My advocate. Cassius thinks of everything. I glance up at my brother and swallow thickly. Mr. Takeda notices my discomfort immediately.
“Could you possibly get us a couple cups of coffee,” Mr. Takeda says to Isaac. “This should only take a few minutes.”
“Oh uh, sure,” Isaac says. “How do you like it?”
“Black, please. And you, Adam?”
“Black is fine.”
Isaac leaves and Mr. Takeda undoes the button on his suit. He pulls out a leather-bound notepad and shiny silver fountain pen. I remember what Cassius once told me about not skimping on accountants and lawyers. This must be why.
“Are you in any pain?” Mr. Takeda asks.
“Not too much.” I touch the side of my face again. How bad does it look, really? Am I going to have to get new headshots? My fans might not even recognize me. And what if makeup doesn’t cover it? Fuck.
“That’s good to hear. Now, the police will want to ask you a few questions about what happened earlier today, and I want to make sure your story is accurate. What with all you’ve endured in the past few hours, it’s easy to get confused about minor details. How does that sound?”
“Sounds… good?”
“Great. Let’s begin by telling me your exact movements earlier today, starting with when you woke up this morning.”
I go through my daily routine with him: morning piss, weighing myself on the scale (I was two ounces under), drinking a 12-ounce glass of water, three-mile run, then breakfast. I tell him exactly what I had to eat, even though he didn’t ask.
“Then I went to lift weights in the gym,” I explain. He doesn’t interrupt, so I tell him my entire workout routine in detail. “I was finishing up when I noticed a missed call from my agent about a big deal we’re negotiating, but I didn’t want to call her back.”
“And why is that?” Mr. Takeda asks, tilting his head inquisitively.
I don’t want to mention the video. Like Cassius said, it’s better to pretend it doesn’t even exist.
“I was worried it was bad news, so I asked Cassius to call her back from his phone. He’s kind of like my manager.”
“And was it bad news?” he asks.
“Yeah. The studio has halted their negotiation and is looking at other candidates.” I let out a big sigh.
“Do you know why that is?” Mr. Takeda asks.
“They think I’m too gay for the part.” That’s the reason, more or less. The video just gave them an excuse to back out.
“What was your state of mind at that point?”
“I was pissed. I threw my phone on the ground and stomped on it.” That’s more or less what happened, anyway.
“Hmmm…” Mr. Takeda taps his notebook with the end of his pen. “I think you are misremembering, Adam. Cassius said that you accidentally dropped a weight on the phone while you were working out and broke it. Perhaps your memory is a little hazy on that detail?” He pauses there and gives me the chance to regroup.
“Yeah, that’s right. I dropped a weight on it,” I say.
“And it must have been a pretty heavy weight to do that kind of damage. How much do you curl, generally speaking?”
“About 50 pounds.”
“So, you dropped a 50-pound weight on your phone, which made it so that you couldn’t return your agent’s call, so you asked Cassius to do it for you. Is that right?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding.
“You were disappointed by the news, of course, but you knew there would be other opportunities.”
“Yes,” I nod. I can do this. It’s just like memorizing lines.
