The Prince & The Popstar

You're Gonna Go Far, Kid

"With a thousand lies and a good disguise
Hit 'em right between the eyes...
When you walk away nothing more to say
See the lightning in your eyes
See 'em running for their lives"
— The Offspring

     While The Prince continued to dwell on his broken relationship with his father, exactly seven time zones away, Rufus sat at his kitchen island, poring over scripts while enjoying a nice brunch that Savannah had DoorDashed. His cell phone buzzed every few minutes with the endless notifications from a myriad of social networks—Facebook, Instagram, X, TikTok. Everyone everywhere wanted to know the plans of the amazing performer. They waited with bated breath, eagerly anticipating something uniquely awesome, something that only Rufus Spencer could do. The pressure was on and it was unbearably overwhelming. One wrong move and the tide could turn. Rufus knew this through and through.
     Savannah walked into the kitchen and placed a K-Cup in their Keurig. "Have you found anything particularly interesting?"
     Rufus set down the page he had been reading and re-reading. "I think I have. And I think it just might surprise you."
     "Really?" Savannah said, actively interested. "Tell me, tell me."
     Rufus leaned back on his barstool. "I think I want to return to the theater."
     Savannah smiled widely with the slightest twinkle in her eye. "That is a little surprising, Roo. What exactly spurred this idea?"
     Rufus slid over the script across the countertop—the one he had been going over and over with a meticulous, fine-toothed comb. "This is absolutely incredible. I've never read anything quite like it."
     "Youth in Asia," Savannah read aloud. "I remember reading this one. It is truly fantastic. It's probably David Henry Hwang's finest work to date."
     "And that's saying something," Rufus replied, folding his arms. "Do you remember when we went and saw that revival of M. Butterfly? That performance became the gold standard to which I held all other plays."
     "That's really not all that surprising," Savannah said. "It was beautiful and moving and left the audience dumbfounded. That ending—whew. It sure was something."
     "I truly believe that this is going to be a serious Tony contender. It's been a while since I've wanted something this badly."
     "Well, let me make some calls and we'll figure out what we want to do from there. I want to feel out whoever is heading up casting. I'm sure I can get them to bend our way."
     Rufus cracked a smile. "I've never doubted your capabilities, Mother. Whenever you set your mind to something, it usually turns out exactly as you planned."
     Savannah took her mug of coffee from the Keurig, blew on it softly, and then took a small sip. "And don't you forget it, baby."
     "Hey, I got that email you forwarded me. We've got that charity dinner tonight for Habitat For Humanity, don't we?"
     "Yes, I need you dressed to the nines and ready to go by 5:30. You wouldn't believe the guest list they've put together. It's going to be a night you won't soon forget."
     "Trust me when I tell you this, Mother. After a while, all these dinners kinda blend together. It's another night of snooty One-Percenters sizing each other up, trying to see who has the deepest, silk-lined pockets."
     "Look, it's for a worthy cause and everyone is excited to meet the great Rufus Spencer. You really need to bring your A-Game tonight. This is really important, Roo."
     "I know, I know. It always is."

     That night, Rufus and Savannah walked arm-in-arm, entering the jaw-droppingly gorgeous Astorian, one of Houston's most elegant and exquisite ballrooms. Black, white, and silver curtains lined the walls, making the bright, brilliant colors of the female attendees' selected evening gowns pop. An elevated platform by the south-facing windows held a banquet table with a bountiful cornucopia of high-end appetizers and finger foods, everything from bacon-wrapped jumbo shrimp to Almas caviar. There was even a barista serving up espresso-based beverages with delightful designs drawn on the frothy foam.
     As Rufus started making the rounds, he came across Edward Redding, Lena's father, the noteworthy executive producer who was responsible for Rufus' initial exposure. He had a defined widow's peak and a protruding gut which was wrapped up in a freshly pressed Versace button-down shirt.
     "Rufus, how are you, son?" Edward said with a crooked smile.
     "Mr. Redding, it's good to see you," Rufus replied as he adjusted his white gold cufflinks. "Is Lena around here somewhere?"
     "Oh, no, no, no," Edward answered. "She's out and about with that Tyson character she seems to be so fond of."
     "Ah, I see," Rufus said as he found that the idea of the two of them still didn't sit well with him.
     "Fill me in. Should I be worried about this guy? Is he a heartbreaker?"
     "Honestly, you have nothing to worry about. If anyone's going to be breaking hearts, it's definitely Lena."
     Edward grinned and nodded. "She sure is a pistol, isn't she?"
     "Actually, I find her to be more of an AK-47."
     Edward chortled. "That is a little more fitting." He then cleared his throat and got down to business. "So, I spoke with your mother on the phone a few hours ago. You're looking to go back to your roots, is that right?"
     "Well, I came across this script that's simply too good to pass up. I deeply admire the playwright and it just feels like it's going to be something special. And I want to be a part of that."
     "Alright, we'll make it happen. The sky's the limit, Rufus. I firmly believe you're destined for unparalleled greatness. Your journey has only just begun. You're going to break through the stratosphere and gain something that only few have been able to touch. You're going to become immortal; your work is going to captivate audiences for decades to come. One day, they're gonna teach your acting technique to the next generation's wide-eyed, hopeful performers, who will try their damndest to emulate you, but they'll never truly possess that 'X' factor that makes you absolutely one-of-a-kind. You're gonna go far, kid."
     Rufus accepted the glowing, spoiling compliment, blushing a little, then shook Edward's hand before circling the ballroom filled with exorbitant decorations, giving it an elaborate, picturesque extravagance. Throughout the evening, Rufus was introduced to the upper echelon of American society, notable figureheads and industry titans who did business all around the globe. They had many questions about the popstar and his Verastorian doppelganger. None of them could believe the uncanny resemblance; most of them had been following stories in online magazines—some true, some wildly imaginative, but ultimately, false.
     Towards the conclusion of the benefit, there was a live auction, where trips to New Zealand and private dinners prepared by celebrity chefs went for tens of thousands of dollars. Rufus stood by, watching these small-minded aristocrats toss around small fortunes like quarters in a wishing well. Soon, Rufus started to notice that a few classically beautiful young women inched their way closer to him. When one of them finally found the courage to break the ice, another one would come up from behind, pulling Rufus by the arm and then gently stroking it. He couldn't believe how cut-throat and ruthless these graduated debutantes were. They would lash out passive-aggressively and it felt like they were in some bizarre competition for who could stoop the lowest. Rufus didn't give them much attention, so they mistakenly thought he was simply playing "hard to get", when in actuality, he was just thinking about the only girl who mattered—the incomparable, indescribable freckled-faced redhead half a world away. Rufus excused himself from the gaggle of girls and walked over to a darkened corner where he texted Ava.
     "You have no idea how much I miss you," he typed.
     After a few minutes without receiving a response, it dawned on him; it was 3 a.m. tomorrow in Verastoria. Ava was most likely fast asleep in her hammock at The Treehouse. He was extremely curious about whether or not she was dreaming about him. And truth be told, she was.
     "Roo, what the hell is wrong with you?" Savannah harshly whispered.
     "What?"
     "I saw you blow off those girls. What was wrong with them?" she questioned with a severe stare.
     "Where would you like me to start, Mother? Would their entitlement interest you? How about their brazen behavior that comes with no redeeming qualities? I need you to understand something. I'm going to be honest and clear: They're not Ava."
     "Oh, my God. I just—just—just can't do this with you right now. Besides, I need to put a pin in this whole situation. I just met with Dominique Balleza. Do you know who that is?"
     "Um... no. Should I?"
     "She's the executive producer of Good Morning, Houston. She wants to televise an interview with you, asking the burning questions from their wide-spread audience. And you're going to love this—the interviewer—your childhood crush, Lily Kayhugh.
     "Wait. What? Are you serious?"
     "Like a heart-attack. This is huge, Roo. They're going to live-stream the interview, so it's going to reach so many people."
     "I can't believe it. Lily Kayhugh. Wow."

     Three days later, Rufus found himself on a pleather chair, sitting across from Houston's most popular news anchor, Lily Kayhugh—a trilingual social media powerhouse with millions of followers who ranted and raved about the stellar anchor's incredibly graceful poise and her inexplicable calming, soothing voice.
     "Good morning, Houston," Lily said with a vivid white smile. "I'm here with one of Houston's greatest treasures, the multi-faceted teen idol, Rufus Spencer. How are you this morning, Rufus? Are you happy to be home?"
     "Oh, absolutely," Rufus replied with a toothy grin. "Every time I come back to this city after spending some time away, it enchants me all over again. I'll never be able to get enough of The Bayou City. It will always hold a special place in my heart."
     "Love it, love it, love it," Lily chimed. "So, today, we have some questions for you which have been submitted by our wonderful viewers. Are you ready to field a few of these?"
     "Let's do it."
     "Okay, so tell us: What makes Rufus Spencer tick? What are your hopes, your dreams?"
     "It's really not all that surprising, but the thing that drives me is my intense need to compete with other artists and actors. I'm right up against the border of being too competitive. It's not enough for me to be 'good'; I want to be 'everlasting'. My goal has always been to leave an indelible mark on the world—something that would say, 'Hey, dude. Rufus Spencer was here.'"
     This elicited a giggle from Lily. "That's great. It really is. Now, we also want to know who you aspire to be. Who do you hold as a shining example?"
     Rufus didn't have to think twice about it. "Hugh Jackman. That man is so ridiculously talented; it's really not fair. He can do everything and he does it with style, integrity, and class. I can only hope that someday, I'll be half of the performer that he is. He's just amazing. I've always thought so."
     "I feel like there's so many out there who would agree with you one-hundred-percent. He is amazing." Lily flipped to her next index card and sat up a little straighter. "There have been rumors that you are going to be in the next Quentin Tarantino film. There are also some rumblings that you will soon enter The Marvel Cinematic Universe. Can you shed a little light on this gossip?"
     "Wow. Okay. Well, I really should set the record straight. I truly admire Tarantino and I would love to work with the writer-slash-director, but I have not been approached by him or any of his associates. It'd be a dream come true to be in a Tarantino movie. Inglourious Basterds is on my Top-10 list of 'Greatest Movies of All Time'. It's so good."
     "I concur, without question."
     "Now, as far as the MCU is concerned, I've only met Kevin Feige—the president of Marvel Studios. And we didn't talk shop. We were staying at the same hotel in New York and I ate a continental breakfast with him. He gave me half of his waffle. That's all he's ever offered me. And I should say, if I was offered a role, I'd have to do some serious research in order to see if I'm actually a good fit for the role. Even the most die-hard Marvel fans have to admit that the last few films have been lacking that magic which made the first entries so wonderful—exceptions being No Way Home and Deadpool 3. Moreover, I truly believe audiences are experiencing 'Superhero Fatigue'. After a while, it all starts to blur together and you find yourself becoming so disinterested in what you're watching. It's a terrible truth. I'm not sure if there's still a space for heroes. It just might be the end of an era."