"These are my thoughts written down on paper
It's my only savior from not saying
What I want to say"
- New Found Glory
Vincent traced an edge of the manila envelope with his finger as he sat down on a piece of modular furniture, which had a quality a notch above Ikea, but fell well short of Pottery Barn. He extended an open hand, offering Rufus the chair across from him.
"Now, I should inform you that I have been following you for quite some time," Vincent said while Rufus took a seat. "You really are a fascinating individual."
"What about me exactly do you find so fascinating?" Rufus wondered.
Vincent gently tossed the manila envelope to Rufus, who quickly caught it midair.
"Good reflexes," Vincent said quietly.
Rufus unfastened the brass brad on the back of the envelope and pulled out a thick stack of papers. He scanned the first couple pages and found they were filled with extensive information about him.
"What is this?" Rufus asked, unsure if he wanted an answer.
"That is a detailed overview of one Rufus Spencer," Vincent explained. "All of the highlights from your life—everything, right there at your fingertips."
"You've really done your homework," Rufus said while flipping through a few more pages. There were candid pictures and newspaper clippings, noteworthy quotes from heavily-watched interviews and excerpts from brutally honest Rotten Tomatoes reviews, even a list compiling all of his proclivities as well as a breakdown of his strengths and weaknesses. Everything had been color-coded and meticulously arranged, so the information wasn't just available, it was easily accessible. "I am impressed," Rufus admitted as he slid the papers back into the envelope. He leaned forward and held it out for Vincent to take. "It really is a good crib sheet; You could use it for the next Rufus Spencer Trivia Night."
Vincent held up his hand. "That's actually your copy of my research."
"Is your copy 'The Royal Copy'?" Rufus jested. "Trimmed with gold leaf on heavy cardstock?"
"To tell you the truth, my copy is all up here," Vincent replied, tapping his temple with his forefinger.
"You're kidding," Rufus said incredulously. "You memorized it?"
"Is that really so difficult to believe?" Vincent questioned. "I mean, you memorize hundreds of lines of dialogue and lyrics."
"Yes, but those are things with heart and are emotionally-driven," Rufus explained. "What you've committed to memory—the dates, the statistics, the lists—it's all incredibly dry and terribly dense."
"That's true," Vincent said. "My summarization does lack flashiness and entertainment value, but it's highly informative and provides a certain insight into the inner-workings of a beloved celebrity."
"Well, kudos to you and your bordering-on-stalker-status research," Rufus said. He looked down at the envelope in his hands. He had rolled it up tightly into a tube. "Did you really memorize all of this?"
"Here we go," Quinn sighed, standing in front of a framed piece of corporate artwork with her hands folded at her waist. She rolled her hazel eyes and shook her head.
Vincent took a deep breath. "You were born on Christmas Day, December 25, 2005 at 11:11 a.m. in Sugar Land's Methodist Hospital, approximately 36 kilometers southwest of Downtown Houston. It was a Sunday. Your parents, Savannah and Cameron, were quite young when they welcomed you into the world. Both ultimately dropped out of college during their junior year with your mother taking up the majority of parenting responsibilities while your father went to work in data entry at his family's accounting firm. For the first few years of your life, you had the common suburban upbringing. In 2009, that all changed when your father abandoned you and your mother."
"How in the world did you—" Rufus began before being cut off.
"Now, now," Vincent said. "Please save your questions for the Q&A at the end." He cleared his throat and continued, "After your father left, you went to live with your maternal grandmother who made it possible for your mother to finish her collegiate career at Rice University with a BA degree in Managerial Economics and Organizational Sciences. Soon after, your mother recognized your affinity for the fine arts—especially the performing fine arts. She said in an interview with Forbes magazine that you would often put on small skits and shows for her, which were not only clever, but genuinely original. Eventually, she pushed you into a number of community theater productions. This led to the title role of a Houston theater company's new adaptation of Oliver!, which set the celebrated musical in 1920's Chicago. During the final week of shows, you were 'discovered' by the Hollywood titan, Edward Redding, an executive producer with countless credits and accolades. He has claimed on a number of occasions that on the night he first saw you perform, he was rendered absolutely speechless and truly felt this undeniable X-factor. It was difficult to explain; it really had to be seen in action to be understood. And he made it possible for the entire world to witness it. In late 2014, your first film was released."
"Faith On Fire," Rufus said softly. "Wow. I haven't thought about that in a long time."
"That's surprising, considering it earned you an Oscar nomination," Vincent said.
"Well, I didn't win," Rufus pointed out.
"Ever so modest. That's cute," Vincent replied. "Now, by 2022, you had starred in a total of 10 films, mostly Indie, with the exception of that big-budget reimagining of The Goonies. And I must say, I really enjoyed your deadpan version of Data. It was brilliant."
"People seem to either love that role or hate that role; there's really no in between," Rufus explained. "That's the tricky thing about retelling a cult classic."
"I wouldn't know where to even begin," Vincent admitted. "At any rate, all of that brings us to this year—2023—the year of 90 Percent Ninja."
"And what a year it has been," Rufus said. "It's hard to believe we're gonna do it all over again in a few months on a much larger scale."
"It's not really all that hard to believe," Vincent stated. "You have a platinum record, more than 400 million streams on Spotify, and a wildly loyal fan base. Over the last decade, you have developed a sterling reputation in the entertainment industry, which is no easy feat. You're politically neutral and religiously agnostic, so you've side-stepped a ridiculous amount of landmines. And statistically, you appeal to both men and women, young and old; You're a true four-quadrant talent."
Rufus scratched his head. "Everything sounds great when you break it down like that, but in reality, it's been a constant, uphill battle. There's been unavoidable struggle and flattening disappointment."
"All of which you spun into success," Vincent said encouragingly.
"Sure, success," Rufus replied. "But, it's success that comes with a cost."
"Fortunately, you're in a position where you can certainly afford it," Vincent highlighted.
"I suppose that's true," Rufus said, sighing. He looked down at the rolled-up envelope in his hand. "You really did memorize all of this. Tell me—no, let me guess—you have some kind of superhuman photographic memory."
"There's a little more to it than that," Vincent said.
"Oh, wait. It's that type of memory that Sheldon has in The Big Bang Theory," Rufus presumed. "Eidetic memory, right?"
"Eidetic memory is actually the scientific term for a photographic memory," Vincent explained.
"Huh. Learn something new..." Rufus replied, tapering off at the end.
"The correct classification of my condition is known as 'hyperthymesia'," Vincent said.
"That sounds like something that affects your upper leg," Rufus thought aloud, behind a small smile.
"It's an exceedingly rare condition," Quinn interjected as she swept her platinum blonde bangs to the side. "Prince Vincent has the ability to instantly recall anything—absolutely anything he has experienced since the age of four. He absorbs everything and can recollect all of it with a shocking amount of detail."
"Is that so?" Rufus said, leaning back in his chair, finding it impossible not to want a little bit of proof. "What happened on May 26th?"
Quinn scoffed. "You Americans with your see-it-to-believe-it mentality—it really lacks maturity and class."
Vincent slowly closed his eyes. "May 26th... What year?"
"What year?" Rufus echoed, not having thought his question through. "I suppose that would make a difference."
"Yes, most definitely," Vincent responded. "I mean, on that day in 1897, Bram Stoker changed the landscape of literary fiction with the publication of his horror classic, Dracula. In 1907, it was the day the legend known as John Wayne was born. In 1940, during World War II, May 26th was the date that marked the beginning of the British evacuating troops from Dunkirk. And I should also mention the year 1966, when on that day, the South American country of Guyana became an independent nation."
"Wow. Okay," Rufus said, overwhelmed by Vincent's knowledge. "And why exactly have you not been on Jeopardy?"
Vincent chuckled lightly. "I don't find enjoyment in games I know I'll win. There's no rush, no excitement."
"Regardless," Rufus began. "What you're able to do—it's amazing."
"Honestly, I feel the same way about you," Vincent confessed. "You sing, you dance, you act; You're the quintessential triple threat."
"I just work with what I have," Rufus replied, glossing over the spoiling compliment. "It really boils down to being in the right place at the right time. I've been very lucky."
"I don't believe in luck," Vincent retorted. "It's far too fickle and dramatically romanticized. I do, however, believe in the concept of chance when it's applied to probability. While luck cannot be rationalized or quantified, probability can be calculated. It has a kind of comforting rigidity."
"Well, we obviously look at things differently," Rufus said.
"It appears so," Vincent replied.
There was a momentary pause. All that could be heard were the seconds ticking by on the ornate wall clock of the suite.
Quinn cleared her throat loudly. "The rumor, Your Highness. The rumor."
"Rumor?" Rufus asked, wondering what more they could possibly have on him.
"Ah, yes, the rumor," Vincent said, straightening up in his seat. "Over the course of your career, several of your castmates have said that you are somewhat of a human lie detector. There are even some who firmly believe you're some kind of clairvoyant. I must know, is there any truth to this?"
Rufus placed the rolled up envelope in his hands on the coffee table in front of him. "I think of it as more of a party trick than anything else."
"So, it's true?" Vincent posed.
"Yes, it's true."
"Wicked."
Quinn took a step forward. "I hate myself for saying this, but prove it," she said sternly.
Rufus started massaging the back of his neck. "Okay. I've found 'Two Truths and a Lie' works best in this kind of situation, so go ahead—rattle 'em off."
"What?" Quinn asked, not really knowing how to respond.
"If you want proof, you're gonna have to lie to me first," Rufus explained. "So, tell me two truths and a lie."
"Alright," Quinn replied, thinking it over. "Are you ready?"
"Waiting on you, darling," Rufus said, grinning.
"I started working for The Palace of Verastoria at 16-years-old," she began, taking another step forward.
Truth, Rufus thought.
"My favorite book is Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen."
Again, truth.
"I collect vinyl records; I currently have a library of 5,128 albums."
Rufus had to think for a second. "The last one," he said. "The last one's a lie."
Quinn was surprised, however remained unimpressed. "I don't think that proves anything. You had great odds of guessing the right one."
"That's true," Vincent said, nodding. "33.33%—we have to take that into account."
The grin returned to Rufus' face. "What if I were to tell you that the lie wasn't actually a lie, but more of a half-truth? This is just a shot in the dark, but I assume you fudged the number of records in your collection."
Now Quinn was impressed. "How could you possibly know that?"
"I was wondering the same thing," Vincent said, pointing at Quinn.
Rufus sighed, leaning forward with his elbows pressed against his knees while he rubbed his hands together. "Everyone you've ever met—your family, your friends, your acquaintances—all of them unknowingly vibrate at a unique, seemingly undetectable frequency. When someone lies, that frequency noticeably shifts and somehow, I can feel those shifts." He then met eyes with Quinn. "When you lied, your frequency shifted, but it was exceptionally subtle, so I knew there was some truth in what you were saying."
"Remarkable," Vincent said, exhaling. "Utterly remarkable."
"So, I think we've adequately covered the details of my life," Rufus expressed. "You know so much about me and I can't help but feel like this is all a little one-sided."
"Well, we should rectify that immediately," Vincent said, standing up. "Before we begin, I must ask you for a wee bit of patience. I need to excuse myself; I won't be but a moment. Help yourself to anything in the minibar." He hurried to the bedroom, closing the door behind him.
"The prince—he's quite a character, am I right?" Rufus said as Quinn scrolled through emails on her phone.
"You don't know the half of it," she replied flatly, eyes still focused on her inbox.
"Do you ever feel—I dunno—dwarfed by his intelligence?" Rufus asked, making his way to the small refrigerator behind the bartop parallel to the south wall of the suite. He reached inside and pulled out a $12 beer.
"Honestly, it's never been an issue," Quinn said, locking her phone and pocketing it in her black blazer. "His IQ is off-the-charts, yes, but he still has much to learn, especially when it comes to public interaction."
Rufus cracked open the beer and sipped up the overflowing foam. "Well, I can certainly give him a few pointers. I've had years of learning through trial and error."
"He's going to be asking for a little more than advice," Quinn said as the doorknob to the bedroom rattled.
The door opened suddenly and Vincent sauntered out, sporting a white t-shirt with a deep purple flag. In the center of the flag, there was a single star in the very middle of an orange square.
"Okay, let's get started," Vincent said, clapping his hands together.
"Hang on just a second," Rufus urged. "Did you really just pull a costume change?"
"I thought visual aids would prove to be particularly useful," Vincent replied while Quinn booted up her laptop on an end table. After a few keystrokes, the television flashed and then lit up with a title slide of a PowerPoint presentation. The words "EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW" filled the screen.
"Are you kidding me?" Rufus muttered under his breath while he sat back down, beer in hand.
"As you can see, this presentation will guide you through everything you need to know," Vincent stated with a formal tone. He looked in Quinn's direction and nodded, prompting her to advance to the next slide, which held the words "THE CHILDHOOD AND ADOLESCENCE OF PRINCE VINCENT."
"Let's start at the beginning, shall we?" Vincent said, keeping the formality. Quinn clicked the touchpad, bringing up another slide. "As hard as it is to believe, I, too, was born on December 25, 2005, exactly 13 minutes after you."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously."
Vincent continued on, explaining his absurdly sheltered upbringing. He had lived his entire life away from the prying eyes of the public, spending the majority of his time within the walls of The Palace, which later came to be known as the 46,000 square-meter prison where dreams go to die.
Despite the constant separation from society, the prince found a way to thrive. He threw himself into the wonderful world of literature, polishing off hundreds of titles every year. He learned about the sense of adventure from Mark Twain and J.R.R. Tolkien, the importance of altruism from C.S. Lewis and Charlotte Brontë, and the fundamentals of strategy from Sun Tzu and Thucydides.
Along with his appreciation for the written word, he had a fascination with television and film. From I Love Lucy to The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel, Citizen Kane to The Dark Knight, he would stay up for days on end, completely immersing himself in whatever Hollywood cooked up.
With Quinn's expansive vinyl collection as a resource, he also found a passion for countless genres of music, spanning across several decades. He was charmed by the whimsy of Ragtime, captivated by the soul of R&B, and hooked by the reckless abandon of Punk.
To further stimulate his mind, at the age of nine, he began to explore foreign languages, gaining fluency in Spanish, French, Mandarin, and Latin. During his preteen years, he tumbled down a rabbit hole on the internet, known as The University of Phoenix. Within a few years, he had earned a variety of Bachelor's Degrees with concentrations in Business, Behavioral Science, and Computer Programming. As if that weren't enough, he also completed his MBA.
While nurturing his brain, he came across the importance and necessity of physical education. After experimenting with a number of approaches, he found himself to be most receptive to the discipline found in martial arts, specifically Aikido. He soon became a dedicated student, working through its exercises not only for his overall fitness, but to effectively combat stress.
Quinn clicked on the last slide of the presentation which displayed the words "THE END" in a large, bold font.
"So, that's it," Vincent said as he turned off the television. "That's my life."
"It's definitely interesting. That's for sure," Rufus replied. "But, I don't understand what you want me to do with this information."
"Ah, yes—we've arrived at the reason why you're here," Vincent said, taking a step toward Rufus. "Here's the idea: I want you to take my place in Verastoria, away from the vultures of the media, away from your exhausting life, simply so you can savor the relaxation of a much-needed vacation. I, in turn, will take your place here in The States and finally experience the world the way it was intended to be experienced. It also presents the opportunity of dealing with the concept of celebrity. I believe it'll be quite similar to the life of a Royal exposed to public scrutiny. And I thought it'd be best to switch back our lives on Christmas Day, our 18th birthday."
Rufus thought for a moment. "You're really invested in this idea, aren't you?" he asked.
"I am," Vincent firmly responded.
"And you actually think it's possible for us to pull it off?"
"I do."
"You know you're going to have to deal with my mother, right?" Rufus asked with a smirk that instantly faded. "Oh, shit. My mother." He immediately grabbed his backpack he set by the side of the chair, digging through it frantically, looking for his phone. Once he found it, he scrolled through his notifications. "19 missed calls and 47 texts. A new record, Mother."
"Imagine—just for a second—not having to answer to anyone," Vincent said. "Imagine being free. That's exactly what I'm offering—freedom."
Rufus fidgeted with the zipper on his backpack. He thought about everything Vincent had to say. He thought about the feeling of liberation. He thought about every way the plan could go wrong. Then, he stopped thinking.
"Okay," he said after a deep breath. "Sold. Let's do this."
Vincent smiled widely. "Yes, let's do this."
"We should really do something about the hair," Quinn advised.
"Hair?" Rufus asked. "What about my hair?"
"To tell you the truth, it's disheveled and unruly," Quinn replied. "Follow me."
Rufus stood up and followed her to a vanity mirror in the corner of the suite where he was instructed to sit. Quinn took out a pair of scissors and a barber's comb from her bag. She hummed to herself as she began cutting Rufus' sandy brown locks, creating a closer match to Vincent's hairstyle, which was clean and slicked back, much like a crooner from the 50's. Once Quinn had finished up, she lightly brushed the clippings off of Rufus' shoulders. Aside from their outfits, Rufus and Vincent were now, without question, identical.
"May I ask you something? It's about your backpack," Vincent said while Rufus stared at himself in the mirror.
"My 'bug-out bag'. Yeah, sure, shoot," Rufus replied, turning his head from side to side.
"Over the years, I've seen a number of pictures with you and that very backpack. Does it carry some kind of sentimental value?"
"It actually does," Rufus said, picking it up. "My grandmother made it for me. I take it wherever I go." He unzipped the main compartment and went through the items inside. "This is my current journal and this is my vintage Swiss Army knife and this... Wow, I forgot I had this."
"What is it?" Vincent asked.
"It's a picture of my father," Rufus said, his voice devoid of emotion. He handed the picture to Vincent who looked at the large man framed in the shot, noticing his angular features and his obvious Asian descent. Vincent handed it back and Rufus shoved it inside a side pocket.
"I'm sorry. I know that he's a sore subject," Vincent said.
"It's alright," Rufus replied, sifting through his packed belongings. "It's really—oh, yeah! I almost forgot the best part." He opened the backpack so Vincent could see inside.
"What am I looking at?" Vincent wondered.
Rufus pulled on a cloth tab at the bottom of his backpack, revealing a false bottom. "Pretty cool, right?"
"It is. It really is," Vincent said before pointing at the spiral notebook, usually covered by the false bottom. "But, what's that?"
"Oh, it's a handwritten record of all of my accounts and passwords," Rufus explained. "Everything from social media profiles to private offshore savings. I got it all right here—completely unhackable."
"Genius. Absolutely genius," Vincent retorted.
"My prince," Quinn chimed in. "The time."
"Oh, my. You're right," Vincent said, glancing at his watch. "It's really late." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a key card. "Here," he said, handing it over to Rufus. "The room at the end of the hall is for you. Get some sleep. You're on the first flight out of Intercontinental."
"Okay, this is really happening," Rufus said, still trying to believe it. "First flight. Good. No problem." He turned on his heel and slowly walked to the front door.
"Before you go, I should really tell you about my friends," Vincent said.
"Your friends?" Rufus asked. "I thought you were a total loner."
"Even loners can find their tribe," Vincent replied. "Now, fair warning—they will eventually seek you out. I told them nothing about all of this, so be prepared for a barrage of questions."
"Great. Something to look forward to," Rufus said sarcastically.
"Is there anything I should know?" Vincent asked.
"Come to think of it, yeah," Rufus answered as he opened the door. "Watch out for Lena. She's a force of nature that you should never underestimate. She's my best friend and the bane of my existence—a walking, talking contradiction in a cocktail dress."
"Wait!" Vincent called out. "How in the world do I approach someone like that?"
"Carefully," Rufus replied just before he walked out and shut the door.
YOU ARE READING
The Prince & The Popstar
General FictionA twisted fairy tale with a little bite. When popstar Rufus Spencer meets his doppelganger, Prince Vincent of Verastoria, he's offered the chance to escape his exhausting life by switching places with the prince, who grew up incredibly sheltere...
