Off Screen

by Josephine Traynor

  “Whoa. Amy, those muscles are going to snap me like a twig,” I say, giving a wave to the other kids.

  I have deals with just about every kid in this ward. The media haven’t got hold of it yet, and I’m not about to start bragging about it because I think it’s tacky, but I’ve donated a lot of the machinery in here. The ward needed better televisions, I got them. I’m still in contact with my tutor from drama school and set up a special group that’s able to come in and entertain the kids. The kids get a kick out of it, and I love seeing their faces because, for one moment, their attention isn’t on the sickness that keeps them here. Ultimately, I would like to create a hospital that has wards like apartments. Somewhere that the parents can stay while the children are in a room set up with everything they need. It’s a pipe dream, but that’s why I drive my brother’s hand-me-down pretentious Porsche. That money I saved in not having to buy a car has been able to buy a piece of equipment to make the lives of these little people better. I could have bought another car—hell, I could buy another three easily. The one I have is a reminder of the greater good.

  The other kids start calling my name as I lift both myself and Amy up. When I stand to my full height, the flash of a camera startles me, and the kids start to boo. They know that this is a huge secret for me and that any kind of photography is prohibited. I look around for the offending snapper, and my gaze stops on a woman standing behind a kid in a wheelchair. I haven’t seen either of them before.

  “Hi, I’m Harrison Henry.” I set Amy gently down, and she stands in front of me like she’s my protector. “I have a bit of a rule here. I’m happy to take pictures with people, but they have to swear not to reveal that I’m here.”

  The kids continue to boo, and the woman, who I’m assuming to be the mother, looks mortified. While I’m waving my hands to quieten down the boos, the woman begins to apologise.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I’m just such a big fan.”

  Amy steps forward and lifts a thumb to her chest. “I’m his biggest fan.”

  Not wanting to upset anyone any further, I say, “I just ask for the kid’s privacy and mine while I’m here. I’m happy to take selfies where you can’t see the background.”

  “I’ll delete it. I’m sorry again. I was just so … taken aback. They said they had a special guest coming, and then you just came in, and I thought ‘no one is going to believe me when I tell them this’.”

  “They don’t have to believe you, you know the truth. And who do we have here?”

  Amy turns to me and doesn’t give the kid a chance to speak for himself. “He’s Toby. Marrow. Good chance of a full recovery if he eats all his greens.”

  That’s the unfortunate thing. Kids in here have a grasp on death. They don’t seem to be so afraid of it like us adults.

  “Greens, eh?” I squat down next to the chair. Toby screws up his face. “I hate them, too.” I roll up the hem of my sleeve higher over my bicep to flex. “But I like these more.” And it’s not only Toby’s mum who makes a sighing sound at the jiggling muscle. “So if you want muscles like mine, you gotta eat your greens. And that goes for all of you,” I say and point my finger around the room to which they reply with a boo. “So let’s go and have some fun.”

  Last time I was here we had a disco. Music, lights, dancing. I seemed to spend more time dancing with the nurses and mothers than the kids. This time, we are going to have hallway races. Shuttling the kids in wheelchairs up and down, even the one who’s bedridden. It’s worth it to see the smile on his face as everyone cheers in double time to make it seem like he’s blistering past them.

  It’s time for afternoon rests, and Amy sidles up next to me.

  “You were hoping that I’d forgotten,” she says.

  Lowering my head and stamping my foot, I pretend to sulk.

  “Come on,” she says. “My office is open now.”

  By office, she means her little space in the ward. She sits on her bed and gets her next dose of medicine while I sit and vent mainly about Riley to her. I hold my hands out, and she sets out a selection of polishes.

  “Lady’s choice,” I say, waiting for the humiliation to start. If it brings her simple pleasures, I’m all for it.

  “So, how’s work been this week?” She starts dragging the brush down my pointer fingernail. The nurses are too busy for her to paint their nails, so I’m usually the hand model.

  Letting out a sigh, the nurse comes in and hooks Amy’s cords up while Amy makes a final choice of a purple polish.

  “Work has been work. She has her digs, I have mine. Same old same old.” There’s no need to mention Riley’s name. Amy knows full well who I’m speaking about. Now might be the best time to broach the subject that I’m going away for two weeks. I wait for the nurse to leave first, though. “Actually, I have some news, and it’s not good.”

  Amy lifts her head and stares at me with her dark eyes. “You’re sick?”

  Shocked by her question, I rush the word ‘no’ out.

  “Then it’s not bad news.” She lowers her head to concentrate on my nails.

  I shake my head at how wise she is and tell her I have to go on location.

  “But it’s only for two weeks?”

  “I’m confident it will be, I just don’t know how I’m going to go without my weekly debriefing with you.”

  Without even looking up at me, she says, “You’re a big boy. You’ll be fine. Just make sure she doesn’t have a shovel and rope when you go on location.”

  “Ha!” I bark out. “That’s what she said to me.”

  Laughing, she says, “The more you talk about her, the more I like her.”

  Pulling my hand out of hers, I feign being hurt. “Why would you say a horrible thing like that?”

  “Why don’t you ask her out?”

  “Because I like my nose where it is, thanks.” And that’s all Riley needs—the leverage to know that I really don’t hate her as much as I play it up to be would be my end. I would have shown every card up my sleeve and laid my heart on the line for her to stomp all over.

  “The longer you leave it, the less happiness you might experience.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I know with this final swipe of the brush my ten digits will be complete. Fingernails are fine, I draw the line at the toenails. “How did you get so wise?”

  Meeting my eyes, she says, “You don’t have a lot of time for bullshit when you’re staring death in the face.”

  I don’t know what stuns me the most. The fact that a child said bullshit, that she talks like one of my buddies, or that she’s right. Death helps clear out a lot of what’s important and what’s not.

  I make the rounds to ensure I’ve seen each child. They are settled back into their beds. Some are watching movies. Some are playing games or reading. Others are sleeping. For those who are sleeping, I leave them a note for when they wake. I talk to them about their goals for the week and what I’ll do for them if they achieve that. It can be as simple as not cry when the nurse has to do something. I also mention that I won’t be back for a fortnight but I’ll make sure I can do either a video hook-up or something for them next Saturday. They don’t care that I’m going away to work, they just care that I’m following through on our promises. This is where I’m just me. I’d be horrified if they watched the show—it’s not age appropriate. Their parents are the ones who want to find out what’s coming up on the show and they usually get interrupted by the kids who want to talk more about their week.

  “If you eat your greens every day for a fortnight, we can do something just for you. You have a think about what you—”

  “A date with Riley Lincoln.”

  “Toby!” his mother calls in a half-surprised, half-pleased tone.

  “Okay, and what’s second on your list?”

  “A kiss with Riley Lincoln. She’s so hot. I’ll eat greens for a month, all day, every day, if you could make that happen.”

  “You making moves on my on-screen girlfrien
d?” I laugh. “It might take me a month to organise that, so you better start eating.”

  I say my goodbyes to Toby’s mother. And right on time, the delivery of afternoon tea comes in for the nursing staff. They do the most incredible job. To say that I’m emotionally invested in these kids compares faintly to what they are, so giving them a little afternoon tea every Saturday is the least I can do. With the food delivered, that’s my cue to leave. Always by taxi. My car would attract instant attention, and I don’t want that.

  Dominic still hasn’t got me Riley’s phone number, and I log in to see her schedule. She’s ever anal when it comes to itemizing every minute of her day. She’s ticked off that she’s been to the gym, organised her car to be serviced, and she’s planned a night at Afterglow. Afterglow is a very upmarket club full of anyone who’s anyone in this industry. I know a guy at the door and send him a message asking if he’s working tonight. His kid brother was in the hospital for a short time, and I’ve never had a problem getting in thanks to him.

  There’s enough time to get home, go to the gym, have dinner, and then go out. Just as I’m sending my photographer friend a message of where Riley will be, I get a reply from Melissa. Melissa is an actress on our show and plays the role of my sister Julie. Her attempts to get my attention fixated on her have become obscene. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve got an ‘accidental’ text of her in her bra or a selfie with a message of ‘Sorry, sent this to the wrong number’. The first time, understandable—I’ve sent messages to the wrong number, too. The second time, possible. Third time, wearing thin. Now we are into the double digits, and I’m about to block her number. She’s attractive, but I’m just not into her.

  Hey. What’s this about you going on location with the Devil? Want to go out before you go? Dinner and drinks?

  I delete the message without replying. Dinner and drinks sounds great, just not with her. Kit messages me and asks if I have time for drinks. He texts me the place and time to meet him later.

  I’ve packed and repacked my bags. Made sure my house cleaner is able to pick up my mail and the kids get some surprise deliveries through the week. Pulling on my dark jacket, I then run a comb through my hair. It’s longer than I would personally have it. One of the cons with my contract, they get to dictate my look. My character is meant to be a hot-head surfer. The first time I used a surfboard was when I got the job. I grew up out in the sticks. Dirt bikes and campfires are what I know. The studio paid for surfing lessons, and after a while, I have really come to enjoy it. It’s not fun being dumped on your arse or copping a face full of board from a rogue wave.

  Dark pants, dark-blue shirt, and a black leather jacket with my hair slicked back. I think in a month’s time I’ll be able to put it in a ponytail. Will have to talk to the writers about getting a cut. Driving me mad.

  Kit presses on the intercom, and I let him in the building.

  “I’ll be right down,” I say as I grab my keys and pull the door shut.

  The ride over to Afterglow pretty much focused on Riley.

  “So what do you want me to do if she comes near me?” he asks.

  “Be a gentleman. Just tell her firmly, with your careers moving in different directions, it’s going to be hard to start something new.”

  Feeling his gaze, I turn to find him indeed staring.

  “You’re so good at lies,” he says.

  “It’s a curse,” I say, looking back at the road. “Tonight, it ends. I’ll get you out of this. I feel bad for putting you in that position in the first place.”

  I pull my car in behind the club, and my friend, who works here, is waiting by the back door. It’s not the right thing to do, but if I get us in without a shit fight at the front, I’ll take it. I’m about to ask if everything is okay inside when he nods. He manages the same space for us every single time.

  “Only the finest quality when it comes to you,” he says and pulls the door shut behind us.

  “I love the way you work, Phil.” I hold out my hand for him to shake before we set off along the hallway. “How’s the kid?”

  He fills me in on how his younger brother, Matthew, is now starting high school. Considering his disease could have taken his life, this is monumental.

  “That’s so great to hear,” I say.

  The music is getting louder with each step, and the base bounces off my ribs.

  “We are nearly at full capacity. Someone let the paps know that Riley Lincoln might be here tonight, so every man and his dog are here,” he yells over the music while I try not to smile and give away my involvement in alerting the media to Riley’s movements. “Are you ready?”

  Behind the door is the dance floor. We need to get across that floor to make it to the stairs that will take us up a level. That area’s reserved for VIPs. Phil leads the charge with me next, and Kit behind. We are already on the steps before anyone notices and calls out my name. Phil manages to stop the person from following us up by blocking the stairs. Everything is said with a shake of his head.

  Kit and I stop at the table. My mouth starts to water just at the sight of what waits for us. Some actors get pulled into the world of excess. Not me. Since I’m contracted to keep this body in top condition, this is the one time I don’t give a fuck. The smell of the pizza makes me want to do a face plant. It’s my one cheat for the night along with the one beer I allow myself. I was asked in an interview what was it like to have this body, and I told them it’s hard. Can’t eat the foods you want to eat, can’t have two days off in a row from working out. I need to be in bed at a certain hour to make sure my skin is the best it can be. It’s horrible. But it’s not nearly as hard as seeing the person you love walk in a room and you can’t say a damned word about how you really feel.

  Five

  Riley

  My Saturday was like any other. Early rise, some yoga, a quick tidy up of the place, even started throwing some things into a suitcase. A quick update on the ‘I hate Harrison Harvey’ page over lunch, and it’s almost time to hit the gym with Lydia. It’s a two-pronged approach. Get my sweat on while I work out my aggression from the week while having a business meeting with my manager.

  “I think, send him one more text and see what the response is, because tonight, if he doesn’t reply, you are getting over him. I’m taking you out. From what I hear, this place you are going has zero nightlife.”

  I pull the sleeve of my jacket over my arm and pick up my gym bag while looking through the big glass front doors. Fucking paps. How do they know where I am all the time? I walked out of the gym once with sweat patches in places I didn’t know were there until they were splashed all over the front page of the weekly entertainment rag for everyone to scrutinize. Forget camel toe. Imagine having a picture that looks like you’ve pissed your pants there for the whole world to see. Now, I get to do a workout and I have to have a shower and feel like I have to go to a day spa to be photo-ready. Today, I don’t care. I’ve changed my clothes, but the cap is covering my hair, and the ridiculously huge sunglasses will cover my face. Wriggling the front of the cap to pull it down, I’m ready to run the gauntlet.

  “Riley. Riley. Riley!” they call.

  There’s five of them today. Usually, I only have one.

  “Give us a smile since we won’t see you for a fortnight.”

  Linking her arm through mine, Lydia guides me to her car, and we don’t stop walking until I reach out to open the door and my hand falters as one of the scum asks who Harrison is dating.

  “He hasn’t dated anyone for a long time, why is that?” another asks just as I shut the door to block them out.

  Rumours are rife in our industry. Someone is always linked to someone else, be it true or not. Our relationship is a very messed up one at best, but to hear that he might be seeing someone really hits me in the feels.

  “He’s not dating anyone,” Lydia speaks over the rev of her engine. We don’t talk until she pulls into my street, and thankfully, there’s no photographers hangin
g around. “Get yourself packed, because I don’t think you’re going to be in the mood to do it tomorrow, and I’ll pick you up at six-thirty for dinner.”

  The joys of being a product. All I’ve ever wanted to be was an actress, so I did what they told me. Eat early, maintain a certain size for your role, go to bed early because you have to get up before the birds. Even if I wanted to stay up past ten, I’d probably fall asleep on my feet. The same can be said if I wanted to sleep past four-thirty, I couldn’t.

  Pottering around my apartment, I continue to throw things into my suitcase and even load two into the car while my mind plays ping-pong over Kit and Harrison. The long soak in the tub hasn’t helped, so I try the alternative, blasting music to distract my mind as I get ready for the night. The post about Harrison seems to have tickled a lot of people’s fancies, as they all seem to be weighing in on if his hair is thinning. It’s not, but it’s fun to mess with his head.

  It’s been five hours since I sent Kit a message, and there’s been no reply. Lydia’s words roll around in my head, and she’s right. Even though he’s not said the words, he’s certainly giving me no indication that he wants to pursue anything more with me. That stings. Being a public figure makes it that much harder to date. I said I wouldn’t date an actor. Turns out they are the only people who understand my job. The guys I’ve dated don’t find my job that appealing when they learn I have to lie, practically naked, with a guy between my thighs for seven hours of the day.