2. Grae
Grae
My phone buzzes atop my comforter. I pause my game to glance over at the screen and sigh. It’s the tenth time he’s called tonight. It's only going to get worse the longer I wait. I toss the controller to the side and pick up the bouncing phone.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” His voice screeches through the speakers.
“I think about a lot of things, so you’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Did you walk out of an interview this afternoon?”
“Oh that. Yeah, I did.”
My agent throws his phone onto the table — at least that's what I'm assuming since the screen now shows the ceiling rather than his red face. He whines somewhere off screen, “Jesus, why? Do you want to piss off everyone in Hollywood?”
“If they're racists, I don't care." I exhale heavily.
"We both know I shouldn't have been there in the first place.
This movie is Monet's baby. She spent the last six years of her life working on it.
Anyone with half a brain would know it's going to be huge.
If I'm there, the interview will become about me, Amanda and everything other than the actual movie.”
“You’re not wrong about the interviews.” I know.
I’ve been down this road so many times I can tell you which rest stops have the best vending machines.
He sighs and then his balding head and scruffy beard fill my screen.
He rubs his face with the palm of his hand, “I’ll go ahead and cancel the rest of the press tour for you. ”
“Oh no! Now I’ll have to play video games and watch anime for the next three weeks. How terrible.” I roll my eyes and make it very clear I do not think it's terrible.
“Grae!”
“Fine, find someone in the slush pile who wants to work. Or I‘ll lock myself away and write.” It doesn’t matter what I do as long as he takes his 10% and keeps Terk Henderson far away from me.
We’re past the point of gentle coaxing and placating my ego.
He hangs up and I’m about to press start on my video game when two new notifications pop up.
The first is from Mastodon Security, which is probably more important than whatever meme Craig sent me. I click on the elephant icon and a big red bar flashes across my screen.
Due to unforeseen circumstances, we are asking all level C and lower clients to operate under the Cautionary Discretion Protocol for the next seven days.
Amanda is level A, but I’ve been level C for a while now.
When I left rehab, I was a level B for six weeks and then downgraded.
My apartment has cameras that feed directly into the Mastodon system.
And if I go out to a highly public place, Darren usually comes with me.
I’m not sure what Cautionary Discretion means, so I text my bodyguard. And instead of texting back he calls.
“GRAE!!!” Wow, it’s like I can smell the alcohol through the screen.
“Is everything ok? I just got a message from Mastodon.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. My boss just gave, like, half the office a paid vacation. Fucking horseshit if you ask me. I want to go ride some rollercoasters and eat overpriced pretzels.” He covers his mouth with his finger and gives me the ‘shhh’ motion.
I’m not talking, so I don’t know why he wants me to be quiet.
There’s a woman’s voice, but I can’t really hear what she’s saying because Darren yells, “But we’re all drunk!
” That does not invite the confidence he thinks it does.
He shushes me again and yells. “Best Boss ever!”
“Is your boss sending you on vacation too?”
“Nah, but we don’t have to go in early. Did you get a Cautionary Discretion Protocol notification?”
“Yeah, that’s why I texted. You decided to call.”
“Cool.” Darren finishes the brown liquid in his glass and smiles. “Make sure your tracker is on, check in every morning and don’t leave the state. And if you do travel, be sure to give us a heads up when and where.” He lets out another cheer as the music kicks up.
“What’s the occasion?”
“Lance and Izzy got married. He adopted her son and everything. Big day.”
My stomach drops. Lance is married? And he has a kid?
I don’t know why it affects me as much as it does.
He was older than me, and I’ve had lots of my friends get married.
But Lance was never a friend, just some guy I knew before all of this happened.
He was a mess, broken and scared, but Kinsley swooped in and saved him.
Just like she saved me and everyone else she met.
Logically none of us are who we were twelve years ago. I’ve seen Lance tons of times since then. He’s healed himself and found a partner to spend the rest of his life with. It’s so mature. Grown up. A life milestone I haven’t achieved, and I’m beginning to think I never will.
Deep in my mind, I always considered Lance her accessory–not to crime but like a purse. And everything about Kins was…larger than life. She made Amanda feel small. She was everything I wished I could be. Fearless and strong, with unwavering loyalty.
And I fucked it all up.
I would give up my career and all the awards on my shelf if I could talk to her again.
Every few years around this time, I get very nostalgic, and I hire some PI to try to find her.
They always come back empty handed. A little while ago, I saw her at an event with the most powerful man in the world on her arm.
I don’t have a shot in hell with her, but at least I could apologize and maybe get some closure.
“Hey, does your company have anyone who can track down someone?”
“Yeah,” Darren laughs. “We’ve got a few people who fucking love doing that.”
“I’m searching for my high school girlfriend, Kinsley Adams. No social media, parents won’t talk to me or anyone else. I’ve tried for years, and it always comes back empty.”
“I’ve got you man.” He hangs up, no goodbyes. My hope of ever seeing her again is doubtful at best. While I wallowed in my misery, I decided to read Craig’s text.
Craig: Hey Man, I’ve got a ticket to a charity event. There’s a first episode script of Knights of the Night for auction. Interested?
I blink at the screen for a few seconds. If finding Kinsley has been my white whale, then that script has been my white dolphin. My fan heart explodes.
Craig: Oh shit, sorry. You’re on a press tour.
Wahoo! I guess having morals and values is finally paying off.
Me: I got kicked off the tour. I want the ticket.
Craig: What? How? What did you do?
Me: I implied the studio was racist…. No regrets, can I have the ticket please?
Craig: Um sure… one catch.
Craig: It’s tomorrow night from 8-11 pm.
No! The Knights of the Night Series Retrospective is happening tomorrow. Two hours of interviews, behind the scenes and even a ten-minute preview of the season premiere. But I’m a smart man, I can figure out how to be in two places at once. Easy.
Me: Where is it?
Craig: The Black Diamond Hotel.
I fist pump in the air. I’m getting a room for the night.
Done. I’ll watch the show in peace and come back down to place the final bid.
Perfect. Tiny wins are what I need to keep ignoring the painful reality that I'll spend another night alone.
Hell, at least this will make it easy to maintain Cautionary Discretion Protocol.