Off the Record

by Camryn Garrett

  I wave my hands in the air to end the sentence. He’s nodding, though, eyebrows knitted together with interest, so it wasn’t a complete failure.

  “I knew about the contest, but wow, I didn’t know about the rest of it.” I wish I could take notes in italics, because that’s the way he sounds. “That’s so impressive. My friends and I weren’t doing anything close to that when we were younger.”

  “Okay, but you were acting,” I say, not bothering to hide the laugh in my voice. “Community theater is better than writing about movies on a blog.”

  “Ohhhh no.” He cocks his head to the side. The grin gets even bigger, if possible. “You researched.”

  The heat spreads from my cheeks to my chest. I glance at my recorder, the red light blinking up at me. I’m going to have to relive the awkwardness later when I transcribe this. It’s already painful.

  “Well, I’m supposed to,” I say, shifting in my seat. “Anyway, I guess that’s where I wanted to begin. You started acting when you were little, right? But you’re still pretty young. So how did that start?”

  He leans back against his chair, lips pressed together. It’s kind of cute.

  I should be taking notes on what he’s doing, but I can’t seem to form a sentence that doesn’t sound like a fangirl admiring a crush. I scratch it down anyway.

  “I mean, my parents are really into movies, so we always watched them when I was little. They were in French, you know, but still the same sort of thing,” he says, bobbing his head. “And my mom is a director, so she’d take me to rehearsals with her a lot. I guess that’s why acting felt accessible.”

  “So were you more interested in stage or film?”

  “Film, definitely,” he says. “It always seems—I don’t know. I started off doing theater, and that always felt so normal for me, like practice for a sports team after school. But movies seemed so…romantic.”

  My eyes dart up at that. The morning sun highlights streaks of gold in his hair and brings out the honey in his eyes. He’s talking about romance. It’s like he’s describing himself, breaking the fourth wall. I have to force myself to look away. Focus on the notes, Josie.

  “Romantic how?” I make myself ask.

  “It’s sort of like a fairy tale. It doesn’t feel real, not even when you’re filming.” He shakes his head, tapping his fingers against the table. “It’s like you exist in this alternate timeline. Normal people shouldn’t be able to be in movies, but there you are anyway.”

  There’s something wistful about his face. I need to write a note about that—how expressive his face is. I guess it’s what makes him such a good actor.

  “Wow,” I say. It seems to fall flat after the magic of his words. I clear my throat. “Uh, does that mean you’re studying film when you go to college? I mean—are you going to college?”

  “I don’t know.” His mouth twitches. “You tell me. You did all this research, right?”

  I freeze. It’s hard to figure out how to read this situation. I don’t know if he’s joking or being a jerk. Journalists are supposed to research the subjects of their profiles. Would it have been better for me to walk in here without knowing anything about him?

  “Hey, hey,” he says, leaning forward. My breath catches. “I’m just joking. Sorry. I’m still getting used to this on the record thing. No one has really paid much attention to me until now.”

  He gestures around the sleepy coffee shop as if to prove himself. It doesn’t even seem like he’s lying to make me feel better, because the smile is gone, even if his mouth is still soft.

  “Well,” I say, tapping my pen against the side of my mouth, “I don’t think that’ll last that much longer. Not, you know, with all the awards you’re going to get.”

  He actually blushes, ducks his head. It’s so boyish, it feels like someone wrote it. The guys at school don’t even act like boys. Maybe it’s a French thing.

  “None of it feels real,” he says, voice low. “It really doesn’t. It was just—Incident was this indie movie I did because I thought the script was awesome and I had a free summer. I was supposed to be going to Brown this year, and now I’m deferred because of awards season. It’s crazy.”

  “Yeah.” I don’t know what else to say. I’ve never been in this position. “You deserve it, though. You were amazing in the movie. I almost died at the end, when Peter met his boyfriend again and they were like completely different people. And then you were driving away and crying and I just felt my heart…”

  I clench my hand. The corner of his mouth turns up. The blush is still there, but he doesn’t duck. He knows he’s a good actor. This is something I get. When Monique tells me I’m a good writer, I don’t disagree with her, because it’s true.

  “Aw,” he says. “It wasn’t just me. There was an awesome script and director, and the rest of the cast was amazing.”

  “Yeah, but I’m talking about you.” My words surprise me. “You made the movie, at least for me. I cried a lot.”

  “Yeah?” His eyes crinkle. “So did I.”

  I snicker. He leans back, smile wide again. I’m struck with sudden want. It pools in my chest, stealing my breath for a moment. Marius Canet is the type of guy I’ve only imagined hanging out with. Sure, there are cute guys back home, but none of them are like this. They don’t talk about movies like they’re fairy tales or express emotions as clearly as Marius does. It’s like he skipped over that part of a guy’s life where he learns to close himself off. I can look at his face and see everything flicker over it like a screen.

  Stop. I shut my eyes. This has happened before, and it only led to hurt. Every time, I think it might be different, and it never is. Anyway, I’m supposed to be interviewing Marius. A crush would make this even more awkward. I glance back down at my notes.

  “So, uh, you mentioned your parents. Do you think being raised by them played a role in your acting ability?”

  The words are out of my mouth before I realize how formal they sound.

  “Well, that’s a question.”

  I wince.

  “Are you asking because they aren’t from here?” He cocks his head. “I think the different culture had an impact.”

  “Um, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck. “It must be interesting to grow up with immigrant parents.”

  The only first-generation kids I know are acquaintances and aren’t from Europe, but I don’t mention that. He can probably already tell that I have no idea what I’m talking about.

  “Yeah, a little bit,” he says. “We spoke French at home and everything. I didn’t learn English until school. Other than that, it wasn’t exactly exceptional. Manhattan isn’t a bad place to be different, you know?”

  I nod, hurrying to jot down notes: Manhattan theater scene??? French parents, but not outcasts because of foreignness.

  “Everyone is different somehow,” he continues. “And they’re the only parents I’ve ever had. I’m not sure what it would be like to grow up any other way.”

  “Sure,” I say, nodding. “I guess it’s interesting because there’s something so romantic about French, just like you said there’s something romantic about movies.”

  “Yeah. Actually, you’re right.” He leans forward, runs a hand through his curls. I force myself to look away. “Do you speak French?”

  “Uh.” I bite my lip. “I can do all of Lafayette’s parts from the Hamilton soundtrack.”

  He laughs. This is where he seems more like a guy from school. The noise is harsh, loud, like he isn’t worried about who might hear. I guess that’s something only I worry about. But at the same time, it’s different. His laugh doesn’t feel like a punch.

  I force myself to look at my notebook. “What are you working on next? I couldn’t find anything online.”

  “Oh.” He blinks. “That’s because I’m not really supposed to talk about it.
I’m working with Roy Lennox.”

  “Wow.” I shake my head. “He— They’re doing a documentary series on ABC in honor of his twentieth year as a director. That’s amazing.”

  From an indie movie to working with one of the best directors in Hollywood. Before seeing his performance, I would’ve doubted it. Now? I’m sure Marius Canet would slay any role he wanted. Part of me wishes it weren’t a part in a Lennox movie—he always has all-white casts, so he must be branching out now—but it’s a milestone most actors spend years working toward.

  “Yeah.” He nods, leaning back again. “Kinda nerve-racking, though, you know? But I feel like I can’t say that. It’s cool enough that it’s even happening.”

  “I don’t think you should feel bad about it.” I click my pen, allowing myself to look up at him. For the first time, his expression is shy, guarded. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel. I don’t think you should have to lie about it. Things can be great and scary at the same time.”

  “I guess.” His voice is soft. “Maybe.”

  I want to press more. I want to tell him about how I feel guilty about my anxiety when I don’t have much to worry about, not with my nice house and laptop and married parents who let me travel the country to do interviews. Almost as soon as I consider it, I shove the thought down. I don’t even talk to my family about this. I can’t have Marius thinking there’s something wrong with me.

  Then his phone starts ringing. If we were having a moment, it’s gone now.

  “Oh, man.” Marius frowns down at his screen. “I’m so sorry. I have a meeting with my agent—I totally forgot. Can we pick this up again another time? Maybe in Austin?”

  I bite my lip. His publicist should’ve told him that an interview would take more than twenty minutes—or he could’ve let his agent know about this. He really is new to this. I should be irritated, but there’s just a nervous fluttering in my stomach.

  “Yeah.” I suck a breath. “Yeah, we’re scheduled to talk at your fitting on Tuesday, anyway. I’ll keep asking questions until I’m done.”

  “Good.” He grins, momentarily blinding me. “I’m all yours.”

  @JosieTheJournalist: hahahahahaha people are terrifying

  “Stop it.”

  I peer up. Alice isn’t even looking at me, has barely glanced at me since we got back to the hotel a few hours ago, even though we’re lounging on the same bed.

  “What?” I say. I’m actually confused. “I’m not doing anything annoying.”

  Alice thinks a lot of things I do are annoying, like playing music out loud instead of using my earbuds or talking to myself when I’m working. I’ve spent most of the evening Googling other actors from the movie so I can figure out what to ask them about Marius.

  “No.” Alice rolls her eyes. “I mean stop thinking about him. You have a goofy look on your face.”

  “I have to think about him,” I say, turning back to my screen. “I’m writing a profile. And I should be working on it all the time, so I don’t know what you want me to do. It’s not my fault if you don’t like—”

  “That’s not what I mean and you know it.” She kisses her teeth, reaching for her scarf to wrap her hair. “You always get your heart set on these little pretty boys. That’s why you can’t find anyone, you know. It’s not because you’re not pretty or smart or whatever you’re always going on about.”

  “Oh my God.” I snap my head up. “Screw you, Alice.”

  I regret ever talking to her about the crushes I’ve had. Honestly, I never really thought she was listening. There was Savion, a Black guy with a gorgeous Afro, who in ninth grade told me no one wanted my “fat, nappy-headed ass, anyway” after I refused to help him cheat on a test. There was Sohail, a boy who kissed me three times sophomore year before telling me his strict Pakistani parents would never approve of me. And then there was Tasha, my sorta-kinda girlfriend last year, who didn’t tell me she was moving away until she was gone. I don’t always get my heart set on pretty boys. Lately, I’ve learned not to let my heart get set on anyone at all.

  Maybe it’s a me thing. Since I’m fat, I should probably just take whatever I can get, but I don’t want to date a jerk who thinks racism is over or who doesn’t read. I don’t want anyone who sees my body as something to overcome. It’s just hard to find people like that. I found one and she left.

  “I’m just saying,” Alice says. “You have to stay professional, right? So stop being weird around him.”

  “I’m not being weird.” My cheeks burn. I very well could be acting weird around him, but I can’t help it. “I try not to be weird.”

  “Well.” She raises a brow. “Keep trying.”

  “You’re the actual worst,” I say.

  Before I go to bed that night, I send an email to Ms. Jacobson about interviewing Penny Livingstone. Penny plays Emma, a friend Marius’s character makes at the conversion camp. As the least famous, she’ll probably be the easiest cast member to get a meeting with before we leave for Austin.

  * * *

  When I wake up the next morning, we have a meeting set for three o’clock at a restaurant in downtown L.A. I blink a few times to make sure I’m reading correctly. I figured it’d be easy to get a meeting, but not this easy. Maybe Penny’s Disney Channel upbringing makes her eager for any sort of press.

  “Do you have the money to eat here?” Alice whispers as we walk inside. “It looks like it’s out of your price range.”

  It isn’t that bad. Everything is made out of wood. Flowers hang from the ceiling, and there are floor-to-ceiling windows. People eat from bowls filled with fruit of strange colors. It’s like a hipster haven—a haven I probably can’t afford without using a serious chunk of my prize money.

  Deep Focus sent me plane tickets and hotel reservations, but I still have to pay for Alice, since she wasn’t exactly part of the deal. Plus, there’s the issue of food and other expenses. Ms. Jacobson told me to keep receipts from everything so they can reimburse me, but that doesn’t really help right now.

  “I just won’t get anything.” I bite my lip, looking around for Penny. “Water is free.”

  “She’ll think you’re pitiful.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Can I help you?” A woman materializes in front of us. She’s dressed in jeans and boots, even though we’re in L.A. “A table for two?”

  “Uh, she’s meeting someone,” Alice says, nudging me forward. “Can I sit at the bar?”

  It takes no time to spot Penny. Not only did I just see her in Incident on 57th Street, but she looks the same as she did three years ago, when I still watched her sing and dance her way through high school on Disney Channel. Her hair is flaming red, and there’s a handful of freckles on the pale skin around her nose. Most of the baby fat from her cheeks is gone. As I get closer, I see there’s something different about her nose. It’s straighter.

  She stands up as soon as she sees me, but instead of standing there, like Marius did, she shimmies out of her chair and actually pulls me in for a hug. I freeze. My arms hang at my sides.

  “It’s so nice to see you,” she says. I can’t tell if she means it or not. There’s a polished air about her. The smile on her face is warm but guarded. “I looked at some of your writing, and it’s so impressive.”

  “Oh, wow,” I say, sitting down across from her. “Thank you.”

  She watches in silence as I pull out my pen, my notebook, and my recorder.

  “Do you mind if I record you?”

  She frowns. I blink in surprise. It’s the first time anyone has hesitated when I’ve asked. Then again, Marius is the only person I’ve interviewed in person, one on one.

  “I don’t have to,” I say, gripping the recorder in my hand. It’s empty since I already uploaded yesterday’s interview to my computer. “It’s just easier for me. I’ll b
e able to remember everything later and make sure all of the quotes are accurate.”

  “All right,” she says, chewing at her lip. “As long as it helps with accuracy.”

  “Great,” I say, setting it on the table between the two of us. “So, you know I’m working on a profile about Marius, but I’d love to start out asking about you. What have you been working on lately?”

  It’s just an icebreaker; I’ve done my research on her, too. This isn’t the first movie she’s done since Disney Channel, but it’s the first indie movie after a stream of box-office disappointments where she didn’t even have lead roles.

  “Oh, that’s a big question,” she says, shaking her head. “I guess my biggest project would be trying to get a head start on my summer body.”

  I frown. She’s pretty skinny. It doesn’t help that the whole summer body thing just irritates the hell out of me, no matter who it’s coming from.

  “That’ll be easy, then,” I say, clicking my pen. “Your perfect summer body is whatever your body looks like in the summer.”

  Her eyebrows rise before she bursts into laughter. I want to smile. I also want her to know that I’m serious. She’s shaking her head like I just said something hilarious.

  “That’s great,” she says after a few seconds. Her face is red, making her freckles even more pronounced. “I’ve never thought about it that way.”

  That seems to get her to open up. When I ask about her time on Disney Channel, she can’t stop talking.

  “My parents used to drive me an hour to the Disney studio every morning for work,” she says, picking at the bread in between us. “And we didn’t leave until around nine at night. I spent most of my time there. All of my friends were other kids on set, but nothing was really real. Then my manager tried to push me into singing.”