Playlist
Moon, Jonah Kagen
I guess I’m in Love, Clinton Kane
Traitor, Olivia Rodrigo
Drivers license, Olivia Rodrigo
Good 4 u, Olivia Rodrigo
And all other songs by Olivia Rodrigo where she tells the story of her break up.
One
Fender
* * *
“So, lay it on me. How many death threats today?”
“Around fifty-thousand,” my assistant, Noreen, says on our will-this-nightmare-before-Christmas-ever-end conference call.
“Not horrible,” I tell her. “Things are calming down.”
“Well, that’s only on Twitter.” She pauses. “Combined across all social media platforms, you have more today than yesterday. They despise you most on TikTok.”
I groan, throwing a pillow over my head.
“This will blow over soon.” Noreen’s reassuring voice continues to lilt from the phone, finding the bright side of my tarnished career, but I barely hear her. I barely hear anything anymore.
Except her songs. The woman who demonized our breakup to her millions of fanatics.
“This isn’t my fault. People want to kill me because I want a happier life?”
Noreen sighs. “Fender, things will get better.”
I shake my head. “I should just let the public do it. Let them have their way with me and…” I breathe out, “whatever.”
“Save the dramatics for the big screen,” my manager, Les, chimes in. “Pull yourself up by those massive biceps. On a positive note, the studio sent the script for the next SharkQuake.”
I groan again. “This will be the eighth movie for the franchise. It's time to say enough is enough. I mean, how they can’t catch the killer shark by the eighth movie eludes me.”
“Well, it’s the baby of the original killer shark attacking everyone in this one,” he says.
I sit up and toss the pillow across the room. “That’s even worse.”
“The script isn’t half bad.”
“So, it’s only half good?”
“Ok, ok,” Noreen cuts in. “Do you have everything you need in your cabin? I had someone stock beverages and food for your stint as a hermit. I can have whatever you want delivered. Christmas tree, perhaps?”
“No, I’m fine. I’m not celebrating the holidays this year.” I glance out the floor-to-ceiling glass wall with nothing but the Alaskan woods to see. “Until this thing with Trinity blows over, I don’t want any contact with the outside world.”
“Well, you won’t have to fret about that in Polar Bear, Alaska,” Les says. “No one will find you there.”
True. I’m in the foothills of the Mistletoe Mountains, and it’s secluded.
“Not even Santa,” Noreen adds, in a disappointed tone. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? It’s a shame you have to hide away during the holidays until this nightmare ends.”
“My cabin is nestled right outside of town,” I tell her. “If I need anything, I can… ski to the store.”
“You should have let me rent you a vehicle,” Noreen mutters. “What if the holiday spirit strikes and you want to shop for gifts? Polar Bear looks like a Christmas Village, such a shame to—”
“I’ll be fine,” I cut her off. “I’m sure Santa wants to murder me too.”
I semi-listen as Noreen and Les assure me things are not as dire as they seem. Easy for them to say. They aren’t hiding out in Alaska for God knows how long. It’s fine. I can grow a beard and become a recluse who whittles animals out of tree limbs.
“I’ll send the script over,” Les says.
I groan on the inside. “Fine.” I end the call and toss the phone.
I’m thinking someone cursed this film series. If not for the SharkQuake movies, I would’ve never met Trinity on set and this death debacle would’ve never happened. When I dated her, she was a struggling actress and singer, working on an album, and wanted a deal more than anything. Well, she’s got one now, worth millions of dollars.