Page 64 of Just for December

He just feels empty, uninterested.

‘Best supporting actor,’ his publicist says. ‘And we think you’re in with a really good shot. We’re already talking toVanity Fairand theWall Street Journalmagazine about some in-depth profiles with you, positioning this as a turning point in your career that people need to be taking note of. The relationship with the author – it’s really helped your credibility, man. Actors dating actors is so Nineties. An actor dating an author makes your brand more prestigious, my man. We’re going to exploit that.’

Duke leans into the speaker phone held at his mouth. ‘But I’m not actually going out with her,’ he begins to protest, but Carter cuts him off.

‘You are for the next six to twelve weeks. We’ll get her people to organise her as your plus-one for the big event. Maybe she can do the SAG Awards and Critics’ Choice? We’ll circle back. But for now, congratulations! This is what we’ve been working towards!’

Carter hangs up, and Dream takes the phone, congratulating him again and telling him that he deserves it. Duke doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s strange, but the person he wants to tell is Evie. He knows that’s stupid. She’s been using him to pass the time. But that doesn’t make it any less true: she’s the one he wants to hear saying well done.

He heads to make-up to see if she’s been through there,but no one has seen her today. He should be prepping for the next shot, and he can see Daphne on set already, talking to Katerina, the DP, explaining something about the lighting. He heads over.

‘Katerina,’ he says, calling her name. ‘You don’t know where Magda is, do you? Or Evie?’

She looks confused, and her cheeks colour.

‘Why would I know?’ she says, defensively, and Daphne shoots him daggers as if to say,What the hell, dude?Ah. He isn’t supposed to know. Right. Well, that was indiscreet.

‘Daphne?’ he says, as if he’s asking everyone. ‘Have you seen them?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, Duke. And we’re setting up for scene 53, when you’re ready.’

‘Right,’ he says. ‘Yeah. Sorry. Of course.’

He walks over to the monitors to see how everything is looking, and then picks up the annotated script he’s made notes on with Daphne. He’s got eleven million thoughts racing through his mind, and not one of them he can hold on to.

‘You okay?’ Daphne says, coming over to him. ‘I need your head in the game, pal. Teammates, remember?’

‘Yeah,’ Duke says, and his voice sounds far away. ‘It’s just … I just found out I’ve got a Golden Globe nomination. For the guest role I did inThe Marvellous Mrs Maisel.’

‘WHAT?’ Daphne says, her eyebrows practically leaping off her face. ‘WHAT? DUKE! A GLOBE NOM! OH MY GOSH! Well, that changeseverything! Go do what you need to do! We’ll wait.’

‘Thanks, Daph.’ Duke tries to muster a genuine smile, andthen he goes to his trailer to pick up his phone. Who can he call? Who can he share this moment with? He hits the number for his mother.

‘Darling!’ she slurs, and he can tell immediately that she’s drunk.

‘Mum,’ Duke says, cautiously. ‘Hey. You all right? Have you … have you had a drink?’

‘Me darling?’ she asks. Somebody knocks on his door, an assistant from production, but when they poke their head in Duke shoos them away with the wave of a hand and a scowl. ‘Well, a little. I had just a little-tiny-little-drop to get me through the morning after Roger left.’

‘Roger left.’ Duke doesn’t say it as a question.

‘Couldn’t hack it I suppose,’ his mother says. ‘Scared him off, just like all the others.’

Duke starts to sweat. His breathing is all shallow and strange. He knew it wouldn’t last. He tries to remember what the websites say.It’s a disease. It isn’t her fault.He doesn’t realise he’s actually muttering it out loud until his mother says, ‘Are you talking to me?’

‘Mum,’ he says. ‘Do you have a sponsor? You need to call them. You don’t want to do this to yourself. Can you call Auntie Patricia?’

‘That cow,’ his mother retorts, which Duke takes to mean she cannot.

There’s another knock on the door.

‘I said I’m busy!’ Duke yells, and he hates himself immediately, because only arseholes yell at juniors on set. It’s unbecoming. He adds, in a lighter voice, ‘Just two minutes, please.’

There’s silence at the other end of the line.

‘Mum?’

Still nothing.

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