The Beginning

Ch. 50 - The throne

"The producer is an old friend of Tad's," his publicist, Corinne, explains apologetically.

Keanu sits in a makeup chair in an old television studio just outside of Frankfurt, Germany, nodding his head over and over. He is feeling a little dizzy after spending twenty minutes underneath the flickering lightbulbs in the dropped ceiling. Corinne hands him his jacket as he stands up.

"They were classmates at Exeter," she shrugs. "It's a favor."

He takes a deep breath. In thirty minutes, he would be on set of a local comedy show in a smaller area of Germany. He knows only that he is in for a slapstick experience at his expense, but reassures himself that at least it isn't international. Filling his lungs again, he steels himself for the invasion of privacy he knows will soon come. He follows the producer down the narrow hall, his feet planted firmly on the ground, but his mind back at Heathrow.

Well-versed in the art of keeping his private life private, it wasn't hard to hear Sandra's request to keep it quiet. He excels at avoiding a personal spotlight so much that paparazzi sometimes make things up to sell covers. There are continual rumors of him involved with many big names, both men and women. He wastes no energy concerning himself with the gossip, and his aloof nature in the face of tabloids just adds to his allure. He is an expert at evading any question.

However, he doesn't like being asked to pretend there is nothing happening in his life at all. Still, he intends to honor her request. She wants to move slowly, which doesn't bother him. When she started talking about hindering each other's options, though, he could feel his teeth clench tightly together. Hot air shot out of his nose as she continued, even going so far as to suggest they keep things more friendly for now. What the fuck is that about? He wanted her to explain herself and she didn't miss a beat, launching into a justification using Nathan and needing time after that long of a relationship. He didn't buy it. Truthfully, he didn't believe she had ever put her whole heart into that relationship. So why am I surprised now? He thought before challenging her.

"I hadn't pegged you for a coward."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Well that's a bit of an overreaction, don't you think?" A pinched, unhappy expression on her face, she reminded him of the world at his feet, and that it doesn't make sense not to explore it. "Last thing I need is you resenting me for missing out on this time, y'know?"

"You think I'm some kind of a man-whore?" his lip curled as he stroked his throat.

"Well, if Amy's tongue fits..."

He drew a slow breath and released it. "Come on, Sandy. It wasn't like that."

"You forget I was there when it 'wasn't like that' all in your mouth," she retorted with a grim determination.

He was sure in that moment that he'd seen a flash of regret in her eyes, but instead she straightened her spine and shook her bangs out of her face. He opted for silence, then, his brain and heart disengaging from the conversation. There was no use debating her. It was clear she had her mind made up and she was not going to let facts get in the way. All I can do is show her, he thought as he watched her tuck her hands in deeper behind her elbows. So he went through the motions, declaring himself single in London during that awkward interview.

Now he finds himself in Germany, unsure what will face him except that it'll be unusual and, hopefully, interesting. He walks onto the cold set and is introduced to a tanned woman ten years his senior with a short, blonde cut: the host, Margarethe Müller.

She greets him, retaining her grip on his hand and leading him to a gaudy chair in the shape of a throne, framed like a makeup mirror with lightbulbs.

What is it with these strange sets over here? He swallows hard and casts a sidelong glance at Corinne, who is standing off stage.