by Lily Zante
My film, ‘Death of a Legend’, might seem as if it’s based on Cardoza’s life. It’s not, but it so freakishly mirrors his story that critics might think we had hopped on the back of Cardoza’s story. The truth is, this script came into my hands two years ago. They didn’t want me for the role. The producer and director had someone else in mind, but my agent campaigned hard for me, and luckily, the guy they wanted was already signed to do another film. They couldn’t wait for him, so I got the part.
That part is similar to what happened with Cardoza. From what I’ve read, he wasn’t supposed to fight Garrison, there were others in front, but for one reason or another, through injury or failing a drug test, they couldn’t fight, and Cardoza got the opportunity.
We’re not so different, me and Cardoza, in that respect.
His story, the fighting underdog pitted against the world heavyweight champion, who then goes on to win the title against all the odds—that’s real. I admire the guy. Cardoza ignited people’s hopes and dreams and went on to do the impossible. In a much smaller way, and less important, I want to prove to people that I can do parts that require depth. I am so much more than my action roles.
“What if I ask him?” I suggest. If Rudy isn’t having much luck, maybe I should turn up at the gym? Surely Cardoza wouldn’t dare throw me out.
“I told you. Leave it with me.”
I snort. “This is an important role for me. I only need one visit. You can make that happen, can’t you?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I breathe out in irritation. I’m a famous actor, and this kid is new to his fame. I don’t understand what damage a quick visit will do. This is my chance to prove to everyone that I’m more than just a handsome face, that I don’t only have the body of a Greek god—thanks to my training—but I’m a serious actor as well.
“Try harder.” I hang up.
Dottie looks up. “Do you want me to book you a flight back to LA at the weekend?”
“For what?”
“Rudy says there’s a party you both need to be seen at.”
I pull a T-shirt over my head. “I’m not going to LA until we’re done filming.” Screw Rudy, screw the studio and screw the fake romance. It’s lucky I’m not dating at the moment, because something like this would piss me right off.
“You have to go back next month. Alyssa has a film premiere and you’re her date.”
“Remind me nearer the time.”
Alyssa’s been working hard and done two films back to back. Our sexy scenes in ‘Legend’ worked well and now the studio wants us to pretend we’re getting together. Rudy said it would be a good idea for me to attend the premiere of the film she shot before Legend. I agreed only because I have no real life girlfriend who might get pissed off about something like this, and I’ll do what the studio wants me to do. “Anything else?”
She nods her head. “Do you need anything else?”
“My disguises.” A faux beard, moustache and wig come in handy.
“In your suitcase.”
Because we’re shooting, I’m mostly going to be on set and in my hotel suite, but even I can get bored of being cooped up all day. I only have bodyguards when I’m attending an event where there are big crowds, but I hate losing my anonymity. Using disguises is my way of going out without fear of being recognized. Dottie picks up her laptop and moves towards the door. “You’re not supposed to go out alone, Callum.”
“I’ll be fine.”
“Don’t do anything stupid.”
“As if I would.”
“You’re meant to be on set at four.”
“Make sure you have my smoothie ready.”
Chapter Three
NINA
* * *
It’s cold and I hunch my shoulders as I bury my mouth and chin deeper into my scarf. I brace myself for the long walk to the bus stop.
Elias would be mad at me for getting the bus home at this time of night, especially now that he’s flush with money. He’s always trying to give me some. He’s always telling me I don’t need to work at the diner, and has tried to give me some admin jobs to do for him. I know it’s a ruse for him to make sure I don’t work all the hours I do, but I love my job at the diner. It’s flexible, and Frankie looks out for me, Joni is okay and the other waitresses are nice. I can’t complain. Plus, I get to do my assignments there, and Frankie won’t bat an eye.
They often joke about my night school classes—Harper and Elias, and my work colleagues, but I like learning. I want to better myself. I want to prove to myself that I can be more. Still, my waitressing work fits in nicely around my studying, and I still get to keep a roof over my head.
I don’t want him to spend his money on me. He had a chance to change his life, and he grabbed it with both fists. He did what many thought was impossible, and he turned the boxing world upside down, but who knows how long this might last? I want him to save and invest his money, and not feel like he owes me, because he doesn’t.
Besides, I’m not so broke that I can’t afford to get a bus home. As I walk along the street, I hear a commotion coming from an alleyway further down. There’s hardly anyone else around and I can feel my heart rate starting to skyrocket. I speed up my footsteps as the shouting gets louder. It’s not the rational thing to do, but I can hear a man shouting. It sounds as if he’s in trouble, and I can’t walk away. As I approach nearer, I hear the clattering rattle of iron bins being knocked about.
“Get the fuck off of me!” someone shouts.
I race down the alleyway and see a group of men wrestling. I crane my neck further, and can make out a man on the ground being attacked by two others. One’s on the ground, pummelling him, and the other one is standing and kicking the guy on the ground.
“Hey!” I shout, without thinking. “Leave him alone!” It’s an insane request, and only someone as delusional as me would make it. I don’t like those odds, two to one, and I’ve always fought for the underdog because I can relate. “Hey!” I yell out, because they didn’t hear me the first time around.
The moment freeze-frames, as the two guys turn to look at me. I whip out my phone and hold it in front of me, as if it’s a handgun. I’m not thinking straight, and I accidentally take a picture by mistake.
I didn’t mean to do that. I meant to show them I meant business and that I was going to call the cops.
“What the fuck?” The guy who’s standing looks at me. My insides hollow out. I’m tiny and this man looks pissed. The light from the street lamp is enough to illuminate his features. Terror paralyzes my muscles, and I stumble backwards, just as the guy starts walking towards me.
The other guy stops fighting with the guy on the ground, and yells, “C’mon! I got it.” He holds something up.
But the guy coming for me doesn’t listen. My heart crawls up my throat. “You little bitch. Give me your fucking—”
The piercing sound of police sirens cut into the air, loud and sharp. They’re near, and it scares the guys. They dart off, and I rush to the man lying on the floor. My eyes widen in shock. His beard is hanging off him. My first thought is that he must be in so much pain. I wince as I kneel down, over him. “Your beard,” I exclaim, and wonder at the same time why it’s come off so cleanly.
Blood pours out of his nose. “You’re hurt,” I cry, shocked, and scared, yet concerned. I examine his face; it’s bloody, but I’ve seen worse. His beard hangs off even more, and I miss a heartbeat, until I see the loop hanging off his other ear. It doesn’t make sense at first.
I must be in shock, too, and then I see that it’s a false beard. I remove the loop from the other ear and take the beard off entirely.
He groans as he clutches his sides, and mumbles something which I can’t make out.
“What?” I say, lowering my ear to his face.
“They’ve got my fucking wallet.”
“It’s okay. They’ve gone. They’re not going to hurt you.”
“I had them. I almost had the
fuckers.”
I stare at him in disbelief. Two against one? I think not. “At least you’re alive,” I say. He groans again, then wipes his hand over his face, so that his hand is now covered in blood. “Owww,” he moans, as he touches his nose.
I can’t tell if it’s broken, but I’ve taken some tissues out of my bag and I attempt to wipe his face clean, as gently as I can. This doesn’t look too bad. It’s not an Elias-level injury. I won’t ever forget those days when my brother used to stagger through the door with his face mashed to almost unrecognizable when he’d come home from those underground fight clubs.
The police siren gets deafeningly louder. I glance over my shoulder and stare into a flood of lights as the car’s headlights shoot straight at us. I hold up my hand to block out the light because I can’t see into the bright lights. The car stops at the mouth of the alleyway, because it’s too narrow for the car.
An officer gets out and runs over. She takes one look at the injured man on the ground, then says something into her radio.
“Backup is on the way,” she tells me as she drops to the ground to survey the injured man. “What happened?”
“Some guys were beating him up,” I reply.
“They stole my wallet,” the guy says, slowly trying to sit up. He looks slightly familiar, but again, I can’t be sure.
The police officer is about to say something when her eyes widen. “You’re…you’re… you’re Callum Sandersby,” she gasps, and her mouth falls open. I stare from her to the guy, and back to the police officer again. Her mouth is still hanging open.
“Yeah,” the guy says, and manages to smile.
Is he for real?
The officer seems to be caught in a web of enchantment. “Callum Sandersby,” she gasps, as her professional demeanour slips away.
Callum who?
I don’t know who they’re talking about. I take another look, and now that he’s sitting up and the headlights are on him, he does look familiar, yet I still can’t place him yet.
“Sir, sir, are you okay? Are you hurting anywhere else?” The police woman’s sudden concern intensifies.
“I gave back as good as I got,” the guy replies. I peer at him, but giving back as good as he got isn’t how I’d describe it. He did well to put up a fight against the two of them, but his sudden bravado surprises me.
“The ambulance is on its way.”
“Thanks,” he says, and as the blood pours out of his nose he attempts to wipe it with the already soggy tissue.
I pull out another tissue and hand it to him. He dabs his nose again and winces in pain. “Thanks,” he says to me.
“Don’t mention it.”
“I suppose you’ll want an autograph.”
I almost choke in response.
Chapter Four
CALLUM
* * *
I wouldn’t say she saved me, the woman from the alleyway who is now sitting in my hospital room while the doctors and nurses tend to me.
She was in the right place at the right time, and I was in the wrong place. I’m going to be in big trouble with the director tomorrow.
Shit.
Dottie got here before I did. I called her on the way here and told her not to tell anyone else. She took one look at me and her face turned pale. I’ll have to see what the doctors say. Rudy’s on his way here because Dottie, against her better judgment, panicked and called him. She’s on the phone to him again. He keeps calling, and I keep refusing to speak to him.
I have no idea why that woman is in here though. I’ll happily give her the autograph or selfie, both those things if she really wants them, but she doesn’t need to be in here. She hopped into the ambulance when it arrived, and now she’s sitting in my hospital room looking bewildered. Maybe it’s because the police officer wanted to take a statement from her.
“Rudy is really pissed.” Dottie hands my phone back to me.
“No shit,” I reply.
“Bruised ribs, no broken nose, and a black eye which should go down in a few days time,” the doctor informs us.
That’s lucky.
“Thanks, Doc.” I try to grin at him. You’d think I’d suffered a major trauma given the number of medical staff in here.
“You need to rest up.”
“Can I go home?” I try to sit up but it hurts.
“It might be better if you stay here tonight, and we can do final checks in a few hours’ time. You were knocked to the ground, so we’ll need to keep an eye on that.”
“You shoulda seen the other guys,” I tell him. He nods but is too busy scribbling on his notepad.
I am lucky that I don’t have a broken nose, or broken ribs. I’m lucky to walk away with these superficial injuries. I’m certain that my recently acquired boxing skills, and my recent fitness regime, helped. But, it looks like filming is going to have to be delayed, maybe by a week or so.
I’ve messed up bigtime. Delaying a film costs money. It’s a big no-no. Worse, Rudy and the director are going to have my balls for being out by myself at that time of night.
All at once the room empties. And it’s just me, Dottie and the woman who saved me.
“You’ve delayed the film,” she says.
“Maybe only by a few days.” I’m being hopeful.
“Or weeks.”
“It won’t be that long. I’m in good shape.” I try to sit up, then wince when it hurts.
“Take it easy. You heard the doctor. How much will it cost the studio, to delay filming?”
That’s something I don’t even want to think about. “Can we talk about something else?” I say, growing irritated. Personal assistants don’t usually have so much power, Dottie is good at keeping me in check. She met me here, so that by the time the ambulance arrived at the hospital, she had already secured me a private room, and the best doctors.
“I told you not to go out.”
“I was checking out the area,” I reply, suddenly feeling defensive. Before I get a chance to explain myself, the door bursts open and Rudy charges in. “What the hell were you thinking?” he cries, looking at me in shock.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I tell him, marvelling at the speed with which he got here.
“I don’t know why I’m still here.” The woman from the alleyway speaks up. “Can I go now?”
Rudy glances at her suspiciously. “Who are you?” he growls.
I cough in exasperation and wish Rudy hadn’t turned up right at this instant. There’s an implication behind Rudy’s tone, and I shake my head, letting him know that there was nothing going on. I glance at the woman again, this time looking at her properly for the first time. She is small, and slim, with a cute face. Like, a normal face. No botox, no beestung lips, no plumped up cheeks or surgically sculpted cheekbones.
“She’s a friend,” I reply, without thinking.
“Are you together?” Rudy asks me.
“No, we’re not together,” the woman replies. She looks slightly disgusted.
“Then who is this?” Rudy demands, his face twisting as if he’s in pain. Inside that calculating head of his he’s probably worked out how much my little detour has cost the studio. It shouldn’t be such a big concern to him. He’s not going to have to take the brunt of the director’s wrath, but Rudy’s job is to make me look good, and I guess right now, I’m not looking so good. The media are going to have a field day with this.
I should have been more careful. “She’s just a passerby,” I explain. “She was with me with the cops arrived.”
“I heard shouting coming from the alleyway,” the woman says. “So I took a look.”
“You were in the alleyway?” Rudy cries, glaring at me.
“I wasn’t walking down the alleyway, those losers dragged me in.” I just happened to be unlucky.
“I stepped in and tried to help him,” the woman tells Rudy before I can get a word in.
“That’s either very stupid, or very brave,” says Dottie.
“For
both of you,” Rudy cries, looking from the woman to me.
“Look, those guys jumped me,” I reply. “I wasn’t expecting it.”
“That’s how muggers usually operate,” remarks Dottie. Rudy’s face turns red. “What were you doing wandering around the streets of Chicago so late at night?” He stabs a finger in my direction.
“I warned him not to,” says Dottie.
I try to shift in the bed but it hurts to move. These two ganging up on me is the last thing I need. “I was getting a feel for the streets. Soaking up at atmosphere,” I protest, though with hindsight, what I did was foolish and reckless.
“Soaking up the atmosphere?” Rudy echoes in disbelief. He rests his palm across his forehead as if he’s got a sudden headache. “Miss, why are you still here?” he barks, talking to the alleyway woman whose name I don’t even know.
“Don’t worry, I’m going,” she replies stiffly.
“I expect you want an autograph,” I say, reminding her.
“No, I don’t.”
“A selfie?” I ask, sounding desperate.
“What for?”
What for? I start to chortle, but my ribs hurt, and I wince instead. What for? I look at her scrawny little face, and wish she would scuttle away.
“I wasn’t staying here for the entertainment.” She walks over to the door. “They bundled me into the ambulance before I had a chance to leave. I had to make a statement to the police.”
“Oh, god, no.” Rudy looks worried. “We can’t have this,” he says to me. “How would it look? We don’t need that kind of publicity. The studio won’t want it.”
“You went to his aid?” Rudy asks, slowly, walking towards her.
“She didn’t save me,” I protest. I didn’t need saving. I can take good care of myself.