The Gentleman's Guide to Vice and Virtue (Guide #1)(29)

The others nodded politely, but their faces were noticeably longer than before. Just like the actor’s appearance, they were slowly learning Cash’s personality was nothing like Dr. Bumfuzzle’s.

“Tell us what it’s like to work on Wiz Kids,” Topher said. “Is it as much fun as it looks?”

Cash hesitated. “Um… sure,” he said, and quietly faced the window.

“Anything else?” Topher asked teasingly. “Come on, we’ve never met an actor from TV before. We’re dying to know.”

The actor paused, forming the most politically correct and positive answer possible so he wouldn’t upset them.

“Well, a lot of actors love working on television, but every show is different. Our show is more difficult to shoot because of all the special effects and stunts. We’re in production fourteen hours a day, six days a week, nine months a year—so it’s a lot more work than people realize. Sometimes I go days without seeing the sun.”

Mo laughed like he was telling a joke, but there was no punch line.

“Wait, you mean you don’t like it?” she asked.

“That’s not what I said. I’m just suggesting it’s difficult to keep up your energy and enthusiasm when you’ve been on a schedule like that for so many years—no matter how fun it can be. That’s understandable, right?”

Clearly it wasn’t, because Mo looked like someone had taken her childhood, ripped it in half, and thrown it out the window.

“But… but… but you make so much money and make so many people happy in the process. Doesn’t inspiring people make it all worth it—don’t we make it all worth it?”

Cash let out a long sigh. Mo was making him uncomfortable, but not nearly as uncomfortable as she was making her friends.

“Hey, Mo?” Topher interjected. “Why don’t we change the subject and stop berating the man who just flew two thousand miles to be with us.”

“No, it’s all right,” Cash said. “Look, the five of us are going to be together for a while. I’d like this experience to be as authentic as possible, but part of that is getting to be as authentic as possible. I’m glad you like the show and I’m happy to answer as many questions as you want, as long as you stop truth-shaming me.”

“Truth-shaming?” Joey asked. “What’s that?”

“It’s like fat-shaming but for honest people,” Cash explained. “It’s the reason famous people can never be totally truthful when they speak publicly. Think about it—everyone usually has the answer they want to hear before they ask the question, especially from celebrities. However, if we answer honestly and it differs from what people want to hear, unintentionally bursting a bubble or two, we get shamed for it. We’re called ungrateful, selfish, disgraceful—everything but truthful. Alternatively, if we give the answer everyone wants to hear, but it doesn’t seem genuine enough, we’ll get shamed for that, too. It’s a real mind fuck.”

“So you have to constantly lie to make people happy?” Joey asked.

“Not constantly—that would be exhausting,” Cash said. “I’ll give you an example. One of you guys pull up my Rolling Stone interview from last February. Read the answers I gave the writer and I’ll tell you if they’re honest or not.”

They weren’t sure they wanted to play this game, but Sam got on his phone and found the article online anyway.

“Okay, first question: How does it feel to be the face of a global phenomenon?” he read. “Your answer: Oh gosh, I’m not sure how to answer that. You say that like I’m single-handedly responsible for the show’s success, when it really takes a village to make the show work. Our crew deserves as much credit as I do.”

“See, that was completely honest,” Cash said. “There wasn’t a single white lie in it. Next?”

“What’s it like to be beloved by so many Wizzers around the world?” Sam read. “Your answer: I don’t know how to describe it. Entertaining people and giving them a break from reality is why we become actors, isn’t it? I’d say it’s validating, but it’s much more than that—it gives me purpose and I don’t take it for granted.”

“Also 100 percent true,” Cash said. “Next?”

“What’s next for your career?” Sam read. “Your answer: I’m busy finishing the ninth season of Wiz Kids but have a few film projects lined up for our hiatus and maybe even a play in the West End.”

“Bold-faced lies,” Cash said. “I didn’t have a single project lined up for this hiatus. You gotta say that shit so no one labels you as a future has-been—that’ll kill a career. Even if it’s obvious you’ll never do anything but the show you’re on, you can’t admit it.”

“But you’ve done more than Wiz Kids,” Joey said. “You did that independent movie Lucky, about the blind and deaf soldier who lost his leg in World War II.”

Cash was shocked. “You guys saw that?”

“Opening night,” Topher said. “We had to drive to a bad neighborhood in Michigan to see it, but we were there.”

The actor was touched and the corner of his mouth curved into a grin, but it only lasted a second.

“No one else saw it,” he said somberly. “The critics were vicious, but I think they were still mad Wiz Kids had become a hit and were taking their aggression out on me. Funny how movie reviews can be scathing yet never mention a thing about the plot or characters. Long story longer, no one’s going to cast me in another movie again. Back to you, Sam—this is fun!”