A/N: On Patreon there are chapters ahead right now!https://www.patreon.com/cw/pageboy707
There was a loud bang on the door, and I am not a morning person.
I slammed the door open to a well-dressed Rebecca with a cup of coffee. "What?!"
"Did I wake you up? It's 2:00 p.m." She looked at her phone, and I had an urge to throw it on the floor.
"I'm sorry, but it's urgent." She let herself into the room and sat on the bed. She scrolled down on her phone.
"Umm. There's been some pushback on Whiplash premiering at Sundance."
I rubbed my eyes while still half-asleep. "What do you mean?"
"Just online. This is typical, that you were given it too easily. This Twitter thing is new to me."
I smirked. "Is that the best he could do?"
She looked confused. "What happened to you and Mark? He told me to leave you alone and cancel your press arrangements. I feel like that's a bad decision."
I pointed to the coffee that she put down on the desk. "Is that for me?"
"No."
"Great."
She grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The screen showed the blue-and-red banner of CNN. Wolf Blitzer said, "...with just one week left before automatic spending cuts and expiring tax provisions take full effect, Capitol Hill remains deadlocked."
"Oh, please," I whispered. Although, she already clicked to the entertainment section; E! News flashed on the screen.
"I took my kids to Rise of the Guardians," a dark-skinned girl said. "That's probably their favorite holiday movie this year." She smiled.
The Filipina woman to her right said, "It was my mistake thinking Call Me By Your Name was a holiday movie, then."
"It was," she smirked.
The Filipina woman said, "I saw Looper with my niece, it wasn't that bad. Ryan Stone must have the greatest luck in Los Angeles."
She nodded. "And Sundance again for Whiplash?"
They both smiled at each other, and as I turned to face the TV while putting my clothes in my luggage, I said, "Please turn that shit off."
She continued to look at the TV. "You are quite popular."
"You are my publicist. I hope you would know."
She turned off the TV. "By the way, we hired a new assistant. You will meet her back in L.A."
I smiled. "We?"
"I don't know how you will drive all the way up."
I said, "I'm gonna delete Twitter. Can you manage my account? Oh wait, I should message Genesis."
She smiled. "Ohh, who's Genesis? Were the rumors true?"
"My biggest fan. That sounds a bit weird."
I packed my clothes and reached for my phone to look at any notifications, and I saw a message from RyanStoneDaily:
Hello! This is Genesis! That GMA segment was fantastic!
I hadn't eaten anything, so I messaged back: Do you have any good spots?
She replied immediately: There's this quiet bagel place on 46th and 8th. No tourists, too.
I'm near there right now.
I hesitated to reply, but I was bored and wanted to leave this hotel room.
Also, I wanted to forget the meeting that never happened. The city below had a restless, hollow hum, filtering up through double-paned glass while winter wind rattled the exterior metal frames.
Everything in this room felt clinical, impersonal, and suffocating. Meeting an anonymous stranger from the internet was reckless, the exact sort of reckless decision Rebecca would scream about for twenty minutes straight, but right now I didn't care about PR protocol or staying discreet.
I just needed to hear a real voice that wasn't trying to sell my image to the trades."Have to go," I said to Rebecca. "See you next year."
"You're not coming to L.A. for New Year's? You have a lot of invites, you know."
I stood there. "I might pass out if I go to another one of those parties."
She didn't respond, and I pulled on a faded grey heather hoodie and threw an oversized wool peacoat over it.
She said, "The driver will be here in about an hour."
The December air hit me when I pushed through the hotel's doors. I tried to blend in, but everyone passed by me without a second look.
It's one of my favorite things about New York.
I turned down 46th Street, leaving the heavy traffic of 8th behind me. The spot was a hole-in-the-wall place tucked next to a laundromat. A small bell clinked above my head as I pushed inside.
Tucked all the way in the back, sitting alone underneath an old map of the metro system, was Genesis.
I walked over as I unwrapped my scarf. She said, "I didn't think you would show up."
I pulled out the metal chair across from her and sank into it. "This is a nice place."
I put down my sweater and ordered a bagel with a heavy smear of scallion cream cheese.
I sat back, and Genesis pushed her glasses up to the bridge of her nose. After some time, she said, "You really deserve a break."
I let out a dry laugh. "Do I look that bad?"
"No. No. It's—"
"You're right. After this, I'm going back home with the family."
"Did you get any good gifts for them?"
"Fuck. I'm a horrible guy. I go to the Woodbury Common."
"You would get swarmed."
"Yeah."
I took a bite from the bagel, and I totally forgot I was talking to someone.
She asked, "You like it?"
"It's delicious. Definitely one of the best I've had in the city."
"After school, I would come here and just watch movies or do some homework." She looked up at me.
"Yeah, it's definitely quiet."
For the first time in a while, I felt completely safe and was in no rush to go somewhere else. Last night faded out of my memory, just at this bagel place.
"What do you think about becoming famous? What would you do?" I smiled.
"Doesn't look like fun. I mean, publicly."
"You're not wrong." I finished my bagel and wished there was more. "I don't think anyone my age should get it that quickly."
She nodded her head and we continued our conversation. We drifted into easy film talk, the kind of debate you have with someone who actually watches movies rather than tracking box-office spreadsheets.
We talked about Zachary Quinto's raw turn on Broadway in The Glass Menagerie, and how Andrew Garfield managed to bring that vulnerability directly onto a 35mm film set.
"Andrew's just generous," I said, rolling up the butcher paper from my bagel. "A lot of guys with a superhero franchise would hold back on an indie set. Protect their brand. But he's never afraid to go all the way."
"You could tell," Genesis smiled, resting her chin on her palm. "Him as Oliver was so sad, especially the way he left."
I checked the grease-stained napkin dispenser: forty minutes had vanished. I stood up, reached into my pocket, and dropped a forty on the table.
"Hey, I invited you," she protested.
"I can't let Twitter know that I'm a dick to people who watch my movies." I smiled, extending a hand across the laminate table. Her grip was firm. "Thanks, Genesis. Seriously. I needed this."
"Take that break, Ryan. Don't look at Twitter."
"Radio silence," I promised.
I pulled my beanie low, wound the scarf around my neck, and stepped back out into the freezing midtown air. The bite didn't sting as much this time.
Back at the hotel, the suite was empty. Rebecca had already vanished—probably on an afternoon flight back to Los Angeles to wrangle more trade exclusives. In her place, waiting quietly near the elevators, was an older driver in a heavy navy trench coat."Mr. Stone?" he asked with a polite nod.
"Whenever you're ready. Traffic out of the Lincoln Tunnel is only getting worse."
"Let's do it," I said.
I grabbed my duffel from the room, brought my gear down, and slid into the back of the town car. Within an hour, the snarled concrete corridors of Manhattan peeled away, replaced by the bare winter trees and rocky cuts of the Palisades Parkway. Low grey clouds drifted across the horizon, casting pale shadows across the silent Hudson River below.
The rhythm of rubber against asphalt steadily washed away the noise of press cycles, studio executives, and online hysteria. Watching the frozen roadside brush roll past the tinted glass, I leaned my head against the cold window frame and let my breathing finally slow down, letting the exhaustion sink in deep.
As we crossed into Orange County, the sky turned violet. The driver navigated off the state route, turning through familiar suburban roads until the car slowed down at the mouth of a quiet cul-de-sac. There were kids sliding down the snow covered hills .
There it was. Tessa's house, nestled between snowdrifts, yellow light glowing from the bay windows and a thin plume of smoke coming out. The gravel crunched under the tires as we rolled into the driveway.
I looked up at the Christmas decorations that I know Tessa loved to put up. I instantly smiled.