Say It's Not Fake

Closing myself in the downstairs bathroom, I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?” I said quietly, even though there was no way Kyle or Katie could hear me.

“Finally! You’re a hard woman to get hold of Galloway,” the gruff voice said.

I closed my eyes and silently berated myself for answering the call. It was one I definitely didn’t want to take.

“Hi, Roger.”

“That’s all you have to say to your dear friend after going incommunicado for months?” Roger Heiden guffawed. I could hear his intake of breath, meaning he was smoking.

“I thought you were trying to quit,” I chastised, followed by his noisy exhale.

“I can never hide anything from you. Well, I would have quit by now if you were here to keep nagging me.” Nothing like a late-night guilt trip to make you feel great about yourself.

“Maybe you should quit because you’re not a young man anymore, and you’re going to keel over from a heart attack if you don’t start taking better care of yourself,” I lectured. Roger and I had a unique relationship for Hollywood. He genuinely cared about me and me, him, though it got twisted up in all the dark machinations of the movie industry, there was a legitimate undercurrent of affection between us. Even if one of our first meetings involved him trying to seduce me and me reminding him he was old enough to be my father.

“Doesn’t seem to stop you from screwing Gavin Wiseley. He’s only five years younger than me, you know,” Roger pointed out drunkenly after I had naively told him that Gavin was different. I loved him, and he loved me, to which Roger had put his arm around me, shaking his head.

“You dear, sweet fool,” was all he said. But funnily enough, after that, we became friends, and when he made a movie, I was the makeup artist he took along. He was the only person I spoke to when I thought about leaving Gavin when the honeymoon phase had ended, and I realized how trapped I was.

“You’re a big deal, Roger. If you vouch for me, Gavin can’t blackball me, right? I’ll still get work if you hire me,” I had pleaded with him.

Roger had taken my hand and given me a sad look. “I don’t have the clout I used to have. Gavin is one of those rare breeds that gets more famous the longer he’s around. He’s stayed relevant. Everyone clamors to work with him. I don’t think there’s much I can do to help you with this. You should have hitched your wagon to me instead, but you were in ‘love.’” His dismissive derision had hurt, but it was the truth. I couldn’t leave Gavin; I had to wait for him to leave me to save my career.

Not that it had mattered in the end. Hollywood had become forever tarnished, and I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Roger laughed, then it turned into a coughing fit. “Are you going to spend this phone call telling me what a jackass I am, or can I tell you what I want to tell you?”

“It’s not like I can stop you,” I muttered, though I couldn’t help smiling. I missed Roger. I really did.

“So, I don’t know if you still read the trade mags now that you’re out there in that backwater town you’ve gone to hide in.” More coughing. He really needed to quit smoking.

“I’m not hiding,” I argued petulantly.

“Sure you’re not. Anyway, I’ve nabbed the Tiger Girl movie. We’re talking a nine-figure budget with blockbuster written all over it. I’m flying out to Hungary tomorrow. Production starts in ten days. Valerie Helsley is starring. I won’t tell you the price tag to nab her.” He cackled again, enjoying himself.

“Sounds great,” I told him, knowing exactly where this was headed. “But Rog—”

“I want you to come out there. We’ve scheduled shooting to last four months. I can pay you more than you’ve earned on any other movie. And there’s talk already of sequels. Guis will be here of course,” Roger rambled on. He started telling me about the locations and the aerial unit and special effects team he had gotten on board. “This is going to be the biggest thing to come out of Hollywood since The Avengers.”

Against my better judgment, I felt it. The buzz. The excitement. But it died quickly.

“I’ve given all that up, Rog. I don’t plan on going back,” I stated firmly.

“If this is about Gavin, you’re not the first piece of tail to get burned by him. He’s a dick. And there’s talk that with all this hashtag Me Too stuff, some things are going to start coming out about him. His days are numbered, Galloway. You won’t have to worry about him anymore.”

I would be lying if the thought of Gavin getting publicly crucified for being a sleaze didn’t fill me with immense joy, but there was more to my refusal.