes. “So, what? I’m supposed to make him edgy? Interesting, exciting? One of us has the harder job here.”
“Fucking hell, Gray,” Dave snaps. “Just stop being an asshole for one minute and listen. This is the only compromise we could come to, all right?”
His meaning is clear.
Audrey’s face is pinched. She leans into Gray and whispers—actually whispers this time. I only hear a word here and there. “One shot…last chance…your father.”
Gray’s expression doesn’t change. He looks more like a sullen teenager than he ever has. I’ve read articles about the lives of former child stars—how most of them never actually got much of a chance to grow up. “Fine,” he says.
Dave’s satisfied. He looks at me, waiting for my response now.
I wish I had more of a chance to think it over and talk about it with Paola. I’ve heard about celebrities who do this, sometimes: engage in these fake relationships, tricking the public for mutual benefits in fame or success. I heard a rumor that Pete Davidson was a favorite fake boyfriend for a few years. I just never thought I would be someone to consider this. It’d be the role of a century, pretending to be in love with a jackass like Gray. We’d probably have our own publicity for this particular off-screen film: going on dates, talking about how we fell for each other in interviews…
“Can I think about it?”
“No,” Reynolds says. “Here and now. I need to give Vanessa an answer.” Vanessa Stone, the boss of the EPs and owner of the production company. I’ve met her once, from across the room. She’s terrifying.
“What if I say no?”
“Then this fucker is out,” Reynolds says, not bothering to look at Gray. “We’ll find a replacement before the week is done.”
Gray doesn’t meet my eye. I have the power to get him fired, and after the way he’s treated me? I’m tempted. But…there’s another part of me. The part that, despite it all, still admires Logan Gray the actor, even if I can’t stand him as a person. I know I’m not at the skill level I want to be. There’s so much I could learn from him, being his co-star. And, honestly, without Logan as one of the leads, this film might just be lost. They could hire a Phillip Desmond--–type, someone who acts just as well as me. Even with the best writing and directing in the world, the film could fall flat. That’d ultimately affect me, too, and my own dream.
I’ve got to put my feelings aside for this one. “All right,” I say with a nod. “I agree. Gray and I will…go out.”
“More than go out,” Reynolds says gruffly, grabbing his phone again. He stands up, pushing out his chair, and leaves without another word. Wow. LA, huh?
I can see the relief in Audrey’s gaze. She’s trying to radiate gratitude to me silently. Thank you, she mouths. Gray still won’t look at me. I don’t think he likes that I had so much power over his role and his future.
Paola watches me closely. “Are you sure?” she whispers.
I nod. “Yeah. I’m sure.”
Dave claps his hands together. “It’s decided, then. It’ll need to look organic, of course. Natural. We can’t have the PR team too tied up in this—too many hands and eyes, too many potential leaks—so everything stays between us. I’ll moonlight as a publicity manager on this.” Gray snorts, but Dave ignores him. “You’ll need to convince your co-stars and everyone else on set, too. Don’t worry about it. We’ll plan it all out.”
I don’t know if he means to look as excited as he does.
Logan
LA traffic isn’t so bad when you’re high as fuck. AC and IC3PEAK blasts, shades saving my eyeballs from melting. This city is too fucking sunny. I read some article that the traffic is actually due to racism, shitty highways created specifically to cut off certain neighborhoods. Everything in this country eventually returns to racism, huh?
My apartment is on the edge of WeHo, what should be about fifteen minutes away from the studios’ headquarters in North Hollywood turning into a forty-five-minute jam of stop, start, stop, start. I park in the apartment building’s garage and head to the elevator and up to my apartment on the top floor. It’s still trashed from when Briggs came over. That was, what, three weeks ago? The housecleaner my dad hired, Sandra, has been calling, asking if she should come by, but I’m ashamed to let her see my place like this. Used condoms stuck to the bedroom floor, rotting food in the sinks, piles of clothes everywhere with no clue what’s clean, a baggie of cocaine forgotten on the living room’s central table. Fuck.
This is my dad’s apartment. He bought it for me. It was only a few months in that I noticed the security camera. It’s small as hell, in the corner of the living room, with full view of everything that happens. I have no idea if my dad watches me, or if he just has it there for control. But I checked the camera out, got access to the website where I can see the footage, and decided that this will be a separate film that I act in for my dad privately. I do the most fucked up shit imaginable to piss him off. To prove to him, and me, that he can’t control me anymore.
My buzz is wearing off, and my head is starting to throb, so I pour some vodka to help ease me out of the hangover and fall onto my sofa, turning Spotify onto the FEVER 333 station. Just loud enough to almost drown out my thoughts. I can’t remember the last time I watched TV or a movie for pleasure. It’s hard to watch actors play roles when you know them personally. It gets in the way of suspending the disbelief and makes it hard to get into the story when you know the main character’s a pain in the ass in real life, or when you know what the love interest’s dick looks like.