Page 118 of The Rehoboth Retreat
“Well, un-glue your ass from whatever you’re stuck to because I have news.” She paused. “And you need to be sitting upright for this because you’re going to shit a diamond.”
I groaned louder and sat up. My joints popped like bubble wrap.
“Fine. I’m vertical. What’s the trauma?”
“You just got offered a role.”
I blinked. “A role inwhat,exactly? A cautionary tale? A PSA about untreated fame rot? A celebrity cooking show where I burn toast while crying over my ex?”
“No,you fuckingidiot.” She sounded giddy. “Amovie.A big one. Studio-backed. Marvel-level hype.”
I perked up. “Oh?”
“It’s based on that video game franchise—Legend of Arkenfell.”
I scratched my head. “The one with the shirtless knight and the talking dragon that got canceled for being ‘too bisexual’?”
“Exactly that one!” she said, thrilled. “They’re rebooting it. ThinkThe WitchermeetsDeadpool, but queerer, darker, more camp. And they wantyou.”
“Me? As what, the dragon?”
“Youwish,” she scoffed. “No. The rogue prince. The one with the scar and the dual swords and the tragic past. You’d be perfect.”
I sat there, stunned.
“Wait, hold on. Is this apity role?Like, oh look, Hudson Knight cleaned up for five seconds, and now let’s reward him with a leather breastplate and a bad accent?”
“No. It’s because your image isglowingright now,” she said, dead serious. “You’ve been out of the tabloids for the most part. You’ve stopped falling out of gay clubs like a sweaty piñata. And the photos of you at the beach? WithMiles Whitaker?”
Ah, there it was.
“You mean the gay Martha Stewart,” I muttered.
“Exactly. Do you know what it looks like to America right now? Hudson Knight, former Hollywood menace, finally settling down with a pristine homemaker who bakes scones and organizes pantries. It’s like a Hallmark redemption arc with dick jokes.”
I laughed—painfully.
“You’re saying this… Miles thing is actually helping me?” I asked for clarification.
Celeste sighed. “It’s not just helping you. It’sresurrectingyou. Directors are using words likerebrand,softened edges, andaudience trust. Your face was on a Pinterest board labeled ‘Hot Summer Redemption Arc,’ and I nearly wept.”
I blinked again. “People… like me?”
“For now,” she warned. “Which is why you need to sayyesto this role. There’s a dry run of script chemistry readings and training camp. They want you in LA early next week.”
“Jesus,” I breathed. “That’s fast.”
“Hollywood moves fast when your shirtless photo with a golden retriever goes viral,” she said. “Now, can I confirm?”
I looked out the window, past the dunes, toward the house where I knew Miles was probably crying, or journaling,or alphabetizing teabags by caffeine level.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Confirm it.”
“Great. You’ll thank me when you’re wearing armor and swinging a sword at a CGI ogre while sipping on a ten-million-dollar contract.”
As she hung up, I dropped my phone into my lap and stared out at the beach like it had answers.
Spoiler: it didn’t.
