Lie To Me / Timothée Chalamet

Part II

I fly home that evening, back to my Brooklyn studio apartment that eats up most of my earnings every month despite having a roommate. That's NYC for you. On my flight back, I can't resist watching one of my potential-fake-lover's films. Beautiful Boy is the kind of film I wish I could've been a part of, and Timothée's performance in it blows me away. He completely disappears into that role. And if my ego allowed I'd even say that I could probably learn a thing or two from him. Not that I'd ever say that out loud.

I arrive at JFK a little past eleven, and when I turn my phone back on I'm immediately welcomed by a bunch of texts in the group chat with Jen and Grace.

Timothée said yes.

I look around and hide my phone against my chest as if people around me might be able to read the conversation. "Shit," I mutter, re-reading the message.

Yes, I did read that right. Even as I get into an uber and cross over the Brooklyn Bridge, I'm still processing the message. Did he hate the idea of this stupid PR stunt as much as I did but was somehow forced into it? Is there any part of him that's even a little bit excited at the idea of meeting me?

Not that I care.

I call Jen and tell her to set up a meeting. 

Two days later, my team and I are sitting inside the office of Timothée's publicist. I'm playing with the hem of my blazer, debating if I should take it off or keep on sweating. My publicist and agent are talking to Timotheé's team that consists of four people, and I just can't bring myself to listen to the conversation that has more Hollywood business slang than I can handle for nine in the morning.

Timothée is a little over ten minutes late, which is not a good look for him already. One of his managers assures us that he's almost here.

Two minutes later the door flies open and a tall-ish, lanky person practically flies in, excuses and apologies spilling out of his lips. "I'm so sorry guys, good morning! Traffic is super crazy and the driver did his best, seriously, don't hate me, I'm here and I'm ready." Timotheé claps his hands and runs them through his hair, which is messy as fuck, yet still somehow stylish.

I look at him half-annoyed, half-amused, and when our eyes meet the energy immediately shifts in the room. His eyes are disarming. His whole being is, really.

"Timmo, this is Allison Hernández." his publicist gets up to introduce as, and I follow suit.

Everyone around us is being professional, like this is another business deal like Jen said. But all I can think about is how fucking awkward this scenario is and how much I do not want to be here.

Before I know it I'm shaking his hand and Timothée is smiling at me with that smile that I know has melted millions of teenage hearts around the world, and I'm involuntarily smiling back at him as he shakes my hand.

"Great to meet you, Allison," he says.

"Likewise." I inwardly cringe at my reply. His palm is soft, his handshake firm and confident.

If Timothée notices how uncomfortable I feel, he doesn't show. He just smiles awkwardly again and sits down on one of the armchairs to my right. He shifts left and right until he finds the right position, and I follow his lead and sit back down. I'm practically dripping sweat underneath my blazer and curse Jen for telling me to dress business-casual in this weather.

What I try to remind myself is that although he is more famous and successful than I am, Timotheé is just human. Even if he doesn't look like he is.

"Thank you for having us," Jen starts and I snap out of my little spiral.

"We're so excited to talk about the future of our clients."

"We hope to achieve some big things together," says Timothée's agent. They all told me their names ten minutes ago when we met and they instantly evaporated from my mind.

"Okay, so let's talk details."

One hour later, our team has come up with an actual contract. It's five pages long, but the gist of it is: our little PR stunt will be three months long, starting August 1st and ending in October, a little after Dune comes out in theaters.

We discussed places where we'll be seen (mostly New York, but we'll be visiting LA and Europe, too), as well as which premieres and events I'll be attending with him.

We talked about how we'd met: Columbia University, which isn't that far from the truth. Both Timothée and I had gone to Columbia around the same time, except our paths never actually crossed since he had ended up dropping out after one year. Still, it's the closest thing to the truth in this whole scenario.

Even details like how much PDA we'd be doing were discussed, which is when  I noticed Timothée started blushing. Personally, I wanted to be swallowed by the Earth.

It was mutually agreed that we didn't want to be super cringe in public. Hand-holding, a few kisses here and there would be enough to start off the rumors and really fire things up for both of us, but not any more than that. I quickly come to the realization that these things are calculated the same way a director works on a scene during a movie. Nothing is left to chance.

And what I also discover is just how many Hollywood couples we're familiar with were PR stunts.

Finally, we discussed how we would split.

"Amicably, of course," Jen said. Timotheé and his team agreed.
"Yeah, we can just say our schedules were too busy to make it work," I suggested.

"Which is almost always what happens in this line of work anyway." Timothée chuckled nervously and shifted in his seat again. I realized it's his nervous tick.

Through all the negotiations, he and I remained mostly silent except for a few inputs here and there. Not that our teams didn't allow for our voices to be heard, but I really didn't want to play a part in constructing the plan, and it appeared to me like he felt the same. That way we could pretend like we've been given a script and this was just another role we have to play.

Through it all, we'd occasionally exchange looks here and there, like we were measuring each other up, or figuring out if it was too late to quit. But neither one of us did. I knew my motives were strong, but what about his?

Next up: signing the contracts. This is it, one last chance to back out and change my mind. I take a deep breath and look at the papers in front of me, and then at Timothée, who almost instantly meets my gaze. I can see the same questions in his head that are also in mine. 'Are you going to be a mistake?' 'Is this worth it?' 'Can we do this?'

"You think you can deal with me for three minds?" he asks me in the most casual way that immediately dissipates all the tension.

"I really can't make any promises," I respond, a smile creeping up on my lips. "But I'll try my best."

Timothée gives me a smile and signs his contract, and I do the same, gliding my pen across the paper before I can change my mind.

Three months. It will fly by before we know it.

And then my life will change forever.