Day 5 of 21
Allie’s diary (via CloudLink Drive // The Lake Dock *new*)
In an unexpected turn of events – and by far, one of the most uncharacteristically irresponsible things I have ever, ever done – I have given a stranger my phone’s PIN. A stranger who happens to be a Hollywood actor.
That’s correct. An actual, real-deal Hollywood actor. He’s on IMDB and has fan pages and everything. It’s ridiculous, isn’t it? Totally ridiculous.
Milo the Clown/Contract Killer is, in fact, a thirty-year-old New Jersey-born actor.
Occasional model of designer swimwear, and owner of incredibly brown eyes and an almost preposterous amount of wavy shiny hair, both of which had been obscured by the sunglasses/cap combo (which now makes sense).
I admit I only allowed myself to google him for three minutes because it felt relatively inappropriate to delve any longer.
Plus, I mostly wanted to screen him for any historical, weird phone-related (and non-phone-related) crimes, and his crime slate is clean.
I did, however, find out he was first cast as an ‘immortal’ in a movie franchise called Day Falls, a moody cult teen werewolves and warlock thing, and that made him known.
Then he played ‘Vex’ in a TV show called Brothers, which has just won two Emmy Awards, and that made him famous.
He recently left Day Falls, and it was clear from even from my cursory search that he’s pissed off a lot of fans.
(From what I can gather, they feel Day Falls made his name, but he quit mid-filming the third movie and ‘sold out.’) There are also articles on ad-filled gossip pages of him helping out at a dog shelter, throwing parties at a beach house and infuriating anonymously quoted neighbours, and also an interview with an ex and Day Falls co-star, Sara Santi, in which she delivered one line about him, but a pretty scathing one.
Something like, ‘He left the movie and then me.’ She also called him ‘self-conscious’, ‘smoke and mirrors’ and, as a boyfriend, a ‘man who cares only about himself.’ (Ouch.) The article then sent me to another about his swimwear campaign, quoting him as saying, ‘If my ass be the food of love, play on.’ An eclectic mix, yes, but nothing criminal. Thankfully.
And despite how incredibly irresponsible this sounds as I type it out, I do believe giving Milo Ford my PIN was the right decision.
If only for the fact he helped me log in to my cloud (which I’ve now locked down properly) and sent my research voice notes over, and my meeting this morning went as well as it could’ve.
My supervisor was pretty bleak after, full of stories of funding cuts from similar projects, but I really think when Terrarium look properly at my data, they’ll keep supporting us.
At least, I have to believe that as a matter of survival.
This whole phone swap incident is working for Milo too, I think, although I have since learned he has less to lose than I have, as when he said his phone was sparse, he meant it.
New number, new phone, he said. A ‘spiritual clean slate,’ he called it, which sort of made me want to scoff.
Still. It’s at least helpful to him too.
He’s playing a British soldier and ‘totally bombed’ his first scenes after nailing them in rehearsals, months ago, so I had to send him a twenty-two-minute sound file from his dialect coach and a video of him reading lines in what looked like an old garage.
I did ask whether there was a UK luvvie contact somewhere who could help once the planes are back on track, and he replied with something like, ‘Kind of want to avoid anyone who knows me finding out I’m losing phones and accents right now, Allie,’ and I told him I understood.
I made clear, actually, that I would feel more comfortable if we kept this arrangement, within reason, as close to just us as we can.
Keep the circle small. Tell nobody. Keep the phones safe, in our respective homes, for privacy. He agreed.
Meantime, we spent time turning off notifications for things we can access ourselves now and we’ve agreed to switching the phones back in person in just seventeen days when he’s back in the UK for a layover.
Until then, we are to simply act as ‘phone secretaries’ – Milo’s term, penned on video chat.
And it was interesting, the video chat. I thought I’d feel exposed, but when he blinked onto the screen, I felt only a huge wave of relief.
It was definitely him. The Milo Ford from Google.
‘It’s you!’ he laughed. He was less polished than his red-carpet poses on Google.
Scruffier than I’d expected; thick, brown hair skewed as if nervously yanked to one side, prisms of creases covering his white T-shirt.
But definitely the same Milo. Self-conscious, definitely arrogant, but an enthusiastic type.
A ‘feeler’, I think. (He said that his new phone and number felt like ‘a rebirth or something’ and that the video call was ‘a true solace’.)
‘Well, if you’re ever at all concerned,’ I said, ‘we could always have regular check-ins like this to maintain comfort and trust.’ I told him I saw it on a programme once about police and undercover informants. Milo laughed; I think he thought I was joking. I was not. ‘Spies do it,’ I explained.
Smilingly, he said, ‘And actors and scientists now too.’
Yes, I told him.
Whatever gets us through the phone swap. A responsible plan to see us through this potentially very stupid, irresponsible decision made out of mutual desperation.
For just seventeen days.
And really, that’s what I keep saying to myself. Even in all my alleged cynicism, what could possibly happen in just seventeen days?