Chapter 4
DREW
At my desk, I lean back in my chair and stare off into space. That didn’t go well, which is on me. I didn’t mean to be a dick to Sophie, but after three years of pointed back-and-forth, it’s a hard habit to break.
She’s right about one thing, though – well, she’s right about a lot of things, but the pendulum is swinging against high-concept commercials.
Which is why my pitch is going to win – if I can lock in my secret weapon.
On that, I fish my phone out of my pocket and navigate to my messages, tapping on the thread with Max Stirling, one-time best friend and now international megastar. It’s a short thread, only three exchanges:
Hey man, it’s Drew. My mom says you’ve moved to London. Would love to catch up sometime.
His reply came the following day:
Hey dude! Great to hear from you. Yeah in London shooting Cosmic Sentinels 3. Here til Jan but def catch up soon.
With my concept for the Hargreaves campaign firming up in my mind – and three beers under my belt – I wrote back straight away:
How about next week? I’m pretty wide open.
That was four days ago and so far, nada. How desperate would it be to message him again? I could wait, but he might never reply.
And then it hits me: Sophie wouldn’t wait. She’d message Max every hour on the hour until he agreed to meet up with her. Some might call that stalking, but in this situation, it could be spun as tenacity.
Do you want to win the account or not?
I do want it – but not because of the money.
I mean, sure, it would be nice and all, but it’s the bragging rights I want.
I’d like to be a partner at Emberstone someday, or maybe even start my own firm.
Campaigns of this stature get you noticed.
Especially when they land you an award – or even a nomination, like last year.
I was nominated in the best thirty-second TV Advertisement category at the British Arrow Awards. For about five seconds, I considered asking Sophie to go to the ceremony with me as my date, but then I remembered she hates me, so I went stag.
I really can’t read her. When we talked at the Emberstone party she was almost friendly – well, until she wasn’t – and just now it was as if she wanted to punch me in the face.
I’ve wandered down a thought cul-de-sac. I do that sometimes. My brother calls it ‘spacing out’. I call it ‘being creative’. But he wouldn’t understand. Chris is a surgeon and the least creative person I know.
I eye my phone again.
‘Fuck it,’ I say to myself. I have Max Stirling’s private phone number and nothing to lose. I pick it up and hit the call button.
He doesn’t answer right away and I nearly lose my nerve, but right as I’m about to hang up, he answers.
‘Hey, what’s up, Drew?’
He must have saved my number to his phone, which I take as a good sign.
‘Hey, man. I was wondering if you’ve got time to catch up this week. The beer’s on me.’
He laughs – hopefully not at the thought of us getting a beer together.
‘As long as it’s cold. I don’t know how the English drink that lukewarm shit.’
It’s a good thing I’m not pitching a beer commercial. And I let the comment slide – very few English people I know go in for lukewarm beer, but even if they do, why yuck someone else’s yum?
I laugh along regardless. ‘I can guarantee you a cold beer. When’s good for you?’
‘Hold on.’ He talks to someone, his voice muffled, then he comes back to me. ‘I’m pretty booked up for the next couple of weeks, but I could meet you tonight.’
‘Oh yeah, cool. Tonight works. Where are you staying?’
‘Where am I staying?’ he asks the other person.
‘The Barletti,’ replies a woman’s voice. ‘Kensington.’
‘Did you hear that?’ he asks.
‘Yep. I’ll find a place close by and text you where and when.’
‘Cool. Seeya later.’
I stare off into space again. No biggie – just having a beer with an A-list actor. Now for a place that serves cold beer and won’t be too much of a tourist trap. Asking a favour this big is tricky enough without legions of fans swarming Max.
I get up and go look for Gen. She’ll know somewhere – Gen’s brain is like a Swiss Army knife. She knows pretty much everything.
I arrive early at the Devon Arms, grabbing a table in the beer garden. It’s a little chilly tonight, so most people are inside, but Max and I were born and bred in Minnesota. When you grow up in sub-zero temperatures, this is hardly cold.
I contemplate ducking inside to order us beers, but who knows what he’ll want.
Instead, I take out my phone and navigate to Max’s Instagram profile.
The guy has more than a hundred million followers.
That shocked the hell out of me when I first checked.
I mean, I knew he was big – I just didn’t realise how big.
I’ve got to get him to say yes.
‘Hey, dude.’
I stand up and Max and I hug man-style with back slaps.
‘Good to see you,’ we say in unison.
‘Yeah, you too,’ he says with a grin. ‘So, you want me to…?’ He points towards the door.
‘Nah, man, I invited you. I’ll go. They’ve got a bunch of craft beers on tap. What do you like?’
‘A pale ale’d be great.’
‘Cool. Be right back.’
I head inside, suddenly overcome with how surreal this is, meeting up with the Max Stirling.
When we were little kids, not a day went by that we didn’t hang out.
After school, he’d come to my house or I’d go to his – we only lived a few blocks apart – and we’d play Halo on Xbox.
Half the time, we’d eat dinner at the other’s house and if not, one of our dads would drive us home.
And on the weekends, we’d spend our allowance on soda and Doritos and lock ourselves away – more Halo.
All about Halo. Back then we were convinced we’d grow up, move to Seattle, and design games for a living.
Then one day, Max’s mom took him to an open casting call downtown. And he got it. He landed a role that a thousand kids had auditioned for, then starred in the biggest holiday movie of the decade, becoming a household name overnight.
Now here we are nearly two decades later – the advertising guy and the actor. So much for designing games; although, from what I hear, we dodged a bullet there. It’s a gruelling profession.
When I return to the table with our beers, Max is chatting with two young guys. He agrees to a selfie, then they say thanks and leave, completely ignoring me.
‘Hey, thanks,’ he says when I hand him his beer. ‘Cheers.’ He raises his glass and I tap mine against his.
‘Cheers,’ I say, and we both take a drink. ‘So, is that weird?’ I ask. ‘When people come up to you like that?’
‘Nah, it’s fine,’ he says with a shrug.
I laugh. ‘You say that like it’s completely normal.’
He looks at me for a beat, then snorts out a soft laugh. ‘I guess it is kinda weird.’
‘I was just thinking how we were going to move to Seattle, work for Bungie – remember that? Like in fourth or fifth grade?’
‘Oh my god,’ he says with a laugh. ‘I’d totally forgotten about that. Can you imagine?’ He shakes his head. ‘And now you’re in… I wanna say marketing?’
‘Advertising – TV commercials.’
‘Right – yeah, I can see that.’
I grin. ‘Is that a compliment?’
‘Yeah, for sure. Why?’
‘Some people think advertising is being paid to lie,’ I reply with a shrug.
‘Acting is being paid to lie. Advertising’s a whole other ball game. And you were always good at English, writing all those stories… so it follows.’
‘Yeah, yeah, you’re off the hook,’ I tease and we exchange grins.
‘So, how long have you been living in London?’ he asks. ‘I think Mom said you’d been here a couple of years.’
‘A little over three, yeah…’
‘And what’s Caitlyn doing – for work, I mean?’
I wince involuntarily.
‘Yeah, we’re not—’
‘Shit, sorry. I’ve put my foot in my mouth, haven’t I?’ he asks, looking apologetic. ‘But I thought you guys were getting married or something.’
‘It’s okay. Yeah, we split up.’ I give him a lipless smile.
‘Geez, man. I’m really sorry.’
It’s unclear if he’s commiserating or apologising for bringing it up. Doesn’t matter.
‘Yeah.’
He’s watching me closely and I can tell he wants to know what happened. Only it’s still too soon to talk about it. Maybe when I’m fifty.
‘Anyway, you’re probably wondering why I wanted to catch up,’ I say – a clumsy segue to take the focus off me and my ex.
‘So, not just for old times’ sake?’ He asks it light-heartedly, but his eyes darken. He must get a lot of requests from people he knew before he was famous.
Only I’m not some random guy from his past. We were best friends.
Even when he was off on location for half the school year, I was still his closest friend back home – all through middle school, then high school.
It was only when I went to college on the east coast and he moved to LA to pursue acting that we grew apart.
We were still buddies though and we’d catch up once in a while.
‘Well, yeah, that too,’ I reply. ‘As soon as Mom told me you were in London, I got in touch.’
He smiles, the tension in his eyes easing.
‘Our moms do a better job of staying in contact than we ever have.’
‘Hazard of being a megastar?’ I tease.
Right away I wish I could take it back, not sure how it will land.
‘Hah, yes.’ He holds up his phone. ‘You see this? My assistant, Maggie – she hates it. She thinks all communication should go through her on my official number – even my mom. But that’s my mom, dude. If she wants to talk, she should be able to reach me.’
‘Makes sense,’ I say, not relating at all to the idea of having an assistant/gatekeeper.
‘It’s very easy to lose sight of what matters – of who matters,’ he continues. ‘You have no idea how many assholes I encounter in my line of work.’
‘I can imagine,’ I say – and I can. Max has worked with some of Hollywood’s biggest stars. And not everyone’s a Tom Holland or Pedro Pascal.
‘And it’s okay that I have it – your number?’ I ask, worried that Mom overstepped by passing it on.
‘Hell yeah. You’re my only friend in London,’ he says, laughing again. ‘I may be shitty at keeping in touch, but I would have reached out eventually. You see, I’m here over Christmas and—’ He abruptly stops talking, seeming embarrassed. ‘Okay, that wasn’t me inviting myself to Christmas, I swear.’
‘You should come,’ I say without thinking. ‘Chris and his wife, Genevieve, host it at their place.’
If Gen doesn’t kill me for not checking with her first.
‘Aww, man, I haven’t seen Chris in— Hell, must be twelve years, maybe longer.’
‘He’s less of an asshole now,’ I say, making myself laugh.
‘God, he really was an asshole though. How ’bout that time he locked us in the basement at your parents’ house?’
‘Which time?’ I ask with a smirk.
‘Yeah, good call. Chris’ idea of babysitting. What’s he up to now? Isn’t he a doctor or something?’
‘Orthopaedic surgeon. Had to give up locking children in the basement when he took the Hippocratic oath.’
‘Do no harm,’ we say together, then share a laugh.
I had no idea it would be this easy hanging out with Max again, like we’ve picked up right where we left off. Kind of makes me feel like a dick for not keeping the friendship going all these years. Though, that’s as much on him as it is on me.
‘Anyway, that’s how I ended up living here,’ I say. ‘Gen’s high up at the advertising firm I work for and when Caitlyn— Shit, sorry – not going there. But when I needed to shake things up, get out of St Paul, Gen helped me land a job here in London.’
‘That’s awesome. And having family here… I really miss that when I’m on location.’
‘Well, you should definitely come to Chris and Gen’s for Christmas. They go all out too – it’s a whole thing. And my niece will freak – you’re one of her favourite actors.’
‘No way! Seriously?’
‘She’s watched every Home for the Holidays movie at least a dozen times.’
‘Aww, that’s sweet.’
‘And she’s seen Cosmic Sentinels – the first one – but she was probably too young. She spent most of the movie with her head buried in my armpit.’
‘Hah!’
‘And I’m pretty sure she thinks I’m full of shit.’
‘You mean in general, or…?’ he jokes.
‘Oh no, she worships her Uncle Drew. I mean about you. I told her we were close growing up and she rolled her eyes and said, “Uh, yeah, sure you were, Uncle Drew.”’
‘If that’s your take on a British accent, it’s a good thing I’m the one who went into acting.’
‘Oh yeah, you can do better?’
‘Oh, absolutely, good sir. Haven’t you seen The Everlastings? I play an English lord who gets caught in dual timelines and can’t choose between his two wives.’
‘Now you’re making shit up.’ He laughs. ‘Good accent though.’
‘Why, thank you.’ He dips his chin in a small bow.
‘Wait, is that a real movie?’
‘I’m hurt that you even have to ask.’
That’s not an answer but I’ll look it up later. If he’s lying, then he’s a better actor than I thought.
‘Okay, so back to this idea I’ve had,’ I say. ‘And you can say no – I mean, you’re Max Stirling, so of course you can, but anyway…’
‘Dude, just ask me.’
‘Would you consider reprising your role as Stevie?’
His eyes bore into mine and I’d give anything to be able to read his thoughts.
‘What did you have in mind?’ he asks after a long moment.
I exhale, excitement bubbling up inside me. I really believe in this concept – it’s genius and it could propel me into the professional stratosphere.
‘So, Stevie – now with a family of his own – lives in the Home for the Holidays house…’