Chapter 11 #4
His tone sets something off in me – the challenge hitting its mark, as little as all the reasonable parts of me want it to.
Lighting into a flame. I look back over my shoulder.
Crowds of people starting to emerge from the hall onto the street.
If I’m going to follow him, I’d better do it now, otherwise I’m at high risk of exposing my underwear to some of the most famous people in London.
‘Fine,’ I say, surprising myself with how quickly I respond. I take off my heels and throw them to him, then hitch up my dress and climb over. Somehow – miraculously – managing not to rip the dress. ‘But if we get arrested, this was your idea.’
‘You were great tonight,’ he says, ignoring my comment and reaching out to steady me as I land on the ground next to him.
‘If that’s great, I’m not sure you have your scale right,’ I reply, deflecting his praise. Because I’m not sure I deserve it. I made it through the evening, sure. But I almost caused a press catastrophe and will definitely look terrified in all the photos.
‘Really,’ he says, as we start walking, heading behind the memorial and away from the crowd. Into the vast expanse of green beyond. ‘You were. My first awards, I almost threw up from nerves about the press interviews and accidentally spilled a glass of champagne on Jack Nicholson’s shoulder.’
‘You did not,’ I say, laughter bubbling up despite myself.
‘God’s honest truth,’ he replies, putting his hand to his chest. ‘He did not take it well.’
I smile, something happening as I look at him.
Some part of me opening up in a way it hasn’t so far.
An alien feeling emerging, one I haven’t experienced in a while.
I feel… safe, here. Even trespassing in a park.
Even after doing the scariest event of my life.
Something about being here, with him, feels like it did before.
This realisation terrifies me. But it feels good too.
We walk for a few more moments in silence and I grab the champagne bottle from him.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Avi says, breaking into my thoughts.
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘The karate,’ he says. ‘I never knew that about you. How come you’re so good?’
I frown a little, then remember our stunt training – what feels like ages ago now.
‘Oh,’ I say, heat curling in my chest. Because this is a piece of information that, usually, I’d prefer to keep private.
But something – the champagne, or the fact that I’ve come so far this evening that I’m starting to adopt a ‘fuck it’ attitude to the whole thing – has me answering him.
‘My parents enrolled me when I was younger. I had some trouble at school.’ I take a sip of the champagne and pass the bottle back to him.
‘What kind of trouble?’ he asks. I should’ve expected that, I think.
He’s never been one to leave things well enough alone.
It’s partly how he got through my walls back at the pub in the first place.
Always asking the right questions, seeing through whatever defences I put up. Until, eventually, they came down.
‘My mum and dad moved around a lot, so I went to about six different schools.’
He nods. ‘I remember you telling me.’
My chest pinches. ‘Well,’ I continue. ‘I was under the radar, mostly – never out there enough to catch anyone’s attention in a bad way. But in the last school I was at, I was bullied. So they enrolled me in karate. I think it was a self-confidence thing.’
‘Did it work?’ he asks.
‘Sort of,’ I reply. ‘But then I started doing school plays. And it was like… I felt like I could breathe for the first time.’ I take the champagne back from him, feeling a little vulnerable here. Because this is the closest we’ve come to talking like we did before.
‘I get that feeling,’ he says. ‘I used to feel that way too. Like… you’re the most yourself when you’re up there being someone else.’
Used to feel that way, I think. I wonder if he means that he doesn’t feel that way any more.
I recall the look on his face when he wrapped the scene with Sienna the other day.
Because usually he’s so bright, so put together – so, seemingly, happy with this life he’s chosen.
But Sarah’s words have burrowed into my mind. He’s always struck me as a little sad.
‘Exactly,’ I reply. And in the next second, I almost take a step towards him.
Almost ask him what’s been going on, why he’s been silent for the last three years.
Why it seems like some of his spark might have gone out.
What’s going on underneath the polished exterior, the exterior that I’m starting to see is a bit of an act.
‘Can I ask you something?’ I ask, suddenly emboldened by this conversation.
‘That seems fair,’ he says. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Why won’t you really do theatre?’
‘Ah,’ he says, glancing sideways at me. Looking away, back ahead to the path in front of us. ‘I guess I should’ve expected that.’
I look at him, waiting for an answer. But it doesn’t come quickly.
‘It’s a complicated thing,’ he says. ‘Being someone in my position. A British-Indian actor who has made it good. People… people like to put me in boxes. To hold me up as a standard. When the press isn’t tearing me down, that is.
And I don’t mind it, mostly – I can inspire people who want to make it in an industry that has historically not made room for us.
To be in a position where I’ve made it – it feels big, you know?
Like I can’t take it for granted. Can’t do anything to mess it up.
But it’s a lot of pressure and my agent has strong opinions about my career direction.
As a result, so do I. I can’t really afford to disagree with him or I might lose all this.
So sometimes that means I don’t get to go after the roles I want to. Have to consider all that.’
I nod, his words hitting me hard. A rush of anger surging up at what he has to deal with – because I have seen the articles.
Hateful segments questioning whether he’s been cast as a ‘diversity’ hire, peppered through the other articles holding him up as one of the up-and-coming actors of our generation.
But there’s always someone questioning his talent.
And they’ve made me furious on his behalf in the last few years.
But I hadn’t thought about the other side of it either.
The pressure he might feel, being in his position.
How people might try to pigeonhole him. How he might feel like his position is more fragile than other people’s.
How that pressure might make him feel out of control of his career, dictated by what other people think is best. Sadness and anger ripples through me as he speaks.
Because it’s not fair for him to be limited like this.
To feel like he can’t go after the roles he wants.
To feel stuck between being held up as an idol and being torn down from a pedestal for no reason other than blind hatred.
‘It is hard, though,’ he says. ‘Sometimes I feel like more of a brand than a person, as far as my agent is concerned.’
‘I’m really sorry, Avi,’ I say, looking over at him. ‘That sounds really hard.’
He shrugs, a smile passing over his face that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
‘I have a good life,’ he says. ‘A life most people would kill for.’
And I can’t help it – he looks so sad as he says it, that the words tumble out of me before I can stop them. ‘But are you happy?’
He stops in his tracks, his expression shifting a little.
And I almost want to take it back. But I don’t.
Because I want to know. Because I’ve seen enough in the last few days to make me question if he really is.
Because, despite everything, there’s still a part of me that I’ve been lying to myself about for the last few days, but which is coming up now in full force. A part that cares about him.
‘Uh…’ he says, faltering. ‘That’s a difficult question.’
‘Is it?’ I ask.
He looks down at the floor, the champagne bottle swinging by his side, forgotten.
‘Is happiness really the goal?’ he says, finally.
‘I’m grateful for everything I have. Grateful to be alive.
Grateful to be in a position to help my family.
To inspire people.’ And again, I can see that his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
And it makes me so sad. Because he shouldn’t have to feel grateful, shouldn’t have to push down his own wants and needs, accepting something less because of how other people react.
And I want him to know that he’d inspire people by going after what he wants too.
‘I will say this,’ he says, looking at me. ‘This film… it’s the closest I’ve felt to happiness in a long time.’
Oh, fuck.
And it’s a complicated statement. Because there’s so much behind it.
So many different ways it could be interpreted.
But as I look at him for a long beat, I see something softening in his eyes.
Something that is real. A light that I’ve only really seen so far when we’ve been acting together.
When we’ve been running lines. A light I attributed to the joy of the performance.
‘Avi…’ And without thinking about it, I’m taking a step towards him.
He lets out a breath, unmoving. I take another step.
Oh, my God, what am I doing? I think. But I don’t stop.
Something has taken hold of me that I don’t quite understand.
I’m all fire, drawn in by his gaze, his eyes that aren’t leaving mine.
His hand reaches up, tracing gently down the side of my arm. My skin in flames at his touch.
I could kiss him now, I think. And I realise I want to. The line that this would cross between us and everything it would mean hovers in the background, waiting to slow me to a halt. But in this moment, I just see him.
‘Lara…’ he whispers. He leans in towards me, his fingers still dragging against my bare skin.
I can hear his breath, almost feel his heartbeat.
We’re so close now. It would just take one tiny step forwards.
I tilt my face towards him, my chest hammering.
But then I open my eyes and see him, and realise what I’m doing.
Oh, my God, I think. I take a startled step backwards.
And before Avi can react and I can move another inch, a voice sounds from a couple of hundred metres behind Avi, the glare of a torch shining in our faces.
And just like that, everything comes crashing down.
Sienna. The dress I’m wearing – which is hers. The fact that I almost did something so stupid. Something that would have been more destructive than I could’ve ever imagined.
What the fuck is wrong with you?
‘Oi!’ a man in a high-vis jacket shouts, marching towards us at speed. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’
And there’s no time to think about this further. We have to get out of here.
‘Shit. We should go,’ Avi says. I nod, swallowing down the emotions that are crashing over me in this moment.
And we run.