Chapter 48
Josh
Gordon Kay’s couch feels different tonight.
Back in the day, I’d be on here with a few Hollywood buddies, promoting whatever blockbuster we had coming out.
They’d ply us with scotch in the green room and we’d be nicely mellow by the time we hit the sofa, banter flying as soon as we sat down, creating that magic vibe that made the studio audience and the viewers at home feel like they were part of an exclusive club.
Not tonight.
We’re live. Gordon introduces me in a more sombre tone than usual, although his outfit is anything but sombre: he’s in a silver jacquard suit woven in a snake-print pattern, and a skinny metallic pink tie. Nice. He leans over from his swivel armchair and we shake hands.
‘Thanks for having me here, man.’ I’ve opted for a respectable look this evening: jeans, a black blazer and an open-necked white dress shirt. I want everyone watching to take me seriously. I wanna look like I’ve showed up intentionally.
‘You’re looking very smart, Josh.’ Gordon admires me openly.
‘Thanks dude. Kept it simple. Didn’t wanna steal your thunder, you know?’ I raise my eyebrows at his getup and the audience snickers. A little flash of relief hits me. My first teeny win.
‘I’ll make you pay for that, you bastard.’ He winks at me before addressing Camera Two. ‘Okay, then. Tonight’s a special night. We have Josh Lander all to ourselves, ladies and gentleman, and he tells me we can ask. Him. Anything. That right, Josh?’
I sit up straighter. ‘It sure is.’
‘Excellent. And can I confirm we can even mention the E-word?’
‘Yeah. We can mention Elle Hart.’ I grin, and the audience lets out an oooooo.
‘As you can see, Josh, we have a particularly mature audience in tonight. Before we unleash the mother of all Twitter storms, can you tell these good people why you’re here tonight?’
‘Of course.’
I look out at the cameras. Camera Three waves at me. My heart thumps in my ears. Here goes, Josh. You can do this. Surrender to this. Don’t get your ego involved. It has no place here.
‘I’ve done a lot of stupid things over the years.
Really stupid. Gotten away with murder, and gotten called out a few times.
What many of you might not know is I’ve been trying to make things right these past few months.
Azure gave me an amazing opportunity—this role in Grosvenor—and I’m not gonna let them down.
I checked myself into rehab when I got the role, and I’ve been clean for two-hundred-eighty-four days. No drinking. No drugs—’
Gordon puts his hand out to stop me so he can lead a round of applause in the studio. The sound of it makes my eyes prick.
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’
‘Is that the longest you’ve gone sober?’ Gordon asks.
‘Yes, sir. The longest by a million miles, since I was a teenager.’
‘Good man, good man.’ He sits back and gestures. ‘Go on.’
‘I know there are people out there in far more difficult situations than me, with no support. No funds. No opportunities. And I wanna say, I see you. I know how hard it is.’ I clear my throat, take a quick sip of water.
‘Anyways. There’s been a lot of shit in the press, these past few weeks, about me, which I’m totally fine with. I deserve everything I get.
‘But people close to me are being hurt and judged. People I care about. Elle Hart is being judged, and her past dragged up. The press is reminding her of a period in her life she’d rather move on from.
And Azure is being accused, in a toxic and cowardly way, through insinuation, of improper practices when it comes to casting me and Elle.
And I won’t tolerate that. So if you have questions about me—about what I’ve done in the past, about who I was, about who I am—I say, bring ‘em on. I’ll answer ‘em all.’
I sit back, laying both my arms out on the couch, trying to ignore the slick of sweat on my forehead that’s only partly due to the lights.
‘You heard the man,’ Gordon says to the cameras. ‘Can we have the first question, please?’
He and I both lean forward to the screens embedded in the coffee table and he reads the first tweet out loud.
‘Josh, will you marry me? For fuck’s sake. No! I’m marrying him first. Next!’
The screen throws up a new tweet: What’s it like playing Dominic?
‘My producers are fucking useless,’ he grumbles. ‘Seriously, we need to put this man through the wringer! Go on, answer it.’ He waves his hand in surrender.
I laugh. I appreciate the easy start, and I kinda like Gordon’s producers.
‘It’s a lot of fun. It’s a fantastic role.
Challenging—I’ve had to work really hard with an amazing dialect coach, Victoria Wright—to get the accent right.
But Dominic is misunderstood, especially by Georgiana, his wife, and it’s wonderful to be able to play him through so many layers. ’
‘Can you give us a taster? Say something for us in your duke voice.’
I clear my throat again, and go for something I know will make Nicola Marchant fans happy while not being too X-rated.
‘My wife will have to satisfy me out of bed as well as in it. I will not settle for less. And I cannot imagine any of the vacuous virgins the Season has to offer will fulfil either of those functions.’
The audience goes fucking crazy and Gordon fans himself theatrically. ‘Holy shit! Your wife is a lucky lady. I think that deserves a round of applause.’
The next tweet wipes the smile right off my face.
Who dumped who u or elle.
The audience sucks in its collective breath. Helpful. Gordon nods at me to take this one.
I move my legs around, rest my elbows on my knees. Clasp my hands. This kind of thing is precisely what I came on this show for. But it doesn’t make it easier.
‘Well. Firstly, I don’t like the word “dumped”. Okay? But, well. I sent that tweet.’ I’m not going to throw Mom under the bus here. I’m a grown man. ‘And Elle was not expecting it.’
The audience erupts, and Gordon asks for silence.
‘But I wanna make one thing very clear. I sent that tweet for one reason, and one reason only.
To let her be rid of me. To force a clean break.
Because I had a whole lotta issues. Drinking.
Drugs. Issues I was very deceitful about.
Elle knew nothing about them, beyond what the press had speculated.
Bottom line was, I was not good enough for her. Not then, not now.
‘And I knew she was too good a person to walk away from me. But I had to let her go. She had this amazing career ahead of her, and I was a fucking mess. So I did what I had to do, because I loved her—I was out of my mind in love with her. And I’ve always loved her.
Still do. She’s an incredible person.’ I bow my head, pinch the bridge of my nose, and maybe soak up a couple teardrops lurking by my tear ducts.
‘Does Elle know this?’ Gordon’s voice is soft.
‘Yeah.’ I look up at him. ‘She knows everything now. She didn’t when she was on here last week, though.’
‘Got it.’ He nods encouragingly. ‘Let’s keep going.’
Next tweet. What 1st got you using?
‘Huh. None of this will surprise you, but it was a combination of the pressures of the industry, especially as a kid, home life issues which I won’t go into here, and the fucking availability of these things.
I mean, I’ve had people offer me drugs since I was fifteen or younger, man.
It was too easy. I didn’t know which way was up, what was real and what was people blowing smoke up my ass.
‘And it was easier to control it all by taking the right pill for each moment. It was fucking amazing, actually. Until it wasn’t.’
The next tweet pops up on-screen.
You think you deserve our sympathy or somethin
‘No, man. No, I don’t. No way. I know I don’t deserve sympathy. Not like some people out there who are addicted to pain meds for totally valid reasons, or who’ve gotten themselves into a whole fucking mess by getting hooked on stuff doctors have prescribed them. I know how lucky I am, believe me.’
Gordon leans forward.
‘What’s the worst thing you’ve done while high?’
‘Without a shadow of a doubt, replying to your tweet about me and Elle. I wasn’t high—I was on a shitty comedown—but I know how much I hurt her. I’ve hurt so many people without even knowing it, but that was the worst.’
‘So you regret it?’
I hesitate. ‘I regret hurting her. I regret the way I did it. I regret having had to live without her for five years. But it’s hard for me to regret setting her free, because she was better off without me back then.
I seriously believe that, man. And look at her now—look at what she’s achieved. I mean, I’m in awe.’
He holds eye contact with me. ‘And now? Tell us what you’re really doing here. What’s this all about, Josh?’
He’s right. It’s time to cut the crap. I look for the right camera and stare into the lens. Take a deep breath and rake my hair off my face. I need to find a way to plead my case without dropping Elle in the shit.
‘I have a colourful past. I get it. I’ve been a dick in public and in private so many times, and you guys have seen me fuck up time and time again.
Elle was right to make that comment about me last week.
And you guys are right to support her, and to feel protective of her.
She’s unbelievably strong—so much stronger than you know.
‘But I love her. And I think she could maybe return my feelings, except she feels trapped now. Trapped by the weight of your expectations of her, and your judgements of what kind of decision it is and isn’t okay for her to make about her own private life.
And worst of all, it seems to me she’s worried that if she takes a step towards her own happiness, she’ll be letting you down.
‘She takes her position as a role model so seriously, and I know she’d rather sacrifice her own happiness than risk any behaviour that might give mixed messages to her fans about what they should tolerate in their own personal lives, and how they should stand up for themselves towards guys who don’t treat them right.
‘So. I’m here, I guess, to tell you, I’m not a villain.
Not anymore, anyways. I love Elle Hart, and I don’t give a shit what you think of me, but I need you to put the trust in her she deserves to make choices that are right for her.
Because she’s super smart. She’s the smartest person I ever met, and she’s also badass.
There’s no fucking way she’s cutting me any slack unless I’ve worked my ass off to prove I deserve it.
‘But she’s also compassionate, and she believes in giving people second chances. Elle’s been a great friend to me these past few weeks. She’s willing to judge me, not on my past mistakes—and fuck knows, they’re epic—but on the man I am today, and how I show up today.
‘This isn’t about me. It’s about Elle and her happiness. So I beg you, go easy on her, and if I’m lucky enough to get a second chance with her, don’t come for her, okay?’
My shoulders shake with emotion, and I wipe my eyes impatiently as Gordon sits and waits for me to pull myself the fuck together.
‘Thanks for your honesty, mate,’ he tells me. ‘I think we have one more tweet, and then we’ll put you out of your misery, eh?’
‘Sure. Go for it.’ I nod and sniff. Try to avoid the temptation to reach over and grab his glass of white wine, pour it down my own throat. Anything to take the edge off. Anything.
‘Great. Can we have the final tweet, please?’
Our eyes fix on the screens in front of us, and up it pops.
It’s from @ElleryHartOfficial.
@Joshlanderofficial r u still interested in that happy ending?
I snicker, despite myself. It’s obviously a dummy account, or a mock-up. I look over at Gordon.
‘Well played, bro.’
‘That’s from Elle.’ He jerks his head towards the screen.
Wait. What?
‘And on that note. We have a very special surprise guest who is keen to join Josh on the sofa tonight. Ladies and gentlemen: please welcome Ms Ellery Hart!’
Gordon stands up and holds his arm out towards the on-stage entrance. I look around in total bewilderment.
A woman is walking towards me.
She’s a vision in a long silver dress, her blonde hair like a halo.
I’m aware of the studio audience going fucking insane behind me.
But I only have eyes for her.
And it seems she only has eyes for me, as she wipes away her tears with a trembling hand and smiles at me.
It’s Elle.