Chapter 7 Alexander #2
My gaze lingers a bit too long, and his head suddenly turns toward me. He looks at me, then down to the Dragon roll where two pieces remain, my chopsticks hovering near one. I nod at him to take the other, as Paul swoops in and grabs the one I was about to pick up.
Typical Paul.
“So, what spoke to you about this book so much so that you wanted to use it to launch your career?” Alfonso’s hand covers his mouth, making his words barely audible.
It’s so rare I’m actually asked for input into my own career choices that I’m briefly taken aback—both by Alfonso’s question and by Paul not immediately jumping in to answer on my behalf.
“Well, the most important thing for me, is to be taken seriously as an actor,” I say, unsuccessfully attempting to scoop up some of the black miso cod with my chopsticks.
“To not go down the predictable route. I want to go against the stereotype, play a really gritty role people wouldn’t expect, and the main character in the book is exactly that.
” I finally get a grip on the piece of the cod with my chopsticks and lift it up to my mouth.
Alfonso nods and smiles, resting his elbow on the table and cupping his chin in his hand. The way he looks at me gives the weight of my words even more importance, like they’re not only being heard and acknowledged, but also understood.
A warm feeling rises inside of me.
So, this is what it feels like to be respected.
“And are there any actors or movies that stand out to you?” His eyes lock onto mine, a soft intensity in his stare.
“I really respect the likes of Christian Bale, Heath Ledger. You know, those actors who really commit to the role.” He nods back at me in agreement, and my smile widens across my face.
We’re interrupted by the waiter coming alongside the table and setting down another slew of dishes. He grabs a couple of the empty plates before looking directly at me.
“Can I get another one, please?” I ask. I reach for my glass and shake the almost melted ice cubes inside.
“Certainly, sir.” He looks across to Paul and Alfonso, who exchange a glance at one another and then at their empty glasses of wine.
“Sure, we’ll take another as well,” Paul responds. From there, the conversation gets lost in the nuances of what the role will entail and what I’ll need to prepare for.
Paul puts his hands down on the table once the bill has been settled and looks across at me.
“Right, we better get back to the hotel, before our car turns into a pumpkin,” he says. His speech is lightly slurred, the glazed look in his eyes magnified by his glasses.
The restaurant crowd has thinned out, but there are still enough tables with guests to provide an audience as Rob steps up and helps me out from the booth.
The warmth I feel inside, a mixture of the four drinks I’ve had and the warm chat with Alfonso, has opened me up tonight more than any journalist ever could.
Alfonso is ultimately still a stranger, but he’s one who has been able to put me at ease.
Well, that and the vodka. Still, that’s hard to do, given my trust issues.
I’ve lost count of the number of people I used to know who changed once I became famous. They say fame changes you. Well, I’ve come to learn that fame doesn’t change you, it changes the people around you. Which then, by extension, forces you to change.
You never know who’s going to sell a story or come out of the woodwork to befriend or reacquaint themselves with you. They’re not interested in who I am, but in what I am. What I can provide as a result.
Yet tonight, with Alfonso, I didn’t pick up on that feeling from him.
Maybe it’s because he’s already in the industry and conveyed a genuine interest in what I had to say.
And I felt safe with him. That, and I know Paul would never put me in a situation where something could come back to bite me in the ass.
I stumble slightly as I step out of the booth, laughing it off when the others look at me. “All this talk about acting has me giddy with excitement,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Alfonso smiles back, while Paul shakes his head and grabs his briefcase, and we all follow Rob to the entrance.
Thankfully, the bill came with mints, allowing me to hide the alcohol on my breath.
Although, by the look of Alfonso and Paul, I needn’t have worried.
The two bottles of red they knocked back contribute to their slow meandering through the tables to the door.
The delay gives a couple of tables enough time to reach for their phones and slyly try to take a photo, as if I wouldn’t notice.
I’m shocked when I see Paul lean in to hug Alfonso goodbye at the restaurant entrance. It’s an unusual display of affection for Paul, one that I’ve not seen in years.
“We’ll be in touch soon to discuss next steps,” Paul says, patting Alfonso’s back.
“Sounds great,” Alfonso says, and smiles before turning to me. “It was great to meet you, Alexander. Thank you for your time tonight.” He stretches out his hand.
“Thank you for seeing me,” I say, ignoring his hand and leaning in for a hug.
I feel my eyes welling up and quickly shake my head to clear the sensation. I pull back and release myself, and Rob nods before opening the door to reveal a small crowd of people and a handful of paparazzi waiting next to the car.
I didn’t realize how big my suite was until I began pacing it twenty minutes ago, trying to build up the confidence to knock on Christopher’s door.
The conversation we had earlier didn’t go exactly how I hoped.
But thankfully, it didn’t go as badly as it could have gone if he had walked in thirty seconds earlier and caught me rummaging through his backpack.
The alcohol that loosened me up at the restaurant is starting to wear off, which is unfortunate.
I could really do with some Dutch courage right now.
I’ve spent the past hour showering twice and changing outfits three times, finally settling on gray sweatpants and a white vest. I want to give off a cool laid-back impression, but that’s a far cry from how I’m feeling right now.
Another glance at the clock above the TV shows me it’s 2 a.m. If I don’t head across to his room soon, I’ll probably blow my chance.
I get up, head over to the tall mirror attached to the wall, and begin psyching myself up, just like I do before stepping out onto the stage each night.
You got this.
You’re the man.
I repeat the mantra a number of times, believing it slightly more with each go around.
As I grab the room key and my wallet off the side table, I hear the faint sound of chants coming from outside and notice the pile of new earbuds sitting on the table.
I grab one of the boxes and slide it into my pocket.
Great.
That’ll give me a more plausible reason to knock.
I leave the room, closing the door quietly behind me, and slowly walk toward his door. I stop outside and linger momentarily, taking long deep breaths to try and steady my heart, which has begun beating rapidly against my rib cage.
I hesitate as I reach up to knock, and pull my hand away. He’s probably asleep. I turn and start to head back toward my room when I remember the mantra.
You got this.
You’re the man.
Before I have the chance to bail a second time, I reach up and knock three times with my fist, then step back slightly in anticipation.
I shake my head in confusion as the door opens and see a guy in a black crop top, short shorts, and white trainers standing there, mouth agape.
Did Christopher move rooms? Had what happened earlier make him have second thoughts about being down the hall from me?
Before I have a chance to ask, the guy starts speaking rapidly in a thick Irish accent.
“Holy fuck. It’s… You’re…erm. Hi!” His blue eyes widen more with each word.
“Sorry, to bother you…” I begin, starting to turn away, when I hear a familiar British accent and turn back to see Christopher appear, a toothbrush hanging from his mouth.
“Is that room service with our drinks?” He pulls his toothbrush out as his eyes meet mine. The Irish guy still stands there, frozen like a statue.
Well, I guess that answers my question of whether this is still his room and if he’s still up. My chest tightens at the sight of Christopher standing behind the Irish guy.
I’m half tempted to make an excuse and quickly leave. Clearly, he’s got company and is not interested in exploring anything between us. My shoulders slump and I slide my hands into my pockets, where I feel the earbuds. I grab them and hold them out in front of me in a closed fist.
“Sorry about the noise downstairs. I’ve been handing these out to each room to apologize,” I say, opening my palm to expose the earbuds. “Do you need me to grab another pair?” My attention is now firmly locked on Christopher. He looks incredible in a white polo shirt with gold buttons.
Christopher moves past the other guy, who is still frozen in place.
“Thanks,” he says, slowly reaching forward and taking the box from my hand, studying it. “One should be enough.” His gaze returns to mine.
“I’d better head to the rest of the rooms.” I pat my empty pocket and nod down the hallway. I can’t wait to escape the discomfort of the moment. “Have a good night.”
My thoughts are racing at a thousand miles an hour.
Did I make everything up in my head?
Was he not flirting with me in the gym this morning?
I was sure I’d picked up on a level of flirtation in his room earlier.
Who is that guy?
His boyfriend?
A hook up?
The lyrics to the nineties classic Over My Shoulder pops into my head, encouraging me to turn around as I get to my room and reach for my door key.
But my hope of seeing Christopher walking toward me turns to disappointment when I see the Irish guy’s head and not Christopher’s peering around the doorframe. He disappears quickly, like a tortoise retreating into its shell.
I rub my hand over my chest. Maybe a run will help dispel the tight clutch of emotion pinching my chest. But I exhale in frustration when I remember the gym is closed. Damn this hotel.
I’m just about to turn back to the door, when I notice a hotel staff member wheeling a trolley down the hallway with a silver dome and two bottles of wine on it. I lift my hand, beckoning him toward me. He smiles, willfully obliging, pushing the trolley to my door.
“What would it cost me to take those off your hands?” I say, reaching into my pocket. “Fifty? A hundred? Two hundred?” I retrieve my wallet and open it up to take out four fifty-pound notes.
“Sorry, I’m afraid these are for another hotel guest.” His bland expression gives nothing away. “You’ll need to place an order with housekeeping.”
I shake my head at him.
Can’t this guy tell I’m a man in need right now?
“I need discretion, my man. Let’s not make this a big deal.” I lean against the wall and pull the remaining notes out of my wallet. “What if I double it?”
His eyes widen at the sight.
Jackpot.
Everyone has a price. Even if they don’t know what it is.
I slide the money into his waistcoat pocket, return my wallet to my pocket, and grab the two bottles of wine off his tray. I tuck one under my arm to retrieve my door key and place it on the card reader, then stop just as the door opens.
“In fact, while I’m at it, I’ll take the food too,” I say, sticking my foot in the door to stop it from closing. I set the two bottles down and return to grab the plate from the trolley.
If Christopher’s gonna deprive me of him, fine. But I’ll be damned if I’m the only one who is deprived tonight.