The Hollywood Pact

Six

GUY

It was the first time Guy Carver chased a girl.

The feeling? Awful.

Fuck.

The problem with the paparazzi yesterday had already generated a huge crisis on the set. Once I got home last night, I barely had time to enjoy Ashley/Tiffany/Maya's Californian curves because Thatcher was calling and I imagined it was to ask "What the hell did you do?"

It's a funny question, considering we had been working together for over fifteen years, he should already know what happened. And it was also on all the sites.

Guy Carver shows his dark side again and punches an innocent photographer.

Innocent my ass.

I ignored all his calls to spare both of us this speech again.

I didn't care about the gossip or what people were saying about me in the corners. I knew that was one of the implications of being famous and I let them do the talking, as long as I could do my job in peace. But apparently Stacker cared about that. And my work ended up being affected, the only thing I really loved and hadn't ruined (yet).

To top it all, I had a problem with my visa. In my defense, how was I supposed to know I had to renew it? I've lived in this country longer than I lived in England, I saw Barack Obama become president twice and I made the Hollywood industry win millions around the globe. At this point, I was more American than British.

Thatcher finished talking on his phone and came back to where I was with that look of death in his eyes.

"I'll buy you a plane ticket for you tonight. Go talk to Stacker and say you've a family emergency" Thatcher waved his hand dismissively. "Is Manchester airport ok with you?"

I shuddered.

I couldn't go back to England. Not now. Not later. Not ever.

"Nick, there's no need to worry," I said, running my hand through my hair.

Thatcher raised his eyebrows.

"I have everything figured out. I'm not the irresponsible kid you kidnapped from England".

"It would be easier to say that you kidnapped me. I didn't want to come to America. I had a girlfriend".

"And you discovered yourself gay in Los Angeles. You should thank me for the opportunity I gave you, because now you're one of the most famous managers in Hollywood!" I said with a smile. I was using our past memories to convince Thatcher that everything was ok.

I had known him for a while. We were neighbors in England. When I started my career there at the age of fourteen, my father hired a manager who was more like a nanny than a manager himself. He only listened to my father and never listened to what I wanted.

So I asked Thatcher to take over his duties as soon as he graduated from Cambridge. Within a few weeks, he got me a role in an American film and we flew to LA, where we found our own destinies. We only returned to Europe on a few occasions, usually for work, as we both had disagreements with our families.

"You weren't serious about marrying that girl to get a visa, were you?"

"I'm going to marry her, but I'm not going to take advantage of a poor girl" I said in my best innocent tone that convinced Hollywood, but not my friend.

"Carver, this is a crime" Thatcher rubbed his forehead.

"Are you really going to stop two young people in love from getting married? Just like the American State did before 2015 with the LGBT community?"

"Don't make that kind of appeal to me" He exclaimed, but his voice returned to that calm tone he had. Thatcher sighed and I knew I had won this time. "What's her name?"

That's a good question that I would have to dig out later if I were to really take this idea forward.

"I won't tell you, because I don't want you spying on her" I shrugged. "Just relax, mate. Later, we'll go to that gay club you love downtown." I put an arm around Thatcher's shoulders. It was easy, because he was about ten centimeters shorter than me.

"I hate going there with you, you always monopolize all the attention in the place."

"Yeah, what can I say? It's a burden to be so handsome".

Thatcher laughed.

"Shut up."