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I’d made it out of my luxury prison. For a few precious hours, it was just me, a pretty flight attendant, and a pilot. No press, no studio heads, no agents, no world. Just me, the clouds, and Cindy, the smiling blonde with the long legs and sympathetic eyes.
I think I was asleep before we even leveled off.
My eyes snapped open when Cindy gave me a gentle shake.
“Mr. Papadopoulos,” she whispered as I blinked into consciousness. It took me a second to recall that I was traveling under an alias. Elle’s idea to help throw off the bloodhounds, but everyone who saw me knew who I was. Cindy certainly did. I could tell just by the way she tiptoed around me when I’d entered the plane like a fugitive on the run from Tommy Lee Jones. “We’re about to land in Bangor. If you’d please put your seat in the upright position that would be amazing.”
“Right, yeah, sure.” I slowly righted myself, rolling my head in circles and then stared down at the lush greenery of Maine as we banked into Bangor. We flew over the Penobscot River and touched down a few moments later, the landing smooth. I stretched my arms over my head, yawning widely, and waited until the Lear was parked. “Thanks, Cindy.”
I stood and was handed my carry-on bag. “You’re very welcome, Mr. Papadopoulos. I believe your ride is waiting for you at the end of the ramp. Your bags are being loaded into the trunk as we speak.”
“Wonderful. Thank you, Cindy.”
She smiled and bobbed her head, showing me the way out of the plane. I threw a few looks left and right, seeing no one but the ground crew stowing my lone suitcase into the trunk of a shiny black SUV. Standing beside the Cadillac was a tall guy, with dark skin, expressionless, wearing sunglasses and an earpiece.
“Oh hey,” I said into my phone as I handed the imposing man my carry-on. He nodded, placed it in the trunk, and closed the trunk with a slam. “Did you get the Secret Service to come out here to drive me to…where I’m going?”
I skirted some glances at the guys hustling past. A few were gawking. I ducked into the rear of the SUV like a shot.
“No, they’re a protection service that the studio set up for you,” Elle replied, then sighed wearily. “Not to ruin your return to the moose state—”
“Maine is not the moose state. It’s the pine tree state.” My driver sat behind the wheel, giving me a long look as if to ask if I wanted anything. I waved him off and then tugged off my bright yellow Bomb Bay D hat and ran my fingers through my hair.
“They do have moose though, right?” Elle asked. I could hear traffic in the background, so she must be on the road. She listened to talk radio steadily in the car.
“Inland. Up north usually. I lived my whole life on the island and never saw a moose,” I replied, toeing off my sneakers to let my feet breathe. “Any news from the studio?”
“Other than they got you a ride from the airport to your island? No. Sorry, sugar.” I exhaled through my nose as we left the airport behind. There were some really nice perks to being famous. “But that’s not unusual. They’ll come around. I’m sure of it. Did you get some sleep on the flight?”
“Yeah, yeah, a little. What do you mean by them coming around? Did you hear something?”
“Christ, I fucking hate L.A. traffic!” she snarled into my ear. “No, nothing. They’re keeping their thoughts to themselves. They can’t do anything rash, Elias. You do have a contract. And I plan to—why the hell don’t you put on your fake eyelashesbeforeyou get behind the wheel, you bougie bitch?!—ensure they honor that contract.”
Quiet was not good. Quiet from the rather conservative heads of Four Winds was not good at all. A low throb began to set in behind my left eye. Tension. So much tension. I rubbed at my temple as the SUV moved swiftly and surely away from the city of Bangor toward the coast.
“Look, you just get yourself settled in with your father and let me handle the studio. You sound fried. Go spend some time watching the sun rise or whatever it is people do on tiny little islands for fun.” I had to smile to myself. Elle was not a fan of leaving her beloved Los Angeles. She could manage in Manhattan, but once she saw a snowflake, she was out. “Rest. Get some sun but not too much. Use sunscreen. Watch out for whales and moose.”
“I’ll be mindful of the whales and moose,” I teased.
“Well, you know what I mean. Just try to chill. Take a few days to meditate on things and let me try to nail down the studio heads for a meeting. You can do it online. I want you there on that little island where no one can hassle you until we get our plan of action in place.”
“Got it. Rest and relax. Watch out for moose and whales and don’t get too much sun but just enough. Would you like to plan out my menu for the next few weeks too?”
“That’s Katy’s job. Just…you know, Elias, take care of yourself. Mentally and physically. Sit by the sea and try not to worry about shit out here. Trust me, next week it will be some other scandal. Ugh, why is this lane not moving?!”
“Right, a new scandal next week.” I sighed as she hung up so she could yell at the traffic gods. Settling back into the plush leather seat, I blew out a long breath. Elle was right, of course. There would be a new scandal soon. Someone would be caught with the babysitter, or some mogul and his wife would have a public fight, or an actress would flash a tit, or an actor will be seen in a clinch with an underage fan. Hollywood was a city built on scandal and debauchery. My little queer drama would be old news in a few weeks. People would move onto some other salacious tidbit and I’ll be able to go home and return to my work.
Maybe. It was that unknown element that scared the shit out of me. What would I do with myself if I was canned or blacklisted?
Do they blacklist actors anymore, Elias? I mean, it’s not the fifties.
True, but while Hollywood—the actors, producers, directors—were generally very liberal thinking, the studio heads were a different story. They liked to cling to old ways of thinking. Back in the day when men were men and women were churning butter. Okay, perhaps that was a little dated even for them, but the fact remained that there were genres in the movies and woe to those actors who didn’t portray their famous characters in a manner suiting that character.
If you were a young miss playing an innocent little cherub in a flick, you’d best be portraying that virginal persona off the set as well. If you were an action hero known for being a macho het vigilante, youdidnot suck dick. Also, there was social media to do the blacklisting now. One wrong step, one old Tweet, one misplaced word and your career was toast. And let’s face it, the fans of the kinds of movies that I made were not known for being kind to the female gaze. Hyper-sexualization and objectification of women in my genre were rampant. Female-centric action films are always torn to shreds by male viewers who get frustrated when women are shown to be strong, have any depth, and God forbid have goals other than being arm candy for the leading man.
Want to talk about how gay men are viewed in these types of films? Yeah, badly. So incredibly badly…yet there I was reaping in millions while portraying a character that would scoff at a queer character if—and that was doubtful—he came across one in his straight little masculine world. Homosexuals, lesbians, or trans people just did not exist in Connor’s neighborhood.
What was Idoingplaying someone like Connor Days?
