Page 11 of I Did Something Bad
“You… didn’t ask. And I try not to bring up my personal life in interviews.” It’s the best lie I can come up with on the spot.
He’s studying my face like that again, like at this point, he could pick it out blindfolded just by tracing my features with his hands.Don’t let him get inside your head,I remind myself.
“I understand. Are you close with your sister? Newfound romantic bitterness aside?” he finally asks as his careful expression breaks into a soft smile.
I feel simultaneous bursts of relief and triumph. Bull’s. Eye. I wasn’t expecting to do this tonight, but it’s worked. His shoulders lower a few degrees, and my sense of smugness rises. I just gained the upper hand in this relationship, and he doesn’t even know it.
“Yeah.” I nod. “Apart from, you know, the usual petty sibling nonsense.”
His smile widens. “I get that.”
His head is tilted to the side, and he looks the most relaxed and guard-down he’s been all evening. On instinct, I seize the opening. “Now, what about you? Snickers heist aside. Do you have a secret that you’d—how did you put it? Rather sell your soul to the devil than have anyone find out?”
My eye catches on his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. Obviously, he has secrets. All celebrities have secrets. Everyhumanhas secrets. But it’s the way he pulls back, sits up, and resumes eating before the half-teasing “Just the usual” has fully left his lips that snaps me to attention.
“How about one of your upcoming roles?” I press.
“Like what?”
“You tell me. Can you reveal anything that’s currently in the pipeline? Anything thatdoesn’trhyme with Dames Lond?”
He smiles, but turns his attention away, like one of his facial muscles might reveal something if this goes on for too long. “Nothing confirmed,” he says.
“Do you want to do another indie film, likeBeginning, Middle, End?Or are you continuing down the more conventional rom-com route for a while? Are you and May planning on shooting anything else?”
“Maybe,” he says with a caution that the question doesn’t warrant.
“Maybe?” I echo.
He looks back up at me, a surge in confidence lifting his features. “May and I need to see if we get throughthismovie first without killing each other. It’s one thing to be best friends”—he lifts his bottle to his lips—“it’s another to be best friendsandcoworkers.”
“You’re telling me,” I challenge, “that, should it arise once more, you would actively turn down the opportunity to work on a movie with May Diamond?”
“Truth be told, May can be a brat,” he says, then pauses. “But you didn’t hear it from me,” he adds with a wink and a teasing lilt that only best friends have a right to.
I know when I’m hitting a dead end. It’s fine, I’ll find a way to circle back to this somehow. For now, I’ll try a different approach.
“What’s your favorite role you’ve ever played?”
He takes his time chewing and swallowing another wonton. “It changes regularly but right now, probably…I Won’t Tell If You Won’t.”
My forehead creases in surprise. It was, if I remember correctly, his second-ever movie, the one right beforeRenegademade him a household name; if you stopped someone on the street and asked them to name five Tyler Tun movies,I Won’t Tell If You Won’tprobably wouldn’t make anyone’s list. I was expecting him to sayLost and Foundbecause what kid who grew up watching WWE doesn’t dream about starring alongside The Rock, orCall It What You Wantbecause what human being doesn’t dream about making out with Emma Watson in the middle of the Palace of Versailles, or, the most obvious one—Dylan McClane (aka John McClane’s nephew) in last year’sDie Hardreboot.
“Why?” I ask.
His eyes wander around the table, as though he’s searching forthe answer in a script that someone might have secretly taped onto the side of the chili oil pot. “It was—” he starts, and pauses. I have a feeling that it’s not a case of him not having an answer, but that he’s trying to put it into a nice, tidy package before presenting it to me. “Because I was experienced enough to not be too anxious to enjoy it, but also not famous enough to be too anxious to enjoy it.” He laughs at my puzzled expression. “That sounded much sager in my head, I gotta be honest. Basically, I was a kid, and it felt like this acting thingmightwork out and also it might not, so I was having fun on set every day like it was the last time I’d ever get to do one of these because, well, back then, it might have been.”
I smile at his earnestness. “Do you miss it? Before all the hubbub and lights?”
“Do I miss the measly paychecks? Believe it or not, not really.” He laughs. “I kind of enjoy perks like being a homeowner. Truly lives up to the hype.”
I hold my smile, but I’m not letting him get away with distracting me with humor. “I mean, do you miss…” I try to frame it so it doesn’t sound so sentimental. “I guess, do you miss those days when acting, this whole job, didn’t come with all the pressure and obligations it does now? Without all the publicity tours and the multiple international premieres and brand endorsements and shit?”
“What, do I miss acting just for the sake of acting?”
I wouldn’t have put it that way, but the way he said it, with a rueful smile and a tone that bordered on wistfulness—it makes me curious.
I nod.
