When a movie critic makes a bad review of his new movie '1917', the actor George Mackay finds himself on a mission to make her change her mind.
Celeste is a young movie critic on the way to make a career for herself. A mistake on the critic for an...
"What do you mean in person? I thought it would be a few questions by email?" George was climbing two steps at a time and as soon Nate picked the phone he blurted out the question.
"Hi there, mate!" Nate was always in a good mood. It didn't matter the situation or place, George would always stay calm and with good humor because Nate would be too.
"Hello." George couldn't hide the grumpiness from his voice.
"The site is good. She is good. Great opportunity to throw your name out there, mate." Nate was busy opening some packages that had just arrived from the mail, so the only thing George could hear apart from his agent's voice was the sound of paper being torn.
"Fine. I'll talk to her." He was sitting on his bed and looking out the window. It was a cold night, his back hurt from all the walking he had done during the day, and going to bed was his most desired wish right now.
"I emailed you her phone number, so just give her a quick call to schedule a place."
"Okay." It was the only word he could force his brain to process and mouth to speak.
"George?" The concern could be heard from Nate's voice.
"Huh?"
"Do this today, alright? Today."
With that, Nate turned off their call without even saying goodbyes. That's what years of working together and being friends did to them.
George threw the phone back on the bed, got up, and went to take a shower. He first turned the water on and took a few steps back to wait for it to heat while he took off his clothes. George had spent the last two months working out hard to prepare for his next role. He would have to go back to the training next week and was not looking forward to it. He thought about it as he took his shirt off, which was now a size bigger than it used to be, and it still felt tight around his biceps and back. The actor had never gained so many muscles in this entire life and his own body still felt weird for him.
1917 was challenging, Sam Mendes made him train and prepare for the role for about 6 months, but Ned Kelly was by far the most demanding role of his life. Deep down, George knew that he would lock himself into this character and never get out.
He took a step to the right and looked at his torso in the mirror. He was not exactly built, but his muscles were cut. Muscles that two months ago could not be seen. It was his very first time transforming his physical appearance for a role, and he was enjoying seeing his own body become unrecognizable even for himself. And besides, George has always been a skinny lad, so anything would be able to make him gain muscles and weight.
The mirror getting foggy was a warning that the water was already hot, so he took his underwear and got under the shower.
As George washed his hair with all the care in the world he started to think about the interview. He was afraid of how this would possibly go, since it was clear that the critic didn't like him and his work, and there were big chances of her being rude or hostile to him. But at the same time, she offered to interview him, right? But it was an offer to do it by email and not in person.
He opened his eyes. This was the least relaxing shower ever. He finished washing his hair, turned the water off, and reached out to grab the towel that was hanging on the side. Before leaving the bathroom he looked at his reflection one more time, a weird thing that he kept doing since he never cared much about his appearance like this. Admiring himself in the mirror was not part of his routine.
Back into his room he unlocked his phone and saw that Nate had sent the critics phone number. Celeste. He tested her name at the tip of his tongue a few times.
"There's no way in hell I'll call this woman." He sat on the bed, the wet towel still wrapped around his waist, and quickly typed a message. George clicked send without reading twice what he had written for her. He placed the phone on his table by the window, closed the blinds to ensure that the sunlight wouldn't wake him up the next morning, the towel that was previously on his waist was now hanging at the chair.
He walked naked around the room to lock the door, turn off the lights and get a blanket. As he was arranging his pillows and blanket, standing next to his bed, he received a message. His entire body froze and his heart skipped a beat.
George took a deep breath and decided that he would read it tomorrow. The actor got under his fluffy blankets and drifted off almost instantaneously.
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Celeste was dipping her french fries on the ketchup while looking at the TV in front of her. It was a weird and tiring day, too many things were happening at the same time. She felt exhausted, the site was growing, they didn't have a big staff, the award's season was just around the corner and to make everything worst, everyone loved her idea of the interview with George Mackay — including his own agent — and now she would have to leave her house and meet him in person.
She sighed. The actor probably hated her. A lot. A rising star with a hurt ego was the worst combination ever, so she could only imagine how rude he would be during the interview.
His agent said he would call her later today to schedule a place, and she hasn't been able to focus on anything else since then. Celeste was not shy, she was great interviewing people, but after their past e-mail exchange she was sure that the interview would be a disaster and the idea to do it came from her.
Since Nate's last email she had already washed the dishes, ordered a burger, taken a shower, started to watch a movie, ate the burger and not even one single signal from the actor to let her know when they would meet.
She finished the remaining fries, drank the rest of her cold tea in one big gulp and got up to leave the plate at the sink. Celeste saw her reflection on the microwave door and laughed at herself. She felt pathetic.
The movie critic turned off the lights from the kitchen and the living room, grabbed her cell phone from the couch and decided to call it a night. But she saw a text message from an unknown number.
The Blue Anchor pub in Hammersmith. This Saturday at 9 a.m. Meet me there.
Plain and simple. Not even a hello. Celeste sat abruptly back on the couch and texted a simple reply. She knew that the interview was going to be horrible.
