Mr. Hollywood’s Secret by Adora Crooks
Eric
Monica clicks the door shut.
“She’s cute,” she says, examining Chrys’ headshot, “likable. A little homey, but people go for that these days. Girl-next-door vibes. The tabloids will love her. I can see why you picked her.”
“I didn’t pick her. Nico did.”
I’m folded onto my agent’s blue suede couch, fingers pressed to the side of my head.
Everything hurts these days. My skull. My back. My heart.
Monica slides the headshot onto the glass coffee table between us. “Whatever the case, she’s not a bad candidate. Don’t you think?”
“Mm.”
Monica folds her arms over her chest. “How long have I been your agent?”
“Long.”
“So I’m going to tell you the truth because someone has to. Listen, Eric. You’re forty-five. If you keep on your exercise regimen, you have maybe three more years of leading man left in you. After that, it’s commercials for Viagra and Hallmark films.”
I sneer, indignant.
“Don’t believe me? Ask Roger Moore.”
I rub my hand over my knee. “I thought the point of this movie was to open the conversation.”
The movie I’m promoting—Catch & Kill—is different from my action movies in the past for one reason. My main character, who is a bit of a James Bond-style spy, sleeps around indiscriminately to get the information he needs. In this film, one of his targets happens to be a man—my co-star, Raul Díaz. The scene is treated like any other; it’s sexy, it’s dangerous. The kiss is closed mouth, the pants stay on, but the implication is further than any other box-office-busting action movie has gone before.
It’s what drew me to the part. Only now that I’ve opened up a little bit on camera, I feel my agent pushing me further back into my shell.
She sighs and sits down across from me. “It is,” she tells me. “And you have. This movie will help open a dialogue and pave the way for movies to come. Which is why we have to be careful about how we handle this. We don’t want to do too much all at once.”
“Paving the way is great for everyone who comes after,” I tell her. “Not so much for me.”
“Sacrifices we have to make. Look, you are what flyover states call a silver fox. So milk it while you can. Don’t throw your career away on something stupid.”
Something stupid. The words echo in my head.
Nico isn’t something stupid, I want to tell her.
Loveisn’t something stupid. The words hang on my lips.
But the fear of losing everything I’ve worked so hard for glues my tongue to the roof of my mouth, and I hate myself for it.
I tap my fingertips on the headshot and nudge it toward Monica.
“Just tell me what to do,” I say.