Someone I Used to Know

by Blakney Francis

  I’d say it was a fairly accurate assessment of my current mental and physical state. I couldn’t feel the scrapes yet, but I knew they’d sting like a bitch when the shock passed.

  “They were asking me questions. They knew who I was.” Even when I tried to sound panicked, I couldn’t. Everything came out sounding perfectly peachy, just another day at the office.

  “Thank you, Alfred. The guard wouldn’t let me out. He said I’d only make it worse.” Declan ignored me again, reaching out to shake the larger man’s hand with firm appreciation.

  I should have thanked him already. Why hadn’t I thanked him?

  “Thank you,” I said with all the sincerity of a robot. My mouth fluttered like a fish out of water as I tried to find the right emotions to show my gratitude.

  The smallest half smile tickled his lips.

  “A ‘ole pilikia. You can tell me tomorrow.”

  It seemed that just when I was at a loss for feelings, Alfred had finally found his. My face didn’t respond to the smile I requested, so I had to settle for lifting my hand in a weak wave as he departed.

  “An old picnic? What does that mean?” Declan tried to mimic the tangy Hawaiian words Alfred had given me. “You should start a list of Alfred’s words like Madeline does mine. You’d definitely bond if you were the only one who could speak his home country lingo.”

  He was trying to divert my attention. Didn’t he want to know how they knew who I was? Couldn’t he see that I needed to talk about the situation?

  Actually, he probably couldn’t. My face hadn’t moved, not even a twitch, in at least ten minutes.

  “How do they know who I am, Declan?” Once more with feeling.

  “There was an article in some rag. They know that you’re the Adley Adair The Girl in the Yellow Dress was inspired by, and that you’re doing some work for the movie.” He seemed so utterly nonplussed by the situation; it was almost contagious.

  “What else?”

  “There were some pictures.”

  “Pictures!” An irrational jumble pooled into my head of nude photos or embarrassing drunken escapades.

  Oh God, oh God. Never mind that I’d never taken a picture of me in any form of undress in my life. Anything seemed possible as nightmare after nightmare tumbled into reality.

  “It’s just a few shots of us leaving the gelato shop.” He shrugged.

  I felt like grabbing fistfuls of my hair and pulling from both sides.

  “How are you so calm about all of this?” I demanded.

  “Because it’s not a big deal, Adley.” He looked over my shoulder at the sound stage looming behind me. “Look, I’ve got to stay and shoot, but Lazarus is going to take you home. I’ll make sure he stops and gets a first aid kit on the way. You stay in the car. I don’t want to have to sick Alfred on any innocent bystanders…And if things are too weird between you and Cam at the moment, you can always get Lazarus to take you to my place instead.”

  It was my turn to shrug. That decision seemed a little too symbolic in my current climate.

  The security guard escorted me all the way to the waiting limousine’s door without incident. Had it been fifteen minutes yet? Because I was already ready for my blip of fame to be over.

  When we stopped at a convenience store to acquire the necessary items to clean my wounds, I convinced a reluctant Lazarus to purchase a copy of the magazine that had printed the story, too.

  I gobbled down the article, inhaling whole paragraphs at a time. The information they had about me was scarce at best. Declan had been pretty spot on about what it was exactly they knew about my identity. They didn’t mention my family, or where I went to college, or really anything that would affect my normal life back in North Carolina. People that knew me might recognize me if they saw it in the magazine, but it didn’t paint a road map for anyone to come find me either.

  The pictures (there were three of them) were blurry, obviously taken from a cellphone, but there was one that got a pretty clear shot of my face. The only other concerning image was one of Declan and I walking away, my hand clasped tightly in his, my head borrowed in his back intimately.

  The actual gist of the article wasn’t even really about me. It was about Declan…Or more accurately, my relationship with him.

  “I am guessing that you all are just as confused by this couple as I am. Declan Davies has been a respected actor for years with his risky roles in off tempo Indies, but with The Girl in the Yellow Dress premiering later this year, he’s about to be launched into a mega-fame stratosphere. So what exactly is darling Declan Davies (of the practically royal Davies Down Under) doing with teen mom, Adley Adair, the real girl that inspired C.A. Peterson’s internationally bestselling novel? From the looks of these cozy pics, Declan is getting more into character than anyone could have imagined…”

  That wasn’t even the worst of it either. The journalist went on to question the effect his relationship with me would have on his career. After all, what would someone like him, be doing with someone like me?

  Cam was right. No matter what I felt, Declan was wrong for me. I was bad for him, and Cam saw that he was bad for me. I had to trust that.

  The only silver lining to the whole day was that it marked the beginning of the very last week of filming. All I had to do was get through the next few days, and then production would be over. Nothing had changed on the surface. Declan and I would do what we were always supposed to. Filming would wrap and we’d go our separate ways. The way I felt about him didn’t really change anything at all…

  Just a few more days and my normal life could resume like none of this ever happened. I curled up in a ball on the smooth leather seats that smelled faintly of him, squeezing my eyes shut and fighting the festering emptiness that threatened to consume me.

  Nope, everything was exactly the same.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Declan

  It was getting worse. In the four days following the original article’s release, the story of the real Adley Adair and our supposed relationship had been picked up by numerous other gossip magazines and websites. Paparazzi stalked us like ravenous buzzards.

  I was safe inside the confines of my gated community. No one had managed to scale a fence…yet. Going anywhere else had become a disaster, and yet there I was, in the limo, tapping my fingers nervously, as we headed into the belly of the beast, or as some people liked to call it, Beverly Hills. Rodeo Drive to be exact.

  The cloudy sky didn’t warrant the sunglasses or baseball cap I wore, and they looked terribly out of place with the rest of my polished attire. Nevertheless, I was thankful for the small shields as Lazarus pulled the car to a stop in front of the restaurant.

  My hope for a quiet entrance was instantly dashed as I stared at the dozen or so camera-faced men and women. How did they even know someone worth taking a picture of would be there? All the American intelligence agencies were really missing out on some potential with these guys. They could find anybody.

  My hand lingered above the handle, procrastinating the inevitable, and for the one-hundredth time that morning, I had to remind myself why I was putting myself through the hassle. If it had been anyone else that called requesting a meeting, I would’ve blown them off, no problem. But this was one man you didn’t turn down.

  I steeled myself, and then finally took the plunge. Flashes ignited as soon as my foot hit the ground.

  “Declan! Declan!”

  “Over here!”

  They crammed along both sides of the stairway leading up to Urasawa, and I shuffled past them as gracefully as my tense body allowed. When shouting my name didn’t rattle my downward concentration, they resorted to new tactics.

  “How does it feel, knowing your girlfriend has a child she abandoned?”

  My foot paused for just an instant as my hands clenched at my sides before I powered on with even more determination to get it over with than before.

  “Are you in love, Mr. Davies?”

  “What’s Ad
ley’s current involvement with C.A. Peterson?”

  All they wanted was a reaction. Me, walking into a restaurant for lunch by myself wasn’t going to sell many papers or earn them any more hits on their websites.

  “Mr. Davies, over here!”

  And then it was over. The door clicked closed behind me, and the noise muffled into nothing behind the shaded glass.

  My hands shook, pulling off my baseball hat and sunglasses. I tried to smooth out the unruly locks that had actually looked presentable before I’d been forced to ruin it with hat hair. When it was as good as it was going to get, I got into the elevator, and was only joined by a serious faced man in a business suit with a pretty young girl at his side. The age difference was impressive, but in that town you never knew. If their hair hadn’t been the exact same shade of light brown, and without their unusual, slightly too-large noses, I might have mistaken them for a couple instead of father and daughter.

  We rode in silence up to the second floor, but as soon as we stepped inside the elegant restaurant, the girl couldn’t hold it in any longer.

  “I don’t want to bother you, but you’re Declan Davies, aren’t you?” She smiled, but it wasn’t a scary I’m-going-to-follow-you-into-the-bathroom-and-dig-your-used-paper-towel-out-of-the-bin smile. It was calm, friendly.

  I looked around nervously before nodding. Her father watched us disapprovingly, but kept quiet.

  “Would you mind signing an autograph for me? We watched Letters to My Former Self in my film class, and I thought it was really beautiful. I even started a club at school to help raise money for homeless teens.” Her eyes shined genuinely.

  “Ace! I’d be happy to.” And I meant it. I didn’t mind this part of being famous. A lot of times the negatives seemed overwhelming, but every once in a while, I was reminded of the positive influence my fame could have as well. The good parts were usually just a whole lot quieter, like a sweet girl inspired by a character I’d brought to life, than the screaming mongrels that waited outside.

  She reached for her purse to find a loose scrap of paper for me to sign, but I stopped her. I grabbed the permanent marker off the maître de stand, and quickly looped my scrawling signature across the bill of the hat I’d just been wearing.

  “Wow! Thank you! We could totally auction this on eBay, and make some real money for the club.” Her eyes marveled at the hat like it was a piece of treasure, which was ironic, considering if I hadn’t given it to her, it had been headed straight to the trash.

  I grinned, pleased with her enthusiasm, but shook my head.

  “Don’t do that. You should keep it. Here, wait a second.” Digging out my wallet, I quickly scribbled out a check and handed it to her. “I’m sure it wouldn’t have gotten you more than that. The hat is yours, a personal gift from me.”

  Her eyes widened comically at the amount, and I felt all the stress rolling off my body. It felt good to do something nice.

  The maître de returned and led me to the table where my lunch companion was already waiting, inducing a whole new kind of nervous stress to itch up my spine. Platters of pristinely displayed sushi passed us on waiters’ raised hands, and I knew that even if it weren’t for the nerves, I wouldn’t have been excited about the food. I wasn’t a fan of raw fish, no matter how fashionable it was at the moment.

  Between the public appearance and unappetizing meal, it was clear my only reason for being there was my respect for Joseph Hoffman. The man was a legend, and I was more than a little willing to make these exceptions to be in his acquaintance.

  He stood up when I entered the private area where we’d be dining, his chocolate-colored hand extended to me in greeting. His head was shaved bald – shiny and round – and even though I knew he was pushing seventy, he exuded very little age.

  For the first time in my life, I was a little star struck. I couldn’t think of single thing in the world to say, and I vowed to never again take amusement from the girls who got lightheaded at the sight of me.

  “You’re a bit scrawnier than I was led to believe,” he broke the silence. His voice wasn’t the deep baritone his stature suggested, but instead light, almost musical in pitch.

  I couldn’t help but laugh. No one had ever accused me of being smaller than expected. Usually it was the opposite.

  “It’s an honor, Mr. Hoffman.”

  He nodded briskly, accepting the compliment. “I hope you don’t mind I’ve gone ahead and ordered for us.”

  “Not at all.” It was all the same to me.

  “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here. You’re an actor at your prime, and I’m a retired director with a whole bunch of useless awards at home.” He paused, letting the waiter set our food down. The one good thing about Sushi was that it came in two short rows so I knew exactly how much I was going to have to suffer down.

  I was clumsy with the chopsticks, but I’d just managed to wrangle the morsel into my mouth when he asked, “How do you feel about all these remakes the studios are enamored with right now? Because I think it’s a damn shame when not one of these idiots can summon up an original idea.”

  I coughed violently, choking down the entire roll in my surprise.

  “Settle down there, son,” he cautioned with a smirk. He liked that he’d shocked me.

  “I haven’t been tempted by one yet, sir,” I replied honestly.

  His grin only grew. The Cheshire Cat could have been modeled after his face. Hell, he was probably old enough for it.

  “I’m about to try and change that, Mr. Davies.”

  “Please call me Declan, sir.”

  “Alright, Declan, I’m going to lay it out for you. About a year ago I came into some knowledge that one studio was trying to remake a particular picture, and ever since then I’ve done everything short of burn the place down trying to stop it from happening. You don’t mess with perfection, son…The audience though, they keep buying tickets, and as long as these remakes are making money, the studios are going to continue making them.”

  I was lost. I understood what he was saying, but I was perplexed as to the context. Why was he telling me? Why then? Why me? It wasn’t like I didn’t know remakes were a hot ticket.

  “Don’t hurt yourself there, son. You’re pretty enough to get away with not thinking at all, but it’s nice to see that there’s a brain in there…I was hoping that was the case.”

  “I’m assuming you’re not asking me to help you keep this movie from getting made. You’re one of the most powerful men in Hollywood. Compared to you, I’m a minnow in this industry.”

  “No, Declan, I’m afraid that this movie is getting made. I can’t fight it anymore, but I’m not just going to let any old Captain Ahab chase after this Moby Dick. If we’re going to do this, then I’ll be the one captaining this ship. I don’t trust anybody else not to ruin it.”

  “You don’t literally mean the film Moby Dick, right?”

  He laughed full and loud, and it bounced unashamedly beyond our private area and through the whole restaurant.

  “No, son. We’ll be staying dry for this excursion, although the South is humid as hell.” His brown eyes penetrated mine, forcing me to understand the seriousness of what he was about to tell me. “We’re doing Gone with the Wind.”

  My eyes bulged. “You want to remake Gone with the Wind?”

  “Did I not just get done telling you that I didn’t? I don’t want to…I have to.” His plate sat empty in front of him, while I’d still only ingested the single roll that I’d accidentally swallowed whole. Thankfully, the conversation was insane enough that forgetting to eat was perfectly acceptable.

  “Okay, you have to make Gone with the Wind. What does that have to do with me?”

  “I think you might have to be my Rhett Butler.” His stare was calculating, measuring the angles of my face in a clinical way.

  “I...I can’t be Rhett Butler! I’m –.”

  “Scrawny, I know,” he cut me off, his face scrunched with displeasure at my
lack of physical attributes.

  “I was going to say Australian, and about a decade too young,” I corrected him, a little offended. I wasn’t that lacking, well over six feet and decently built.

  “Irrelevant details.” He brushed his hand through the air like he was shooing away flies. He was undaunted by my very legitimate concerns. “For most of the production we’ll be in Australia. We need the weather. I know that’s home for you, and you know that this is the role of a lifetime.”

  I nodded. No denying that. “I need to think about it.”

  “I guess I can give you that,” he agreed, though he didn’t seem very happy about it. “I wouldn’t think too long though. Once word gets out about this, I’m going to have every actor under the age of eighty trying to woo me.”

  “Can I ask you a question?” The meal was wrapping up, and I was sure I had whiplash. I needed to gather my thoughts.

  “No, you’ve had your fill,” he said, a small smile still playing on his lips. “I do have a question for you though.”

  “Okay,” I dragged out the word slowly, feeling uneasy.

  “What’s she like? The real Adley Adair?”

  My jaw dropped. Joseph seemed so above the frivolity of us mere mortals. He was like Zeus, lounging about Mt. Olympus, watching us all make fools of ourselves. Just hearing Adley’s name come out of his mouth was surreal.

  “Don’t look so surprised, son. I might be old, but I’m still literate. I’m just as intrigued by the real Adley Adair as the rest of them.”

  I doubted that. No one was as intrigued by her like I was.

  “…She’s…unintentionally likeable.” I smiled as I stole Fran’s phrase. “And she’s just so much…more than anyone could ever hope to capture in a book.”

  “Hell of a muse that one is, I imagine. Try and steal her away, will you? I’m going to need all the inspiration I can get for this monster.”

  ***

  One day, I’d ask Joseph why he picked me, whether I took the role or not. I’m sure it would be an interesting conversation. As for my mental state after the brief, but possibly life changing lunch, I remained stunned.