Dear Ron—
As promised, here’s my first weekly report as to Alex’s behavior. I know you didn’t want to tell him I was sending you regular updates, but as you may recall, I deliberately remained silent and didn’t argue, but also did not agree to that stricture. Thus, I informed him on our first day together that I would be writing you every week, and reminded him of that again today. He said to send “regards so warm they might as well be afire, which, now that I consider the matter, may help prepare him for the afterlife” his regards.
Thus far, his behavior has been irritating as hell, but essentially unobjectionable. On set, as you know, he was hardworking and professional. Whenever and wherever we have encountered fans, he has been kind and charming and patient about selfies. He has also been very welcoming in his home.
Finally, despite your concerns, he has not shared any confidential or damaging information about the production or the final season’s scripts, and he has not consumed alcohol to excess on any occasion. Are you entirely certain he was drunk the night of the bar fight?
If you desire other information from me, please let me know, and I will consider whether your requests constitute an invasion of Alex’s privacy we can discuss the matter.
I know that I am supposed to accompany him to his red-carpet charity auction tomorrow, but I’m unclear as far as what is expected of me at the event. Do you intend for me to walk the red carpet by his side? He has indicated that he expects that, but surely he should have someone better suited to such events accompanying him I wasn’t certain.
Also, what explanation do you wish me to give for my presence? Alex has indicated that he wouldn’t mind my telling everyone “this is Nanny Clegg, the perplexingly short albatross I must carry in penance for my previous misdeeds” the truth, but I don’t think that reflects well on either him or your production. If you can, please advise me before tomorrow night.
My mother sends her regards, which, unlike Alex’s, would be genuinely warm, because she doesn’t know you very well.
Sincerely,
Lauren
7
LATER THAT EVENING, AFTER ALEX HAD LUNCHED, NAPPED, wrestled his speech into something workable, received Ron’s approval, and eaten supper with Lauren in his dining nook, he thumped down into his office chair and made two calls he’d been avoiding.
First, his agent. In theory, that could be a video call, but nah. As was his right as an American, Alex reserved the option to make faces at his phone when displeased by the conversation.
“Alex, finally,” Zach answered, and fortunately could not see the eye roll he received in response. “Stop dodging my damn emails. We have things we need to discuss.”
“Unfair, dude.” Alex leaned back in his office chair and swiveled it from side to side. “I didn’t dodge your emails. After reading them with laudable—nay, remarkable—speed and attention, I simply determined that they didn’t require any immediate response.”
From the other end of the line, there was an odd sound. Teeth-grinding?
Zach enunciated each word very carefully. “In recent weeks, I’ve received multiple messages from the producers of your upcoming projects asking about your current behavior. They’re all checking in to discover whether you’re, as they put it, ‘still spiraling out of control.’”
Alex and Zach had discussed the very same topic at least half a dozen times since the incident in Spain, and not once—not a single time—had Zach actually asked him what happened. Even though they’d been working together since the beginning of Alex’s career, both Hollywood hopefuls fresh out of high school and waiting tables to fill empty bank accounts.
It was a simple question, and one Alex had deserved after so many years.
“You said all this in your emails.” A better person would mute the phone as he yawned, but Alex didn’t bother. “Was there anything else?”
A heavy sigh. “In my emails, I also asked whether that woman Ron assigned you is keeping you contained, because another major scandal, and you’ll run afoul of the good-behavior clauses in the contracts you signed. You’ve failed to answer the question. Multiple times.”
Keeping you contained. As if he were a zoo animal. A lion, perhaps?
If so, something about Zach’s tone in reference to Lauren had rubbed Alex’s lush, gloriously abundant mane the wrong way.
He sat up straight. “ ‘That woman’ is Lauren Clegg. Or, rather, Ms. Clegg. And she is doing an exemplary job of stamping out all stray sparks of joy and exhilaration I might happen to experience on a daily basis, rest assured.”