Page 8 of The Actor and His Secret

Him. Dad. Father. The Devil.

I’d wired the last of the money to him a week ago and haven’t heard from him since. I’m paid in full, every penny that he’s demanded. I am, as Selina promised, free. Free to return home, live my life, and never need to work again - as long as the residual checks keep coming in.

And yet I don’t feel free. I feel selfish, pathetic, and unworthy. All the words my father would put next to my name, far different than the trade reviews. Because I have this life, and yet I continue to be ungrateful.

I’d give it all up to remove the scars of my past.

A light knock taps at the door. I lower the empty glass, glad for the Dutch courage the vodka has offered me.

Selina opens the door slightly, enough to poke her head in. ‘Ready?’ she asks.

I fake a smile, straighten my back and adorn the mask of the man everyone expects me to be. ‘Born ready.’

Selina steps into the room, a swarm of people behind her, all watching me expectantly. Like them, Selina has a glint of emotion in her eyes. It wets her painted lashes, threatening to ruin her makeup.

‘You look…’ she begins, pausing to find the right word. ‘Ravishing.’

I pull at my bowtie, hoping to ease the sudden constriction around my throat. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself, Selina.’

She closes the space between us and stops just shy of where I stand. To distract herself from her emotion, she fusses over me, flattening the lapels of my suit jacket, brushing hair from my shoulders and dragging a single strand of my bangs down over my eye.

‘Now you look like you’re worth the swooning crowd that’s waiting outside for you.’

Another chorus of screams hits the windows. I can’t help but wince, which Selina notices - she never misses a single thing. ‘Smile. Shoulders back. Prove to yourself that you deserve to stand in this spotlight.’

I lower my voice, which is hard when it’s so deep that even a whisper can carry. ‘What if I don’t deserve the spotlight?’

More cries of excitement, my name slowly building in a demanding chorus out on the red carpet. ‘Let them prove to you that you do.’

And with that, Selina threads her fingers in with mine and guides me out of the room.

The red carpet passes in a blur of blinding lights and flashing cameras.

It’s acting, I tell myself. Playing the part of a man who wants to be here, a man who enjoys the attention. Maybe the reviewers are right, and I do it effortlessly. After hundreds of photos are taken of me standing beneath a 3D model of my dragon - Eratrix - from the film, I’m shepherded down a line of press. Fluffy-headed mics are pressed so close to my face that by the time I finish, all I can smell is their plasticky scent. My mouth is so dry, my head aching so much that I can’t imagine how I’m going to make it through the film and the throng of after-parties set up by my co-stars.

I see Michelle, the second lead of the film, skimming down the red carpet - which is actually gold to match the film’s aesthetic. She looks beautiful, long auburn hair falling down her spine like a river, the silver dress she wears something hand-picked from Aubrey Hepburn’s closet.

We hug, for the cameras and the crowd. Our small talk is exaggerated so the people watching think we are the best of friends, when the truth is she fucking hates me. It wasn’t always the case, but then she made advances on me during filming which I politely declined, over and over and over. She doesn’t know it, but she’s not for me. Our chemistry on screen is unmatched, but that doesn’t translate to real life. At least, not for me.

Michelle isn’t my type. I don’t really have a type. I’ve never given myself room to explore it. I’ve fucked around, yes. But with the life I choose to lead, the constraints placed on me, it’s better doing it alone.

Fewer people get hurt.

‘Sign some posters, take some selfies. I say you’ve got about ten minutes before we need to head inside.’ Selina has to shout over the hustle and bustle. The soundtrack for the film is blaring out of speakers, turning all of this side of London into a rave.

She offers me a quick drink of water, which I’ve never been gladder for. Alcohol would’ve been better, but that will come when the credits start rolling.

‘Wish me luck,’ I say, stepping towards the line of people waving copies of An Age of Dragons, collectable figurines of my character and other merchandise like t-shirts, mugs, and the many topless photos of my character scowling on the back of his dragon.

Maybe Selina was right. Because for the first time, I’m swept away by the love. I’m surrounded by it. I think it’s love, anyway. Maybe a form of it. Certainly something that could replace the type of love I crave, even if it won’t last.

That thought spoils it for me. I look into the faces of crying, adoring fans and know that one wrong move, and they would turn on me.

Where was this love when I needed it most? Off being given to someone else whilst I festered with my demons, alone.

‘Thank you,’ I say, numbly, my cheeks aching from the forced smile. ‘I appreciate it. I hope you enjoy the film. The book is always better…’ On and on I go until the faces blur into one.

I’m towards the end of the line when I pause halfway through scrawling my name over a poster with my nipples on display. It isn’t that the person holding it is standing out, but more of a deep gut reaction. Like my body is reacting to something my mind still hasn’t worked out.

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