Five Minutes

Who Are You?

So it had come. The movie was finished production. Usually Ralston was thrilled to complete a film project, but his enthusiasm diminished significantly these past several weeks.

Some nights he debated whether he should just sleep in his trailer on the studio set. It seemed easier to manage than to come to wife that wouldn't say a word to him anymore.

At least she'd been eating a little. That was an upside; it did console him to know she wasn't starving herself, purposefully or not.

Stupidly optimistic, he asked Veronica if she wanted to accompany him to the wrap party about week prior to when it was scheduled. She said she wasn't up for it.

Why was he disappointed? With her behaviour as of late, should he have really anticipated some other response?

The wrap party was being held at the Chateau Marmont, a luxury hotel that preserved its 1920s decor. It was very reminiscent of Old Hollywood. The inside of the restaurant was very elegant, laden with colourful vintage furniture.

Ralston stood outside on the patio, riddled with bright green trees and beautiful lights, providing a garden like environment. He barely talked to any of the cast and crew, which he knew was offering a bad impression. He was the director; he wasn't supposed to be cooped up in a corner keeping to himself.

"Where's Veronica?" Connor, the lead of his film, asked.

"She didn't come," Ralston replied.

Connor frowned. "Why?"

He didn't think it was any of the guy's business, but he replied anyway. "She wasn't feeling that well." A lie.

"Is that why you're so glum?"

"I'm not glum." His irritated tone suggested otherwise.

"Okay." Connor didn't sound remotely convinced.

Ralston wanted to jump to his own defence, instantly after concluding to keep silent. What would be the point? His lack of interaction and rather moody disposition was apparent.

"Come on, have a drink. It's your night. You should be enjoying yourself," Connor said.

Ralston wanted to say no, though maybe a drink or two or ten would ease his concerns temporarily.

He headed back inside and followed Connor to the bar. Connor ordered a round of shots and persuaded everyone by the counter to drink with him. "To the man of the hour!" he exclaimed.

"To Ralston Wirth, the nicest director I know," Elle chimed in. She played the romantic interest in the film, probably one of the most professional actors Ralston had worked with. He was impressed with her ability to quickly memorize lines; she never flubbed them while filming. She claimed it was due mainly to her eidetic memory.

They all cheered in unison and drank.

Connor ordered another round. And another. And another. At the halfway point, the others had reached their limit.

Not Ralston. He kept drinking. Kept drinking even when Connor stopped. Ultimately, the night began to spin around fast.

He knew he couldn't make it to the men's room. Hunching over, he vomited all over a shrubbery, panting heavily and feeling the sweat accumulating on his forehead. It didn't even help that he was outside; he was boiling in his suit.

For the next few moments, he kept himself in that position, waiting for the nausea to pass. Once he was certain he'd be okay, he straightened up, swiftly sensing the bile come back up. He leaned over again and hurled violently.

This was exactly the type of unprofessional behaviour he was supposed to avoid partaking in. He felt humiliated, not wanting to even look up to check if anyone else was watching. He was outside, in a crowd, of course they saw!

"Hey, are you okay?" he heard Jack, his co-writer on the film, ask him.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he said. He was breathing so hard, he struggled to get the words out. It was better to stay hunched for at least a few more minutes.

He turned slightly to see one of the other minor actors taking a photo of him and smiling. "That is awesome."

This was fantastic.

"Get the fuck outta here, Logan," Jack yelled angrily.

"Are you all right, sir?" one of the waitresses asked. She didn't even sound angry, only worried.

"I'll be okay," he said.

"I'll get you a glass of water," she said.

She was back soon with a glass in her hand. He hesitated, seizing it from her, but downed it in two gulps. The water was soothing and cold. "Thanks," he said, giving her a drunken smile. "I think I need to sit down."

The waitress helped him to one of the nearby chairs. He did feel a lot better having emptied his system, but his head was still pounding and he still felt hot.

There was a small crowd that gathered around him now, intensifying his embarrassment. He knew this was the result of his own stupidity; he couldn't blame Colin.

He closed his eyes for a second, relieved that the floor was no longer spinning beneath him. The water had helped him.

Unfortunately, everything else after that was a blank slate.