3. Ben
3
Ben
A s the saying goes, shit happens. And this time the shit rolled down hill and onto me.
The romantic comedy that Studio 67 had originally slated for release this holiday season has been shelved indefinitely after the male lead was arrested and jailed on several drug charges last month, leaving the studio to clean up his PR mess and scrambling to plug the hole in their holiday line-up. Capitalizing on my current title of Sexiest Person of the Year, the head of the studio decided that the best alternative would be to move up the release date of my latest romantic comedy, Truly, Madly, Deeply , from spring of next year to this December.
As in, nine weeks away.
In and of itself, it might not be that big of an issue except that I already have another movie opening in December. Captain Commander , a superhero action movie, is projected to be the blockbuster of the year, so Studio 67 has put together a lengthy, worldwide publicity tour to promote it.
There’s a shit ton of planning that goes into film marketing, so it’s been an arduous process to incorporate publicity for Truly, Madly, Deeply into my already chaotic December schedule. Yesterday I flew to Seattle with my Truly, Madly, Deeply co-star for a photo shoot for the movie posters. I only arrived back in town an hour ago and had to head straight to dinner from the airport. Unfortunately, I expect that this will be my life for the next two months, hopping from one commitment to the next.
Tonight’s dinner meeting with my agent, my publicist, and several studio executives is to finalize my itinerary and hammer out any last-minute adjustments. As the details are ironed out and logistics discussed, I pick at my salad, before placing my fork on the plate and pushing it away. A waiter comes around to our table, silently clearing our salad and appetizer plates a moment before our entrees are delivered.
“Ben, earth to Ben,” Jada Fischer, my agent chastises, snapping her fingers. “There’s too much at stake for you to zone out now.”
Jada is a hard-nosed, middle-aged woman with a crown of closely cropped brown hair. She looks like she should be running an elementary school PTA bake sale instead of heading one of LA’s talent agencies. Now that I’m considered an A-list actor, I could easily move to one of the larger agencies, but Jada took a chance on me when I was a young, unknown kid and I’ve rewarded her faith in me by remaining loyal to her.
“Apologies. This all feels so surreal,” I explain, a tense smile stretched across my face.
I’m not lying, it does, but it only explains part of the reason why I’m preoccupied tonight. Unbidden, my mind keeps straying from the business conversation to an entirely different conversation that I had today. One with a total stranger.
As the evening winds down, the other members of my entourage partake in tumblers of bourbon or glasses of port. I drum my fingers across the tablecloth waiting for the moment when I can politely break away. Thinking about my busy upcoming travel schedule has me craving the comforts of home.
But my hopes are dashed by my publicist, Becky. “Ben, it’s important for your face to be in the press right now. Each time you’re in the tabloids, it creates buzz and generates publicity for your films." At this point in my career, I'm well-versed in this concept, but Becky reiterates it before every movie release. "So, I’ve tipped the paparazzi off that you’ll be out tonight with friends.” She eyes me speculatively before continuing, “Or with a woman.”
This isn’t the first time that Becky’s nudged me to date, but I quit dating after my last relationship blew up in spectacular fashion. Like the Exxon Valdez, it took the efforts of many well-trained professionals and a lot of money to clean up that spill.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Marshall, one of the studio execs, asks with a raised eyebrow. “If so, we need to know and plan accordingly.”
The line between an actor’s personal and professional lives blurs easily given the public’s parasocial fascination with celebrities. With the advent of the Internet and social media, people now expect unfettered access to their favorite stars. It’s commonplace for fame and fortune to come at the price of privacy, and most stars willingly make that sacrifice to stay relevant. While I’m contractually obligated to do press for my movies, shining the spotlight on my private life isn’t my style. I try to keep my private life as private as possible.
Dodging his question, I reply, “It’ll just be me and the guys tonight.”
“You gay? Bi?” Marshall prods. “No judgment. The studio just needs to be strategic about that sort of thing.”
I used to be outraged when these intrusive questions were lobbed my way, but I’m used to them now. Stoically, I reply, “No. I'm just not looking for anything serious. About all I have time for is the occasional one-night stand."
"That's not what you said during your interview with Personality Magazine ."
I hum noncommittedly. "Little white lies are necessary from time to time."
And lies are easier to tell than the truth. Because the truth is that I keep my heart locked down tighter than Fort Knox.
"Got it. But be careful." Marshall pauses, leaning forward, his face solemn. “You know the saying there’s no such thing as bad publicity ? That concept is outdated in today's cancel culture. You’ve got to stay on the straight and narrow until after both publicity tours wrap. Any misbehavior on your part could threaten the success of our films. Especially with a romantic comedy coming out, we need you to portray the wholesome, good guy image, and participating in flagrant one-night stands won't accomplish that.”
“Understood.”
Marshall is well within his rights as a studio representative to remind me of the potential consequences if the media unearthed something negative about me now, when the success of two movies hinges, at least partially, on my popularity and reputation.
The American public loves a scandal. Countless celebrities have been involved in them, some of which have had lasting implications on the success of their projects and careers. One mistake, big or small, public or private, can make or break a career in Hollywood. Now is not the time for me to get careless in my personal life.
Nodding her agreement, Becky chimes in, "No public hook ups. No drunkenness. Definitely no drugs. Nothing that could reflect poorly on you, Ben. "
Withholding a sigh, I verbally agree and then extricate myself. “If I’m going out tonight, I better be on my way. Thanks everyone.” I knock my fist on the table and rise from the table.
After spending the last few hours hanging out with my buddies, Jordan and Trevor, and playing my part as the fun-loving, but well-behaved, movie star, I head home when the bars close.
Throughout the evening of bar hopping and playing cat and mouse with the paparazzi, my thoughts wandered back to Carlisle more times than I could count. Our conversation was only a few minutes in length, yet it made an indelible impression on me.
There's something different about her. Something alluring. Her candor was refreshing. In a city full of make-believe and fairy tales, my conversation with Carlisle represented something real. Genuine and authentic.
Fuck, when was the last time I had a conversation with a woman that was real? Where she spoke her mind and didn't just say what she thought I wanted to hear.
When I arrive home for the night, I grab a beer out of the fridge and sprawl onto the leather sectional in my living room. Flipping through the sports channels, I check the college football schedule, all the while trying to ignore the cell phone that’s burning a hole in the pocket of my jeans .
Giving up the fight, I grab my phone and open my recent calls log. My finger hovers over Carlisle's work phone number.
I cannot call her now. It’s too late. Plus, I have no reason to call her.
Do I need a reason? Isn’t wanting to talk to her again enough reason enough?
I toss my phone face down on the couch next to me, but my willpower only lasts a few more minutes. There's an inverse relationship between the amount of beer left in the bottle and how much I want to talk to Carlisle again.
Taking a long pull from my beer, I drain it and grab for the phone again. Carlisle said she was going out tonight. The bars only closed a few minutes ago, so there’s a good chance she’s still awake.
And that’s a chance I’m willing to take.
With alcohol having stolen the last of my inhibitions, I press the number and wait as the phone starts ringing.
A male voice answers. How had I not considered that she might have a boyfriend? Despite my initial inclination to end the call, I persist and ask to speak to Carlisle.
When she comes to the phone, she’s just as ornery as I remember. “Hello, hot stuff. I’m Carlie and I’m here to be your beck and call girl,” she purrs.
“Carlie, is it now? And here you had me convinced that you were just a sweet southern belle slinging staples and paper clips.”
She issues a surprised yelp, sounding rattled. “Brent! Oh my gosh, hello. Hi.”
“How’s your second job going tonight? If I need to let you go, so you can keep working the phoneline, I can,” I joke, flustering her further.
“Ugh, forget I said all that. I was kidding. I am well past tipsy and nothing I say can be held against me! ”
“If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?” I sing softly, also well past tipsy. Those voice lessons I had to take for a movie role are still paying dividends.
“You know The Bellamy Brothers?” Carlisle asks, sounding surprised. “Also, side note: you have a nice singing voice.”
“Thanks. And yes, old country music is one of my guilty pleasures. I figured as a Mississippi girl you might catch the reference.”
Her voice grows leery when she asks, “How did you know I’m from Mississippi, Brent?”
“Your accent gives you away. Plus, you mentioned you went to Ole Miss, so I just assumed.”
“Oh, that’s right, I did,” she chuckles, sounding more relaxed. “Since you called, I hope you can clear something up for me.”
“Okay,” I reply slowly, hoping the jig isn’t up, that she hasn’t recognized my voice and figured out who I am.
“Please don’t take offense.” She draws a choppy inhalation. “But you’re not a crazy stalker who’s going to kidnap me, are you? Because my roommate is totally freaked that you know my name, place of employment, and life story. You should have seen her storming around the apartment locking every door and window in case you came prowling.”
I grin widely. If only Carlisle knew who I was, then she'd understand that I’m usually the one to attract stalkers, not the other way around. “Nope, I promise that I’m not a stalker.”
“Damn, I can hear the smile in your voice,” she replies quietly, throwing me off balance. “I totally thought that HR meeting was wrong.”
“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about right now.”
“Never mind. So, how was your night? What’d you do? ”
I place one hand behind my head and lean back, settling into my couch before responding. “The usual Friday night bullshit. Dinner. Drinks. Came home after last call.”
“Bullshit, huh? That doesn't sound very fun.”
“You’re perceptive, Carlisle. My evening was fine, but not necessarily fun. I would have preferred to stay in and have a quiet night at home, but you know how it goes.”
“Sometimes you gotta see people and be seen by people.”
She hit that nail on the head with that observation. “Exactly. How was your night? Hopefully more fun than mine.”
“It was fun! We got sushi for dinner, but it was cheap sushi since we’re young and poor. Now I’m praying that we don’t get food poisoning. Especially since our apartment only has one bathroom. That happened one time in college. It was gross, and I promised Harper that I would never speak of it again. So, forget I mentioned it." She pauses to take a breath before quickly continuing, "Anyway, after dinner, we went dancing and then my roommate met a guy, Philip. He’s the guy who answered the phone, by the way. Obviously, since he came home with her that means that he and Harper hit it off."
“Okay, wow.” My smile deepens as I listen to her ramblings, especially when she explains who the dude is who answered the phone. I can’t help myself. I want to know. “What about you? Did you have any luck with the guys tonight?”
“Not tonight," Carlisle admits, before adding, “How ‘bout you? Any luck with the ladies?”
I like that she returned my question. Perhaps she's as intrigued by me as I am by her.
“Nope. You see, I talked to this feisty girl on the phone earlier today, and I couldn’t get my mind off her. ”
“What a coincidence! I, too, was preoccupied by a phone call that I received today,” she admits softly. "You know those extended car warranty phone calls really stick with you."
I bark out a laugh. Carlisle keeps me on my toes.
"Kidding, kidding. You were the best wrong number I've ever gotten."
I wait a bit, allowing the silence to stretch, hoping that she’ll tell me more, but she doesn’t.
“It’s weird, don’t you think? I mean, we don’t know each other at all, but I couldn’t stop myself from calling you again.”
She pauses. “Well, if you’re weird, then I’m weird too, Brent, because I'm glad you called again.”
Her admission calms me, but I’m still hesitant to say much else. She yawns and her breathing evens out, becoming slower and louder.
“Carlisle?” I wait a few moments before repeating her name, but I still don’t get a response.
Damn, I think she passed out.
That isn’t how I foresaw our conversation ending, but it does give me a reason to call her again tomorrow just to wrap things up between us. A proper goodbye.
Yeah, right.