Page 57 of Hollywood, Ending

“Remember, all morning we’re talking to heartland folk. This is flyover country. They don’t give a shit about Andy Warhol.”

“You realize you’re talking about Kai, right? He’s from ‘flyover country.’ ”

“Just doing my job. Okay, we’ve got Omaha up next. Very similar. Three to five minutes. You’re doing great.”

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We do Omaha. We do Cincinnati. We do Tulsa and Philadelphia and Asheville and Pasadena. I try to hold my shoulders up, even though I’m flagging. I remember my talking points, and repeat them as if I’ve never said them before. Juniper squeezes my hand between each interview, which helps. Brings me back into my body. Only about a third of them mention it.

The junket is the same thing over and over again: What’s it like to work with Matthew Malone? You two have remarkable chemistry in the movie; what’s the key? You must be so excited to work together again on Gods of Andromeda. Juniper, we hear Kai saved you from an overenthusiastic fan. Matthew Malone completely transformed himself to become Andy Warhol. Kai, is it true you told Juniper you loved her the first time you met? What do you hope people take away from the film? Juniper, you’ve been very public about the neglect and abuse your mother inflicted. Kai, you’ve been very public about the trauma you experienced; did that go into your character?

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In Colorado Springs—again, we cannot see any of these people or places; we only know it’s Colorado Springs because we’ve been told it’s Colorado Springs—the anchor says, “We hear you two are besties.”

Juniper and I glance at each other. “Absolutely,” I say. “I love Juniper so much I signed up to do another movie with her.”

“We thought we’d give you a little bestie quiz.”

“Sounds fun,” Juniper says. It does not sound fun, of course. Nothing that happens in this black room with lights shining down on us, with the movie poster in the background of the shot, nothing in this room can sound fun.

“Juniper, what color is Kai’s toothbrush?”

“Easy,” Juniper says. “Blue.”

“Kai?”

“It is blue,” I say.

“Kai, what is Juniper’s favorite animal?”

I turn to Juniper. “You want to say it together?” I ask.

“Sure,” she says.

This is an old acting trick. “A rhi—” I start, and then Juniper jumps in so quickly that you can’t tell I started first: “—noceros,” we say together.

“Tell me more about that, Juniper.”

“Oh, years ago one escaped from a zoo in Prague,” she says. “And I just thought that was so beautiful, a rhinoceros walking the streets of Prague. I’ve been obsessed with them ever since.”

“Amazing. Juniper, what is Kai’s favorite color?”

“Yellow,” Juniper answers with confidence. I do not have a favorite color.

“Almost,” I say. “It’s the specific yellow that ginkgo leaves turn in Indiana autumn.”

“We’ll give it to her,” the anchors say. “What about Juniper’s favorite drink?”

“Club soda,” we say together.

“Oh, a teetotaler. Okay, you’re batting a thousand. Last one: Kai, is Juniper single?”

“Yes,” I say.

“Juniper?”

“Well, he’s wrong there. I’m married to the sea.”