Jameson accepted a soda water from an assistant, then went to join the rest of the cast, all waiting backstage to be called to stage. The reunions had become their own tradition, with every cast member going on to very different and very fabulous careers that captivated the public.
Sparing one heartthrob, that was. His stint in action movies had confirmed his suspicion: that he didn’t actually enjoy being a movie star, and that he was much happier without a camera in his face.
Still, Jameson indulged the occasional appearance. Justin Sweet was as much a character as Sam fromWest Townwas, and he knew how to deepen his voice and fill out his chest to play those roles. He knew how to act like the man everyone wanted him to be. He was so good at it they gave him an Emmy.
“Good to see you, Justin,” said Melissa, the woman who played his mother.
He smiled over his shoulder and let his voice drop. “You, too. Make sure to tell your kids I said hello!”
Soon enough, they were all out on the stage, all sitting in a semicircle. Clips were shown from new projects, and everyone joked an appropriate amount about the old times, dishing out exactly what the fans wanted. Immediately, Jameson went into autopilot, but he knew that his signature smile was there, the light still shining in his eyes just like it needed to be.
“We have a question from the audience,” the host said, stepping forward. “Go right ahead.”
“Hi, this question is for Justin?” The woman looked like most of his fans, roughly his age and probably sweet as pie. Looking at her, Jameson guessed that she had his poster on her wall, probably the one where he was shooting a basketball, his shirt bouncing in the air and sweat dotting his face.
He held her eye and smiled wide. As weird as the whole thing felt, he appreciated his fans and never wanted them to feel bad. “Sure, go ahead. You’ve got such a great smile, you can ask me anything.”
The woman’s grin grew wider, and a soft, warm sound went through the crowd. “Thanks,” she said. Then her smile fell. “Well, I was just wondering. You still only make, like, one public appearance a year. Isn’t that weird?”
Jameson’s own smile almost cracked.
There weren’t supposed to be questions about his private life and definitely not accusations that he was “weird,” whatever that was supposed to mean. But then again, you couldn’t really control what audience members said.
Especially not on a live broadcast.
He smiled. “I’m just enjoying my peace and quiet,” he answered. “I still work with my charities, but otherwise, I’m happy with what we all accomplished together onWest Townand my work with theBroken Dragonteam, too. Who needs more than that?”
Everyone applauded on a cue from producers, and Jameson thought his canned response had gotten him through the rough patch. As soon as the audience quieted down, though, the woman spoke into the microphone again. “Yeah, but the gossip rags say you never actually do anything with the charities. And there’s a million rumors that you’re a sex freak.”
Melissa gasped audibly, and a jolt of fear shot through Jameson’s body, crawling under his skin. He’d never addressed the nasty rumors on camera. He’d never had to, considering he only appeared in controlled environments, places where the questions were supposed to be vetted.
Not a single one of the rumors online had any resemblance to the actual truth of who Jameson was or what he liked to do in his free time.
But truth had very little to do with what people said online.
“I’m sure we don’t need to entertain lies,” the host said brightly, cutting them straight through the moment. “But we do need to entertain Justin’s work with those charities. I was just about to ask—you brought a video to share with us, didn’t you Justin?”
Blood still rushed through Jameson’s ears, the whooshing sound it made loud enough to quiet any rumbling from the audience. “Thanks for asking,” he said brightly. Smiling while he panicked made him feel psychotic, but he kept going anyway. “We’ve spent the last year working with indigenous groups in Brazil and fighting to preserve the Amazon. If they’ve cued up the video I brought along, I’d love to show you…”
By the time the special ended, Jameson had recovered himself. He managed a solid hour at the small cocktail party afterward, exchanging small talk with the right people, letting a few media types snap his picture and grabbing a traditional reunion pic for Cynthia’s social media, this time each on their knees like in their iconic prom scene.
“I’m going to get a literal million likes for this,” Cynthia muttered. “You okay, by the way?”
Jameson took a sip of his champagne, then wrinkled his nose at the bubbles. “I’m fine, thanks.”
“No one from the show thinks the rumors are true, you know,” she said.
“I know,” Jameson answered. “But thanks.”
“Thank you for coming out.” Cynthia clinked her glass with his, then threw back the last of her drink. “The team appreciates it.”
Jameson laughed. “Anytime.”
By the time he headed out of the party, Jameson had almost forgotten why he put up with that nonsense anymore. He had more than enough money, after all, and zero interest in acting again. But then he took a detour through the outskirts of the reunion party, past the crew who were paying mortgages and college tuitions with the money from theWest Townmachine.
When he had been in the industry, he had been alone. He had no person to look out for him or stand by his side. But the crew had always done their best. They got him a cake on his birthday, and asked about his schooling, and did what they could to make his screwed-up life feel normal.
It was a tiny thing, but it was what he had.
