After my last trip here, when we were thrown together on adifferent TV show, I’d thought my polite rebuffs to her advances were enough. Clearly not.
This is a woman on a mission.
And I’m the unfortunate target.
“I’m sure my team can arrange something.” I smile politely at her, pulling back from the smell of hummus emanating from her mouth. I turn to look at Paul, Connie, and Lucy all huddled by the drinks table. I play with my watch, slightly longer than usual, until Lucy sees and catches my eye.
Green rooms are meant to be safe spaces. Not places where I’m more vulnerable to predators than I am to the massive crowd waiting outside the studio.
Thankfully, it only takes Lucy a handful of strides to reach us.
“Alexander, I just need to grab you quickly for some idents.” There’s a determined expression on Lucy’s face. The smile slides off Rita’s face and turns into a frown.
“It was good to see you again,” I offer—a lie—as Lucy links her arm in mine and pulls me away.
“Thank you,” I whisper, fearful that Rita may be able to still hear us, despite the song still playing and the buzzing of the two dozen people crammed into this room.
“No problem,” she says, stopping halfway down the hall. “Apparently, Rita has quite the reputation around here. I heard two women in the restroom earlier,” her head nods toward the restroom behind me, “discussing how when her film producer husband’s away, she gets her claws into whomever she feels can further her career. I’m guessing that’s how she got to where she is today.”
Lucy looks back over her shoulder, where the click of heels precedes Connie’s entrance. “She slept her way to… well, she slept her way to the middle.” A sardonic smile forms on Lucy’s face, forcing me to chuckle.
“That actress said you’d mentioned she could get guestlist passes for tomorrow’s show?” Connie’s question sounds more like an accusation. Her face scrunches up in disgust as she reaches into her purse to retrieve her cigarettes.
“I guess,” I say, letting my indifference speak for me.
Rob appears down the corridor, waving at us to come toward the exit, as Connie lifts the cigarette to her mouth.
What’s the worst that could happen?
The car hits a speed bump, sending the iPad Paul is passing to me flying out of his hand. I just barely manage to save it from hitting the floor before the seatbelt digs into my shoulder, snapping me back into my seat.
The shock on Paul’s face returns to his usual glare as he readjusts his glasses.
“Jackal Entertainment is a reputable production company, and the producer and director, Alfonso Pena, originally comes from the music industry himself. He previously worked at your label in the production arm.”
I scroll down through the web page, skimming over the text and the list of productions they’ve been involved in. Paul’s pause goes on a little too long, prompting me to look up.
He removes his glasses, in a way that I know by now means he’s trying to push something across the line. He starts to lean in before the seatbelt pulls him back.
“We could go with a bigger production company, but partnering with Alfonso and Jackal Entertainment allows us to retain more creative control of the film.” His eyes gleam.
Ah, that’s it.
Control.
It always comes back to control with Paul. It’s his secondfavorite word, right after visibility. Control over the brand. Control over the projects I do or don’t work on. Although in this instance, maybe having more control over my move into acting wouldn’t be such a bad thing.
It’s true what they say: You never get a second chance at a first impression. I’ve seen many of my contemporaries attempt the transition from singer to actor, with varying degrees of success. I want to ensure I don’t end up like them—ridiculed for my foray into the acting world.
“And where are they at with the adapted screenplay?” I ask.
Kirk, my agent at William Morris Endeavor, had encouraged me when I first floated the idea of moving into acting. He suggested I buy the rights to a few popular books, like some of his other clients and the actress Reese Witherspoon had done, to give me a built-in audience for the film and more control over my acting debut.
Disposedwas the book we settled on. It was the only one that had kept me turning pages during the long tour bus rides through middle America last year.
“We’ve had to change screenwriters a couple of times,” Paul is saying. “The scripts were too formulaic. They cast you as the pretty boy who goes on a hero’s journey. But the latest guy we’ve got seems to have stayed true to the gritty storyline and nailed it.” Paul slides his iPad back into his leather briefcase before returning his gaze to me.
“Is there anything I can…”
