Note: FIRST FAMOUX FRIDAY! I'm not gonna lie, this couldn't have come at a better time. Today is big. If you read my MaximumPop! feature (there is a link on my profile!!) you'll understand me when I say that this thing is . . . colossal.
emeray
It is a perfectly cloudless day in March, yet snow hits the pavement between he and I like an insistent, brutal storm. This should be impossibleââsnow without clouds to bring it down from the skyââbut it wouldn't be the first contradiction we've faced today. The very nature of our impending interaction breaks almost every boundary we've grown accustomed to these past months. Two hundred and seventy four days and three pens on paper are pretty indefatigable subjects; not the easiest of opposers to vanquish. Thus, if today it snows without any clouds to supply it, and if today we can move down this pavement with full faith in our intentions, no moment should be put to waste.
We walk, serendipitously, toward one another.
I keep my hands by my sides, my breathing quick and choppy. It feels like the first time in a thousand years that I've gotten to walk down a street without a hand by my side in need of holding. As much as I'd like to relish in it for as long as I can, I'd also like to close the distance. Chances like this don't come everyday.
He keeps his hands by his sides, his chest moving up and down slower and steadier than mine. Even so, I know for a fact that he's just as nervous as I am, if not greater; it's flooding up those eyes of his that I used to lengthily wonder whether or not I'd ever be able to read. What we're doing here is more than colossalââit's an existentially profound move for both of our images. We know exactly what the masses will say about it just as much as we have not a damn clue.
Steps are calculated but sloppy from fervor. My heart careens within my chest right along with my brain within my skull.
We are not alone along this snow-sprinkled pavement on this perfectly cloudless day in March. We are far from alone. We are in the midst of a vivid, glittering metropolis: there are passers in big peacoats on the sidewalk, shoppers in stores, vendors with bright blue umbrellas collecting the steam of their portable fryers, bright yellow taxis honking in evening traffic. The sunset is almost too perfect against the buildingsââthe kind newscasters would film and make small talk about on their broadcasts when there's nothing too serious to be discussed.
So much attention and life and pulsations happening around us, and yet our efforts go unvanquished still.
His steps meet my steps. My steps meet his steps.
I meet him and he meets me.
"Onward," Chapter Stones whispers.
My voice is soft to suit. "Onward."
In spite of every person gathered around us, and in spite of their peaked attention getting rendered on this one slab of sidewalk we've laid hold of as our own, and in spite of their eyes like daggers and sabers and fully flexed biceps ready to punch what they see, Chapter takes the sides of my face in his hands.
His fingers are not calloused the same way Cartney's are from years of strumming, plucking, and pressing down on the frets of an acoustic guitar. Chapter's fingers are strong and warm; without too much friction making his fingertips too thick to feel I'm there. He strokes the side of my face anyway, perhaps to make sure nothing is a mirage. I do just the same with the back of his neck.
The breaths I'm taking in come right along his exhales. The air can't quite seem to find my lungs too wellââthat is, well enough to help me breathe easy. My mind is a widening gyre without a center-point to hold onto. How long has it been since I've gotten to be this close to Chapter? How long will this moment last?
Our eyes dart to every corner and crack and crevasse on each other's faces. The air between us is full of apprehension and hankering. It all comes as one swift nanosecond to watchers, but an eternity to me.
He moves toward me just as I move toward him.
Our lips touch.
We are a match, and we've struck, and we're afire, afire.
Chapter pulls me closer to him, the front of his suit pressing against the front of my coat. I can almost feel his heart, quick and pounding, beneath all the layers separating the two of us. I bet he can feel mine too. My hands go up to his hair, but even so, I'm not sure. Every nerve ending in my body has gone completely haywire.
A dozen people around us, but the sidewalk could very well be empty. Snow falling in late Colburn winter, one of the worst areas for such a season, and yet the weather doesn't account for even one of the goose-bumps prickling on my skin. Months of despair and despondency since the sun last came back out and we lost a friend, and I have never felt more animate and teeming and wholly extant until this moment.
The back of his neck is warm and smooth against my hands. In a breath, the thought passes out of my lips like a rumor. I'm not even sure if I say it. I know very well I shouldn't, for the sake of the circumstance.
"Are we ruining our lives?"
He doesn't reply, which is a response as any. Do we care?
A call from beyond interrupts, as if some divine force has stomped right into the streets of Colburn.
"Cut!"
A bell sounds.
In an instant, the city becomes a replica once again, with all its grit and realism darting away with the spotlights.
Fake snow stops falling.
Microphones shut off.
Extras stop moving down the street and break their character with an exhale and a little laugh.
Our kiss concludes with an unceremonious pull away. Chapter and I step back from each other a little maladroit.
Another scene in our new film, Onward Train, finished.
"Absolutely perfect!"
This comes from a lady in a crisp black blazer and thin glassesââShailey Passey, our director. She nods approvingly, putting her thumb up for more confirmation.
"All right?" Chapter asks, just for the flare of it.
"Some of your best work, truly. And Emeray, I loved that little added murmur near the end, whatever it really was. It added a good personable feel to the whole scene, especially since the mics only got it muffled. People are going to be wondering what the hell you said for years, me included."
Someone off beyond us claps slow and loud over the bustle of staffers and caterers. I'm already rolling my eyes before I turn to see him as he gets up from a big black director's chair. He advances toward us, grinning with a sort of forced fervor that can only come from disdain at seeing two people kissing. I can see it right in the creases of his smileââa longing to kiss the one he loves.
"That was a great scene, kids!" Cartney Kirk says with mock acclaim. He puts a hand to his chest and nods to Shailey. "Almost felt like it wasn't acting. I can just smell the awards, can't you?"
"Now, now, don't jinx anything, Kirk." Shailey twists one of her blue stud earringsââa nervous habit of hers which Chapter and I have slowly picked up over the past week of filming. It's part of her long list of superstitions. For one, she pummels any mention of the film's success to a bad omen. She demands everybody knock on wood if we film a good scene. It might've seemed odd at first, but she's got enough awards under her belt to make anything ludicrous seem incredibly and whole-heartedly legitimate.
"My bad." Cartney puts his hands up like a surrender. "Didn't mean to ruin the mojo, honest."
"You've got to watch your mouth a little more, then!"
As Shailey leads him away, demanding he knock on one of the wooden set doors this instant, a few seconds are gained. Even though there are plenty more staffers still bustling around the set around us, there's nothing wrong with a little more talk. We'll take as much talk time as we can possibly get without Cartney waiting for a reason to exercise his contractual powers.
I turn to Chapter, who's scratching the back of his neck, where my hands used to be. He speaks in a low whisper, just in case anybody on set is trying to listen into our conversation. Wouldn't be uncommon these daysââplenty rumors have arisen for Till based solely off of on-set conversations.
"Haven't done that in a while, huh?"
"Months," I reply.
"Three. And one of those months on set." He looks around us, taking it. We've been on this set plenty times beforeââthe outdoors set, so no traffic is generated on an actual streetââbut today was the first time we'd ever had to film anything like this. He seems to be thinking about it too. "Weeks of all those meaningless dialogues with the other actors, and we just now got a kiss scene."
I blush, which feels ridiculous. "I guess they just wanted to get all the Notness scenes out of the way while we're here in Notness. And then, of course, the only Betnedoor scene where we're supposed to be outside on a set."
"Very true." He gestures to the set around us. "Can't exactly film something like this in an actual street if we want people walking by to act natural."
We laugh, imagining it. It would be absolute chaos, even if the cameras were all out and we had signs set up proclaiming, THIS IS A SCENE IN A MOVIE! The only time they'll believe it to be fake is on screen, in theaters. Even then, there will be skeptics.
Chapter looks down at my fingers as they glide along the marble caps on his cufflinks. They're maroon.
"It's so unrealistic," I say.
"What is?"
"That you'd be wearing only a suit jacket in the middle of Colburn winter. Most overcoats coats aren't even enough."
When I glance up at Chapter, he's watching me with the softest smile. We're still so close, I can nearly feel my insides melting into nothing in all of a second. After months of being forced to generally avoid him, it's like I'm meeting him again for the first time.
"Nobody's paying that much attention to detail, love," he whispers. "They just like it when I wear suits."
"They like it when I date Cartney, too, but that doesn't make any of it realistic."
"Sticks." He puts a finger to his lips, but he can't hide his smirk. I wouldn't want him toââsmiles come so rarely nowadays. "Keep your voice down."
"What are you two laughing about over here?"
Cartney steps right between Chapter and I, making a show of it. He throws an arm around my shoulders, leaning his head into my neck with a satisfied sigh. I reckon the way Chapter's face hardens into a scowl is exactly what he was aiming for.
"Oh come on, Cartney," I say, shrugging out of his grip on me. "You really don't have to do that."
"And why not?"
"You're being unnecessary."
"Hardly!"
It's a word the two of us have been using often nowadays. In any social situation, it's important for Cartney and I to make clear to one another how we should be acting based on the volume and status of those around us. Thus, before either of us does a whole lot of one thing, from holding hands to kissing to loudly proclaiming devotion, we turn to each other and discreetly whisper, "Unnecessary?" If the other shakes their head, it's permission to move forward.
As Norax and the people at Buchan have made clear in many meetings, it is imperative we balance our affections. We can't be too smitten around other celebrities, or they might see right through the act. We can't be too collected around the fans, or more rumors might come up about a rough patch.
The gossip about Foster and I having "been an item" have put a real dent into the happy-couple ploy, so Cartney has taken it upon himself to act more than usual. Perhaps having to sit on a movie set and watch Chapter and I film this romantic movie has a little something to do with it, too.
"You really are, though," Chapter says. "Everyone on the set hates you guys for being so lovey all the time. I could hear them talking about it this morning."
"Are you sure it's not just you talking to yourself?"
He glares. "Make no mistake, Cartney. I deeply value the days in my life where I don't see you at all."
"And yet, on those days Emeray is always with me."
"Come on, you know that's not trueââ"
They continue their banter on the walk from the set to the trailers. All the while, I stand in between them, feeling like I should take off my heels and walk barefoot so that they wouldn't have to keep craning their necks past me to speak to one another. It is an incredibly odd dynamicââChapter trusts Cartney to keep the secret of the Fissarex and Callan, and Cartney has commended Chapter before in our own private conversations, but none of it constitutes to an actual, genuine friendship. Perhaps it would've, if Cartney didn't have to date me, or if Chapter didn't have to watch us holding hands everyday on our very publicly broadcasted walks.
Dating contracts seem to put a rut in everything, really.
When we reach the trailers, I clear my throat. "Um, we have about a couple minutes until the jet leaves, right?"
Chapter turns away from Cartney, putting a hand in front of his face.
Cartney's eyes roll. "Oh, real mature!"
But Chapter ignores him, softly telling me to be ready to go in around twenty minutes. While his hand temporarily steals Cartney's attention, he takes the opportunity to mouth, "I love you." The way my breath catches near giddily makes him smile. I mouth it back before I turn away.
Gerald is waiting inside my trailer, flipping through a magazine. He's seated at the dining area, clad in full sentry ware from the bulletproof vest to the belt full of at least four different firearms. His helmet is on the table, its rounded edge rocking back and forth against the hardwood like faint music. When he looks up from the tabloid and sees me, he can't seem to contain the look on his face.
"Uh oh," I say. "What's wrong?"
"Well, Emeray." He rises from his seat with a cough, gaining his composure. "I do believe I deserve a raise from my current payment as a sentry."
"Huh?"
"I mean, since the Notness Newsflash has finally figured out that I am the man who, quote, has stolen you away from Cartney Kirk, I think I should be getting some more special treatment than the other guards."
When my face scrunches up, Gerald bursts into laughter. He hands me the magazine, pointing at the headline: FAMOUX GUARD STEALS EMERAY ESSENCE'S HEART. HOW IS CARTNEY COPING? Beside a hefty block of text full with quotes from apparent "inside sources" is a blown-up image of Gerald holding my hand to lead me through the front doors of a restaurant. The caption claims that I was, in fact, not on my way to lunch with Cartney, but secretly having lunch with my, erm, "secret, hunky bodyguard."
"They didn't," I say.
"Oh, but they did."
I sigh. "What are they claiming now?"
"They're mostly saying that ever since your secret lover Foster passed, your emotions really needed a protector." Gerald snorts. "Get it, because I'm a guard?"
"This is the worst rumor they've had yet."
"I hear you, miss. The best part of it all if how they're claiming that Kaytee and Race went out and said these things. That's a pretty convenient selection of sources when the article has to do with Cartney getting cheated on again. Notness Newsflash is pretty bloodthirsty with this one."
I put a hand to my forehead, exhaling loud and distressed. Since Foster's death, I've been romantically tied to just about a dozen different men, all of which have been accused of having some variation of a fist fight with Cartney Kirk in the process. The most prevalent rumor is the Foster one, but there have been plenty with Marlon, Race, and a myriad of actors and singers I've never even met. And now, I guess, Gerald.
They've been doing the same with Kaytee and Race, since every magazine in Delicatum wants to take any opportunity available to be the ones who break up "the couple the world never asked for." Till happens to get muddled into those rumors regularly, but Chapter consistently stays out of it. It appears that the world prefers him to irrevocably be the bachelor of their dreams. ("You literally couldn't have picked a worse Famoux guy to be in love with," Cartney told me once when we passed a stand of tabloids. "It would've been so much easier on you if you were in love with anybody less world-beloved for being single.")
"Why does this keep happening?" I ask, mostly rhetorical.
"You know as well as I do."
And it's true. Any opportunity to point fingers is good and viable and a hundred percent accurate. At least, according to the tabloids it is.
"I just hope this doesn't affect my shift or something," Gerald continues, folding the magazine in half. He sets it down into a wastebasket as leisurely as placing clothes in a drawer. "If the Famoux network people make me sit in some awful closed up room filing papers because of one little rumor . . ."
"They wouldn't," I assure him. "I mean, you're the only guard who knows about the dating contract, and how Chapter isn't allowed to be around me. I assume Norax doesn't want to flaunt that knowledge to too many people."
"You've got a point."
Gerald steps outside the trailer to give me time to change and pack. Since all the scenes for Onward Train that are set in Notness are finished, we're coming back to Betnedoor to film the rest. The location might be quite far away from the capital Colburn, but Norax insists Chapter and I commute from the Metropolix to the new set everyday, just so the paparazzi gets used to seeing us again after this month of being, for the most part, no where to be found.
The few weeks I've had on Onward Train's Notness set have been fleeting and fortuitous. Even though Cartney has been by my side nearly every second, the moments he has to step away from me so I can film a scene are moments I've gotten to stand with Chapter and proclaim unbreakable love. Albeit, he has to tell me that he loves Zara, the character I'm acting as, but it's a million times better than the way he's barely allowed to stand in the same room as me in the Metropolix. Plus, movie sets always feel so bustling and alive, which is quite the change from the somber silence among the members and I when we're all together behind closed doors.
Needless to say, I am not looking forward to coming back home today. The way things have been going these past months, I'm not even sure I can call the Metropolix much of a home, anyway.
There isn't much for me to pack, since most of the outfits I've worn this past month are ones from the wardrobe department. I'm out of my trailer in less than ten minutes, yet everybody is already out, waiting on me.
The flight is quiet, mostly. Gerald chats with Chapter and Cartney's bodyguards, discussing techniques on how to get us through crowds quicker, or how to avoid them entirely. Here and there they slip in stories about their families, maybe their kids, a wife, siblings. It's all an interesting concept to me; I can't help but eavesdrop while I stare into space.
Here we are, Chapter, Cartney, and I, caught in our varying shades of trapped and panicked since Foster's death. Chapter is his own to save, and as is Cartney, and as am I. But Gerald and the other bodyguards? We are theirs to save. Don't they have their own lives, worthy of saving? Their families, their wives, their siblings? Yet, we come first.
In the real Colburn there are plenty clouds on this snowy day in March. Here, I don't walk as freely as I did on set, nor dare get to walk toward Chapter. Our guards form their barrier, pushing the three of us celebrities through a mob of flashing cameras and brusque shouts. The paparazzi must be delightedââwe're back! A whole month of having to follow around Kaytee and Till on their lunches must've been dreary. But here we are: More meat has come to be prepared on their flashing-bulb grills.
When our big black car arrives at the Metropolix, Cartney gets out to open my door. The cameras love it. We have to make a show out of our goodbyes before he returns into the backseat and leaves for his own apartment, so we kiss.
This kiss on a Colburn street is nothing like the one I experienced this morning. There is no feeling attached.
"See you tomorrow," Cartney tells me. "I'll be out here at the usual time."
I have to admit that I expected a nice welcome from Norax when Chapter and I show up in the kitchen, but I get nothing of the sort. She stands beside a tall man I've never seen before, with glasses and a bit of a mustache on his upper lip. Just the sight of a new boy here makes my stomach drop at the thought of a new Famoux member, but I recognize the slacks and collared shirt from Gerald's usual attire. Just a guard.
Gesturing to him with a sort of gusto nobody should possess so soon after Foster's death, she bears an introduction.
"Emeray, meet Angad."
We shake. All the while, I look at Norax cautiously. She seems to sense my inkling before I can say it out loud.
"I'm sorry, lumerpa," she says. "Sentry F. Gerald is, being repositioned. A few rumors have come to my attention, so this is only the best for your image."
I can't even manage to say a word to her. My image. A lovestruck, beautiful girl. Those are the paints in my paletteâânothing more, nothing less. And Norax holds all the brushes.
Paintings are pretty and all, but you're only proud if you painted them.
xxx
OUR FIRST FAMOUX FRIDAY OF THE CLASSIX.
How'd you like chapter 1? Did you like my attempt at a make out scene in the beginning? The Gerald thing at the end? Everything and anything? Tell me your thoughts.
Now, I promised you I would put readers into this story, and I did not lie! Three made it into chapter 1. Here they are in order of appearance:
Shailey, director of Chapter and Emeray's new movie = @gxldstxps on Twitter! (Do tell me your Wattpad account, love, so I can follow you.) She wears wired glasses and a black shirt in one of her selfies, so I described her as I saw!
Zara, Emeray's character in her new movie Onward Train = niallthevsmodel! Thank you for being an account that regularly makes me smile. I wanted your name to be a recurring one throughout this story!
Angad, Emeray's new bodyguard = that-guy-next-door, who has a profile picture with glasses and a mustache, hence the description. I saw you commenting that you didn't think your name Angad would fit into the story. IT DOESSSSSS.
To any reader whose name might show up later in the book: You will know if you're being mentioned in a chapter if I follow you any time before the post.
I will be following everybody I mention, so I hope you're not the kind to spam with those Wattpad message update things you can post to your followers. I get all of those emailed to me. If you do, then I cannot wait to get to know you through this lovely spam. It's gonna be an adventure.
To future characters, I'm excited to mention you. I'm also excited about life in general. Like I've already mentioned, TODAY IS SOMETHING BIG.
Now, do remember:
Sticks and Stones may break your bones but haters make your famoux.
Stay classy, stay classix.