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The smudge on my slacks is from the chocolate donut that I just inhaled while I’ve been waiting for the last hour. I realize that now, seeing the crumbs of my indulgence littered around my feet. But man, these studio catered sweets are hard to pass up on. It isn’t coming off with a simple wipe of my thumb. Even after a couple more swipes, it’s still there, spreading and dissolving into the cotton fibers. Luckily, I’m wearing black, so it won’t be too noticeable. At least, I hope. Shana stands over me, her hands moving rapidly through a stapled stack of papers and her eyes scanning over the words.
“They aren’t supposed to ask you any personal questions, Rhy,” she says, her eyes still focused on the paper in her hand. “But those assholes never listen, so if they do, deflect. Make a joke instead. Deflect as much as you can.”
I nod.
We’re in the fancy greenroom atThe Late Night Show with Jack Stuber,minutes before I am to take the stage and meet Jack Stuber for the first time. My elbows dig into the soft spot above my knees, my body enveloped in the leather loveseat pushed against the wall. I would sit on the more comfortable cushioned stool in front of the mirror adorned with large globe-like lights, but having to stare at myself in the mirror feels vain, even a little narcissistic.
Jack Stuber made a name for himself as the number one late-night talk show host, beating James Corden in the unofficial race, which meant an interview with him to promote my new movie,Unrestrained, was already written in the books before post-production even began.
Shana, my highly paid publicist, is here to make sure that I look good and to keep up the image of Rhylan Matthews: A-list celebrity, Hollywood’s hottestitstar, the silver screen’s golden boy.
But she’s here for another reason: to make sure I actually showed up. Exactly three days ago, when the European leg of our press junket had ended, I called her, asking if I could skip this very interview. The extensive tour that lasted two weeks left me physically spent and emotionally exhausted. As soon as my plane landed on the tarmac and I stepped on American soil, I didn’t want to think about anything else. I didn’t want to worry about promoting this damn movie and sit down for more of these draining, menial interviews. I was so fucking exhausted, and I just needed an out. Something, anything.
When Shana answered the phone, she had assumed I was just checking in. But when my tone turned grim and my request was one that wasn’t feasible, she had difficulty understanding why. “You’re asking me if you, the star of your own movie, can miss an interview with Jack Stuber?”
“Um, yeah,” I answered. When I heard it repeated back to me, I realized how ridiculous it sounded. I shook my head, regretting even calling her.
“No, Rhylan. You have to go,” she finally said, stern and mother-like. “Is there something going on? Are you ill?”
I whispered a quick “never mind” and hung up the phone before she could say anything else. Before she could further remind me of the laundry list of commitments I had signed up for in the months to come. Red carpets, movie premieres, charity events, public appearances.
The thing was that even if she had asked for specifics, sat me down and dug deeper as to why I would want to skip such a pivotal point in my promotional responsibilities, I wouldn’t have had an answer. I couldn’t explain the inward exhaustion that had taken over me, resulting in a physical burnout.
Deep down, I knew I needed to be here. I didn’t need the tabloids speculating on why I missed such an important interview when all of my other co-stars would be present. I knew this, and Shana knew this. It’s why she’s here now, working hard to keep my head in the game and settle my nerves.
But I’m suffocating. I can’t breathe, and all I want to do is scream. Literally scream as if to purge all of the dark, disgusting thoughts in my head. To let it all out instead of pretending I’m fine. Because the last thing I am is fine. I’m notfineabout anything. The fame, the attention, the scrutiny. I want to tell everyone that all of that shit isn’t okay, to back off and leave me alone. But I can’t. I can’t because I’ve been conditioned not to. To always put on a smile and wave. Smile andfuckingwave. So that’s what I’ve been doing.
“The good thing is, you have the movie to talk about, and Charles and Bella will be with you.” Shana finally peeks up at me and sees me groan at the sound of Bella’s name. My head rolls back against the plush cushion just as the back of my thighs rub against the leather, creating friction and mimicking the unpleasant sound of someone unapologetically passing gas.
“But that might not actually be a good thing,” she says more to herself than me as the realization sets in.
I sigh. “It is what it is.”
Along with my co-star Charles Bradley and me, Bella Raven had been cast as the female lead inUnrestrained. She played my love interest that eventually turned on me, leading up to some angsty scenes between two scorned lovers. While I had played a role, Bella was fixated on the chemistry that she claimed we had off-screen as well as on-screen. I tried to convince her that our acting was the work of two talented actors playing their roles, but she took that as a challenge and continued to pursue said chemistry.
I should have been flattered. Bella wasn’t cast in the movie just for her acting skills. Her looks played a huge part in it. Her sex appeal was what forced the producers to add in some extra bikini shots, even though they weren’t really necessary for the plot. Because sex sells, and why the hell not. But beneath all that, she’s shallow and stereotypically superficial.
The paps had a field day when they snuck in some behind-the-scenes shots on the streets of Paris with an overly handsy Bella clinging to my side. When those photos leaked, I got a call from Shana asking me what the deal was. But this was the life of a celebrity, always answering to false rumors, made up through the magic of a thousand words splayed out on an image.
“You know, that girl is as sexy as they come, but she cannot take a hint for the life of her.” Shana hands me an individually packaged wet wipe taken from her crocodile Birkin as she eyes the chocolate stain on my thigh. I guess it’s a bit more noticeable than I thought.
“Whatever,” I answer, taking the wipe from her and cleaning off the stain completely like it was never there in the first place. I repeat my words. “It is what it is. And like you said, if all else fails, I’ll talk about the movie. That’s the whole point of tonight anyways, right?”
“Right, the movie,” she concurs, refocusing her attention to why we’re here in the first place. “Bring up the scenes, especially the intense ones that involved all the stunts and whatnot. And talk about the logistics of filming them. That’ll take up the time.”
She brings up her wrist to her face, checking the time on her diamond-encrusted Rolex. The light reflects off of the pricey timepiece onto her preoccupied face before she lowers the papers still in her hand.
“You’re going on any minute now,” she says, her pep talk voice in full effect. She lowers herself to face me. “You’ve got this. Don’t be nervous, and have fun.”
I nod again, the knot lodged in my throat acting as a roadblock as I try to speak through my nerves.
“They’re going to kick me out, but call me once it’s over. I don’t care if it’s late. Call me and let me know how it goes.”
I clear my throat. “Okay, Shana. I will.”
We’re interrupted by a sharp knock on the door and the handle clicking open. Both of our heads turn at the same time.
“We’re ready for you, Mr. Matthews.”
