Author's note: Thanks for keeping up with the story so far. Reviews and criticisms are always welcome (and they help keep an author going) also.
Song: The Whisperer, by David Guetta ft. Sia
She was able to quiet his demons when the stresses of work made him want to quit everything and leave Hollywood behind. Even if she didn't know it.
Sometimes he would be at his desk, looking over endless pages of names and faces, dates that went on until next year, spreadsheets of people with potential and others who only had a marketable name and nothing else going for them. How was he going to fit in all these phone calls into 24 hours and still manage to live a life at 21 years old? He still had homework and assignments, he still had to eat and spend time with Addison and Lena and Lisa and Holly. He still had to find the time to drop by the "Kingdom Come" set, smile at the progress that Lena had made, assure her that more Emmas were within their reach, and build more connections for her so that his star on the rise would have the best future. He still had to make phone calls for his other clients, work on their careers in Hollywood while simultaneously building his at the same time. All of that on a diet of ramen and red bull.
He was close to burning out sometimes. There were days where he would close his eyes from the pounding in his head that became too much after some client of his would end up changing their Hollywood U major, or a social media mishap would make it's way to TMZ and there would go his client's future. Damage control wasn't beyond him, but he certainly didn't need a phone call at 3:48 in the morning asking him to help hide illegal drugs in a penthouse bathroom.
He would mask the insanity behind his work by pulling on his Prada shades, the ones with the darkest tint, and by showing a little more teeth than usual when he smiled that slick smile of his. That cucumber eye treatment he saw in a YouTube video also did wonders for preventing dark circles under his eyes. Still, it wasn't enough to fool her. If she looked carefully enough, she would see it on his worst days. He noticed that she was beginning to catch it more and more easily, and he realized he wasn't trying as hard to mask it in front of her.
"Ethan, when was the last time you slept?" she would ask him, and before he could answer, she would be off to get him a cup of water and a Tylenol for the headache, a cup of chamomile tea in the other. He noticed that she was beginning to have the packs of headache medication in her purse ready by the dozen, much to his embarrassment. Before he could assure her that he was fine when he really wasn't, she would sit with him wherever there was a spot, be it a bench nearby on campus, or a soft patch of grass walking by a park (though he was weary of whatever suit he was wearing at the time), and massage one hand while he sipped his tea with his free hand. She wouldn't ask what made him stay up all night, or pry for details over which client was taking up the most time at that moment. She would simply massage his hands and fingers, sometimes his wrists if he really needed it, and let him know with her eyes that he was doing a great job and would keep doing wonders for his clients.
It was these tiny breaks that she created in his schedule that kept him going sometimes.
Even when she didn't appear at the right time, even if she somehow messaged him after he had a small meltdown in his dorm, his strained eyes staring holes into the paper in front of him as he tried and tried to form a comprehensible thought after a straight 24 hours awake, it still kept him going. Her reassuring smile and gentle blue eyes seemed to tell him more than just "it'll be alright". They told him that it was okay to lose it sometimes, that if he ordered an espresso shot in his refresher at Starbucks that it wouldn't be the end of the world. Her eyes would tell him that what he was doing with his life was worth every migraine and sleepless night because he would make it out alive in the end, even if he himself didn't believe it.
No amount of VIP passes to the most exclusive parties in Los Angeles, nor the number of times he drove her to the airport when her mother's health suddenly required her attention could ever make him feel less indebted to her for her kindness to him, the unknown rookie in Hollywood. Unfortunately for him, he realized her importance in his life after he started representing her. He knew exactly what would happen if he crossed that professional line. For now, it was those cups of tea and headache medicine, those gentle hands on his own as she massaged his fingers and smiled at him that kept him going.
Right now, as he sat in his dorm room going over another client's entourage list, he picked up his phone to see a message from Addison.
"Need any tea and Tylenol?"
"Meet me at the bench near your dorm in five?" he responded.
"I'll see you in a bit :)"