Page 58 of Reel Love

When I arrive at the London West Hollywood, I’m ushered through the hotel's private access entrance and up into one of the rooms on the floor they have designated for press junkets. The members of the press are in the screening room watching the movie before they’ll meet with me and Rex and other cast members. All I have to do all day is sit in the same hotel room while person after person files through asking me many of the same questions the previous interviewer asked. Then Rex and I will be herded into a conference room and the press will have their chance at interviewing the two of us together.

I change into the outfit I brought with me. My hair and makeup are done in a casual style that says, leading actress. And then we’re off. Reporter after reporter, along with a few socialmedia influencers and other members of the media come through my room in a blur.

Most of them ask about my role, my feelings about the film, my plans for what’s next, the traditional questions. Every last one of them asks about me and Rex. I take the fifth, or whatever the term is for, “No comment,” in this business.

My publicist called me yesterday to apprise me of the protocol. Thankfully, she knows me. I had no interest in pulling this charade. She advised me, “Sometimes less is more. The media will fill in the gaps you leave wide open. Say things like, ‘I’m not comfortable talking about that yet,’ or ‘We’re glad to be getting to see one another again after the hiatus of not being on set daily with one another.’ The media will assume a lot. Everyone will be in a frenzy over you two.”

Frenzy doesn’t begin to describe what the media are like by the time Rex and I are together at the end of the day. I’ve only eaten two bites of a bagel with smoked salmon and cream cheese, a few nibbles of salad, and a protein shake. I think I got to the restroom twice, and my vision may be beginning to blur.

We sit at the front of a large room with both our publicists present. Rex and I are side by side in padded chairs. The press goes nuts. Initially, questions are asked politely. Some are about our on-screen chemistry—those are only intended to prime the pump.

Within five minutes of the start of the press conference, reporters are raising their hands like kids trying to get into Wonka’s factory. The rapid-fire questions reveal their hunger for more of the story that “leaked” when Mother set up our lunch date.

Rex fields one. “I adore Alana. And I admire her. I mean, look at her. She’s talented and beautiful.” He winks at me and I smile back at him, grateful he’s better at this than I am.

A reporter in the back gets his opportunity. “But are you two an item again?”

“We are exploring a reunification,”Rex answers.

I sit mutely beside him, pasting a smile on my face and trying my best to remember that this is what publicity looks like. It’s feeding an insatiable beast in hopes that the beast will benevolently feed you in return.

“Was your lunch at The Henry last week professional or personal?” A woman up front shouts without being called on.

“Our lunch was an opportunity to catch up and reconnect,” Rex says.

Rex for president. Honestly, his capacity for diplomacy is staggering.

“Alana! Alana!” Another reporter calls my name.

Caroline, my publicist, points to him. “Yes?”

“We’ve heard from Rex. What will you tell us? Throw us a bone.”

I glance toward the back of the room. My mother entered the building midday. She’s been around the periphery ever since.

“I’ll say that Rex and I feel strongly for one another. And this season is one where we’re planning to spend a lot of time together.”

I look over at Rex and he smiles warmly at me. I hold his gaze—mostly because it feels much better than looking out into a sea of rabid reporters.

Then I look back at them and say, “And that’s all we want to say about our relationship for now. I’m sure you’ll understand our desire for privacy while we reconnect.”

When I look back at Mother, she’s beaming. I didn’t lie, but I spun the truth in a way that implied things that couldn’t be further from reality.

SEVENTEEN

Stevens

We are like islands on the sea,

separate on the surface, but connected in the deep.

~ William James

It’s late when I get home from bringing Alana back from Los Angeles. She looked exhausted. I had brought her a sandwich on instinct after she described what kind of day she expected to have. She ate that thing with the gusto of a linebacker after a rough game. I loved watching her devour it.

It’s the most peculiar feeling, knowing Alana as I do after this week, and then trying to pair that knowledge with the movie star she definitely is. She feels like two different people. But they’re both her. And my reactions to her swing on a pendulum from wanting to give her a haven from all she obviously deals with, to feeling like I can’t form a sentence in the presence of her beauty and fame. What’s even stranger are the times I find myself relating to her more comfortably than I ever have with a woman who isn’t my sister or mom.

I get ready for bed and prop a few of my pillowsbehind my back. I’m at a good point in the octopus book and I want to read a bit to settle my brain. When I open my drawer to pull out my glasses, I smile. How on earth did Alana know I wear reading glasses? Perceptive. That’s what she is. I guess that’s what makes her such an incredible actress. She observes small details many of us might pass by.

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