Page 2 of Fresh Start
I froze.
My mouth twitched, looking for the words to answer, but I couldn't find anything to say. Had my role as Detective Strong put my life on hold?
Well, let’s see. I'd never had a partner, I'd never been in a relationship, I'd never been engaged, and almost never been broken-hearted. Instead, I'd spend twelve years chasing bad guys and developing superpowers as Strong, all while taking pictures with superfans as my entire life was made into a show for the amusement of the press and their cult following.
"I…I don’t—" I mumbled.
"I'm sorry, but the time for personal questions is over. Do you have any questions about the preview we’ve just watched?” the moderator asked and glanced at me.
“Er, no. It was awesome. I can’t wait for the movie,” the guy said, and the audience cheered.
He sat back down, and we all took more questions from fans. These ones were far more predictable, and as such, easier to answer, and the half hour flew by before I knew it.
“Before we wrap up”—the moderator turned to me—“can we ask you to take one of your customary selfies?”
While in real life I was a bit of a shut-in and rather shy, my online presence was vibrant. After my career had taken off, I’d decided to help good causes that I held near and dear to my heart, and one way of getting more people involved had been through my social media channels. I had a Facebook Fan Club where I often dropped exclusive stuff along with my latest humanitarian adventures, and my Instagram page with over 40 million followers was where I posted pictures and live videos of every event I attended.
Taking group selfies with entire audiences was sort of my thing, and I was always asked to take them at the end.
It was truly the only redeeming moment of this or any other event, so I gladly took my phone out, flipped the camera to selfie mode, and the guys on the stage squeeze behind me. The audience all did their own poses, and I snapped several shots of people coming together. With everything that was going on in the world, didn’t we need more community and less dissent?
A round of cheers and applause roared across the hall after the photos were taken, and the cast hi-fived me.
When I walked backstage, Tracy was chatting with Karen about something I wasn't privy to, because as soon as I approached, they stopped talking.
"I cannot believe they let that fan talk to you like that," Tracy said. "We'll have to do some crisis control. I can ping some of my friends in the press and tell them this man was a rampant stalker. We can make him look like he is a deluded groupie."
I sighed. "Tracy, calm down, please. It was nothing. And besides, when have I ever asked you to do that sort of thing?"
"Dawson, he embarrassed you in front of everyone. In front of the whole press. People will start talking. They start talking, and the truth will come out. And I know you don't want the truth plastered on every gossip rag known to man."
It was true. I didn't want the truth to become common knowledge. Being gay in Hollywood was not the most successfully prolific thing one could be. I had seen a gaggle of actors come out of the closet, only to have their chances and opportunities taken away from them simply because producers didn't think they could continue to act in a role they were good enough to play before. As if they'd never been gay in the first place. As if already playing those same characters wasn't enough proof they could play them.
"I guess you're right," I replied. "But please, don't make him sound like a deluded monster. Maybe just say—"
"Don't worry, I'll take care of it," she said and shut me down. “Dinner?”
“Nah, I'm beat. I think I'll get back to the hotel and head to my parents tonight instead of tomorrow. I need to clear my head,” I said.
Karen opened her purse and tried to hand me a car key.
"Before you go, though," she said, wrapping her palm around the key and pulling her hand back, "will you please sign the contract?"
As if on cue, Tracy took a clipboard out of Karen’s other hand and clicked a pen open.
"Karen, not now, please," I said.
"Dawson, the studio keeps asking why you haven't signed yet. They keep asking Alice and Karen if you're going to drop out, and they don't know what to tell them. At least tell us what you're thinking," Tracy said.
I pushed the contract back to Tracy and grabbed the key from Karen, who gave me a big sigh. "I'll sign it when I'm back. I promise."
"I guess I should know by now what you're like, Mr. Last Minute," Tracy said.
I tapped my hand on her cheek playfully. "It's been ten years, sweetie. I would hope so. See you both in a week, girls."
And with that, I left for the parking lot and drove the rental with tinted windows back to my hotel.
I’d only been in Virginia Beach a handful of times, and always with the studio entourage to promote the newest film and attend the smaller Comic Book convention that happened in town every November, so it was nice to find out that it was still light out and still warm.
