Page 2 of A Little Christmas: Star
“You’d better get some sleep. Are you sure I can’t drive you to the airport?”
“No. I’m afraid if you’re there, I won’t be able to leave.”
I cuddled him closer, trying not to think about the next night when I’d have the whole bed to myself. Two of us in the single could be a challenge, but since we slept tangled up together, it had been plenty of space.
“I’ll call you every day,” he said before falling asleep.
And he did.
At first.
But as the project kicked into gear, it became once or twice a week. Then there was a lot of post-production and promotion and before all that settled down, another opportunity arose. One role led to another and another. Our daily calls became weekly calls, became holiday calls, became silence.
His career soared, and I was grateful he’d achieved his dreams. I only wished our dreams together could have been part of it all.
Chapter Two
Star
I couldn’t pinpoint the time I decided I actually wanted to be a “star.” The more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I ever really had. Deciding wasn’t an option for me, so it didn’t really matter when it was.
My father was one audition away from his dream role…one that launched a fellow actor into the stratosphere. Not nailing that part was his one regret in life, and he decided it was up to me to live the life he once wanted. That was how I got the name Star. He thought it would help make it happen. Naming your child after your fallen dreams was messed up. Full stop.
In some ways, I wished his dreams had been pro football or the Olympic swim team or something just as unattainable. I didn’t like sports, or maybe I did? It was never anything I got to explore. But with sports, you found out younger that you had no hope of a professional future and maybe then, I’d have had some semblance of a childhood. By the time I hit high school, the coach would have been like, “Nah, bro, see ya,” and I would’ve been free.
But no, my father wanted me to be an actor. I was in dance and acting classes before I could talk. It was ridiculous. My entire life was being thrust toward a career in film. Stage might have been acceptable if it was Broadway, but my father saw me as a movie star, the kind who would walk down the street and everyone would recognize them. In his grand vision, they’d tell that story to their children and grandchildren and great-grandchildren for decades to come because it was such a big deal to meet me.
My father’s dreams were warped. There was no way around it. And I got sucked into them. I had the looks, and that got mefar as a child. I got commercials and some teen roles with ease. I never really took off, which was good. I never really wanted to, even the few times I thought I did.
For the most part, I tried just enough to keep him happy. And then finally, I hit the age—the one where I was too old to play the young roles and too young to play the adult roles. I was in this limbo time of my career, and it was perfect. It got me exactly what I needed, an excuse to go to college.
I had one last interview, which wasn’t really an interview, although I didn’t know it at the time. My father and agent wrapped it up like an interview and then turned it into a meeting. I was just going to talk to some people, no big deal. When the computer systems went down and everything taking a million years to process at the college, a light was shining down on me. I missed that “meeting,” and I was free. I rescheduled, but I knew how that went. You reschedule, you lose. Full stop.
And then the best thing happened. I was just a normal guy doing normal college things. Best of all, I met a boy, Caelum. He wasn’t interested in me because I’d done some bit part on a television show or because he recognized me from an ad campaign. We just connected.
We went to school, hung out together, and I spent most of my nights at his crappy apartment. It was great, until that rescheduled meeting became a role that required me to leave school. More than anything, I wanted to turn it down, but I had made a deal and I couldn’t.
I slapped on a happy face and did the best acting of my life. I was achieving my dream. It was so great. But leaving Caelum, leaving school, was the hardest thing I ever did. I would call him all the time until I got caught, and then it was down to once a week. My father and agent wanted to change my number and limit my access to technology. If I hadn’t refused to do an ad campaign if they didn’t “treat me like an adult,” I wouldn’t havebeen able to do that much. I didn’t have a lot of power, but I wielded what little I did.
But as time passed, it became too difficult to even keep up that much. I was under a close eye, and it sucked. There were still days I wanted to call him, to hope he had the same number. But our time had passed. It was better for him if he moved on, and it was better for me not to open old wounds. At least that was what I kept telling myself.
Besides, I was officially living the dream. I was on billboards. People recognized me. Life was everything it should be.
Except it wasn’t. I hated it. The work itself wasn’t so bad. I didn’t mind acting. I liked it, even. It was something I was actually good at. But being famous? I’d do so much not to be famous, not to be micromanaged, to live my life for me and not random fans I’d never have a conversation with.
I had the day off and, more than anything, wanted to hide away. I dug through my suitcase, pushed aside my stuffie and binky, digging for my hoodie. Maybe that would be my disguise today. I had half a notion that I should stay here, put on my few little clothes, and just hide away from the world. Being little had been my only escape all those years, a side of myself I couldn’t share with anyone.
But as I was digging, I remembered when I met Marion, the manager at Collared, while doing some research for a project that fell through. She told me about Chained and said it would be a safe place if I ever wanted to go and explore.
Marion saw through me. She never said as much, but I could tell. When she heard about my connection to this city, she slid the Chained comment in. I don’t know what it was about Marion, but I trusted her. If she felt it was safe, it was, and since I was here, why not check it out? On a whim, I paid fora membership at Collared, although I wasn’t sure I’d ever get a chance to spend time there. It just felt good.
All clubs like Chained were cautious of who they let in, and they never allowed cameras inside. As long as I made it in the front door without being seen, it didn’t matter who saw me. There’d be no footage to escape. Sure, there might be rumors, but no one would believe them. I was Star. Why would I be walking around with a binky? Obviously, I wouldn’t be or if I was, it was research.
My mind made up, I put on my best disguise, which was really just to blend in the best I could. Hoodies and caps were my go-to, with big glasses. So cliché, but it worked. My original disguise, a trench coat, had long since stopped working, but my assistant and I still put it to use.
I’d been experimenting with punk clothes along with heavy makeup lately, knowing that the boldness of that was so against who I was as a persona that even if people recognized me, they’d just say, “Oh, that guy looks kind of like Star,” especially when I had some fake piercings. It reminded me of one of my favorite books, which was probably why it was one of my favorite disguises, but I didn’t have any of that here. I did have baggy jeans, hoodies, and caps, though, and on they went.
Chained wasn’t far. I was a block away when I saw them, my enemy. My dad hated when I called them the enemy. He said they were the reason why I had a job. But the paparazzi stole everything—all privacy, sense of normalcy, and sense of freedom. I didn’t care how famous they may or may not help me be. On days like today, they felt like the enemy, getting between me and the one thing I needed.
