Ship It(59)

“I was just thinking about that scene we shot in the woods at night…” I say.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific,” he says.

“I think it was episode one-oh-three or one-oh-four. I was freezing my ass off and you told Kelsey to get me another shirt.”

“Oh sure, yeah, I remember that. One-oh-four, I think,” he says.

“Do you remember what we were shooting that night? I mean, after all the fight stuff, we were doing a few pages of dialogue.”

“Yeah. That was a good scene.”

“I was just wondering…” He takes a bite of his apple as he waits for me to finish picking my words. “Like, how did you—how did you play that?”

He squints at me. His mouth is full. I wait for him to chew. Was this a terrible idea? Oh my god, this was a terrible idea.

“You know what, forget it,” I say, waving him off.

“No, no,” Rico says and swallows. “What are you asking me?”

“Nothing, never mind. Is this Ranch flavor?” I grab a handful of Chex Mix.

“Are you asking if I played it gay?” He’s so casual, somehow.

“Dude, no,” I say, my breath catching in my throat. I wish someone would walk in and interrupt this nightmare conversation. I wish an earthquake would hit, forcing us to take cover and never talk about this again.

But mostly, I wish he’d answer the question.

I stare into the Chex Mix in my hand. And wait.

“You can’t play a sexual orientation,” Rico says finally.

What the hell does that mean?

He shrugs. “I go out there, and I… react. That’s all.”

What the hell does that mean?

“Why?” he asks, and I dare to meet his eye. “How were you playing it?”

He holds my look for a long moment, then I throw my handful of Chex Mix straight into the trash and walk away.

“I gotta pee,” I mutter.

“You think too much, Forest,” he calls after me as I duck out of the room.

The bathroom is blissfully quiet.

I take the last urinal on the left and drop my head to my chest. What a trip. I can’t wait to get back to LA and have this madness be over. I need some distance—from Claire, from Demon Heart, god knows I need distance from Rico.

I hear the door open and two people enter, one of them mid-rant: “I remember when this con was actually about comics instead of teenyboppers in TARDIS dresses. Nowadays, if a regular, everyday comic-book fan wants to see Stan Lee talk, he has to wade through, my god, an endless stream of sexy werewolves, sexy angels, sexy vampires, and screaming teenage girls.”

I tense up. He didn’t specifically mention “sexy demon hunters,” but I know I’m a part of this.

He carries on, “I mean, this is a comics convention. When did this industry start caring what fourteen-year-old girls like?”

And I can’t help it, I feel a rankle rising in my chest. I know there are a lot of different kinds of people here, but a lot of those fourteen-year-old girls are fans of my show, and, well, I don’t care if this guy finds them annoying, they have as much right to be here as anyone. I zip up, and I’m getting ready to turn around and say as much when I feel a slap on my back.

“If anyone knows what I’m talking about it’s this guy, right, Forest?” the man says, and I turn around to find I’m face-to-face with Jon Reynolds.

Holy shit.

“Jon Reynolds!” I say, too loudly.

Reynolds is grinning this perfect toothy smile. He’s got a face for Hollywood but the demeanor for politics. His jeans are expensive and his graphic tee projects youth, even as the distinguished gray in the temples of his perfect haircut declares aged wisdom. Tattoo Guy stands two steps behind Reynolds, watching us.

“If anyone’s had to deal with the onslaught of teen girl hormones, it’s a heartthrob like you,” Reynolds says, grasping my shoulder and giving me a friendly shake. Jon Reynolds knows who I am?

“I guess so.” I mean, he’s not wrong, but I don’t know if I would put it in exactly those words.

“Don’t give them an inch, Forest, or they’ll be the ones dictating your next role. Do you wanna be a Tiger Beat boy your whole life, or do you want to act?”

“I want to act,” I say. Definitely.

“That’s what I thought,” he says, and I worry that he might be done. This is my chance, I can’t let this go, so I start talking, not entirely sure what I’m saying yet.

“Sir, I just want to say… I love Red Zone. I play the video game every single day. If there’s a role in the new film, if I could even just read for it…”

“We’ll see about that,” Reynolds says, waving me off. He must get desperate actors approaching him all the time. I probably look like an idiot. “Let’s see how this panel goes first.”

My stomach drops. “You’re coming to the panel?”

“Guess so. Got a text from Davies. Said I owed him one for getting richer than him. Which I probably do.” Reynolds chuckles a bit and shrugs.

Jamie came through! I’m swept up in the feeling of holy-shit-ness—Jon Reynolds is coming to my panel today. My career is moving again, my path laid out in front of me. All I have to do is make a good impression today, and I’m on my way to a role in a blockbuster film.