Chapter 8 #2
I saw this argument coming following Paul’s earlier emails. In that moment, I’d chosen to take the moral high ground. I thanked him for his feedback and said that we’d be sure to take it on board.
“Now, listen here.” Paul’s finger pushes into the gold button on my polo shirt. “If you don’t address these tweaks right now, I’ll make sure Alexander doesn’t set foot on this set.”
“No, you listen!” I slap his finger away. “This is a Brewed commercial, not an Alexander Morgan music video. I answer to Brewed, not to you. Alexander’s the hired help.”
“Who d’you think you’re talking to?” Paul pushes me backward. A single vein pulsates on his temple.
My own pulse steadily rises, and the mild aggravation simmering in my stomach starts to boil over into anger. I steady my feet, adjust my shirt collar, and take a step back toward him. He may get away with treating other people like this to get what he wants, but I’m not other people.
“I’d tread very carefully with me if I were you, Paul. You need me right now, more than I need you.” Paul’s spine stiffens in response to my gravelly tone.
“He’s right,” Connie says.
Connie slides her glasses down her nose and looks up at him. Her intense stare, the same one used by mums the world over to reprimand their children, silences Paul. “Plus, I’m sure the editors can dial down the kitschiness of it all in postproduction.”
Connie’s hand waves at the decorations that adorn the walls. The mishmash of colored balls that adorn the Christmas tree are a far cry from the semi-naked mermen that Andrew insists on putting on our own.
Paul backs down and sits on the couch, but shoots me a sideward glance. You may have won this battle, but this war is far from over.
“Have you given more thought to what we discussed?” Connie straightens her charcoal skirt and motions to me to sit down across from them both.
“And what’s that?” I say, knowing full well what she’s alluding to.
I pull out the wooden chair. The discomfort of the hard seat matches the growing uneasiness I feel inside. But I’m trapped in here with them for the next several hours. Best to get this conversation over with now.
Connie starts to speak, pauses while a crew member passes, and begins again when we are left alone.
“Alexander needs help, and the only way we can do that is with you.” Her eyes flicker with fear. Connie’s words are said in a way that tells me they’re all out of options.
“Right…”
“We’re staging an intervention tomorrow evening, and we need everyone there to encourage him to go to rehab.
” Her mouth is set in a hard line. “It’s unlikely he’ll listen to the rest of us, but he’ll listen to you.
” Her expression is void of any emotion, making it hard for me to read her.
Though, that may be from the Botox. “You two clearly have a lot to discuss. We’re thinking that you do that first, then you can bring him to his hotel suite and we’ll hold the intervention then. ”
“What you’re asking me to do is manipulative,” I say, ignoring the way the word rubs me the wrong way.
How does she know he’ll listen to me?
Why should I be a pawn in their game to get Alexander into rehab?
“You want what’s best for Alex, right?” Connie leans forward across the table.
My moment of silence, while I reconcile whether I care, causes the pair to exchange a worried glance.
I lock my fingers together and circle my thumbs. I may hate him for what he did, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve help.
“Of course. But there’s got to be a better way than ambushing him?”
“Leave the strategy to us. We know how to handle Alexander,” Paul chimes in dismissively.
His tone forces my back upright. I almost choke on the rage his words ignite. I squeeze my fingers tighter together and I curse the fact that I don’t have my stress ball with me now.
“Clearly. That’s why I saw him in Central Park this morning, acting all dodgy with some random guy,” I bark back, like a dog unleashed.
“Jealousy is not becoming, darling,” Connie says, her eyebrows slightly arched.
“I couldn’t care less if he’s hooking up with someone.
” I’m clearly lying to myself, but the words land.
Connie’s brows drop. “Who he fucks is no longer my concern. But if you want me to be part of your plan, maybe you should start doing a better job yourselves of keeping Alexander on a tight leash. Not leaving him free to roam the streets and make deals in broad daylight for anyone to see.”
“That’s not true.” Paul’s nostrils flare.
“You calling me a liar?” I counter, ready for round two.
“When?” Paul’s cheeks are no longer pale, but flushed.
“Around nine a.m.”
“Must have been while we were having breakfast, when he said he was going to the room to shower,” Connie says.
“Great.” Paul rubs his head. “Just what we need. Let me call Rob now.”
Paul gets up and walks over to the counter, leaving Connie and me to sit awkwardly in silence. I start to stand, but Connie reaches across the table to stop me.
“Chris,” she says, and briefly glances at Paul before turning her attention back to me.
“About the flight, and what happened.” Connie pauses for a beat as a rising mixture of fear and anger claws its way up inside me.
“I’ve come to realize that the way we handled the situation, the way you were treated, was not fair, and I owe you an apology. ”
Time slows and I’m startled into silence.
Of all the things I had expected Connie to say if we ever had a conversation about what unfolded, this was not one of them.
Connie glances at Paul again, as he is still talking away on the phone, and cuts back to me, staring deeply into my eyes.
“If I could turn back time, I’d have taken the time to explain the situation and worked out a different way of dealing with things. But we were in crisis mode and needed to lock everything down.”
Sincerity rings through her voice, contradicting the image I’ve constructed of her in my mind. Maybe I’ve got Connie wrong. Maybe she’s not cruel to the bone, but has a tough exterior, and is softer once you break through that.
Or am I being played? Is she trying to appeal to my softer side to help with Alexander?
I hesitate before speaking as the one question I’ve had top of mind for weeks continues to circle in my thoughts.
“Just answer me one question. Did Alexander agree to the plan when you made me sign the documents, or was he completely unaware?”
Connie pauses for a beat, and twitches in her seat.
“No.”
The pain of being caught in her lie is written across her face as she answers.
My heart sinks at her response. Alexander was telling the truth.
He didn’t know anything about paying me off to stay silent.
Maybe everything else he said in the voicemail was true too.
Guilt consumes me as Paul walks back toward us.
A subtle shift in Connie’s posture occurs. She sits more stiffly and upright, and I get the feeling that our conversation was not for Paul’s ears. That she was speaking on behalf of herself and not for both of them.
And now, all I can think about is getting the rest of my questions answered by Alexander.
I glance at the clock on the wall, realizing we’re already running two hours behind schedule, when Tanu cuts me a look as I’m introducing Paul to Matthew, the CEO of Brewed.
“It’s great to meet you,” Paul says, shaking Matthew’s hand. Caryn and Chloe, from the Brewed marketing team, stand just behind him.
“Likewise. Is Alexander here yet?” he asks, adjusting his tan corduroy suit jacket as he looks around the store.
“He got held up at rehearsals. He’s in hair and makeup right now, getting ready for the shoot.” Paul’s cracked smile hides the truth.
“Oh, I see. Do you know how much longer? It’s just—my eldest wants to meet him—but it’s been a long day.” He looks down at his daughter, who is gripping his leg. “The Harry Potter Musical tired you out didn’t it, hun.” He pats his daughter’s head as she holds on tighter.
“Shouldn’t be too much longer now.” Paul’s eyes widen as he looks at me.
Everyone else in the room is unaware that Alexander is currently as high as a kite. He’s off his face on cocaine or whatever the drug dealer gave him. Apparently, he spent the run-through for his VMA performance running back and forth between the stage and the toilet.
Paul described Alexander’s energy as “frantic” when he headed to the hotel to see him, and got me to switch up the shooting schedule to buy enough time to sober Alexander up. But now every remaining scene requires his presence, and I’m out of options for stalling.
“We’ll have to get you to one of his shows.” Paul bends down to meet the little girl’s sightline.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Matthew looks down at his daughter again as she moves behind his leg. Clearly, I’m not the only one who wants to hide from Paul anytime he comes close.
Paul’s phone buzzes, and he slides his hand into his pocket while he stays crouched by the girl.
“Alexander’s on the way!” Paul shows his phone to the little girl, whose face lights up at the news.
I excuse myself from the conversation and make my way past crew members and extras seated at the tables, wrapped in their red and green winter jackets and bobble hats, to find Tanu standing at the counter. She’s animatedly talking to an extra dressed up as a barista behind the counter.
I notice her name badge and have an idea that might help us get through the night. Grabbing a passing crew member, I ask for a blank badge, and write down a different name before getting the extra to swap it out.
“Alexander is on the way,” I whisper into Tanu’s ear.
“Finally.” Tanu lifts the sleeve of her leather trench coat to look at her watch. “Only two hours behind schedule.”
With the short autumn night and a 6:30 a.m. sunrise working against us, we only have a limited number of hours to capture everything with Alexander. Thankfully, Tanu had used yesterday and the time lost tonight to pick up all the cutaway shots, but it’s gonna be tight to get everything captured.
She’d asked the photographer to wait to capture any stills till the end, but it might get all bumped together, depending on what state Alexander turns up in.
Outside of Brewed, the voices suddenly get louder, which cues me in to the fact that he must be close. My palms clam up and my stomach begins doing summersaults. I’m barely able to look at the door, worried about what’ll greet me when he arrives.
“What’s up everybody!” Alexander shouts as he enters.
His security guard, stylist, and assistant all follow him in.
Paul and Connie walk toward me as I take a hard look at Alexander.
To someone who doesn’t know him, he probably looks pulled together. But to the trained eye, his behavior and the way he fidgets like he has a nervous tic tells me something is very, very wrong. I turn to Connie and Paul.
“Okay, I’m in,” I say.