And They Told Me I Couldn't Act

TAKE 21

SINCE BEGINNING WORK I've enjoyed the perks given to the main antagonist of the story. It's better than an extra or a minor role where it's an one day or maybe a week's worth of work at most. 

Being the main antagonist, I go in every few days when I'm needed, I have later call times such as today - where my work begins at twelve in the afternoon - which means it's an absolutely perfect time to sleep in.

I am just like a princess who can take her much needed beauty sleep, especially after our eventful night prior. However, Princesses don't come with agents and I'm forced awake by mine. 

I'm not surprised to see Harry awake and downstairs, a gym towel hanging down his neck, a bit of sweat still visible on his neck. He's in the midst of talking to his agent but as I head downstairs he glances up and gives me a brief smile. I don't meet his gaze.

When we're seated on the long island table in Harry's Kitchen, Charles pulls out his iPad and the article he's screenshotted of the two of us leaving the party. As Harry said, the party was a breeding point of unnamed sources who told them that we were seen unable to take our hands off each other, and how we'd tried to sneak a room. It was all far tales. We didn't even kiss on the lips.

"This is perfect!" Charles says happily, "your both doing so well."

I roll my eyes, going through the paper bag they both brought us.

"Anyway," Priscilla says after Charles is done raving about what a fantastic job we'd both done. "we're here to let you head back to your own spaces," she says.

Priscilla and Charles faces had that glint of joy - like they were sharing exciting news.

But by the silence that followed, you can see their smiles slowly drop.

The truth was, it was nice staying with Harry. I mean his house is bigger, and he has a TV which meant I didn't need to watch things from my laptop, and free food that I didn't have to cook.

"Unless you don't want to," she says awkwardly, her eyes quizzical on me.

It's her eyes on me that prompt a response, "I'm just dreading the packing," I lie. I don't look at Harry when I do. He's probably quiet in relief.

"I'll help you," Priscilla offers kindly.

"So since you're back in your own spaces," Charles says cheerily, "we've rescheduled your couple shoot, to Wednesday before your super cute date at Paramount Iceland."

Wednesday, that's four days away. Back on schedule. I'll need to find something to wear. Something light enough for the sunny heat in LA and maybe a jacket since ice skating will be colder.

There are a bit more logistics discussed in regard to safety and we learned that one of our sponsors is Paramount Iceland. As a result, we'll need to take a few photos there for our Instagram that we'll post later.

Later, in my room, as I pack up my clothes that have sewn themselves around his room, Priscilla asks me, "Is everything alright?"

I don't want to talk about it so I shrug, "Yeah it is, I guess I just realized that Harry isn't as perfect as Harry Wolfe."

"Celebrities rarely are," Priscilla says, "I'm sure most of them stop growing the minute they hit fame."

"He'll be forever 21," I say. He was 21 when he won American Idol, 23 at his first album, 25 at his second and now he's a grumpy 27-year-old man who can't release his third album.

"Or 23," Priscilla says, "Are you sure you're okay?"

I look at my agent. She's got purple glasses now that rest on her nose. Her brown almond eyes from behind them are concerned. I reach over and give her a hug, "Maybe it's time I find a new place."