I don’t know.
When I reach the greenroom, I slip in through the doors and stand near the back. I see Ms. Greenhill chewing out one of her assistants as he cowers. I don’t envy him, but I smile a little, remembering how terrifying Ms. Greenhill can be and glad she’s not directing that anger at me. I see Caty sitting sideways across one of the chairs, wearing a matching kelly-green pantsuit with a hot-pink belt. She looks up from her phone to give me a nod. On the far side of the room, Rico waves at me from the snack table. I realize to my surprise that I actually have some friends here. Is that sad? That my only friends are the cast and employees of the probably soon-to-be-canceled show Demon Heart? Or is that actually really cool? I can’t decide.
I spot Jamie, hunched in the corner, completely ignoring me. I don’t see Forest anywhere. Ms. Greenhill finishes dressing down her assistant and walks over, running her hand through her short black bob like she’s wiping away his incompetence.
“Hi, Claire,” she says. “Just a few minutes left. You ready?”
No, not at all. Why did I even demand to do this? I have no idea what I’m going to ask when I get up there, I have no idea how to hold my hands, or if my hair looks okay. I can feel the nerves creeping in the closer we get to showtime.
Ms. Greenhill reads the anxiety on my face. “You’re gonna be fine. Honestly. We wouldn’t have said yes unless we thought you’d kill it.”
She gives me a comforting pat on my shoulder and moves off. My knees are starting to feel weak. Where the hell is Forest?
“I DON’T KNOW how the press got it—we’ve been having problems with leaks all year,” Reynolds says, thwacking me on the back with a heavy hand. My agent told me Reynolds wanted to talk to me alone, so I waited like an idiot in the service corridor to catch him as he came out of a panel about the future of the video game in Hollywood. My agent also said the trades are running stories that the studio is circling me for the Red Zone role.
“I want you to be careful because there may be some Red Zone fans at your panel today. You know, eager to meet the new guy, see whatcha got,” he says.
The idea of new fans, new expectations, it gives me heartburn. What ideas do they have about Jack Tension that they’re going to ask me to comment on? What standards are they going to hold me to? I’ve barely gotten used to the Demon Heart fans.
But I don’t say that. Instead, I say, “Sounds good.”
“Now listen to me,” Reynolds says, taking my arm and guiding me into a walk-and-talk. “This thing with the studio? It’s tender. I’m talking tender,” he says intensely. “They can still nix you at any moment and force me to go with Pratt.”
I knew Pratt’d be in the mix for this!
He continues, “I want you to picture this situation as a burn victim. Weeping open sores. Do not poke. TENDER.”
“I got it,” I say to put an end to that metaphor.
“When you go out there today, I don’t want you to say anything about Red Zone except, ‘I would be incredibly honored to be considered for the part. I love the game.’ Got it?”
“Yup.”
“And don’t say anything about Demon Heart except, ‘It was a wonderful experience that I will cherish forever.’”
“Cherish forever?”
“You got it?”
“So I can’t talk about Red Zone, I can’t talk about Demon Heart. What the hell can I talk about?”
“Hell if I know, this is a damn spot,” Reynolds says. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”
We arrive at my door and he slaps me on the back again, harder than before, and heads off.
I remind myself that I used to think Jon Reynolds was hot shit. Now he just seems smarmy. I take a beat before I go inside. I’ve been watching yoga videos on YouTube to mix up my workouts so it’s not all weights and cardio. I take a few restorative breaths, and then let out a long exhale, making a big ahhh sound.
Don’t talk about Red Zone, don’t talk about Demon Heart. It’s all so ridiculous. My whole job is to go out there and talk. Paula would love nothing more than if I bared my soul and gushed about personal shit and cried. That’s the sort of thing that goes viral. Jamie would love for me to tell everyone to watch the show Demon Heart and nothing but the show Demon Heart and then share safe anecdotes about how much fun the show Demon Heart is to work on. Claire? Well, we all know what Claire wants, but that would really make Reynolds’s head explode.
After one more restorative breath, I go in.
“There he is!” Rico hollers from across the room as soon as I enter. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks and it’s the longest we’ve been apart basically since we met. He crosses the room in a few strides and wraps me up in a big hug. “I missed you, Reed. What, I gotta go all the way to Comic-Con to see you these days?” He puts me down, then runs his fingers through my hair. “Oh, sorry, whoops, I forgot, don’t touch the hair.”
Over Rico’s shoulder, I see Claire biting her lip, wearing the look of a shipper watching her OTP interact. (Yeah, yeah, I’ve learned the lingo, so what?) Rico tries to arrange my hair back the way it was, but I pull away from him.
“Stop, stop, you’re making it worse!”
“I’m never gonna learn if you don’t let me practice,” he protests, laughing. I just push him away and fix it myself.
Claire is gesturing me over covertly like she’s got the answers to the midterm to give me under the bleachers at lunch.
I go over to her. “Hey.”
She’s hugging her body with one arm and she’s covering half her face with the other one. She looks up at me through her fingers.
“What is it?” I ask, popping into a crouch next to her chair so we can be eye-to-eye.
“Forest,” she says into her hand. She moves her hand so she can talk clearly. “What do I do?”
I’ve only ever seen Claire stridently on a mission to convince everyone she’s correct. Seeing her curled up, unsure, it’s giving me secondhand nerves.
“What are you talking about? You’re anxious about this panel?”
“No it’s not that.” She gives me a pointed look. “What do I ask?”
And I realize what she’s saying. SmokeHeart. I take a deep breath to buy myself some time. I don’t know what to tell her. I know what would make life easiest for me, but is that what I should say? Or should I tell her to follow her heart?
Earlier she told me that there are a lot of people who would like to hear me open up about SmokeHeart, that I could help heal some old wounds if I would just be honest about it. Maybe I should tell her to ask me about it. Press me until I can’t not talk about it. But I know Reynolds would be pissed at me for saying something no matter how it comes out.
So here we are. Stuck.
“I know what it feels like to have everyone expecting something from you,” I say. “Telling you what to do, where to go, how to sound, when to smile, what to say. I don’t want to do that to you. You get to be your own person today.” Claire frowns. “I think you should do what you think is best. There’s no one I’d trust up there more than you.”
She scowls. I haven’t helped her at all. I give her a smile and stand up again. I don’t envy her this job.
I pass Jamie sitting by himself in the corner, on his phone. He glances up and we accidentally make eye contact. I have absolutely nothing to say to him. He nods at me. I keep walking.
I’m happy to be here, happy to see Rico and Claire, and do my part to put my face out there if it helps my career, or helps Rico get a second season. But if I never have to talk to Jamie again, I’d be perfectly okay with that. One more panel and my obligations are fulfilled.
I go over to Paula’s assistant Donna and say, “Whatcha got for me this time?” and she pulls this really beautiful vintage Alien T-shirt out of her bag. I can’t believe it.
“I love Alien!” I say. “It’s my favorite movie!”
“So I heard,” she says.
I take off my T-shirt and slip the new one on. It’s soft and fits
perfectly. I turn around and Rico gives me a thumbs-up. “Thanks,” I mouth at him from across the room.
Then Paula’s hollering at us to get ready, and we gather our things and follow her toward the stage. It’s showtime.
MS. GREENHILL LEADS me to the side of the stage. I’ve stood on the sidelines before, but never while knowing I had to step out from behind the curtain. I peek out and see the ballroom is huge, packed solid with fans. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
Ms. Greenhill takes me by the shoulders and looks directly into my eyes. “Claire, there is no one better suited to this than you right now. I want you to know that everyone here believes in you. You’re going to be great. Now take a deep breath and hold it.” I do. “And let it out slowly.” I do. “Now go get ’em.” She slaps me on the shoulder, and I stagger out from behind the curtain and make my way step-by-step onto the stage as the applause and cheering erupts from the audience.
The lights are very bright—almost blinding. I don’t look at the crowd, just train my eyes on the podium at the end of the stage and focus on making it without tripping. When I get there, I put my hands on the hard wood surface of it, feeling it cool and steady under me as I lean into the microphone.
“Hello, everyone,” I say, and I hear my voice projected supernaturally loud over the ballroom as the audience hushes. I think about how much more power I have, standing here on this stage, with this microphone in front of me, than anyone out there. I could say anything right now and they would all have to listen. My heart thumps with nerves.
“My name is Claire Strupke. Some of you know me as heart-of-lightness. I want to welcome you all to the Demon Heart panel at San Diego Comic-Con.” The audience cheers wildly. I look into the crowd and I happen to see Tess in the fourth row, staring at me with huge, wild eyes. I wink at her, and she just looks even more shocked. Seeing her makes some of my nervousness subside. Just imagine you’re talking to Tess. “Please welcome to the stage, from the show Demon Heart, Jamie Davies, Rico Quiroz, and Forest Reed.” I can’t be the only one who noticed that Forest’s name got slightly more cheers than the others, including a distinctly male whooping. This is going to be interesting.
The three of them come out and take their seats behind the table. Rico and Forest smile encouragingly in my direction. Doing great so far!
“So,” I say, “Demon Heart is at a critical point, having completed its first season, but not yet picked up for a second. That’s unusual, for a show to not have a second season order this late in the year, isn’t it?”
Jamie shoots me a look. “Yes, it is, thanks for bringing it up,” he says drily. There’s an uneasy laugh in the audience. Those are the first words he’s spoken to me since that night in Seattle.
I shake it off and continue. “Fans are eager to know what’s in store for the future of Demon Heart.”
And here it is. The moment of decision. I could ask, Can you address the issue of queerbaiting and how your show has contributed to it? Or In a world in which bisexual representation is so rare, how do you feel about the possibility that one or both of your leads might be bisexual? Or even something snarky like How do you feel about your show being the poster child for heteronormativity?
I look out at the crowd, who are getting restless. Are they waiting for me to ask about it? Will they feel let down if I don’t? I lock eyes with Forest, who is watching me intently, waiting. It’s unfair that we ask this of him. That he feels like he has to put up a false front just so he can get the role he wants. Is he not an actor? What does it matter if his last character is gay? It doesn’t mean they all have to be. But those are questions for the people in charge of his next project, not this one.
I turn my gaze to Rico.
“Rico, the first question is for you. How do you manage to memorize your lines that are in demontongue? That seems like it would be really hard.”
Rico laughs and starts answering the question, talking about his elaborate and hilarious process involving making recordings of the lines and listening to them in his sleep. As he answers, Forest looks at me strangely, like I surprised him. He should be grateful; I’m saving his ass here. I’m doing this for him.
My next question is about how Forest learned to use the battle-ax. My next is about the costumes they wear. I start asking them questions about themselves that I know they have great answers to because I’ve spent so much time with them. I get Rico to talk about how much he loves those videos where returning soldiers surprise their dogs. I get Forest to discuss his love of Voodoo Doughnuts. I ask them questions a regular moderator wouldn’t know to ask, and they’re giving great answers, funny and authentic and real. I can feel the audience lapping it up.
Finally, it’s time for the audience Q&A. There’s a scramble as fans stand to move toward the microphone. I feel a little nervous for Forest. He might still get a SmokeHeart question, but at least it won’t come from me.
The audience’s rush to the microphone sounds a little physical, with some screeches and grunts and expletives, but the lights are too bright to see too much. One of the stagehands flicks on a spotlight that hits the first person at the mic.
I notice right away that he’s a man. He has a beard and he’s wearing a giant black backpack that’s the size of a small child. He leans in too close to the mic and asks his question. “Hey, Forest. I’m pretty interested in the fact that you might be the new Jack Tension. What can you tell us?”
Okay, fine, we’ll get the Red Zone question out of the way first, and then we’ll move on to Demon Heart questions.
Forest smiles at the guy and gives a line that sounds practiced. “All I can say is I would be incredibly honored to be considered for the part. I love the game.”
“Do you even play Red Zone?” the gamer asks.
“I’m sorry, but just one question per person, please,” I say as the gamer scowls at me and leaves the line. The next person steps up to the mic in a LAG KILLS shirt. Another freaking gamer.
He says, “Okay, but do you play Red Zone? And which character do you play as?” I roll my eyes and look back at Forest.
“Actually, yes, I play almost every day. I was just playing it this morning with a friend of mine.” I feel my cheeks warm at that. Friend. I bite my lip and try to keep a smile from taking over my face. He sneaks a look at me. “And I play as Jack Tension.” There’s a titter in the crowd, and I realize that this seemingly innocuous statement about which character he plays means something to Red Zone fans. I wonder who else you can play as, and what that choice means about the player. I guess every fandom has its own set of insider politics and identity markers.
The next person steps up to the microphone and I am going to scream because it’s another freaking gamer. “What other video games do you play? Like, actually play. Like, to the end,” he says. Is this whole panel going to be video game questions?
I find Tess in the audience, and she rolls her eyes. I almost laugh. I can’t wait to hear her commentary on this afterward.
Forest leans into his microphone. “You know what? I’m gonna put a pin in that one. It’s a legitimate question, if a little condescending, but I’d like to see if there are any Demon Heart questions from the audience. This is a Demon Heart panel, after all, not a Red Zone one.”
I’m impressed. The gamer fan grumbles and moves aside as he looks around to see if any Demon Heart fans are going to step up. A very small girl, about ten years old, squeezes past the gamers and reaches the microphone. She tries to speak, but the mic is too tall for her, so she turns and looks pointedly at the gamer behind her. He snaps into action and lowers the microphone. It makes me thaw a bit toward him.
Rico is completely melting over this girl. “Yes, hello!” he says. “Do you have a question for us?”
“Hi,” she says. “My question is actually for heart-of-lightness.”
I freeze. Me? I can see Jamie chortle out of my peripheral vision. I stand a little straighter, determined to answer it as best I can.
&nbs
p; The girl says, “I just started writing fanfiction and some people were making fun of me for it and I was wondering if you have any tips?”
Oh. I have zero idea how to respond. It feels like all I’ve done as a fanfic author is make people mad. But, well, there’s a small girl waiting for my answer.
“I think it’s great you’re writing fanfiction. It takes a lot of creativity and dedication,” I say because that seems like a good thing to start with. My own feelings on it may be turbulent and complicated, but I still believe that much. “But it can be hard, too. When you’re a fan, sometimes there are people who will try to make you feel bad about it. Sometimes it’s jerks on the internet, sometimes it’s people you know, like classmates or friends. Sometimes it’s the people who are making the thing you’re a fan of in the first place.”
I look at Jamie, who is doing his best to tune this out, sitting back in his chair, sipping from his glass of water. “I know how easy it is to hear the messages from other people and start to feel crazy.”
I look back at the girl. “But you’re not crazy. And you should never be made to feel ashamed for loving the things that you love.”
Weirdly, there’s applause there. I guess that line connected with people. But the little girl isn’t done with me. She asks, “But didn’t you delete your blog? Are you going to stop writing now?”
And I guess the one-question rule is going out the window, because I respond, “Yeah, you’re right, that was kind of BS, wasn’t it? I’m not even taking my own advice. Here I am encouraging other people to write no matter what The Powers That Be are saying about them, but I’m not willing to do the same thing.”
The crowd gets quiet, maybe they can tell that I’m not really filtering myself right now, I’m just thinking it through, out loud, in front of a few thousand people. “The reality is, I looked at myself and realized that I was spending a large percentage of my day—of my life, really—thinking and writing about characters who were dreamed up by someone who doesn’t really care about people like me.”
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