Chapter 3
Chapter Three
ALEC
“No way she’s that bad in person, right?”
“Yeah, she’s gotta be catfish.”
“Duh! I bet they put mad filters on her!”
Shaking my head, I gave my best efforts to not play into the conversation happening between the teenage boys at the Cartwright Center, where I was volunteering for the afternoon. Not just because I knew it was a topic that could easily veer into more explicit than needed, but also out of respect for the subject.
Vanessa “Vanity” Kirkland was a hot topic for everybody.
“Ay, put the phone up!” I called, making the small group of boys huddled around one screen jump, caught off guard by my presence. “I could swear y’all are supposed to be running drills, not looking at ass,” I admonished, stifling a grin when they all took off at a mad dash to get into what they were supposed to be into.
Nobody wanted to be the one to disappoint “Big Alec”—a nickname I shook my head over the first time one of these knuckleheads graced me with it, but I took it in stride. Down here, it was a compliment, meaning I had been accepted by these kids a lot of people had already written off.
The more they accepted me, the more they accepted my influence, which…I had to be careful with.
Which I’d been careful with.
All my life, I’d been made hyper-aware of “reputation.”
Reputation over everything .
My parents had believed it to be a key to success, especially as I aged out of the “cuteness” that had driven a lot of my popularity as a child in show business. Puberty hit me hard, stretching me to adult height when I was just twelve years old. Because of that, I was warned that people would start ascribing adult pathologies to decisions I was making with a child’s mind.
I had to grow up fast.
Maybe too fast.
At the same time, I fully recognized the privilege in my parents’ view as well—they were right about what the “good guy” reputation would do for me. It made me palatable to a “wide” audience, which got me roles that might otherwise have been inaccessible. It opened doors, big time, so there was nothing to complain about, except maybe missing out on the typical “teen” things.
Then I went to college.
It was a controversial decision, but one I insisted on, wanting the education and experience of just being “normal” for a change. Except, I still had to consider reputation in a way that didn’t exist for many of my peers, still had to be cautious and fully extrapolate every little thing.
Which…was how I would up burying myself in football.
My parents hated it, my agent hated it, the lawyers hated it.
I loved it though, and so did my coach, and my college team. If it wasn’t for an Achilles injury, I may have never gone back to acting, but…things happened as they happened.
And I got to work through some of my lingering love for football here at the community center, coaching these kids. It gave them something outside of school, the streets, and whatever was happening at home to focus on. The Cartwright Center hadn’t yet started building a real community team the way they had with basketball, but the skills I worked with the kids on, they took to their school teams.
They made sure to keep my involvement lowkey, in respect for my privacy—and safety. These afternoons weren’t that easy to coordinate, but I wouldn’t trade it for much. This didn’t have anything to do with appearances, it was just…what I felt like I should be doing.
A pivot I was leaning into more and more.
After so many years in the business, I’d somewhat paid my dues I felt. I couldn’t keep stifling who I actually was to continue playing into the man every father wants for his daughter facade. It wasn’t even about that being fake—I didn’t have any interest in being a dirtbag or any shit like that.
But the pressure to never do anything controversial, to make sure my image stayed squeaky clean, blah blah…it was stifling.
I was over it.
So when people asked me why the role of Jude, who was such a big departure from the hero I usually played, it wasn’t just about wanting something to challenge me.
It was about shaking up people’s view of me, pulling myself out of the box I’d been in so damn long.
Which was big part of why I’d gotten on the In the Zone interview with Arnez and Arizona. It was good publicity for the show, sure, but the laid back, casual, messy format was what I was really after. Yeah, I drank sometimes, yeah in real life I cussed, because I was a grown-ass man, with grown man sensibilities.
I hadn’t fully understood that Vanessa and I would be sharing the time slot.
That was a pleasant surprise.
To say the absolute least.
“How you gone fault the kids for looking at the same ass you were drooling over a few nights ago?” I heard from behind me and looked up to see Reid Phillips strolling in my direction.
Formerly a politician—aspiring politician—Reid was a good influence for the kids because he grew up in a Vegas neighborhood much rougher than this, but he worked himself into a position to get beyond those limits. Now, he was married to the actual director of the center, Rowan, and had devoted his time—and considerable funding—to more grassroots work.
Like this.
“I never said I blamed them,” I chuckled, extending a hand to slap his before coming in for a quick one-armed embrace. “Just not what they’re supposed to be focused on.”
“And what about you ?” Reid asked, eyebrow raised. “Rowan showed me a few minutes of that interview. She was surprised to see you so…unbuttoned. And hell, I was too.”
I shrugged. “Harmless fun.”
Reid nodded. “I agree, I’m just saying…it was different for you. Got a lot of people talking.”
I shook my head.
Yeah.
That it did.
I’d seen the shitty comments, way worse than what I was used to. I often caught all kinds of insults—robot, fake, corny, assumptions about my supposedly secret sexuality, a whole conspiracy theory that I had a secret dungeon under my house, just…a whole mosaic of bullshit.
And none of it really touched the ugliness being launched at Vanessa, for daring to be someone I was attracted to.
It was a bit insane.
More than a bit.
It was ludicrous.
She shrugged it off like it was nothing—apologized to me for having to see it. Really though, I was the one who should—and did—feel bad.
Sure, I was just being honest, but I hadn’t considered what my honesty would bring to her lap.
No wonder she played off every flirting attempt I made.
She wasn’t immune to the public’s perception of me, so I was sure that had something to do with it too. But if even the loosest implication of being romantically tied to me had the internet at her throat, calling her names, bringing up her past, critiquing every song lyric or outfit choice as evidence of “unworthiness…”
Shit, I’d avoid going there with me too.
It didn’t make me want her any less, though.
And not even only on a superficial level.
True, she was exactly as bad in person as she was in pictures, and she definitely wasn’t a “catfish,” and real life didn’t have filters. I’d seen her fresh on set in the morning, just her clean face and a ponytail, and she was still fucking beautiful.
Anybody could see that, though.
What they couldn’t see was the sense of humor, the intelligence, the dedication to the craft. This wasn’t some one-off thing for her, something she was doing just to build out accolades.
She was committed to the show, to her role.
And she was damn good at it too.
“That’s all it is—talk,” I said, finally responding to Reid’s observation. “You know how people love that.”
Reid smirked. “She must not be taking you serious?”
“Not even a little.” I laughed, shaking my head as my security approached to give me a heads up about the time.
Even when I sometimes wanted to stay longer, it was better to keep the schedule tight—less chance of something going wrong. Once, social media had caught wind that I was here, and it turned into a whole ordeal of fans showing up for autographs, completely overshadowing my actual intentions.
Never again.
I called the boys in from where they’d switched to sprint practice, and they all gathered around, panting. As much as I’d been in my own head, I’d still been paying attention, enough to give each one a bit of feedback on their performance. When I was done with that, and passing out snacks, the conversation changed.
“Ay, Big Alec— Spillin’ That Hot Tea says you’re busting down Vanity—that’s true or nah?” one of the kids asked, sending a chorus of similar curiosity through the whole group. They were all well into their teens, high school juniors and seniors, so I had no qualms about replying the way I did, with?—
“That ain’t none of y’all’s fucking business.” I laughed. “But to clear it up, nah, it’s not like that. Stop believing everything you see on the blogs.”
“You was looking at her like you wanted to smash on that interview though,” a different boy said, adding a shrug with his words. “And you were lit. I saw that with my own two eyes.”
Shit.
“First of all, that interview wasn’t for kids—it was for adults. It’s okay to consume shit that was meant for you, and I don’t want to hear that it’s all boring—it’s appropriate for your young minds. In the Zone is not. That’s grown folks’ shit, and since I’m grown, I participated. That’s all. My head felt like hell the next day though—since you’re in my business, you should know that part too.”
Another kid sucked his teeth. “Nobody tripping on you having a drink—we wanna know about Vanessa though. She fine like that in person?”
“ Respectfully… yes,” I admitted, laughing as they all reacted. “Vanessa is a beautiful, grown-ass woman.”
“Hook me up!”
“I said she was beautiful, not a damn criminal.” I chuckled. “Now come on, y’all get these snacks, and take some for home.”
“Ay, don’t change the subject,” the first kid demanded. “What she smell like?”
Vanilla and cardamom.
“I’m not a fucking creep, lil’ dude,” I lied.
I definitely, definitely was.
I knew the answer because she’d smelled so damn good I had to ask what perfume it was, and when she told me, I looked it up.
Vanilla and cardamom were the high notes.
It wasn’t overly sweet or cloying, but it was distinctive, an aroma I ascribed specifically to her. Our characters were largely still at odds with each other, so I was only close enough to catch it with certain movements, but the very next time we shot together, a sex scene was coming.
We were already set to start meeting with the intimacy coordinator, which I was glad for.
Especially since what went down in that interview could easily make things awkward.
I was good, personally—I’d worked through intimate scenes enough before that I was well versed in how to make sure things were kept professional, what did and didn’t work. I’d been coached over and over again on making sure my partner for the scene felt not just protected, but actually comfortable.
Like all the other parts of playing a role, this was a job—it wasn’t more than that, even when it looked like it on the screen. It required a certain chemistry and commitment to not be awkward, and a good rapport when the cameras weren’t rolling helped.
But…there was a little more than that happening between me and Vanessa.
Or rather, I felt a little more than that, and refused to let it make her uncomfortable.
Did I want her?
Absolutely.
I didn’t see that changing.
But I was more than willing to be cool about it until she caught up.