by Claire Adams
Talking to the DJs can do a great many things for your performance during the interview. You learn little things that are on the interviewer’s mind, so you can often prepare your response a little, or if you come across as friendly, an otherwise hostile interviewer—and you’d never believe how many of those a person gets—might soften a little and ease up during the interview itself.
It’s just a good idea.
I get to the radio station and walk up to the front desk. The woman sitting on the other side is chewing gum and tapping the eraser end of a pencil against her forehead as she looks over a half-complete crossword puzzle.
I clear my throat and she doesn’t look up.
“Excuse me,” I start.
“Hold on,” she says. “I’ve almost got it.”
“Almost got what?” I ask.
“Hold on,” she repeats.
“Maybe I could help,” I start again.
“No,” she answers. “I don’t cheat at crossword puzzles. How insecure do you really think me to be?”
As she’s talking, I use her general indifference toward me to look over her shoulder at the puzzle.
“If you’re looking for four down,” I tell her, “it’s Cerberus.”
“See?” she asks, slamming the crossword book on her desk and the pencil after it, “I tell you to hold on, I tell you that I want to do this thing on my own, and now I can’t even look at that puzzle until I’ve forgotten that I’ve met you.” She looks me up and down. “And that might take me all day.”
Cheeky.
“I’m Emma Roxy,” I tell her. “I’ve got an interview in about 20 minutes.”
“So, you’re one of those punctual, anal types, huh?” she asks. “I bet you love being dominated. People like you always want to be dominated in a sexual situation.”
“Because I show up for an interview early?” I ask.
“Because you blabbed the answer I was looking for and ruined my whole afternoon crossword break,” she says.
“I don’t understand,” I tell her.
She looks me up and down again and says, “Yeah, you don’t.”
Is there something particularly offensive or threatening about my general appearance right now, or is this woman just a snotty bitch?
“So, are you that chick who knitted seat covers for all the firehouses or what?” the snotty bitch asks.
“I’m an actor,” I tell her.
“I didn’t know we were having a waitress on the show today,” she says.
“No,” I tell her. “I’m a real actor. It’s my job. I go to work at a movie set and have cameras filming me.”
“Well, isn’t that just splendid for you,” she says. “It’s been a while since we’ve had a porn star.”
“Look, I really don’t have the time to stand here and argue—” I start.
“Yeah you do,” she snorts. “You got here 20 minutes early.”
I might just have to smack the shit out of this chick.
“Could you just let him know that I’m here?” I ask.
“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll tell him.” She picks up the phone and dials a number. “Yeah, Denise, when he goes on commercial, could you do him a favor and tell him that his porn chick interview is here and she’s chomping at the bit?”
What the hell is her problem?
“Yeah, thanks,” she says into the phone and shakes her mouse, turning on her computer screen to show yet another crossword puzzle. She hangs up the phone. “Yeah,” she says, staring at the screen, “someone will send you in in a little bit.”
“Thanks,” I tell her, but I don’t think she fully appreciates the level of sarcasm in my tone.
I try to get a closer look at her computer screen so I can ruin another answer or two for her, but she manages to turn off the screen before I can see anything clearly enough to read.
“Have a seat,” she says in a less than pleasant tone. “You’ll be on in a few minutes.”
I’d love to continue to focus on my annoyance at this rude human being, but my phone starts to ring.
“Hello?” I answer, again making the rookie mistake of not looking at who’s calling.
“Hey, I’m going to need 50,000,” Ben says. “I’m going to need it by tomorrow.”
I may have switched my focus, but annoyance may have played a fair part in my immediate response. “You’re out of your goddamned mind,” I tell him. “First off, you said you were going to stop calling me, and now you’re telling me that you need fucking 50,000 by tomorrow? You can go fuck yourself, you little piece of shit!”
“If that’s the way it’s going to be,” Ben starts.
“You said you weren’t going to raise the payments anymore,” I tell him, switching from antagonism as a tactic to guilt. “I don’t know when you’re going to call and you say you need it by tomorrow; things are pretty crazy around here, you know.”
“Yeah,” he says, “you see, the problem is that absolutely none of that is my problem. So, you figure out whatever you need to figure out, but I want that money in my account before midnight tomorrow night.”
I take a deep breath.
It was never the nudity that I had the problem with, really. I mean, I would certainly like to have control over how much of my body is available for the public viewing consumption, but I’m sure I’m going to have at least a couple of nude scenes during my career. It’s not the same thing, I know, but that part wouldn’t be the end of the world.
The problem I have is apparent because I’m naked, but it’s not the nakedness itself.
“Fine,” I tell him. “But you’ve got to promise me this is the last time we do this.”
“Whatever,” he says. “Just make sure it’s in my account by midnight tomorrow night or those pictures of yours are going to be the only thing trending anywhere.”
“I’ll get it done,” I tell him. “Just back off a little now, will you?”
“Bye, sweetie,” he says condescendingly. “Have a good day at work.”
He hangs up.
“Fucking stupid bitch bastard piece of fucking garbage…” I realize that woman’s still sitting there at her desk, only now she’s looking at me with her chin reaching for her knees. “Sorry,” I tell her. “You can call that the bad side of this business.”
“I guess,” she says. “What was that about? Is everything all right?”
Yeah, now she gives a shit.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “Hey, I was wondering if there was any chance I might be able to pop in there a little early and maybe chat with Tag Strawman—” yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s a pseudonym, “—during the commercial break.”
“Yeah,” she says, picking up her phone quickly. “That’s not a problem at all.”
I would have imagined that hearing only one side of that conversation would have shown me to be the victim just about as well as hearing the whole conversation would have, but the way she’s acting, it almost seems like she thinks I’m the aggressor.
That nice dose of fear really got her moving, though.
“You can head on back,” she says. “Here, let me walk you there.”
While I ponder how she could have heard any of what I was saying and find me suddenly intimidating, I follow the woman back to the studio. She doesn’t even wait for the on air light to be off before she opens the door to the studio.
“…and hey, look who just came into the studio. It’s the star of what promises to be the hottest summer movie of the year, Emma Roxy. It’s good to have you in the studio,” he says. “How are you doing?”
Shit, I think I just talked my way into starting the interview early. There goes my prep.
“I’m doing great,” I tell him. “I’m glad to be here.”
“I was just talking about how actors in the movie industry genuinely do have things pretty rough in some ways,” he says. “You can’t go out of your house without someone stopping you for an autograph—I mean, that’s never happened to me, but I’ve heard that
it’s just irritating.”
“It’s not so bad,” I tell him.
“Then you’re not that famous,” he says. “I’m tellin’ ya.”
Funny guy.
“So, have you had that experience yet where you’re out on the town and someone just really starts to bug you—like what’s your thing, what’s the craziest thing that’s happened to you because so many people know who you are now. I mean, you’re still just starting out, have you had that—or there’s something personal about your life you never thought would get out, or…?” He leaves off with the word “or,” so it takes me a couple of seconds to realize that he’s done asking his question.
“Yeah,” I tell him. “There hasn’t been a whole lot of that sort of thing for me yet. Most of the people that I meet are just really nice people who think it’s cool to meet someone they’ve been hearing about, you know. It’s really, very flattering, very humbling.”
“Didn’t you just kind of contradict yourself there?” he asks. “Flattering builds you up, being humble means to recognize your lowness.”
“Well, it’s kind of both,” I tell him. “It’s flattering that people see me and want to talk to me or wave to me when they pass me on the street or whatever, but it’s also humbling because I’m just a redheaded chick from the Midwest, you know. If anything,” I tell him, “I guess it’s been kind of surreal.”
“Well, that’s good,” he says. “Hang onto that. A lot of the people I talk to come in here and they’re talking about fans that are showing up on their doorstep or doing all these crazy things—I talked to Aaron Wills a while ago and he said there was a huge fallout on his social media when he announced that he preferred Chinese food to American food. It’s so crazy. People were talking about boycotting his work and all this.”
“It’s weird what people choose to care about,” I tell him. “If anything, that’s what I’ve noticed. Things that wouldn’t even be a big deal if it was just someone you knew, but if it’s happening to this celebrity or that, it seems like that can sometimes get a little out of hand.”
“It sounds like you’re talking from experience there,” he says.
“Not really,” I tell him. “Like I said, most of the people I’ve met have been—”
“Notice how she says most of the people there?” Tag asks the unseen masses.
“—they’ve been really great,” I finish.
“I see,” he says. “So what’s it like working on this film? I know you’re no stranger to the busy side of film, but this really is kind of a breakthrough role, isn’t it?”
“Well, I think I’m going to wait until the movie’s out and people see it to decide whether it’s my breakout role or not,” I tell him. “But yeah, it is a different ballgame. There are some similarities, but a lot of differences.”
“Has it been difficult to adjust?” Tag asks.
“Not really,” I tell him. “Damian kind of found me the first day and he offered to be my mentor, so that was pretty cool.”
“That’s Damian Jones?” he asks. “He offered to be your mentor, huh?”
“Yeah,” I answer. “To be honest, I thought he was a bit full of himself at the time, but getting to know him, he’s a really great guy.”
“So you’d say you have a good relationship with Damian Jones on and off the screen,” he says.
“That’s a great question,” I tell Tag. “You should ask him, because I have no idea what kind of relationship we…”
With absolutely no illusion that the on air light is off, I still look up at it.
When I look back, Tag is sitting there looking like he just won the lottery.
“So maybe it’s a little more than just an offscreen friendship?” Tag asks.
Oh shit. I didn’t want this to get out, and I know this isn’t going to help Damian decide anything positive about our relationship.
Maybe I can walk it back.
“No, just,” I start, “we tease each other a lot on set and so it’s hard to know if he’s going to be serious Damian or funny Damian or…”
“Yeah, but that’s not what you said,” Tag responds.
I’m really starting to hate this guy.
“I said that I don’t know what kind of relationship we have,” I try again, “because you never know which Damian you’re going to get on a given day. Sometimes he’s himself and he’s playing around, other times, he’s in character mode, you know.”
“How long has this been going on?” he asks, “your relationship with Damian Jones.”
“Our relationship—our friendship started not too long after we started filming. The whole cast, really are great—”
He interrupts, “So you’re going to deny that there’s any kind of sexual relationship between you and Damian Jones, right here in front of thousands of listeners.”
It really doesn’t sound like a question.
“We’re coworkers,” I tell Tag. “We get along; that’s all I’m saying.”
“Well, hopefully we can get Damian Jones in here one day to see if he’ll tell us a little more about this relationship the two of you have. Until then, we’ve got to take a quick commercial break. I’m talking with Emma Roxy, star of the new film with her possible lover, Damian Jones. When we get back, we’ll see if we can get Emma to open up a little bit more about her relationship with Damian Jones. This is KTNA,” he says.
The interview was supposed to go from 4 o’clock to 4:15, but I got in this room at 3:50 and it looks like he’s going to keep me for the whole fucking set. Being early has just bought me 10 more minutes dodging questions about my relationship with Damian.
I don’t want people to think that I’m only in this movie because I’m sleeping with Damian, but even more than that, I don’t want to feel like that’s the only reason I am where I am, and it’s really starting to get harder and harder to avoid.
“Well, that was a segment for the archives,” he says. “I’m sorry I pestered you so much there, but you’ve got to understand what that kind of insight is when you do what I do. I couldn’t just let it slide.”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I tell him. “I didn’t even get to finish my sentence and then you saw whatever you wanted to see in what little you didn’t interrupt.”
I’m hoping that’s going to work.
“Yeah, well, either way,” he says, “we’ve already brought up the topic, and I don’t know if you can see these flashing lights from where you are, but that is every line to the radio station in use, and I’m willing to bet that every single one of them is calling to ask you about your relationship with Damian Jones.”
“I’m done talking about it,” I tell him. “If you ask me any more about it, I’m not going to answer.”
Maybe I should have threatened to walk out, but I’m still hoping to do a little damage control and I can’t do that if I make the threat too much to follow through with.
“I won’t ask about it again,” he says.
I should know that’s not the end of it, but stupid me, I just say, “Thank you.”
The commercial ends and Tag gets back on the microphone. “And we’re back with Emma Roxy. Now we’re going to go to the phones and get some of your questions for our guest.”
I really should have seen that coming.
“It looks like we’ve got Marley from Las Cruces on the phone. Hi, Marley. What’s your question for Emma Roxy?” he asks.
What an asshole.
“Yeah,” Marley from Las Cruces says, “I was calling about that thing you said about you and Damian. Like, is he a good kisser?”
This is going to suck.
I get through the interview all right, I guess, but every single question is about Damian. It wasn’t even that bad a slip of the tongue, but when people are already looking for something, they have a tendency to find it pretty quick.
Once the interview’s over and we’re back at commercial, Tag claps his hands and says, “That was great. I bet that’s the best ratings we get al
l month.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I tell him, and walk out of the room.
Maybe I should be a little less obvious in regard to how pissed I am at this fuckhead right now because there’s a good chance he tells his listeners if I’m not, but I really just want to get the hell out of here and it needs to happen right now.
When I finally get home, I gather my courage and look at my phone.
Forty-seven missed calls.
For a period lasting no longer than an hour, that’s a personal record for me.
I look through the missed calls for one name in particular, but it’s heartwarming to know that so many people I know were listening in. Really, that’s what I’m taking out of this.
I’m not being sarcastic.
Seriously.
Right, well, bullshit aside, I find the name that I was looking for and I press the screen to call him back.
“Hey, so we’re coming out of the relationship closet, huh?” Damian asks as he answers the phone.
“I’m sorry about that,” I tell him. “I said one stupid thing and then the DJ wouldn’t let go of it and the callers just made it worse. I really am sorry, I didn’t mean for it to go that way.”
“It had to happen sooner or later,” he says. “I bungled the fuck out of a scene today, and afterward, Tammy came up to me to inform me there’s a rumor going around about us.”
“Yeah, she told me about that too,” I say.
“Yeah, so all things considered, I guess it was inevitable. Still, it would have been nice if we’d actually gotten to make that decision ourselves, but I can think of worse things than being in a relationship with you,” he says.
There’s a knock on my door.
“I’m actually kind of surprised to hear that,” I tell him as I get up from my chair and walk toward the entryway. “This morning, it didn’t seem like you were open to any kind of discussion, much less a solid decision.”
“I guess I just needed a little push,” he says. “But you know about Danna and you know that there are going to be times when I’m going to have to be with her and help her and stuff, so really, we may as well have come out with this already.”
Okay, that’s a little irritating.
