Page 11 of The Interview
Shaking my head with a smile on my face, I clean myself up before returning to the bedroom, where I find Georgia spread out in the recovery position, snoring quietly.
I know she’ll kill me later, but I grab a handful of tissue from the box and shove them between her legs. She doesn’t even flinch.
At some stage she lost the T-shirt, so I cover her with the quilt, climb in beside her, pull her naked body against mine, and kiss the top of her head.
“Job done,” I whisper into her hair.
My plan all along had been to fuck her into exhaustion. Despite her reassurances that she’s ‘fine’ with the upcoming film release, the interview, and the documentary, I’ve felt and heard her toss and turn every night for months now. Even when she does sleep, she dreams, talking and crying throughout the night.
I’ve fully supported and totally understand her need to do all of this, to take control of the narrative, but that doesn’t mean I like the impact it’s having on her mental health, or that I’m looking forward to what tomorrow might bring. Who knows what secrets will be revealed during this process.
With eighty percent of my world out living their lives, I pull the other twenty percent tightly against me, hating that I can’t protect them all from what’s about to come their way.
CHAPTER
FIVE
GEORGIA
My face has been made up by Chastity, who arrived early this morning with Daniel. The makeup is minimal—just enough to stop me looking washed out beneath the lights. I’ve done nothing with my hair other than brush it through and leave it down.
Following Daniel’s advice from yesterday, I’m wearing what I wear most days: leggings, a band tee—today’s artist of choice being Julian Cope, with the words ‘World Shut Your Mouth’ emblazoned across the front.
Was my choice a conscious decision? Absofuckinlutely. Do I care who it offends? Absofuckinlutelynot. Despite this, my stomach is in knots, and I feel like I’m either going to throw this morning’s black coffee up everywhere or have it come exploding out of my arsehole.
With a final readjustment to my hair, and a press of powder across Dan’s nose and cheeks, we begin.
“Evening, my little dish cloths! Welcome to a very special edition of Spill the Tea, where my inimitable guest is thefabulous, fantastic, and stunning—can you tell I’m a huge fan?—the truly mythological creature that isGeorgia McCarthy King!”
Daniel gives his own little round of applause before fanning his face. There are cameras pointed at both of us, and it was explained to me earlier that they’ll decide in the editing room how and at what moments everything will be stitched seamlessly together.
I sit with a genuine smile on my face, listening to Dan reel off a list of platforms to watch, listen, or follow what’s about to take place.
“Let me start by saying thank you, Georgia. Thank you for this life-altering opportunity, and for graciously allowing us into your home and agreeing to the documentary. Before I crawl up your arse any more, for the sake of clarity, I want to go straight in with a question. Probably one the whole world would like the answer to: why?”
I lick my lips and swallow, but Daniel continues before I can answer.
“Why the interview, why the documentary, why the film?”
Rolling my lips together, I draw a breath in through my nose and slowly release it. “Control,” I say with a shrug. “When I heard that the rights to a film version of an unofficial biography were being touted around—a biography I haven’t read but have been informed contains many untruths—I decided I’d finally had enough.” I pause and decide on this rare occasion to follow my husband’s advice and just ‘be myself’.
“Actually, what I thought was, fuck this and fuck them. I’m done with the lies and bullshit. I’m done with other people making money from telling them, so I spoke with my brothers and asked them to find me good producers, directors, screenwriters, everything and everyone needed to pull something like this together. Then I sat down for weeks and weeks with the amazing Tori Ryder and basically told her mylife story. She spoke with Marley, Lennon, Jimmie, and Ash at length. Tom and Billy even agreed to give their input, and eventually we came up with a screenplay.”
“You barely drew breath while explaining all of that.”
“Yeah, get used to that. My hand gestures also become fully Italian when I’m passionate about a subject.”
“Yep, noticed that, too. So, this project is obviously something you’re passionate about.”
“Absolutely. Not just to finally havemysay, to get the truth out there, but to have all of it raise money for the Triple M Foundation rather than having a bunch of greedy, bullshitting bastards make their bank accounts fatter from it.”
“You’re donating everything?”
“Everything. The money I’m being paid for this interview and documentary, and all profits from the film. Marley’s written the soundtrack, along with Conner Reed. They’ve donated their time and talent for free, and it’ll be performed by Distant Echo, my nephew’s’ band.”
“They’re a relatively new set-up. Are they donating, too?”
“They are. They’re new, but they’ve all come from other successful bands. Joe, Elliot, and Fin from Paywall, and Jake from Young and Wild, so they can afford it,” I say with a grin while hoping that it’s true and that none of them are struggling.
