Say It's Not Fake

“You know, I was talking to Rog last week, and he mentioned he had landed some new comic book movie with one of the Hemsworths—can’t remember which one.” She sounded breathless, and I could picture her on her stationary bike, earbuds perched precariously. The woman was addicted to her workouts. It had taken the place of much worse vices she had fallen victim to in the past.

At the mention of Roger Heiden, I felt my anxiety unleash into full-blown panic. Leaving Hollywood had been the best decision I had ever made for me and my mental health, but I had a lot of guilt over bailing on Roger. The plan had been for me to go to Romania to run the makeup department on the set of his next movie. I had been his go-to artist for years, and he had opened as many doors for me as Guisselle ever had. I cared about Roger, he was a decent guy, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t one to use his name to sleep with as many pretty young things as he wanted. Even if he was old enough to be my father, it didn’t stop him from making it very clear what he wanted from me when we first met. Yet, when I declined, he took it well—unlike others I had unfortunately encountered.

“What happened to ‘I’d rather die than hitch my wagon to the Marvel train?’” I asked, wanting to smile but unable to.

“Well, when money talks, you listen, right?” I could hear Guis blow out a breath and knew she was ending her workout. I could hear the beep from her bike as she turned it off. “So, should I tell Rog you’re interested?”

I started pacing around my bedroom. “Woah, hold up a minute. I never said I was interested—”

“Come on, Whit, you can’t be content there in Hicksburg, USA. You belong out here, babe. We want you here. Roger wants you here.” Guisselle was a force to be reckoned with. In some ways, she reminded me of Meg—all fiery emotion and unstoppable energy. Our mutual ambitions had always meshed well, and she was the reflection of my own selfish drive to accomplish more and more and more.

But that way of life could drain your soul, and when everything came crashing down, I found the impact so much harder to bear.

I could argue about my responsibilities to my family. I could try and reason with Guisselle about my mental health and how dried out I felt after spending so long in such a shallow, superficial world—but Guis wouldn’t understand. And some days, the part of me that had so readily stripped myself of emotion and connection, didn’t understand either.

“Guis, I told you I needed a break—”

“He’s in Malta,” Guisselle interrupted, and I felt instantly nauseous. No. I wouldn’t talk about this. Not here in my safe place where I wanted to forget about all that.

Guisselle interpreted my deafening silence as the go-ahead to give me the scoop I most definitely didn’t want.

“He took Faith Horley with him. Remember her? The girl from that Disney show? She’s only just turned eighteen—it’s positively scandalous, but of course, no one’s saying anything. At least not within earshot. No one wants to be blackballed because they think his taste in fuck buddies is a little on the illegal side.” Guisselle snickered. I tried to laugh too because that’s what was expected of me, but I couldn’t. The need to vomit became almost overwhelming.

“So, don’t be a dumbass. No one lets their hurt feelings get in the way of their job. That’s just stupid.” She sounded annoyed. Disgusted even. It seemed the sympathy associated with our close friendship had its limits, and I had most definitely reached it.

“I don’t know. I’ve got a lot going on here,” I excused. I hated that the twinge of excitement I always felt at the prospect of a new job was still there. Deep down, I still wanted it. I missed it. I just didn’t miss the darkness that accompanied it. They went hand in hand. The happy and the horrible.

“I hear it in your voice, Whit, you want to do this.”

“I haven’t even heard from Roger. I’d think if he wanted me, he would have contacted me himself. Sending a messenger isn’t Roger’s style.”

“He’ll call. He plans to in the next few weeks once he finishes up postproduction on this rom-com he directed,” Guisselle jumped in.

“Oh, okay,” was all I could say.

“If I don’t see you in Hungary, I’ll never talk to you again. And you know I mean it,” Guis threatened. Though it was good-natured, I knew she meant it. There was only so much room in Guisselle’s life, and if you didn’t fit in the mold she created for you, you were out.

Did I care?

What did our friendship mean to me if it couldn’t exist outside of the world I had run away from?