The infamous music term circles in my head:Don’t bore us, get to the chorus.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
“Has the label dropped me? Have my endorsement deals gone away? Has the film been shelved?” The words fly out of me like a quick round of bullets.
“Relax. The label hasn’t dropped you. The film is still pushing forward,” Paul answers in a slow, unhurried tone.
My muscles begin to relax until Paul’s awkward pause at the end, which I know precedes abut.
“And the endorsement deal. The Brewed campaign?” My whole body tenses up again.
There’s a pang of guilt in my heart at the thought of Christopher.
Paul’s heavy sigh on the other end of the receiver dials it up further.
“We’ve had to make some compromises. Some guarantees.”
“I’ll do whatever it takes,” I say, cutting Paul off. Panic crushes my heart tightly with its grip.
“They wanted to pull the plug on the whole campaign, but following Connie’s press release, they’ve stepped back slightly. They’re willing to roll it out, so long as you agree to doing some activation events and a press interview about what happened when you leave next month.”
Wait. Press release?
Did Connie amend the one she gave me at the intervention?
And address what happened at the VMAs?
The grip of panic intensifies and then loosens slightly as I realize my career isn’t completely tanked, but still not enough to stop my short, shallow breaths from continuing.
“Look, you just focus on getting better, and we’ll handle the rest,” Paul says. His voice is flat and steady, but still wound tightly like a guitar string.
“What about Christopher, have you spoken with him?”
The hesitation in his response is torture.
“Be honest with me, Paul.” I tighten my grip on the phone handle.
“He’s pissed.”
12.Christopher
Friday – November 1
Asharp shake to my leg forces me awake and I pry my eyelids open. Andrew’s face comes into soft focus at the bottom of my bed.
“Ugh,” I mumble, pulling the covers over my head in a juvenile attempt to block his cheery disposition. Granted, it’s a nice reprieve from the heartbroken and somber Andrew I’ve been living with the last few weeks, but if I hear one more positive affirmation coming from his speaker in the bathroom, I’ll smash it.
I’m rising above the challenges, and I’m stronger than ever.
I am love; love is me.
I’m grateful for everything in my life, big or small.
A smirk flits across my face when I hear the last one. Andrew is a lot of things, but grateful for small things is not one of them. A small tip. A small portion. And least of all, a small dick.
“It’s already nine a.m.; shouldn’t you have already left for work?” He leans back against the doorframe, and reaches for his phone when the sound of Grindr pings from it.
His words slap me in the face like a wet fish.
