And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 6

HARRY WOLFE IS PRIMARILY a musician. He's really got a voice straight from Lucifer himself so he absolutely has no good reason to be this good a fucking actor.

With his newly free schedule, courtesy of the recent scandal, he drops by often and during my shoots for Vanity High. We're all just waiting for one of the cast and crew to leak out that we're together, that he's madly in love with me and in no way, someone who would abuse me.

While he's there, it's an effort for me to focus on the shoot. Everyone tries to act normal but you can feel the tenseness in the air when he's around, it's like everyone's determined to have their best foot forward.

Except me.

Because, with every minute our eyes meet, he'd give me this smile. It's not a normal smile. I can handle normal smiles. No, Harry Wolfe, like almost everything about him is extraordinary including the grin he gives me. It's so flawless it feels manufactured by God himself to sweep innocent women, like myself off my feet.

But it also brings fresh waves of tears into my eyes.

And no shit, my villainess acting becomes more pitiful than it should be. I know the Director, an ass he is, doesn't say shit because of my boyfriend. Fake boyfriend. Harry Wolfe is watching, and it's evident, he wants to make a good impression on Harry Wolfe.

And these tears? I mean, I signed a fake contract, what did I expect? For Harry Wolfe to be nice to me on our drive home? For him and I to bond over this bizarre experience?

I can't stop wondering what exactly I hope to gain from this experience really as we sit in silence save for the radio playing in his car. We're as quiet as night. Harry Wolfe knows the way to my place now, it's been two weeks, so naturally, neither of us speaks.

I'm not one to listen, I had a hard time in school because of it. I can't just sit still. I'm always doing something, touching something, thinking of something so it's such an effort for me to shut up when all I want to do is talk to my second favourite celebrity.

And maybe I might have, if not for his icy tone and the promise of frostbite that tinges on our conversations.

Do you know what's the worst part of frostbite? Warming yourself up after, your nerves go into the most intense level of pain you can imagine as you try to move your fingers and it's an unpleasantness that doesn't leave as quick as it comes. It's the kind that stays with you and leaves you shivering with every gust of wind.

Talking to Harry Wolfe is like that.

I'm not blameless when it comes to the situation, if not for me Harry Wolfe would be releasing his next single, album and probably be in a few movies.

But then there's me.

An awful conspiracy theory.

And now a fake date scenario.

Maybe I'd hoped he'd thaw, that we'd be able to converse and I'll get to know Harry Wolfe intimately. Or at least, we'd get to be friends.

Of course, reality is far from that.

So, I sit quietly in the car.

I mean, at least it's not the bus. Heaven knows how often I've sat uncomfortably next to a pervert only to feel the life slowly sucking out of my body with every stop.

So, I am grateful.

#Humble.

Unironically. So what if I land a small television series? It's not like I'm famous enough to be in the same sphere as Harry Wolfe.

It's been two weeks of work and rides from Harry Wolfe before we get the approved contract signed and ready to be fully carried out.

"It's done, huh," I say in wonder at the small document that has gone through countless edits and amendments.

"Yep," Priscilla is proud, this is Priscilla's Emmy, the perfect contract for me. "You've got twelve dates," she begins "and they're all focused on your schedule more than his. For press, we've got two possible events but they'll be focused on your series rather than Harry Wolfe we've given the interviewers levy to ask like one or two questions about your relationship. Of course, they were pushing hard to publicize everything but I managed to get some middle ground to give you both some privacy that would work better long term."

"That's amazing," I say in awe, I don't plan on reading the over twenty-page contract which I had to sign page by page. I counted it, as practice, for when I finally get asked to do autographs.

Priscilla beams with praise. We're sitting in a popular café, sponsored by Harry Wolfe's team. She'd managed to get that too - almost everything I do in public is now sponsored by his team for the duration of the next eight months. Six months while we dated and another two months to keep up appearances. I've never felt so much financial freedom. I mean, just three weeks ago I was afraid to call an Uber over the fare.

So why, of all things, do I feel, a little, tiny bit, guilty?

"So how's Harry Wolfe been?" She asks me sipping her Caramel latte. Her nails are lime green today, a little unusual for my put-together agent.

"He's come for every shoot the last two weeks," I say even though I know she knows this already. It's safe. I'm not sure why I'm being safe. I've always been a bit of a risk.

Priscilla puts the latte down and raises her eyebrows at me. "Honey," she says, "I know. We've scheduled that. I'm talking about him, as a person."

"Cold," I admit after a pause from her.

Her brows raise, "he doesn't look cold," she says surprised, "but that's the life I guess, we all play a part in appealing to the people."

I nod because I guess we all do. I've toned down too, of late. But then again, I'd like to think it's because I'm getting more sleep than I was previously and the promise of pay as well as now this new benefit.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" She asks.

I glance at her, then I look away.

"Ah," She shakes her head. "This won't do." She's got a sinister twinge in her eye which should for all purposes count as a warning.

"What are you planning?" I ask, curious. Priscilla is a genius. I have no doubt she'd find a way to fix anything, even world hunger if she really put her mind to it.

"You'll see," she puts down her Caramel Latte and with her lime green nails sends a message. a note? something on her phone. "So," she says after she's done with whatever message she wrote, "let's go shopping with our newly approved allowance from the HW team!"

"How much is my clothing allowance?" I ask, truth is I'm not good with figures and most of the numbers fly by my head.

"Enough," Priscilla replies with a gleam.

"Enough for a Hermes bag?"

"Enough for at least 10 Hermes bags!" Priscilla says, and out of her pocket, she produces a glorious American Express Black card that has my heart racing.

"No way!" I say, trying not to jump up and down in excitement but I can't stop myself and jump to hug her. "You're the best agent ever!"

Did we max out the card?

No, but we did try our best to.