Page 25 of Just for December
Duke looks at her. It’s late. He’s not really been able tomull over his ‘date’ yesterday, how unkind it felt to be the butt of Evie’s distaste for theirfauxmance.
He was up early to get one of his solo scenes, which went fine – not great, but fine. The snow had frozen into ice, so it was pretty chilly, and it’s hard to focus when you’re that cold. But as the sun came out and the ice melted, he was able to finally lean into the thing he’s best at. He’s really proud of what they’re making together. It doesn’t happen on every set – hell, it doesn’t happen on most sets. It’s some sort of magical alchemy where cast, crew, story, and set are all aligned. This won’t be a contender for the awards season but that was never the point of taking the role.
The point of the role was … well, when he read the book hefelt likeGeorge. Every thought and feeling and worry. Duke’s mother isn’t dead, but she’s seldom present. What Evie said, about him being a little boy, it’s played on his mind. He can hear Phoebe’s voice ringing in his ears: of course he’s like a little boy, because little boys need parents to help them become men, and nobody guided him through that. Since he was eleven years old, he’s more or less raised himself – his dad never known and his mother drunk. It’s a romance, this movie, but for him George is a talisman for a man holding himself back because of his relationship with his parents. For George, it’s supposed to be positive: he loved his mum so much and she’s gone. What does he do now?
For Duke, he wants that chance to love his mum so much; it’s simply always been impossible. And yet, he keeps trying. Does that make him a fool? What does Duke do now? Where is he supposed to put this love he has to give? Nobody seems to want it.
‘I’ll be fine,’ Duke tells Daphne. ‘I will.’
They head to her trailer, and he sits on her sofa as she takes off her make-up, transforming from Hermione to herself. She throws him a wipe so he can do the same. His dermatologist says wipes are the devil’s work, but he’ll cleanse properly at the hotel. It comes away orange. It’s incredible how much stuff they have to put on your skin to make you look ‘normal’ in 4D. Nobody actually looks like Duke Carlisle, not even Duke Carlisle. No wonder nothing is ever good enough – he’s comparing himself to an apparition. A myth of his own creation.
‘Brad said the photos of you and Evie are everywhere,’ Daphne says, throwing her hair up into a high messy bun. ‘So that’s good. It’s not lost on me that you could have said no, because it helps me too. I appreciate it.’
‘Just doing what I’m paid to do,’ Duke says to the ceiling.
‘Poor little superstar,’ Daphne says, plopping herself down on the sofa next to him. She reaches out a hand to his and holds it. Her tone changes. ‘You’ll get what you’re looking for, you know. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will. I see it for you.’
‘Yeah?’ Duke says, looking at her.
‘I see a doting wife, and an army of kids all with that hair of yours – happy beach vacations and huge Christmases. It’s just … well, are you accepting unsolicited advice?’
‘If I say yes,’ Duke retorts, ‘by definition doesn’t that then mean it’s actually solicited?’
She rolls her eyes. ‘Look. I adore you. I do. You know I do. And so when I say this, I mean it with all the love in the world, and I’m saying it to help, not hurt.’
‘Why do I get the feeling you’re kissing my forehead right before you skewer me with a sword?’
‘It’s thetrying, Duke. You try so hard to make a relationship what you think it should be in your head that you don’t let it unfold as what it actually is, and that’s why it never properly feels real.’
He was right: that feels like a sword to his heart.
‘I am who I am, Daphne,’ he tells her. ‘I’m a trier.’
‘Absolutely.’ Daphne nods. ‘I just mean … be who you are and trust that that’s enough.’
He looks at her. That’s just it, isn’t it? The thing he talks about in those sessions he pays hundreds – thousands! – of pounds for. Being enough. Feeling enough.
‘My therapist says nobody will see past my celebrity to the real me untilIstart to accept the real me and stop hiding behind my status,’ Duke says. ‘Which is embarrassing, because it’s a bit like complaining my mattress is stuffed with too much money, isn’t it?’
‘No,’ Daphne says emphatically. ‘This business is screwed up. Everyone thinks they know us, but when we let people in, we get screwed over. And then when we keep our circles tight, we get accused of being aloof and stuck up. It’s mad. I want you to know, though, that you are enough, and the man I’ve seen at 6 a.m. making scrambled eggs in the kitchen and singing into his toothbrush before bed, he’s remarkable. And my Christmas wish for you is thatyouget to see that. You’re a good actor, pal – but you’re an even better human.’
When they’ve said goodbye for the evening, Duke tells his driver he’ll walk to the hotel. It’s almost midnight, so the market is closing up and the crowds are non-existent. He’llbe fine, getting some fresh air. It’s not exactly dangerous in a tiny town in the middle of Bavaria. He just wants to feel normal. With his hat on and hood up, he should be okay. The trick is not to make eye contact with strangers – keep looking down; that’s what Owen Wilson taught him.
He’s in trainers and joggers and watches the cobblestones underfoot as he puts one foot in front of the other. He doesn’t know where he’s going. It’s a common misconception that filming all over the world means that he’s visited all over the world. He hasn’t. He’s seen the same trailers and craft services and hotel rooms the world over, but doesn’t often get time to truly explore a place. By the time he’s done on set, he often just wants to head to London or LA to have food he knows, beds he chose, and catch up with the few friends he has.
He ignores the shout of his name the first time it happens. It’s a woman’s voice, and he worries he’s been spotted, will have to make polite talk and take a photo. He’s trying to get just five bloody minutes to himself. Just five minutes! That’s all he wants! But when the voice comes again he recognises it.
‘Evie,’ he says, confronted by her open, pretty face.
‘Hey,’ she says, not-quite-smiling. ‘Looks like we’ve had the same idea.’ She gestures to the empty streets.
‘A midnight walk to mull over the complexities of being human?’ he offers, and she laughs. He gets a feeling again, a feeling of pride at the accomplishment. He wasn’t even trying to make her laugh that time, like he has done before. And yet.
‘Something like that,’ she replies, eyeballing him. It lookslike she’s been crying, now he can see her properly. Her eyes are red-rimmed and her cheeks are blotchy.
‘My mom,’ she says, gesturing to her face, when she clearly realises he’s noticed. ‘I hate being away from her. I’ve been having amoment, as my best friend Magda would say.’
Duke aches with envy. What must it be like to miss your family so much it makes you cry? To have a best friend, even? He feels a pang of guilt that she’s away from everyone she loves. It’s his doing, after all.
