Hollywood's Secret Baby

“You’re the director?” My brain feels as though it’s vibrating about in my skull. What he’s telling me is not only crazy; it’s impossible. But I have to be sure, so I pull out my phone and search for the movie. When I find what I’m looking for, I hold the phone out for him to see. “But the director’s name is Cory Flint,” I say as though he wouldn’t have realized this. “Yours is Gray.”

He shrugs, his face contorted into the pained expression of someone holding in a really juicy secret. “Is it though?” He then hands me his wallet. “Flip it open. Go ahead. Have a look.”

The first thing I notice upon folding open his wallet is the black credit card sticking out. Its edges look to be some kind of metal. I’ve heard of super exclusive cards. I wonder if this is one of them and, if so, how he has it. Under another flap of leather, behind a clear plastic window, is his driver’s license. His face smiling much too widely for someone standing in the DMV. And his name: Cory Flint.

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s simple, really. Cory Gray was a boring name. But ‘Flint’. Now that’s a name that implies power. ”

If I had any doubts that the sexual piece of man sitting before me was once my pudgy school buddy, they evaporate at this. It sounds just like Cory to change his name to something he thinks sounds cool. He was always talking about doing juvenile stuff like that.

“You're Cory Flint?” I ask, unable to keep the dumbfounded and slightly irreverent tone out of my question. “I don’t know many movie directors’ names, but that’s one everyone’s heard of. I mean, who hasn't seen The Leap of Faith?”

“It’s pretty crazy, because that movie was my sophomore project.”

“You made it when you were a sophomore in university?”

“No,” he says. “That’s film speak for a director’s second movie. My first was—”

“—The Stand-up,” I finish for him. “That’s another one everyone and their mother has seen.” I narrow my eyes at him. “You really did that? It was you?”

He laughs off my skepticism. “Yeah, well, T

he Leap of Faith was the second film I was a part of, and they say that the second one is where you let everyone down. Do you know what ‘sophomore’ means? It’s Greek for ‘a wise fool’. Like a person who feels super smart after learning the basics of a subject. The perfect name for a college student after their first year. Anyway, in filmmaking, your second project is supposed to be where you screw things up.”

“But you didn’t,” I say.

“I got lucky.”

That’s for sure. The more it sinks in that my Cory, the childhood friend who softened the blows of high school, is the Cory Flint, the more that I realize he’s obviously been lucky in a myriad of other ways too. In fact, I’m finding it impossible to connect the high school Cory to the current one.

“How did all of this happen?” This innocent question seems to pull down the temperature between us, because it inevitably leads our minds back to the past. To the day after prom when he abandoned me and our just conceived baby. So I can’t help it when my voice trembles as I ask, “What happened to you back then? Why did you leave me?”

“I didn’t change my name on a whim. Something happened after that night. Something I wasn’t in control of.”

As Cory draws in a deep breath, preparing to fill in all the blank spaces, that night after the prom plays across the movie screen of my mind like a worn-out VHS tape.

Chapter 4

Eleven Years Ago

“Hey,” Cory says when I come back into my room after having just taken a warm shower. He’s sitting on the edge of my bed, fiddling with the controller to my Nintendo. It’s not on, but his ADHD demands that he fidget with something.

When he pipes up, I actually jump. I didn't expect him to still be here. When my mother pulled into the driveway, much like a toddler who was just told she can’t eat a whole pint of ice cream by herself, I rushed out of the car in tears, making a straight path for the bathroom where I could have a good cry and then a shower to wash away the horrid night I’ve just lived through. So I just assumed Cory had headed home.

So when I walked back into my room, it was with the expectation that I wouldn’t have to face anyone again for the rest of the night. That’s why I was still drying my hair with my towel, an action that causes my sleeveless shirt to rise up and reveal my bellybutton. Add onto this the fact that I’m not wearing a bra, and I’m thoroughly caught unawares at Cory’s presence.

“I thought you went back home.” I didn't mean for it to sound like an accusation, but he flinches and pauses in his manic pressing of buttons for a few seconds before saying, “I thought you could use some company.”

Part of me sees this as sweet. But it’s a puny part of me overshadowed by the hulking desperation to be alone in my misery. If tonight at prom has taught me anything, it’s that I’m unloved and deservedly so. Cory hanging around feels more like pity than anything else.

“Your mom said I could sleep on the couch. You don’t mind, do you?”

“No,” I say, but I’m thinking the opposite.

Cory hasn't slept over in ages. Not since we were fifteen.

Back then we would go to one of our houses after school every day to watch movies or play games when we were supposed to be studying. We’d lie on the bed next to each other, but it was never awkward.