Chapter 9
I almost never tell people until I have to tell them.
I told my parents only after it all came out and he got arrested and the police wanted to interview me.
I told the police only when they asked, and only what they asked.
They kept saying, “You’re not in any trouble,” but they were saying it to me in a windowless, fluorescent-lit interrogation room inside a police station, which made me feel very much like I was in trouble.
I don’t ever want to tell anyone. But for some reason, I wanted to tell Juniper. I don’t know why. I just wanted to, but I couldn’t find the right time. It’s a difficult thing to shoehorn into a conversation.
_____
Back at the hotel, we had some time before going out to meet up with Juniper’s friends. I wanted to tell her about it, but we were talking about the movie, and she couldn’t stop criticizing her performance and Kathryn’s choices until finally I said, “I think the movie is good.”
“Of course it’s good,” she said. “It’s the biggest opportunity of my lifetime, and maybe of yours, too. That’s why it matters so much.”
“I also think you have a very analytical response to stress.”
She took a breath then. “That’s true,” she said. “That is true. You’re a good observationist.”
“Maybe we should just go out with your friends and celebrate the movie being good.”
And I guess I could’ve told her then, but it would’ve rather ruined the vibe.
_____
We went to some bar in a different hotel where they poured martinis tableside and allowed you to pick from five different vermouths, each with its own flavor profile.
I got a lemon twist vodka martini with cardamom-scented vermouth.
The woman I was sitting next to, skinny with thick eyebrows and wide eyes, ordered the same. Juniper had a club soda.
Juniper was talking to an actor I knew a little because we often ended up in the same auditions, a guy named Casey whose glacial blue eyes made me a little jealous, not least because of the way Juniper leaned toward him as they chatted.
I talked mostly to the girl who’d ordered the same drink as me.
When I meet someone new, I ask a lot of questions because I prefer listening to speaking, so we talked about where her family was from—London—and how she ended up in LA—she wanted a city where no one looks at you, and if they do, they don’t care who you are—and what she did for work—“These days it feels like I’m professionally on Instagram.
” She said, “Speaking of which, do you mind if we get a photo together?” and I said of course as long as you tag me, and she laughed and took the photo of us cheersing with our martini glasses.
In her English accent, she said, “Juniper told me you say I love you to everyone, but you haven’t said it to me,” and I said, “I love you,” and she laughed and thanked me and said she was falling in love with me, too.
We ordered another round of martinis, and then another.
I was starting to worry these thirty-dollar drinks were adding up, but when Juniper announced she was calling it a night, the girl I’d been talking to insisted on paying.
I began to protest, but Juniper said, “Oh, let her. She’s on the cover of Vogue this month,” which was the first indication I had that maybe I’d been talking to someone quite famous all night.
_____
Outside, we were met by a gaggle of paparazzi, some with video cameras and some taking flash photographs.
I kept trying to blink away the light. I was rather drunk, and Juniper had a hand tightly around my waist, and everyone was looking behind us, shouting, “Jaya! Jaya!” They were asking if she’d broken up with Stephanie, and what caused the breakup, and whether she was now seeing Juniper.
And then a few of the paparazzi saw Casey and his blue eyes and started shouting at him, but they were mostly leaving Juniper and me alone except for one guy who kept asking for Juniper’s autograph.
He didn’t have a camera or anything, just a Sharpie and a sweaty face and an 8 x 10 photo of Juniper as a kid.
The noise was getting louder because Jaya was outside now, and I saw our Uber parked across the street, so I waved it over.
I opened the rear door and Juniper slid in.
Then, just as I was about to get in the car myself, the sweaty man jumped into the back seat with Juniper.
“Get the fuck out,” she said, kicking at him.
I grabbed the man by his shirt and pulled him out of the car, throwing him onto the street and shoving him to the ground.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I shouted, then got in the Uber and slammed the door shut.
I felt the adrenaline pumping through my ears.
Next to me, Juniper was shaking, her body curled up against the far edge of the car’s bench seat.
“Jaya really brings out the paps. Jesus.”
“Who the hell is Jaya?”
“Come on, Kai. You didn’t realize you spent the whole night flirting with Jaya Hudson-Rowe, the supermodel? The, like, most famous supermodel in the world?”
“No,” I said. “And I wasn’t flirting.”
“She’s literally the most beautiful woman on earth.” I found Juniper vastly more attractive, but didn’t say as much.
“Have you seen that guy before?”
“No, I don’t think so. I have a couple stalkers though. He could’ve been one of them. God, that was scary.”
“Yeah,” I said.
_____
It was only ten minutes to the Hotel Bel-Air, and when we got there, I said, “Do you want me to walk you to your room?” and she said, “Yeah, but no funny business.” I said, “I only engage in extremely serious business,” and she offered me a wan smile.
When we got to her suite, she looked at me and said, “I know this is ridiculous, but do you mind checking? The closets and everything?” and I said sure and walked around her suite, looking under the bed and into the closet.
“We’re good,” I said at last and only then did she enter the room.
She asked if we could just watch a movie, so we turned on HBO and this strange, funny movie Submariners was on.
We watched, my arm around her, her body fluttering next to mine, rib cage to rib cage.
I wanted to kiss her but knew now wasn’t the time.
And anyway I can’t do that stuff well; I always judge the wrong moment to kiss someone because sexually, my brain is fucked.
_____
At last she wanted to go to sleep and I offered to sleep on the couch and she said, No no that’s fine, so I went to my room and thought about the movie and the sweaty stranger. I couldn’t sleep, so I sat outside by my ridiculous little pool and looked at the very few stars in the Los Angeles sky.
_____
I often feel kind of empty—not necessarily in a bad way, just like my body is uninhabited.
It was windy, but the air that blew in the trees seemed not to have a temperature, which only increased the weird feeling that my body wasn’t really there, or I wasn’t really in it.
After a while, I grabbed my AirPods and listened to Gods of Andromeda.
I’m a slow reader, so I listen to a lot of audiobooks.
The story was set on a small planet in the Andromeda galaxy that only had one landmass, and the people and orcs who lived there were mostly peaceful because there was a ban on all weapons and war-making.
The guy I was reading for was Garon, the lead guy’s brother, who served as the civilization’s chief negotiator.
Garon carries this golden pen with him everywhere called the Peace Pen.
When we go to war, the Peace Pen inevitably gets melted down to become a handle for my new sword.
The Queen is really badass in it, and I could see how Juniper would be perfect for it.
The audiobook was interrupted by a moment of silence followed by the ringing of my phone. Agent Bob. It was past eleven o’clock, but Bob was never not working.
“Christ Kai I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for ten hours you have to answer your phone, okay? This generation and their phones—you’re fucking obsessed with them but never use them. How are you?”
“Good?”
“How was the movie?”
“I think it’s good? Juniper has some concerns.”
“Sure, sure, well, I’ve seen it and let me tell you, kid, there’s nothing to be concerned about. It’s amazing. And I’ve been on the phone all day about you. I’ve got producers all over town tripping over each other to ask after your availability. You’re exploding.”
“Good?”
“Good? It’s fucking great. We’re gonna have some choices.
But can I just remind you of something? I hope this won’t seem rude, kid, but I just want to remind you I believed in you from Day One.
Anyone calls you, you let me know, okay?
I’m sure CAA will be circling you like the goddamned vultures they are, but the great thing about us is we can work with anyone, you get me?
CAA’s an incest factory. They don’t make the best movies they can make; they make the best CAA movies they can make. ”
“I’m not going to fire you, Bob.”
“Great. I know that. You’re a loyal kid.
Listen, Brian Arawas wants to have breakfast with you tomorrow.
He’ll come to your hotel. Brian Arawas coming to you; can you believe it?
Nine thirty. Don’t be late. Zoe and I will catch up with you afterward.
This Gods of Andromeda thing could be huge.
The studio’s all-in on it. Sixty-eight shoot days, starts in December.
If breakfast goes well, they’ll do a test deal just based on your self-tape.
That’s how much they love you for the brother. What’s his name, Zoe?”
“Garon,” Zoe said. She was Bob’s assistant. I guess assistants usually listen in on calls, but Bob was always calling attention to her. I liked Zoe.
“Garon. Fuck. With a book, you can’t change the shitty names or the fans go fucking crazy.
Anyway, Kai, test deal and then chemistry reads.
You like working with Juniper, right? Judging from your socials, you like her plenty.
Just don’t get nervous. Brian is smart, but he’s not any smarter than you.
And maybe you don’t even want to do a sword-swinger set in space.
We’ll see how the breakfast goes. You gotta ask yourself what kind of career you want.
You want to be Matthew? You want to be RDJ?
Or hell I don’t know, maybe you want to be Will McIntire.
That guy’s got a good fucking life, let me tell you—famous enough to fuck hot girls but he can still go to the grocery store.
Can I talk about fucking hot girls, Zoe? ”
I heard the end of Zoe’s sigh as she unmuted and said, “Probably best not to, Bob.”
“This new Hollywood, kid. It’s fucking crazy. I grow old, I grow old, I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Can I still quote fucking T. S. Eliot, Zoe?”
Another small sigh. “Yes, Bob, you can still quote T. S. Eliot.”
“Great. We’ll be able to get you a good deal, and when I talked to the producer this morning—Dylan, great guy, you’ll love him—he said they were beefing up the role a little, to make it fifth lead. See how the breakfast with Brian goes, then we’ll put together a test deal.”
“Okay,” I said. And then after a second, “So what’s going to happen with Andy Warhol Never Gets Old?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, like, what’s going to happen with the movie? Everyone keeps saying that it’s really good, but I don’t know what that means.”
“It means they’re trying to get Matthew and Kathryn invited to the Oscars is what it means.
I loved the movie, okay? It’s a great fucking movie.
But who wants to see a sad movie about Andy Warhol and two sad kids?
This is America, Kai. Americans paid two hundred million dollars to see Paul Blart: Mall Cop.
We are not a nation of taste or sophistication.
Even with the awards, we’re not talking about Nobel Prizes here.
You know what got nominated for an Oscar?
Fucking Molly’s Second Tooth, kid. You see Molly’s Second Tooth? ”
“No.”
“If you’ve ever seen a dog vomit its body weight after eating chocolate, you’ve seen it. Nobody has taste anymore. Maybe they never did. Can I still talk about dog vomit, Zoe?”
“Please stop doing that,” I said.
“Agreed,” added Zoe.
“I’m a dinosaur. But I’m a dinosaur that’s going to get you a hell of a deal for Gods of Androgyny.
You want my advice? The best time to make a deal is before anybody knows how big your movie’s actually gonna get.
Maybe I’m wrong and you’ll be at the Oscars next year.
But the world’s full of great movies nobody watches and great actors nobody hires. We’ll see you after breakfast.”
“Andromeda,” Zoe muttered.
“See you tomorrow,” I said.
_____
I kept staring up at the undark sky. I wanted to call someone, but it was too late.
I scrolled through my texts. There were a lot I hadn’t answered, but I didn’t feel like responding to any.
The thought of responding to anyone made the ache in my stomach worse, and it was already pretty bad.
I tried to go back to having an empty mind and listening to Gods of Andromeda, but I kept thinking about Bob and Lon and Ellen and the sweaty man who got in the Uber, and how Juniper’s eyes looked when she asked me to check her room.
And I thought about it, of course, the pronoun that needed no further description, because it was always there, awake or asleep or in between.
I thought about Ellen knowing about it, and how people are usually so kind about it, but I still don’t like them knowing, because then they can’t unsee me through that lens.
I thought about how condescending everyone was—the cops, the lawyers—how they treated me like a kid.
But of course the whole point is that I was a kid.
I didn’t know if I really wanted to be famous.
I thought about how before we watched the movie, Matthew was surrounded by those reporters, all of whom stood a step or two farther from him than you’d usually stand in conversation because he had some kind of energy that kept them at a distance.
He told them that the only person who can’t enjoy a Matthew Malone movie is Matthew Malone, and they all laughed.
But the same energy that kept those reporters laughing made the sweaty man believe he could get into Juniper’s car.
I thought of something Matthew said to me once on set: “I’ve done a lot of drugs, but nothing hits like fame.
Sometimes it’s an upper; sometimes it’s a downer. But it will always rock you.”