Let’s Start Again

“You’ve got ten minutes. Good luck.”

The agent closed the door behind her and Rachel looked at the man in the chair. Panic washed over her. She couldn’t do this. Just apologise and get out before you make a total fool of yourself.

“I’m sorry...”

No movement from the chair. Rachel took a step into the room. She cleared her throat.

“I’m sorry, there’s been a mistake.”

He looked up, Two Rachels stared back at her from black shades, “Who are you?”

“My name’s, um, Rachel. It’s Rachel.”

“Hi Rachel, I’m Adam.”

“Yes, I know.” Adam Robertson. The Adam Robertson. A-Robz.

“So, you want to take a seat?” He waved a hand at the empty chair. She looked dumbly at it, clutching her notebook to her chest, then sat abruptly.

A moment of silence.

“Questions?” he asked.

Rachel jumped and fumbled with her notebook, half dropped it, juggled with it for a moment but only succeeded in knocking it across the table and under his feet.

“Oh god, I’m sorry.” She made a move to retrieve it, realised that would involve reaching between his legs and sat back, mortified.

He leaned down, picked up the notebook, paused at the Peppa Pig cartoon on the front, then passed it back to her.

“It’s not mine, it’s my sister’s,” she could feel the blush spreading across her face.

Slowly he moved his shades to the end of his nose and looked over them at her. Eyes that looked out from a million teenage girls’ bedroom walls, from her own bedroom wall, stared into hers. “How old are you?” he asked.

“Seventeen,” she sounded more defensive than she intended, “I’m sorry. I’m just on work experience. Helen should be here but she got run over by a bike courier, broke her leg, and there was no one else in the office, so they sent me. I’m sorry.”

It had all happened so fast. The phone rang as she was leaving the office. The editor, shouting about effing cyclists going through effing red lights, Helen on way to hospital, grab an effing Dictaphone and get your arse down to Leicester Square sharpish. She ran all the way and arrived in time to hear the agent call out Helen’s name. She explained what had happened, the agent regarded her suspiciously for a moment then shrugged and guided her through the door.

And here she was, the questions formulated on the way over melting away in her mind. She felt the tears forming.

“Hey, don’t get upset.” He looked alarmed. “Let’s start again.” He smiled reassuringly, but the tears just flowed faster.

“But we’ve only got ten minutes and I haven’t got any questions and the editor’s going to kill me and I worked so hard to get this placement and now I’ve blown it, my big break, and I’m going to have to work in McDonalds for the rest of my life and I’ll never be a journalist,” Rachel sniffed loudly, searching for a tissue she knew she didn’t have.

He pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and offered it. She took it, blew her nose loudly, noticed the initials AR, then handed it back. He waved it away.

“You keep it. So this was your big break, huh?”

She nodded.

“Well, big breaks aren’t always what they seem, you know? Do you know my big break?”

“Being cast as Prince Charming in your school play. Mike Leigh was in the audience, invited you to audition for The Farm, you got the part of Sam, the gorgeous farm hand. You were seventeen as well.”

“You’ve done your research, I’m impressed.”

Rachel looked down, “I’m a fan,” she mumbled. “I know everything about you.”

“Everything? Like what?”

“Like your birthday, Sixteenth of June, you’re a Gemini. You’re an only child, Your favourite food is spaghetti bolognese. I know where you went on your first date with Keira, how you sang ‘I Will Always Love You’ to her in a karaoke bar in New York, how you write her romantic poetry on her birthday. Everything.”

He leaned back and stared up at the ceiling. Then he laughed and shook his head. “You want to know something Rachel? That’s all bullshit.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s bullshit, it’s fake, a con. I’m not going out with Keira.”

“You’ve split up?”

“We were never together.”

“But I’ve seen the pictures. You’re great together.”

He shook his head. “Just marketing. The studio’s idea. They said it would help us both. And they were right. A few pictures in the paper, add some romantic details like poetry and bingo, you’ve got a hot celebrity couple. It’s all a lie. I don’t even fancy her, she’s not my type. Too skinny."

Rachel digested this. “So, no poetry?”

“’Fraid not. I’m no poet.”

“But you seem so happy together?”

A snort of laughter. “Must be a decent actor after all.”

“Oh, you’re a brilliant actor,” Rachel gushed before she could stop herself.

He smiled, a sweet, natural smile and seemed younger for a moment, more her age. Rachel’s heart melted a little.

“That’s the thing though, Rachel.” He gave a tired sigh. “It’s all an act, it’s all fake, it’s all bullshit. A giant game of let’s pretend.”

“You and Keira?”

“Well, yeah, but I mean all of it. The whole thing. Films. Showbiz. You know?”

Rachel nodded uncertainly.

“Well, you don’t know though, do you? Because it wouldn’t work if you did. Do you know how many interviews I’ve done today? How many people have sat in that chair and asked me the same questions and I’ve given the same bullshit answers?”

She shook her head.

“I don’t either. They all blur into one. I’m sick of it all. Sick of saying how great the script was, what a genius the director is, how much fun we had on set. Waiting five hours for the director to be happy with one line. How many different ways are there of saying, ‘Wait here, I’ll be back for you.’? I still have nightmares about it. It’s not fun.”

He frowned at her. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be putting all this on you. You seem like a nice girl. Do you want to ask me any questions? I don’t want to get you into trouble with your editor.”

“I-I can’t think of anything. It all sounds horrible.”

“Yeah, well. Being rich and famous isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”

“It can’t be all bad, can it?”

“Oh, it was alright at first. Well, no, it was brilliant at first. Staying in hotels, everyone telling me how great I am. Beautiful women throwing themselves at me left, right and centre. But it’s surprising how quickly casual sex with gorgeous girls gets old. Sorry, I’m embarrassing you.”

“No, not at all.” Rachel shook her head and blushed.

“It’s just that none of it’s real. They’re not sleeping with me, they’re sleeping with A-Robz, whoever that is. As soon as it’s over, I just feel empty. I want to talk a bit, you know, just chat, but they can’t wait to text their friends to tell them who they just slept with. I’m a trophy, not a person. God, this sounds pathetic, doesn’t it? ‘Poor me, with women knocking my door down.’ When I was sixteen and couldn’t get a date, this would have seemed like heaven.”

“You couldn’t get a date?”

“I was very shy. Still am, really. My best mate Darren got all the girls. Or at least he was my best mate. Not seen him for ages.”

He paused. “You know the worst thing? I don’t have any friends. How sad is that? I really don’t have anyone.”

A tear rolled from behind the shades. He took them off and wiped his eyes roughly with the back of his hand.

“Oh god, don’t cry. Here.” Rachel desperately stuffed his own handkerchief back at him. Her hand brushed against his, and he grabbed it suddenly and looked desperately into her eyes.

“I’m just so lonely,” his voice small and weak.

She found herself holding him as he sank to his knees.

“I just want to start again,” he mumbled into her shoulder, then looked up at her. “You know? Go back and skip the stupid play, go and smoke with Darren behind the science block and try to impress Valerie Braithwaite. No film parts, no fame and fortune, just a normal life.

“I don’t want to be doing interviews about films, I want to go down the Odeon and watch films with someone else in. And work in the Findus factory with Darren, packing fish fingers and getting pissed on a Friday. Not glamorous but it’s real. I’d give anything to go back and have that life.

“But you can never go back,” he rubbed his eyes. “It’s too late now, isn’t it?”

A sharp knock at the door. “Ten minutes, wrap it up now please.”

“Alright, alright, nearly done,” he called, standing and smoothing himself down.

Rachel gathered her notebook, clutched it to her and fixed her gaze on the floor.

“Hey,” he tilted her chin up and looked into her eyes. “I’m really sorry about this. I’ve ruined your interview.”

“It’s okay,” she said, unconvincingly.

“No, it’s not okay. Look, let me make it up to you. Come to the Grosvenor at ten tonight. We’ll do a proper interview, you can have longer than ten minutes and then you can write something that’ll knock your editor’s socks off.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to put you out.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. It’s the least I can do after laying all that shit on you. Just give your name to reception and ask for Bradley Masters. That’s the name I’m staying under. Bradley Masters. Got it? Cool, I’ll see you later. And hey, it’s not all bullshit. I really do like spaghetti bolognese.”

---------------------------------------------------

The door opened in answer to her knock and he beckoned her in, phone clasped to his ear. Through an open door she glimpsed a four-poster bed before he pointed her to a sofa. Rachel sat, smoothing her dress over her knees.

He finished the call and smiled at her. “You’ve changed for the occasion,” he observed. “You look nice.”

“Thanks. So do you.”

“Why, thank you. Would you like a drink? Whisky and soda?”

“Erm, yeah, please, that would be nice.”

The alcohol stung her throat and made her brain swim for a moment.

“Did I make it too strong?” he asked. “Bar-tending’s not my forte.”

“No, it’s fine,” she gulped. “It’s nice.” She took another swig.

“Cool, so shall we start again? You got some questions this time? That was a joke,” he added at the hurt look on her face. “Are we cool? Cool. Let’s do this thing.”

---------------------------------------------------

“So, yeah, it was great working with Jake and Jennifer. It always took twice as long to do takes because we were all laughing so much. Jennifer has a wicked sense of humour. And of course, Danny is a great director; he’ll kill me for saying it, but he’s a genius really. One of a kind. What a guy. That do you?”

Rachel snapped her notebook shut and turned off the Dictaphone. “Yeah, that’s great, thanks very much. I really appreciate it.” She stood and picked up her bag. “Well, it’s been great to meet you. Good luck with everything.”

“Do you have to go?”

“Yeah, I don’t want to miss my last train.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll get someone to drive you home. Perk of the job. Do you want another drink? It’s just really great to be with someone nice and normal. I feel like I can be myself with you. I’d really like it if you stayed for a bit.” He looked at her seriously. “Please?”

She looked unsure for a moment, then made up her mind. “Okay, why not. If you’re sure it’s okay?”

“It’s more than okay, it’s great. Sit down, I’ll get the drinks.”

---------------------------------------------------

The sheets were soft against her skin. She looked at him, his hair tousled, stubble on his cheek. Slowly, carefully she moved out from under his sleeping arm and reached out to her bag on the floor, found her phone and started to text.

“OMG, you will never guess where I am.”