The Hands Don't Lie
894 Words
Avalon Studios, 10:55 A.M.
William was gone.
Whitney wasn’t. She cornered Claudia Pierce by craft services while the crew pretended not to listen.
“You ambushed him,” Whitney said. Her voice was quiet. That was worse than yelling. “Mar Vista, 2007 was off-limits. You had the beat sheet.”
Claudia didn’t flinch. “Viewers want the man, not the myth. You got him trending. You’re welcome.”
“You got him to bleed on live TV. If Diamond tanks, your access evaporates. Understand?”
Claudia’s smile was thin. “Then tell your client to hire a better mask. Or a better assistant.” She looked past Whitney, straight at Michelle. “She saw it first.”
Whitney followed her gaze. “Get in the car, Michelle.”
10:59 A.M.
The hallway to the parking lot was a gauntlet. The doors burst open.
“William! Was Claudia right about your mother?”
“Did Evelyn really—”
“Comment on the note, William!”
Phones. Mics. Flashes. A wall of noise.
His bodyguard, Deke, went first. A wedge of muscle in a suit. Whitney grabbed William's elbow. The driver, Omar, held the service door.
Michelle got shoved to the back. She saw it: William’s jaw locked. His eyes went flat. Plate glass. But his hands —
He missed the door handle. His fingers didn’t close.
Deke barked, “Move!” They poured into the underground lot. Reporters hit the glass like rain.
Omar had the town car running. William slid in first.
“Ms. Reeves!” A producer caught Whitney’s arm. “Network wants a statement—”
“Get in,” William told Michelle. The door shut. It was just them.
11:03 A.M.
The car was soundproof. The city noise vanished.
William sat back, eyes closed, head against the rest. Impeccable in London Fog. Wrong.
His hands were in his lap. Shaking. Full, rattling tremors like he was holding live wires. Knuckles white from trying to lock them down.
Michelle’s throat closed. “William.”
No answer.
“Are you—”
“Don’t.” His voice was sandpaper. Eyes shut. “Don’t do that.”
She watched his hands. The tremors didn’t stop. If anything, they got worse now that no one else could see.
“You’re shaking.”
His eyes opened. They weren’t empty now. They were furious. “Stop looking at me.”
The back door opened. Whitney slid in.
Deke up front with Omar. The moment shattered.
Whitney didn’t notice the hands. He’d already shoved them in his coat pockets. She was already on her phone.
“Kill the hashtag. I don’t care how. Bury it under puppy videos.”
She hung up and looked at William. “Next is Bubbles. Commercial shoot. No press. You good?”
“I’m fine.”
Michelle said nothing.
11:40 A.M. — Vertex Studios, Burbank
Bubbles. A neon sports drink for people who think sweat is a personality.
`Drink Bubbles. Taste Victory.` He hit every mark. No missed lines. No shakes. Perfect.
Whitney checked her watch. “Wrap. We’re ahead.”
Michelle watched his hands between takes. Steady. Shoved in pockets the second the camera cut.
2:15 P.M. — _Verve_ Magazine, Downtown
_Verve_. Cover shoot. "Men of the Year" issue.
They put him in a white suit against a black backdrop. Subtraction. He looked like a ghost.
He gave them three looks. Chin up. Chin down. Smirk. “Lethal,” the photographer said.
Michelle held his jacket between setups. His fingers brushed hers when he took it back. Steady.
“Wrap,” the photographer said at 6:00.
“We got it.”
Whitney clapped once. “We’re done. You can clock out, Michelle.”
William walked past her without a word. Without a look. Like he hadn’t looked at her at all.
6:45 P.M. — Michelle’s Apartment
Lila had cooked. Steam fogged the kitchen window.
“You’re alive,” Lila said, shoving pasta at her. “Eat. You look like you haven’t since yesterday.”
Michelle hadn’t. She devoured it.
Lila sat across from her with her laptop. Twitter was open. #WhoIsHe was number one. The clip: William’s face. The second he looked off camera and stopped breathing.
Claudia was trending too. Half the Internet called her a hero. The other half called her a monster.
“Holy s**t,” Lila said. “Claudia Pierce just ended William Denver on live TV.”
“Yeah.”
“Is he okay?” Lila laughed. “God, like I know him. The internet thinks it was acting.”
Michelle pushed the pasta around. “He was fine. After. Did the shoots. Didn’t miss a line.”
“You were there?”
“In the wings.”
“Right.” Lila rewound it. “They’re saying he looked straight at the camera. Best acting of his life, apparently.”
Michelle didn’t correct her. No one knew she’d been behind stage 4.
“He said he was fine,” Michelle said.
“But?” Lila watched her now.
“But his hands were shaking. In the car. Like he couldn’t make them stop.”
Lila went still. “You think he’s lying?”
Michelle thought about `I’m fine` sounding exactly like `Next question` had on stage.
“I think he’s good at looking fine,” Michelle said. “I don’t know if he is.”
- Writer
