6. Zayn #2
I shrug. “I don’t know much about your job. Why did you become a publicist in the first place?”
She shifts her knee to rest on the couch, leaving only a few inches between us.
“I like to help others,” Annie says, her eyes falling to her lap.
“It’s different with celebrities though.
There’s a lot of attention on them, and they need someone in their corner to help guide them through the wave of the media.
Sometimes it’s calm, and they’re able to tread water on their own.
Other times it’s a massive storm, where I need to help reel them in and bring them to safety. ”
She smiles as she talks and I find my own mouth twitching to do the same.
“Sorry,” she chuckles. “I’m blabbering on. Why did you become an actor?”
I pause, thinking of why I do what I do.
“I was shy when I was younger, and there was a play at my high school. I was a sophomore, I didn’t have a lot of friends and I happened to be walking past the room they were having auditions in.
Something pulled me in there, and the rest is kind of history.
I landed a part, then started acting classes, got involved in the Young Actors Association. ”
“And you love it?”
I nod. “Don’t you love what you do?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
“Am I going to have to worry about you breaking someone’s camera tonight?” Annie asks, and I know she’s joking, but the question frees me from whatever grasp she has me in.
“Not if you do your job.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks.
“Nothing.” I avert my gaze to my can, not having anything else to say, knowing I’ve already ruined whatever moment we’ve had.
When I look back to Annie, her lips form a thin line, then she stands up from the couch, not bothering to glance my way as she exits the room.
I run my fingers through my hair and drop my arms to my knees. This night has gone from okay to awful, and I just want to be home. I don’t want to be forced to talk or smile at people that want to write a shitty article about me.
When Annie comes back to the room she hollers at me to join her, then proceeds to walk out the door.
“Annie,” I yell, standing up from the couch, then increasing my pace to reach her. I grab her wrist and tug her to a stop.
“What?” She yanks her arm out of my grasp.
Yeah, what? I shake my head and mutter, “nothing.”
“Great. Let’s go, I already said bye.”
She walks to the car and goes to open the door, but I surpass her and open it instead. With a few grumbles, she slides inside. I shut the door and take half a second to center myself. A few more hours and I’ll be home.
“I have some pointers for you to go over.” Annie says to me on our way over to the venue. She grabs her clutch, clicks the top open, and reaches in to grab a stack of notecards.
I take them from her with a weary glance. This is a lot of fucking notecards. Has she been carrying these all night? They’re like the kinds of flashcards you make when studying for a test. Question on one side, answer on the other.
“I know it’s a lot,” she adds.
“You think?” I peer up to find Annie biting her lip.
Fuck, when she does that I feel bad for my attitude. It’s easier this way. The less feelings involved, the better. I don’t have to give her any part of me that she can’t physically see. I don’t want her to care.
“These are questions that I’ve seen past reporters ask. I watched a few videos from this kind of event and took note of any relevant questions.”
She did research? Did she know about my involvement with the association? Surely she had to. If you googled “Zayn Barnes” and “Young Actors Association,” you would find articles and videos of our past partnership.
Except that’s a different version of me. Someone who enjoyed being around others and was genuinely happy.
The old Zayn would have donated money and time to tonight’s event or would have spoken at the dinner.
This organization introduced me to some of my closest friends, even if I don’t talk to anyone anymore.
The old Zayn would have done something besides ignore the fact that the event is happening, which is what I was planning on doing before this whole PR stunt.
After shuffling through the notecards, skimming over a few, I realize there is no reason to spend my energy on these. I don’t plan to talk with anyone. Avoiding people is something I’m good at, and tonight will be no different.
“I don’t need these.” I extend my notecard-filled hand toward Annie, who grabs them from me. Should I tell her thanks? Maybe, but I didn’t ask her to do this. I didn’t even want to go to this damn event.
Annie shoves the notecards back in her clutch and snaps it shut. She doesn’t reply and instead shifts her body to the right. Her hands lay on her legs while she peers out the window.
“You’re going to have to let me help you, you know. I’m just trying...” A sigh escapes from Annie’s mouth. “I’m just doing my job.”
For the last thirty minutes of the ride to the venue, we sit in silence.
Every few minutes, I look up from mindlessly scrolling on my phone to sneak glances of Annie.
She’s crossed her left leg over the other, causing her dress to ride farther up her thigh.
Internally I’m groaning every time I look over and realize it’s an inch higher than before.
When the car approaches the venue, I realize I didn’t think about needing to walk on the red carpet. The driver listens as I tell him to drive to the rear in hopes of sneaking Annie and myself through the back door.
“Afraid of the photographers?” Annie glances up from her phone.
“Not afraid, I’d just like to avoid them.”
“That’s kind of the whole point for tonight, Zayn.” Annie gives me her best side-eye.
“Well, Annie, if it’s a photo of us you want, I can arrange that.”
“As if.” Annie mumbles under her breath, speaking mostly to herself.
“What was that?” I ask, wanting to push her buttons.
A glare in my direction tells me enough.
The driver stops and I open my door quickly, trying to walk fast enough around the car to get Annie’s door. She beats me to it. By the time I round the trunk, she’s already standing, moving out of the way so she can shut the door.
Time stops as she turns to face me. I slow to a walk, stopping a few feet from her. Annie’s face is rosy. Is she angry? Or maybe upset?
“If you were embarrassed to be seen with me or worried about your brother seeing us together, you just had to tell me. You are the one that forced me to come tonight. I put on this damn dress for you and thought we would have a good time. But you know what?” Annie breathes in deep, shaking her head.
She’s hesitating, and when she looks at me again, there’s sadness in her eyes. “Never mind. Enjoy your night, Zayn.”
She walks toward the door, picking up the right side of her dress to not get it wet in the puddles that line the ground. When she reaches the door, her hand hovers over the handle.
Her head turns to me one last time. The light from above the door highlights her expression.
Her cheeks are flushed a deep red, showing me that she’s bothered from our conversations.
She blinks slowly, keeping her eyes closed for an extra second.
I watch as her chest rises and falls, her eyes open, then as she opens the door and walks through it.
I’m left standing between the car and the door, wondering what the fuck to do. Tonight is already worse than I anticipated. I pinch the bridge of my nose, closing my eyes, and taking a deep breath. When did everything go sideways?