Faking It

Hangovers and Tabloids

LOUIS

I slouched in the soft, cracked leather chair at the far end the long drawing table, scowling into my lap as I listened to several members of management arguing on the other side of the room.  I’m pretty certain I was meant to be paying attention to whatever they were saying, but I was not in the mood to deal with them.  It was still pretty early in the morning, and I was both exhausted from lack of sleep and terribly hung over from lack of inhibitions.  I had been out almost the whole previous night and had the headache to prove it.

“Mr. Tomlinson, what’s your opinion on the matter?”

                I looked up to notice they were all looking at me, waiting for an answer to a question they must have just asked.  I had no idea what they were talking about, but I decided to just go with it.

“Yes,” I said, pretending like I had been listening the whole time and was answering their question.

“That wasn’t a yes or no question.” 

Busted.

The man directly across from me looked at me in annoyance.  He was middle-aged, balding, and more than a little pudgy, but he still seemed to command authority and respect from the handful of others in the room.  If I had to guess, I’d say he was the one in charge of the meeting.

“I would appreciate it, Mr. Tomlinson, if you would at least pay attention in these meetings.  After all, it is your future we are discussing,” he said, giving me hard look.

“Fine, I’m sorry,” I apologized, trying to keep the scowl from reappearing on my face.  “What were you saying again?

“We were just talking about your current, umm, issues with the media,” a woman in a black pantsuit and wearing a little too much eye makeup stated.

“What issues?” I asked innocently.  “I don’t have issues.”

“We don’t bullshit as these meetings Mr. Tomlinson,” the man, who I’d begun to refer to as “Boss” in my head, said coolly.

“I’d beg to differ,” I muttered under my breath.

He gave me a hard look before continuing.  “You definitely do have issues, Mr. Tomlinson, and quite frankly, you’ve become a pain in the ass to have to deal with.  For the past two months, you’ve done nothing but get yourself into trouble.  Drinking, partying—oh, and let’s not forget that video of you and Mr. Malik smoking illegal substances.”

I felt a heat begin to creep up my neck.  Unfortunately, it was true.  These past few months felt like a blur of bad decisions and reckless behavior.  Not too long ago, I would have never acted the way I had been of late—drinking, clubbing until the crack of dawn, you name it.  I had basically become a total mess, and I had seen enough pictures of my drunken ass in tabloids to prove it.

But even though I knew what I was doing was wrong and that I was making a completely ass of myself, I just couldn’t find it in myself to care.  Why should I care what those stupid reporters or trashy tabloids thought of me? 

“So what?” I snapped, feeling my irritation grow as the pounding in my head increased.  “Plenty of celebrities get trashed and end up in the tabloids.  I don’t see how I’m any different.”

“You most certainly are different,” Boss argued.  “You are a member of One Direction, one of the most popular musical groups in the world.  One Direction has been more successful than any other boy band before its time, and people can simply not believe you have managed to stay relevant for this long.