Page 88 of The Actor: Harrison

“Are you ready to walk over there?” he asks, pointing to the red carpet.

I nod but I don’t trust my voice coming out firm. My mouth is so dry I can barely swallow. Harrison grabs my hand and gently guides me to the other side of the tall divider and flashes start to go off, blinding me.

It takes me a few moments to adjust to the blinding lights but when I do, I take in the importance of this moment. People are going crazy, shouting, asking Harrison for autographs and selfies. They all have the small version of the movie poster in their hands and I’m mesmerized by how Harrison seems comfortable with all of this.

I stay a step behind, a couple of security people we hired guiding us through all the chaos. We only need to follow their instructions and I’m glad because my legs tremble and my brain is completely gone.

A hand on my lower back gently pushes me toward the barriers where fans are. It’s the assistant tasked with following me around and guiding me to what I have to do.

I walk in front of the crowd. They’re mostly looking at Harrison, but one teenager, a scrawny thing with thick glasses, is trying to get my attention. I smile at her and she blushes.

“Can you sign this, please?” she asks in a trembling voice and giving me the poster with Harrison’s name already scrawled on it.

She’s asking for my autograph? Is she serious? “Mine?” I frown and she smiles shyly.

“If you want to. But if you don’t want, it’s okay,” she scrambles to explain.

I finally smile at her and grab the poster and sharpie. “I’m totally fine, it’s just…I’m not used to people asking for my autograph,” I confess.

She smiles and grabs the pen and poster I’m handing back. “I think you’ll be doing it a lot tonight.” She points her finger to another person asking for a selfie with me.

She’s right. It takes me a while to reach the backdrop with the sponsor’s logo where we pose for the cameras.

“Is it always so chaotic?” I ask Harrison without dropping the smile on my face. God forbid that a photographer thinks I’m sad and does an entire story on the reasons why I was grumpy at the premiere of my own movie.

“Yes.” He smiles and peck my lips, causing a blinding flash feast.

“Do you get used to it?”

“Mostly,” he admits.

I turn toward the cameras and hope that at some point in the future I won’t feel like a freak show during these events.

When we finally step into the movie theater, I can’t see anything for a long moment. The blinding lights outside contrast with the dimly lit entrance, not to mention the movie theater, forcing me to blink a couple of times to adjust my eyes and see who’s surrounding me.

I recognize a lot of famous Hollywood faces, people I could only dream of having at a premiere of one of my movies, and everyone is ready to reach out a hand and compliment us. It doesn’t matter that they haven’t watched the movie yet. The important thing is to be seen by us.

How much things change in a span of a few months. Some of these people didn’t even acknowledge me at Kevin’s party, but now they’re tripping over each other to shake my hand.

We don’t stay long in the lobby, we walk into the room where rows and rows of red chairs wait for us. The back of the theater is already full of people who won tickets for tonight, average people who want to see the movie, while the front rows are reserved for Hollywood bigwigs and journalists who will stay for the question-and-answer session after the movie.

Some cheer, everyone murmurs when they notice us entering the room, but the most palpable feeling is expectation. My stomach is knotted tight, and I think my lungs are too. How else can I explain why I’m barely breathing? I realize people around me are talking, asking questions, and that I’m giving answers, but I’m doing it on autopilot. There is no way I’ll remember even half of the conversations I’m having tonight.

Kevin gives a small introduction to the crowd, explaining that we will answer their questions after the movie, but I can barely follow his speech.

This is it.

This is the acid test we were waiting for and I’m not sure I’m ready for the reaction. Every person so far who’s watched the movie has said it’s incredible. But they’re all people working in the industry, they have a technical eye to judge it.

Behind me are rows and rows of real people, fans, who are here to enjoy this experience.Theyhave to like it, not the producers or the CEO’s of some company that has to work with us. Those people behind me are the ones who will go home and tell their friends to come out and watch this movie.

What if they don’t like it?

I’m relieved when the lights go out and the screen lights up with the movie, because everything goes silent and everyone is focused on Harrison’s outstanding performance and not my face.

I can’t focus on the movie and I know Harrison can’t either. From time to time, I catch him glancing back and looking at people’s faces. Are they enjoying the movie? Are they glued to the scene?

Nobody talks, nobody even breathes. A lot of them are clutching their popcorn buckets but not eating. By the halfway point in the movie, there is not one eye dry in the place. By the end, they’re sobbing. Is it too sad? Did I make one of those movies where you finish it and then say, “Never again?”

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