She was there again.
He looked around, trying to get his bearings. He heard the crash of waves as they rolled onto wet sand, and immediately knew that he must be on a beach somewhere - whether it was here or in his native Australia, whether it was night or day, he couldn't tell. It wasn't important ...
What was important was that she was there, again. Standing, near but just out of reach, her back turned to him and her long hair flying in the wind. Nothing else was clear about her, just her slight form that told him she was female, and her hair that seemed to catch and flutter with every breeze ...
He had already lost count of the number of times when he had seen her, just like this, in his dreams. Lost count of the number of times he had wanted to come nearer, run his fingers through her hair, and finally get her to turn around so he could learn her name. Lost count of the number of times that he had yearned, so strongly and yet so inexplicably, to hold her in his arms where he knew - somehow - that she would fit perfectly ...
Though he was certain - from past permutations of this selfsame dream - that nothing would come of it, he took a step forward anyway, reaching a hand out, trying to touch the image that felt like a mirage. In response, she merely moved away, ever so slightly, so that the distance between them remained exactly the same.
He gritted his teeth in frustration. Why was it always this way? No matter how many steps he took, she would still be hovering somewhere between too far and within arm's length - never nearer, always just a bit out of ...
A soft thud on his head brought him quickly to consciousness, and his mystery woman disappeared, along with the beach, the waves, the breeze - only to be replaced by the angry image of one of his general managers, Veronique - plus a sea of white bedclothes, a pillow on the floor, and too much sun pouring through the window slats, amplifying what felt like a thousand drills buzzing in his head.
"James," Veronique said without preamble, her brows knit together in anger, "What is this? What the hell is this?"
He groaned, not even attempting to look at what she appeared to be waving at him, feeling his head throb painfully at every sound, every shaft of light. Hangovers were really a bitch; he couldn't even remember how he got home. "Veron, I have no idea what ... whatever that is. And can you please tone it down? I've got a headache."
"Tone it down?" Her voice crept up progressively through the sentence, and had he been sober, he would have appreciated how she even managed to do it within the space of three words. But he wasn't, unfortunately. "Alam mo ba what sort of firefighting and damage control we've been doing since last night? Alam mo ba how many people have not had sleep because of you?"
James pulled the duvet over his head, trying to block out the sound. Go away, he begged silently. Please, go away. "No, I don't."
"And you don't care?"
Damn it.
James closed his eyes and sighed in defeat. Knowing Veronique, she would harangue him until she got her point across, hammer him and his conscience until he was ready to sign everything over just so he could get some peace and quiet. She was tenacious and she was relentless - some would say manipulative, and that was true, too - but she also had been one of the first to take a gamble on him when not too many in the business were willing to touch him with a forty-foot pole, and it was that deadly combination of gratitude and attitude that always managed to make him feel that he could, at the very least, be accountable to her, if not to anyone else in management.
Slowly he pulled himself out of the covers, still keeping one of his eyes closed against the sun's glare, trying to manage the pain in his head. "I do, Veron. You know that."
Oblivious to - or purposefully ignoring - his pain, Veronique didn't even bother to lower her voice. "Ows, talaga? Well then explain this, James. And it had better be good." So saying she threw what looked like a formerly sealed manila envelope towards him, now opened and - if the jagged tear were any indication - pawed through in a hurry.
With a huff of exasperation James grabbed and opened the envelope one handed, pulling out a number of grainy nine-by-eleven photos of himself: his arms around some girl's waist, his expression alternately blank, bored, or sleepy, but very obviously unaware that he was being photographed. He frowned, trying to remember whether this had been taken last night or the other, because in truth, so many of those nights merged together in his brain that he could no longer really tell ... go to a club, flirt with some girl, get her some drinks, maybe cop a feel. Didn't matter, actually, it was nothing, a meaningless gesture ...
He looked up at his waiting manager and shrugged, half-turning the top photo so that she could see. "So?"
Wrong response. Her face - he didn't think it was possible - turned even angrier, her eyes practically popping out of her head. "SO?!? The hell you saying, so? THAT WOMAN IS NOT NADINE, JAMES!"
James ran his fingers through his natty hair. Damn, he needed a shower. "Obviously. Nadine doesn't go for clubs. Neither does she," he added, nodding towards the photos in his hand, "wear stuff like that."
"Fucking-A she doesn't, James," she practically shouted. "Nadine doesn't go to clubs, but you do. But you know what? We let you. She lets you. And you know why?"
James chose not to answer, knowing she would tell him anyway.
"I'll TELL you why, James! It's because we trust you to be discreet. It's because Nadine trusts you to be discreet. You two may not be a real item, James, but you are in a love team, for God's sake. What you do affects her. It affects both of you."
"Aw, it's nothing, Veron, I promise you. Look, I don't think - "
"And THAT is precisely the problem, James! You don't think. You just do what you want and expect that the world will understand. But do YOU understand the nature of this business you've worked so hard to break into? They don't care if this woman means anything to you or not. Pictures are worth stories. And these -" she pointed at the photos in malediction, "-these are freaking novels, James!"
He looked at the photos again, completely baffled. If the world knew that he and Nadine weren't together - they'd said it enough times, after all - what was wrong with him hugging another woman? He was single. He hadn't committed to anyone. Surely that meant he could mingle? "Hey, chill. I was just ..."
"Just what? Just what? Letting your hormones run away with you? Dude, hindi ka na teenager, ano ba? Couldn't you be more responsible about things like these?"
Stung and now completely annoyed by the progressively one-sided conversation, James sat up, ignoring the fire in his belly that rose and tasted like copper in his throat. "I was responsible. Do you see me kissing her? No. Do you see me in some sort of ... sexual act? No. Do you hear me parading these sorts of things everywhere? No. Hell, I even cut out posting pictures of me and other female friends on Instagram because you guys said it didn't reflect well. It's not my fault that some photographer managed to take that shot!"
"Shit, James, ano ba, don't you get it? You are a public figure now. The image we've created and sold is of you who believe that love is forever. Your fans believe you to be a one-woman man. Heck, the whole world believes you to be the perfect guy! Tapos ganito? Ano'ng forever kung every person na nakapalda eh papatulan mo?"
"I wasn't doing anything wrong!" James exploded, now standing up to face his manager, spilling the photos onto the bed. "Who said all those things, anyway? I wasn't responsible for the image you created. You guys figured it out for me, for us, without really letting us know what it entailed. If it were up to me -"
"If it were up to you, James, you'd be stuck in some dead-end job, most likely janitor ka or something." Veronique poked him in the chest, matching him inch for inch, practically spitting into his face. "Listen, dude - in this industry, it's all about image. It's all about getting people to believe that image. Can you imagine what sort of ... disaster this is for you? And worse, can you imagine the effect on Nadine?"
James frowned sharply at the mention of his partner's name. "Nadine? What's she got to do with this?"
"She's seen the photos, James. She trusted you, she still trusts you." Veronique poked him again, hard. "What do you think she feels about all of this?"
He blinked, stepped back. "Wait. Have you spoken to her? What did she say?"
"No, but I expect na galit din sya sa 'yo. And that she is afraid of the implications of this on both your careers."
He heaved a sigh of relief. However upset Veronique or the rest of his management team could get, he could handle it if Nadine would take his side. She always watched his back, like he did hers, as they had promised each other a long time ago. They were, after all, partners in crime. "Well, that's okay, then." He shrugged, letting himself relax slightly. "I'll be the one to explain to her. She'll understand."
"Ay naku, she probably will, ang bait masyado ng batang yun." Veronique acknowledged grudgingly, then waved a hand to recapture his attention. "But hoy, don't think that absolves you from your partying, ha, James. She might not feel as upset about this as I do, but I know for sure that this could be potentially damaging to all the months of hard work you both have put in. This is the last of these incidents, do you hear me?"
He shrugged and walked back to the bed in a few steps, gathering the spilled photos into a pile. "Well, I cannot promise that the paps won't find some sort of way ..."
"Then stop going to clubs. From now on, your schedule only involves work and sleep. Shooting, taping, then home. Or gym. No stopovers. No more women. No more."
"What?" He turned around, stunned. "But - Veron - that's my relaxation, my release ..."
"Then release your whatever in some other way. Relax in some other place. And that's final." Finally, his irate manager turned away, moving towards the door of his room, shaking her head. At the exit, however, she suddenly turned around, her expression still stern. "And by the way - we have an emergency team meeting this afternoon. Three p.m. No excuses, and attendance is mandatory. We'll need all our heads to figure our way out of this ... mess you've made, James. This isn't over yet."
With that, she left, her voice still ringing around the bedroom walls.
And because she left, she never saw James angrily sweep the photos into the trash, pick up his phone - his jaw clenched and his face red with frustration - open his Instagram account, and type furiously away.
****
@jaye.wolf I don't expect you to understand me. I get that you all want me to just live your fantasy ... but sorry, this is my life.
Also stop talking on Nadine's behalf you don't know what she thinks or feels.