“There’s a rumor going around the studio is recasting the part. Some nonsense about bringing new blood into the franchise.”
“Recast?” I leap to my feet. “They can’t do that. I have a contract.”
“And that contract has a good behavior clause, and it’s possible they could say your recent behavior has not been a good reflection on the studio or the franchise.”
“That clause isn’t for this,” I say, pacing. “It’s for assholes who get charged on domestic abuse cases or post racist shit online. I was sexually harassed and threatened, and I defended myself. That’s the opposite of bad behavior.”
“I know,” Roberta says patiently, “and I need to be able to tell Cedric that when I speak with him.”
I freeze midstride. Outside, the sun is well above the horizon, streaming a beam of pink and orange light over the water like nature’s perfect spotlight. Jack’s boat bobs at the dock. He might be down there already. We had plans today. Good plans.
I slump back down next to Vin. “You’re asking my permission to admit I had a relationship with my director who is a man. That I’ve had relationships with men before.”
“Only to Cedric, and under the utmost secrecy. I need him to understand—”
“It won’t be just to Cedric,” I say. “You know it won’t. A secret is only a secret if the rest of us are dead.”
“I don’t think that’s how the saying goes,” Vin says softly, but he stops when Roberta and I both glare at him.
“Damian,” Roberta says. “This is your career. You were born to play the hero, but the only way you get to keep doing that is if you let me tell them you were the victim here.”
I put my face in my hands. This is impossible. It’s not fair.
“What if we don’t?” I ask. “What if they recast it?”
“No,” Vin says. “You can’t let them do that.”
“Just, what if?” I ask again. “Give it a little time for the gossip to move on to the next story. People forget. Right? Tell them I’m reprioritizing my career. In a year, you start taking calls again.”
“And what will you do for a year, honey?” Roberta asks. She’s not looking out for her paycheck. I know she isn’t. She’s genuinely concerned about what I’ll do with twelve consecutive months of free time when I haven’t had more than a day to myself in years.
“Maybe I’ll stay up north,” I say. With every second, the sky is turning bluer, and the ocean sparkles as the trees cast long shadows. The whole experience is breathtaking.
“In Alaska?” she says.
“In Alaska?” Vin asks, squinting so hard he’s going to have wrinkles later he’ll regret.
“Why not?” I fling an arm at the world outside. “It’s nice here.” I almost say something about the rest of the world not wanting me, but even I know that’s getting melodramatic.
Roberta sighs. “Let me try to smooth things over with Cedric. They’re looking for a scapegoat because the movie flopped and interest in the franchise is waning, and you’re convenient. Cedric has to know that regardless of the names you called Anderson, the behavior clause won’t stand up to scrutiny, which means they’ll be on the hook for a lot of money over the next two films, even if they write you out.”
I bite my lip at the thought. Not about the money, but rather the concept of not havingShadow Leagueon my schedule anymore. It’s taken up so much of my life.
“Sorry,” she says. “We’ll get past it. Did you read that script Ivy sent you?”
I drop back down. “Not yet.”
“Even if things go well with Cedric, I want you to. Oscar Kane is attached to the project. It’ll be good for both of you.”
I’m about to ask her how a gay best friend rom-com fits with her formula, but Vin snorts next to me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He waves me off. “Don’t worry, Roberta, we’ll read it today.”
She glances between us, perfectly painted lips pressed into a thin magenta line. I half expect her to say Ivy will be on the next flight north because clearly we can’t be trusted to keep our shit together, but then Ivy herself appears at the edge of the computer screen, whispering something urgent to Roberta, whose expression changes immediately.
“I have to go,” she says. “Don’t worry. I’ve got everything under control.”
