Hollywood's Golden Boy

Rule Number One

Rule Number One

every time he smiles i

let him in again

everything is fine when

you're standing in the eye of the hurricane - Bridgette Mendler

_____________

Roman

My mom was good at masking her face.

She was good at it whenever an interviewer asked her where my dad was on live TV and she had to make up an amusing story for his absence.

She was good at it at home, when he disappeared for days at a time and then came home with no recollection of where he'd been.

Sometimes though, sometimes I'd see through the tiny little cracks in her armour. Sometimes I'd see the clear disappointment in her eyes, or the thin papery bags beneath them despite her attempts at hiding with makeup.

My mom was good at masking her face.

But I was better at seeing through it.

"Have you thought about it, then?"

Even though my answer was obvious, there was still the slightest hint of hope in her soft tone. I didn't feel bad when I stepped on that little hope and crushed it in the next second.

"No."

She sighed, but her face remained the same. "Roman, he's your father."

"Don't remind me."

My mom paused in her step and at first I thought it was to fix her heel again but then she grabbed my upper arm and pulled me to a stop. I looked at her.

And I saw the crack in her mask.

"This holiday is a nice opportunity for all of us. It's going to be a nice time to bond, to share our feelings and concerns. Your father needs our support."

I laughed. "Yeah. And then at night time we can sit around a campfire singing campfire songs and pretending we're not a fuck-up of a family."

She pursed her lips just like she did whenever she was starting to get riled up, but the mask was too perfect to remove it now. There were people around, trying to look as if they weren't staring.

"Your father loves you. He loves us both."

"Sure."

She placed her hands on my shoulders, looking at me straight in the eyes. Her eyes were blue like mine, but they were sad. "He's very sorry about what happened this evening, Roman."

I looked away.

My dad had come into the hotel room at exactly four-forty in the afternoon, acting as if he hadn't been gone the entire night. His hair was combed and his collar was fixed but that was only because he'd learned from past mistakes.

He looked between me and my mom with the usual stone cold look on his face.

"What's the occasion, Annabelle?"

My mom muttered something and the stylists who were doing her hair walked out of the room, shutting the door behind them. She barely looked up from the magazine in her hands.

"They're announcing the nominees for next year’s Film festival awards. Roman is a shoe in for at least two of them."

I didn't want to go. I hated these stupid award shows and all the build up towards them. They were all just big controversy creators that had the single aim of making bank.