Page 4 of Need to Know

“Huh, I…hadn’t thought of that. And what does it say about me that I jumped to the conclusion that the photo was real?” he sighed dejectedly.

“You were hijacked during an on-camera interview, and you’re spiralling. It’s a perfectly normal reaction in the circumstances, mate,” I reassured. The thing was, I knew the photo was real. Erik Thorne was known to me, something I’d neglected to mention to Nate because I hadn’t wanted to hurt him. Then we were both pulled from the moment by someone hammering on the door. Nate pivoted and glared down the short hall at the hotel room door as if it too had wronged him. He was an earnest, honest guy, but Nate had this entrenched almost child-like belief that people were intrinsically good. When he trusted, he did so with his whole heart, which made his unfolding devastation hard to watch.

“What do you want me to do? It’s your call,” I said softly. Nate turned and looked at me then; catching my gaze directly for the first time since he’d dragged me into the suite. Even though I was sure he’d deny it, I could tell he’d been crying. His cerulean blue eyes had lost their magical sparkle and were now the colour of a frigid, dull winter lake. His shoulders sagged in resignation, “God damn it. Roz won’t stop, let her in,” he groaned.

I stepped up to Nate and cupped his stubbled cheek, pinned his wounded eyes, then insistently I said, “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up. Take a breath. I’ll stall for as long as I can.”

Nate gripped the wrist of the hand that cradled his face. The spark of connection in our eye and skin-to-skin contact sizzled through me.

“Thanks Jack, you’re a good friend.” Nate then turned on his heels and headed for the bedroom. I followed and closed the double doors behind him. Then I strode down the hall and opened the suite door. But before Roz could begin ranting, I raised a halting hand.

“Nate’s in the bathroom, he needs a moment to regroup so please respect his wishes. You’ll have to wait to speak with him,” I stated. Roz ignored me and barged past calling,

“Nate honey, get out here and talk to me. I’m all over this. We’ve got a crisis meeting with the studio in twenty minutes.”

I stood aside as the whole merry band of Maritime Studio representatives piled into the suite, lawyer Mason De Luca, publicist Avery Grant, intern Anja Baker, and finally, my useless press agent Benji Moss. The guards remained on sentry outside the suite.

“Where have you been?” Benji exclaimed as he sauntered in, all innocence. I gave him my death stare.

“Where the fuck were you? You’re supposed to observe interviews and shut them down if the interviewer steps out of bounds!” The fine white powder around his left nostril did not escape my notice, nor did his dilated pupils and bloodshot eyes. I continued to glare derisively at him. He sniffed guiltily, pinched his nose, and then wiped it on the back of his hand.

“Call of nature,” he justified with a nonchalant shrug. Fuck nepotism. I didn’t give two shits if his sister was married to my agent. One thing I’d been adamant about when I signed with the Freiberg Agency was that I was drug-free, and I expected the same of those who worked to represent me. Drug use in the entertainment industry is a Cancer, and I was determined that there would be zero tolerance of substance abuse for my team. Lucy was taking the Eurostar train in the morning and would be in Paris to accompany me to the première. I’d happily tell her about Benji and his all-too-regular ‘calls of nature’ and then demand a new press agent for the final two destinations on the European tour.

I gritted my teeth, then grabbed Benji’s arm and pulled him towards the French doors. I opened the doors and we stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked the Champs Elysee. Paris was experiencing a heat wave. It was a scorching late June afternoon and the air was stagnant and thick with fumes. As it was rush hour, the wide boulevard was bumper to bumper. Impatience is a French national sport, and the blare of horns assaulted my ears. I could feel a headache coming on.

Benji stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, like a tardy schoolboy as he casually asked, “So, what did I miss? No one would tell me what’s going on.”

“You missed a car crash interview. The dude had a photograph of Nate’s husband in a compromising position with another man.”

“Nohh!” Benji breathed out. “Wow, sucks!”

I glared at Benji, a brow cocked; I was so tired of wrangling this arsehole. “Uh, understatement of the fucking year! And yes, he does!”

He looked at me blankly. “Benji. Do you even know what your job is? You’re now supposed to liaise with Avery, Roz, and Mason to ensure the video of the interview never sees the light of day…y’know…cos I’m in it too!” I stated, but Benji didn’t move a muscle, just stood there, bleary eyed with his mind elsewhere as my anger at his uselessness grew. I waved a hand over his face and he didn’t even twitch. Did he have a monkey playing cymbals in that useless head of his? Fuck sake! What else had he taken?

My attention changed direction as Roz opened the double doors to Nate’s huge lavish bedroom and then hammered on the bathroom door. I wish she’d leave him the fuck alone!

“Nate, I am not your mom and I’m not talking to the door. Get out here now, and let me help you fix this.”

I felt for Nate, not even permitted a moment to process, or compose himself after such a public shock. Nate relented, opened the bathroom door, and stepped out appearing dishevelled; his hair wet and unkempt. His blue patterned shirt was pulled out of the charcoal jeans, the top three buttons of the shirt undone. I could see a hint of his beautiful golden skin and a sprinkling of the dark hair on his chest. I remembered how it felt to inhale his skin, to kiss down his abs. Even though it was during a scene, in the moment felt real for me, the stuff of dreams. Damn. This is not the time for these kinds of thoughts!

Nate and Roz argued, and then Roz turned her ire onto Avery. Avery then directed his anger to the intern. I felt so sorry for the girl. I’d say they weren’t paying her enough to deal with this shit, but she wasn’t paid at all. This belittling was supposed to be work experience, a character-building privilege. Anja was being blamed for something that she’d played no part in. I shook my head with disgust.

Despite being an actor and taking on all kinds of roles that revealed the vast range of messy human emotions, in my real life I’d say I’m rather timid and conflict averse. Emotional stress usually sends me to the door, seeking an escape, which, according to my therapist, comes from being the child of deeply unhappy, emotionally unavailable parents. My parents wanted just one child. My older sister had a completely different childhood to me; she was wanted, cherished, while I was an accident, an inconvenience. I knew what it felt like to be blamed for something that was completely out of my control. I couldn’t remain silent.

“For fucks sake Avery, it’s not Anja’s fault,” I barked out, ”She’s an intern. Checking the question list was your responsibility. And by rights the interview should have been stopped when you ALL had somewhere else to be!” I ranted from the balcony into the suite. “And let me remind you that the security guards employed by Maritime should also have done their job. Dominique didn’t pull that display board out of his arsehole, he passed through the door holding it, and no one noticed!”

At hearing my tirade, Roz started in on Avery again, parroting exactly what I’d just said, and soon enough they were passing the blame for this fuck-up back and forth like a shit sandwich. But, at least Anja wasn’t getting the blame anymore. The girl gave me a wan smile and I nodded in acknowledgement.

I hated arguments, couldn’t stand this tension, and my press agent was high! My fight or flight response finally kicked in. I began to panic. I tried to breathe and calm myself just as my therapist had taught me but my chest still felt tight. I needed to get the fuck out of here. I’d left my phone in the safe in my suite, as it was too much of a distraction. But now I needed it to speak with my agent. I leaned closer to Benji and knocked on his brow with my knuckles.

“Hey, Benj, you in there? I’m going to my suite to call Luce. Let me know what the lawyers say.” Without a response I strode quickly through the lounge avoiding eye contact with anyone. I got as far as placing my hand on the polished chrome door handle before, I heard, “Where the hell are you going?” in that nasal New York drawl. My body shuddered involuntarily and honestly, I’m surprised I didn’t wee a little. Roz really did put the fear into me. I turned to see her marching toward me.

“You’re staying for this Jack. We’ve got a crisis meeting with the studio. Take a seat.” Roz pivoted to the intern, “Anja, take a food order for everyone. This day isn’t done until we’ve decided on a damage limitation strategy.”

I reluctantly returned to the lounge to watch Nate saunter out of his bedroom having changed into sweats and a vest tee, displaying his gorgeous tanned, muscled tattoo-free arms. Our eyes met and his blue eyes looked dull and sad. He sent me a washed-out smile and mouthed ‘Sorry’. None of this was his doing, but I supposed, as we were promoting the movie together, the exposé of his marriage problems and the salacious press that would follow affected us both. The photo came from somewhere, so there must already be online chatter about Erik Thorne having an affair.

Nate shook his head, turned and sauntered back into the bedroom calling, “Roz, I can’t do this. I’m done. Book the next private charter that can take me to New York.”