Under the Radar

01| The Way Life Works

Everyone Adores You (at least I do) - Matt Maltese

—
"Allow yourself to shine without the desire to be seen." - Anonymous
—

Wade

"This is the worst idea you've ever had, and you've had some pretty terrible ideas in my time working for you, Mr Lawson," Peter says over the phone, his concern evident in his tone.

"I've got it under control. Nobody will even know I left Los Angeles," I assert, my determination unwavering.

I hear Peter sigh, knowing it doesn't matter what he says to me; I will do what I want anyway.

In all honesty, I'm not paying him to be my assistant so that he can tell me what to do and not to do. If I wanted that, I would've brought my mother with me. God knows how good at she is at that.

"A few hours. Don't take your gloves off, and always keep your shades and hood on. Remember, all you need for a mob of fans to circle you is a random spotting from one person."

I stroll down a random road so far down in manhattan the street signs aren't numbers anymore. A cool breeze nearly pushes my hood off, but I catch it and tug it back down.

"You don't have to tell me twice, trust me." I end the call.

Back in Hollywood, not a day goes by that doesn't consist of paparazzi hounding me.

Peter's right, though.

If I wanted to get away from the harassment, pictures, and shouting, Manhattan is probably not the smartest place to go, especially given the amount of people who walk the streets.

But if there's one thing I know, it's that most New Yorkers are professionals at minding their business.

And that's what I'm looking forward to seeing.

I take in the sunrise on a long, narrow street between tall skyscrapers, matching its orange and yellow mix of colors with the leaves that dance in the wind.

I wish I could take my shades off to see the true view, but I can't risk it, even though it's six in the morning and only a handful of people are walking the streets.

This city is way more gorgeous in person. It's even better when I'm pretending like I'm no different than the people walking past me to get to their 9-5 jobs or going to drop their children off at school.

Pretending like I don't have to shave my face, get a haircut, and cover every inch of my body to avoid getting recognized.

I keep my head tilted down every time someone passes by. But when there's nobody, I don't hesitate to drag my eyes across everything I see—One of those things being a food vendor at the end of the street.

I heard those carts have food better than your favorite restaurants...

I clear my throat, contemplating whether I should get something, until the cart is right in front of me. I stop in my tracks when I see freshly baked croissants.

The guy in it smiles at me, a thick mustache covering his top lip, and a hairnet around his head.

"What can I get for ya'?"

I deepen my voice as I avoid staring straight up at him. "Just one croissant, thanks."

"You betcha," his New York accent apparent.

He hands me a croissant, and I take a spare twenty-dollar bill from my black hoodie pocket and give it to him before walking away.

"Hey, son!" The guy calls out to me. My heart races. He recognized me. He must've.