But now I’m here.
In New York, my home away from Los Angeles, and way too damn far from her. So I’m depending on Benji to deliver because he’s the goddamn reason I agreed to sign the damn NDA in the first place. His quiet urging. His commentary on how Jenna wouldn’t dare fuck up again because she didn’t manage her finances well and needed this big influx of cash the movie would bring. Trip after trip to a secluded, confidential rehab in Arizona, full of Zen gardens and yoga something or others with the best counselors money could buy, cost a pretty penny.
“Look, man. I’ve always respected your opinions. And I take full responsibility for the bullshit with Jenna, but I think you’re missing the bigger picture. I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” Each word sounds like another string to my control snapping. “About my image. About the film. About shit. This needs to get fixed and it needs to get fixed fucking yesterday.”
There’s silence on the line. My point has been made. He gets I’m not fucking around.
“I hear you, loud and clear, but no one’s going to listen to you. You’re too good of an actor, Whitley. You’ve had everyone believing you were with Jenna. And then with your silence, you had everyone falling for the broody, bastard boyfriend routine where the guys questioned how you could find better pussy then Jenna Dixon’s. And the women, while hating that you might have cheated, were also pulling back their sheets and patting their Tempur-Pedics in invitation. You never broke character once. You didn’t talk about it. You didn’t—”
“Because I signed the fucking NDA on your advice,” I grate through gritted teeth.
“Your balls were in a vice, man, with the studio acting as the henchman like I’ve never seen before. You had no choice. But you know as well as I do that painting the town red with interviews isn’t going to do shit to change the public tide on Saylor.”
And I fucking hate that. With a vengeance.
My hands fist in reflex. My teeth grind together. I feel the same fucking helplessness I had when she boarded the plane the other day and walked out of my sight.
“Get with Kathy. Figure out how to coordinate face time with Givens, Seacrest, and Cooper. The studio wants me to be their puppet boy? I’ll do their dance, pimp the movie, and while I’m at it, I’ll set the record straight about Jenna and me and where Saylor fits in the fucked-up equation. The studio wants a buzz leading into release day? I’ll give them a buzz like they never expected.”
“Watch it, Hayes. You’ve walked the line this far, make sure you don’t step over it now.” I can sense his frustration. Hear his sigh across the connection. Expect the heeded warning one more time. “I get you’re frustrated. Know you want to shout on the rooftops the truth about Saylor, but I’m telling you your best plan of action is to sit and wait. This will blow over.”
“You’re right. It might. But it will blow over means a completely different thing to me than it does for Saylor. You know what it feels like the first time you open your car door and have a camera thrust in your face? Or hear the click of the shutter from somewhere in the bushes but don’t know where until you catch the glare of the lens? It’s fucking terrifying if you’re not an attention junkie like we actors are. And she’s the furthest thing from that.”
“It will blow over, Hayes.” There’s sympathy in his voice this time, and it’s still not enough.
I hang up without another word. Sit and look at the lights of the city beyond. Wonder how many people out there have read about Saylor today. Wonder if they immediately believed the lies. And then wonder why the fuck they even care about who I date in the first place.
I pick up the beer by the neck and down it. Exhaustion hits me, yet I can’t sleep. I glance at my phone, my thumb instantly swiping to check my messages just in case I missed a text back from her.
But there’s nothing.
Welcome to Hollywood, son, where dreams come true, and the one you want more than any of them won’t fucking text you back because she’s scared of what those dreams entail.
Fuck me.
It’ll blow over. Of course it will. Question is if it’ll be a hurricane or a breeze when it does.
This is on you, fucker. Figure out how to fix it. All of it. You break her heart again, I’m going to throw more than just a punch the next time I see you. Ryder’s voice rings loud and clear through my voicemail. His threat real . . . I wouldn’t expect any less from him. And yet it brings a smile to my lips because it’s the only message today that I fucking deserve.
The table read sucked. And not because I didn’t know my lines or couldn’t step into character, but because of that goddamn scene. The one I rehearsed with Saylor that had gotten me all hot and bothered and had rang too fucking true for the two of us. To our history.