Page 25 of Hollywood, Ending

“Great, but don’t say this film. Say Andy Warhol Never Gets Old.” It went on like that—for an hour. Ellen would ask questions: What was it like to work with Matthew? How do you and Juniper achieve such chemistry in your on-screen time together? Why do you think this film is important? She’d analyze my stupid answers and recraft them, and then she’d circle back to other questions before throwing in something random. If you could say one thing to the president, what would it be? Your first celebrity crush? I hear you’re dating Juniper; is that true?

“No, of course not,” I said. “Juniper is married to the sea.”

Ellen laughed, and made a note on her iPad. “That’s so good I’m going to make one of these jackasses ask it.”

“I mean it, though.”

“Yeah, that’s what makes it fucking hilarious. Is it true she’s doing Gods of Andromeda?”

“Yeah, she got the lead.”

“No no no no, Jesus, Kai. No. You say, ‘I’ve read the book and it’s great, but I don’t know what Juniper’s doing next.’ ”

“Right, but I wasn’t talking to a journalist. I was talking to you.”

“For the next twenty-four days, assume that literally everything you say out loud is going to be printed in a magazine that your grandparents will read.”

“That’s a bit dystopian.”

She just shrugged. “On to personal shit that will get dug up about you. Here’s the thing, Kai. If there’s something—say, a vertical video of you punching a woman, a racist tweet you wrote when you were a twelve-year-old edgelord, or whatever, just tell me. It’s so much easier not to be surprised.”

“I don’t tweet,” I answered.

“Are we going to have sexual harassment or assault issues?”

“No.”

“You ever been arrested?”

I shook my head.

“What’s your number? Is it in the double digits? Triple digits?”

“My number?”

“Of sexual partners.”

“Single digits.”

“You need to get out more,” she deadpanned. “So it’s all smooth sailing from you. Where’s the iceberg? Your dad’s in a weird militia? You’re a flat-earther? Everybody’s got something, Kai.”

“What’s your something?” I asked her.

“If I wanted to discuss my somethings, I would’ve become an actor.” I knew what she was asking about, but I couldn’t tell if she knew what she was asking about. “You ever been sued?”

“No.”

“Ever sued someone?”

I reached into my pocket and got a piece of gum. I like chewing gum—the old-fashioned stick kind. There’s this flavor called Fresh Mint I’ve chewed since I was a kid, and it smells like a forest in summertime. I unwrapped the gum from its silver foil and started chewing. Ellen asked again if I’d ever sued anyone, and I said no, which was true, but I was pretty sure she knew. I could feel the electricity of it in the air. My chest felt tight.

I leaned backward, hands across my chest. Among the many things I recommend about Fresh Mint gum is that when you’re chewing it, you can’t smell anything else.

“Ever been a witness in a trial?”

“I think you know the answer to that,” I said, and she didn’t respond. I thought about whether he’d done it to me or with me. Always hated prepositions. To me, I guess. For me, he would say.

“Yeah, I’ve been a witness in a trial,” I said finally. “A teacher molested me or whatever.”