Chapter 28 Jack
By the time the film’s official premiere in London rolls around, the world is fully convinced that Cynthie and I are a couple. Lorna was right: all we’ve had to do is not directly comment on the matter and everyone was happy to draw their own conclusions—the narrative really did spin itself.
“I can’t believe this is real,” Cynthie says now from her seat beside me in the back of the limo.
We’re making our way through London toward the cinema where the premiere is taking place, and it was decided that we should arrive together—like a real couple would.
Cynthie is wearing a long, strapless blue dress, made out of a fabric that shimmers like iridescent scales when the light hits her.
She spent the afternoon closeted with Liam and Patty, and the result is that she looks more beautiful than ever.
Not that I could tell her that. Being forced to be with her all the time is like the sort of torture that could only be thought up by a bunch of sadists. Or Hollywood producers, I guess.
It’s not only Cynthie’s presence that has my heart racing, though.
All day I’ve felt the familiar keen edge of a panic attack in my chest. I guess it’s because the premiere makes it real.
The film will finally be out there, and everyone will have their say.
My future rests on this moment, and my anxiety has—unsurprisingly—shot through the roof.
The collar of my shirt is too tight; my breath comes choppily. To distract myself, I look at Cynthie.
She’s leaning against the soft leather seat, her eyes shut as we continue to crawl through the central London traffic toward Mayfair.
She looks pale. I watch her the way you might watch a spider in the corner of your bedroom: we’ll all be fine as long as there are no sudden moves and everyone stays exactly where they are.
“Stop staring at me, you creep,” she says without opening her eyes.
“I’m not staring,” I say, keeping my voice level. “You’ve gone all pasty. I’m making sure you don’t pass out.”
“I’m not going to faint.”
“You’ve got form,” I remind her.
She scowls. “Well, as I’m not hungover, dehydrated, and being forced to stand under a glorified garden hose pumping out ice water, I think we’ll be fine.”
“Just didn’t want the sight of me in a tuxedo to have you swooning away,” I say lightly, adjusting my cuffs. Bickering with her has a weirdly calming effect, the tension easing from my shoulders.
She forces one eye open and glares at me, though when she first saw me earlier I had the satisfying experience of seeing her rendered briefly speechless. I can’t blame her… I know I look good.
“Can we just…” She sighs, eyes fluttering closed again.
“Can we just call a truce for one minute? We’re in a limousine on the way to the premiere of our film,” she continues, and her voice is small.
“I just want to be able to… take it all in. I want to be in this moment. I can’t… focus when we’re like this.”
It’s an unexpected admission. “Okay,” I say. “Truce. Just for a minute.”
Her body relaxes, and she opens her eyes. For the first time in months the look she gives me is unguarded. Tears shimmer, threatening to spill over, and I flinch as though she’s struck me.
“Whoa, whoa,” I say quickly. “Truces don’t include crying. Liam spent about four hours doing your makeup, so you need to get it together, okay?”
She blinks, sniffles. “You’re right.”
In the spirit of our truce, I bite down on my tongue to stop myself from making a smart comment at that. I think she must realize, because an almost-smile tugs at her mouth.
“So…” I say after a moment. “I guess we pulled it off. It’s really happening.” I hope she doesn’t hear the nerves in my voice.
“Yeah,” she breathes out. “I still can’t believe it. I wonder what will happen next.”
I shake my head. “I have absolutely no idea.”
“That’s scary, right?” she turns to me.
“It’s fucking terrifying.”
She looks surprised by my honesty. Our eyes meet and there’s a moment where something like understanding passes between us.
It’s different from the looks we usually share—it’s not hot and angry or hot and horny, but something softer, sweeter.
I glance at her hand, resting on the seat between us, and I edge my own fingers closer.
The buzzing sound of the divider between us and the driver coming down breaks the silence. “Here we are,” he says, cheerfully announcing our arrival.
I move my hand back into my lap.
“I guess the truce is over,” Cynthie murmurs, already reeling herself back in.
It’s like I can see her taking all her feelings and stuffing them down, locking them up somewhere tight, somewhere I can’t get to.
She sits up straight, brushes down her skirts, and her chin takes on the determined angle that I recognize.
She’s ready to face whatever waits outside the car.
“Truce over,” I agree, my hand on the door handle. I take one final deep breath and then open the door, willing my hand to stay steady.
The Curzon in Mayfair is one of my favorite places.
I used to come here as a kid to watch films every weekend.
It feels very full circle to be here now at my own premiere.
I try to let myself enjoy it for a second, to let myself just be here, like Cynthie said, but again I taste the fear in my mouth, tangy and metallic.
My ears are full of the sound of my own heartbeat, and my vision wavers. Not now . I think. Please, not now.
I take a breath, try to force my body back under control, then I lean back into the car and hold my hand out.
“Come on then,” I say, my voice clipped as Lorna and Suzy approach the car in a flutter of excitement. “Let’s do this.”
Cynthie shuffles forward, and when my fingers wrap around hers, her hands are cold. She’s nervous, but no one else would ever know. The second she emerges from the car, she’s all smiles.
There’s a small crowd of young fans standing behind a barrier, and they start shouting when they see us. As agreed, I keep Cynthie’s hand in mine.
“Hi, guys,” Lorna greets us breathlessly. “You both look wonderful!”
“Thank you,” Cynthie says, and I wonder if anyone else notices the way she toys with the delicate chain around her neck, the way her hands are trembling, just a touch.
“You have some time to sign autographs before we hit the carpet… if that’s okay with you?” Lorna says, more than half her attention on the phone in her hand.
“Sure,” I agree. “Sounds good.”
“Yep.” Cynthie’s voice is pitched higher than usual. “That sounds great.”
We move over to the crowd, and their excitement climbs to a frenzy, as do the squealing noises they’re making. Grasping hands reach toward us, and there are people shouting my name, shouting both our names. We approach the barrier and Suzy hands us a couple of markers.
Notebooks, scraps of paper, and even a few copies of the poster for the film are thrust in front of me, and I scrawl my autograph over and over again, smiling and greeting people as I go.
The crowd is mostly made up of teenage girls, and they look at me with hearts in their eyes.
When I watch Cynthie with them, I notice they wear the same look with her.
“She’s so pretty,” I hear one girl sigh.
“They look amazing together,” her friend replies. “They’re, like, the perfect couple.”
The whole time, I can feel the attack pressing in on me.
I try to fight it, to ignore it, but I know it’s inevitable.
I can’t get enough air into my lungs, and my chest is rising and falling too rapidly.
Someone’s going to notice. My fingers wrapped around the pen are tingling. I have to get out of here. Fast.
I take an abrupt step back. Put my hand in my pocket.
Cynthie looks up at me, startled.
“What are you—” she starts, but I cut her off.
“There’s a call I have to take,” I snap, already moving away. I clutch my phone in my hand like the prop and the lifeline it is.
“You can’t be serious,” I hear Cynthie murmur, but then she’s laughing, bright, making jokes and excuses for me to the crowd.
I stride away back toward the car, which is still idling, waiting in the queue to turn around.
“I just need somewhere private to take this call for a second,” I say to the driver, amazed that I’ve kept the words steady, when my lungs feel like they’re full of broken glass. Then again, I’ve had plenty of practice hiding my panic attacks from people.
When I get into the backseat, I tug at my bow tie, pulling it away and unbuttoning my collar.
Sweat beads on my forehead. I place my shaking hand on my chest and focus on the feeling of my thumping heart under my fingers, on breathing slow and smooth.
It feels like it always does: it feels like I’m dying.
Even if they stretch endlessly, it’s really only a few minutes before I’m back under control.
I know how to manage things, but it doesn’t make this any easier.
I hate that it happened here, today, that I couldn’t just enjoy myself and be happy like a normal person.
It feels like something has been taken from me, and I won’t be able to get it back.
I grab a water from the mini-bar in the console in front of me and swig at it, press the cool bottle to my forehead.
I do up my shirt and retie my tie with steady fingers.
I push my hair back from my face and straighten my jacket.
When I leave the car, I’m sure no one would ever guess what just happened, but I feel hollow, exhausted.
“Oh, there he is.” Lorna looks relieved as I reappear. She turns to the crowd. “Sorry, we need to get these two down to the red carpet now.”
There’s a collective groan of disappointment, and Cynthie disentangles herself. After a second’s hesitation, I take her hand in mine and the group behind us shrieks their approval as we walk away.
“Perfect,” Lorna murmurs, clearly pleased. “You’re doing great. So, just remember what we talked about for the carpet… it’s all about body language. We want the two of you to look like you’re together.”
“I cannot believe you did that,” Cynthie hisses through gritted teeth, her expression pleasant. “Those people waited hours to see you and you just fobbed them off for a phone call?”
“I needed to take it,” I say, abruptly.
“You really are the most entitled, selfish…” Cynthie begins, but she doesn’t get to finish that lovely thought, because Lorna hustles us through a barrier into the holding area.
I wish it didn’t sting so much to know that’s how Cynthie sees me.
Part of me wants to tell her the truth. So much of my life is a lie, a performance, and with Cynthie there have been moments where all of that has fallen away.
I wish I could tell her how I feel. I wish we could cut through all the bullshit between us, but I don’t know where to start.
Outside the cinema, there’s a wide strip of red carpet in front of the backdrop printed with the name of the film in the stylized calligraphy that appears on all the promotional materials.
I watch as Simon makes his way slowly down with his date, stopping every so often in front of the gaggle of photographers, lined up behind another barrier.
“Wow, there’s more of them than I expected,” Cynthie manages.
“I know.” Lorna gives her big, alligator grin. “All the press you two did really paid off.”
When Simon finally reaches the other end of the carpet and disappears inside the cinema, Suzy scuttles down after him, holding up a card with our names printed on it.
The interest from the photographers kicks up a gear, and Lorna practically shoves us out there, with a whispered hiss of “Remember, you’re in love .”
Cynthie’s hand tenses in mine, but we walk out, smiling wide.
When we reach the first place where we’re supposed to stop, Cynthie steps into me, and my arm slips around her waist, pulling her tightly into my side.
I don’t feel panicked now, but I do feel sick and empty, sort of gray.
I smile like it’s the best day of my life.
“Jack! Jack! Cynthie!” the photographers shout, flashes bursting in front of my eyes, leaving behind stars at the edges of my vision.
My hand splays on Cynthie’s stomach, and the slip of her silk dress is cool under my fingers.
“Give us a kiss!” one of the photographers yells, and the shout is picked up by some of the others. “Kiss! Kiss!” they chant.
I watch Cynthie’s eyes widen a fraction and my hand tightens on her waist. I dip my head toward hers and something flares in her gaze. I don’t have time to decide if it’s lust or panic, before I drop a kiss on the end of her nose.
When I pull back, Cynthie looks up at me, delightfully befuddled, and then she laughs that great, husky laugh of hers that’s like a shot of top shelf whiskey, and the cameras flash like mad. Everyone loves it; they can’t get enough of us.
We look adorable, I know. Lorna is going to be thrilled. We look like we’re totally in love.
We’re such good actors.