The Interview

Waiting backstage in a green room was an experience Rome had dreamt about for a long time as a young boy. He used to watch the late night talk shows, but not to be entertained or hear the newest political jokes. He watched in order to study the process. How did actors behave when they weren’t on set? How did they move? How did they speak? How did a regular person sit in a chair on a stage in front of an audience and give off the impression that they were somehow larger than life--more important than the hundreds of other people in the room--so that they could entice viewers to rush out to the box office to see their next film?
Sitting backstage now, waiting for late night talk show host Cliff Worley to call him out for his segment, Rome could only hope he’d figured it out. He’d been on a few of these shows before, but this one was different. Despite his devotion to his three week vacation, when the most popular talk show host in the world calls and asks you to make an appearance, you go. So here he was, thinking about all of the stars he’d studied in the past and hoping he could find a way to elevate himself above the rest of the people in the room while simultaneously coming across as a down-to-earth regular guy. This might be the most complicated role he’d ever play.
“We’re ready for you in five, Mr. Verona,” a stagehand said, holding a clipboard in one hand, a pen in the other, his headset tying him to the production team on set.
“Wonderful,” Rome said. He took a look at himself in the mirror one last time. His hair and makeup were on point, and the outfit Juliet had helped him pick out--because his wife insisted that was her alter ego’s area of expertise--looked hip but friendly. A black button-up, short sleeved shirt and white jeans with a pair of trendy slip-on shoes in blocks of black and white. Normally, Rome didn’t care too much about clothes, but he wanted to make a statement today. He was a relaxed, regular guy, but a talented actor everyone needed to remember. He’d have to take Juliet’s word for it, but at least the outfit was comfortable.
The show wasn’t filmed live, but there would be a studio audience. He could hear them now as Cliff tossed them to a commercial break, the roar increasing at the mention of Rome’s name. He had to wonder if any of the people sitting there, anticipating his appearance, were there specifically to see him and not just to be on the set of a popular talk show. If so, were any of them from demographics other than the tween to mid-twenties female group that always went wild over him? He’d love to bring in a new audience.
“Mr. Verona, if you’ll go to your first spot,” the same stagehand said, extending his arm out of the open door toward the set.
Rome obliged. With one more glance at himself in the mirror, he slicked back his hair behind his left ear and spun to cross backstage. He took his mark just as Cliff, a middle-aged man with an abdomen that screamed jovial, began his introduction.
“This next actor is no stranger to the late night talk show scene, though this is the first time I’ve had the honor of having him on my stage. You’ll know him from such films as What Keeps You There and Not What We Had Planned. Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the Oscar nominated actor--Rome Verona!”
The way Cliff said his name made it hardly recognizable to his ear, but Rome had been waiting on the applause anyway. When he walked out, he was sure to keep his face full of humble modesty, a surprised smile particularly around his eyes, so that the crowd both on set and at home would understand just how honored he was to be recognized by them.
He stood by the curtain for a moment, taking the audience in, bowed slightly, gave a little wave, and then began to walk across the stage toward Cliff who was standing in front of his desk, waiting. Rome was the second guest of the night. Sometimes, the first star would stay in the chairs off to the right of Cliff’s desk, but tonight, Sheila Townsend, an older British actress who was mostly known for her stage work, had taken her leave after her segment, which was just as well for Rome since he didn’t need her trying to take up any of his time. Cliff’s band was playing the theme to the movie he’d just been nominated for, on the far side of the stage. Rome waved at them, ducking his head in appreciation, and then clasped Cliff’s outstretched palm.
“Welcome, welcome,” the host said, patting him on the back, a friendly smile on his face.
“Thank you,” Rome said. “It’s a pleasure. A real pleasure.”
Cliff’s smile cocked to the side, an indication that he appreciated Rome’s efforts to make him understand how much it meant to him to have been invited. Cliff indicated he should sit in the blue chair closest to the desk, which Rome did, and then he went around behind the desk and plopped down into his black swivel chair so animatedly, the seat almost sent him hurling backward, which got a laugh out of everyone, including Rome.
“Careful there, Cliff,” Rome said, as the applause and laughter died down. “If something happens to you, they might ask me to take over, and I’m pretty sure I’m not ready for that.” He sat as he spoke, hoping to sound relaxed and nonchalant. None of this was rehearsed, of course, but he had seen Cliff make that move in the chair before and had always thought it might be a good opportunity to show some humility.
“You don’t think?” Cliff asked, that natural grin still on his face, as opposed to the forced one from before. “Surely, you’ve been on enough talk shows to know we just read from the cue cards.” He gestured at the man standing near the camera with a large white poster board that still read Rome’s introduction.
Rome snickered. “I don’t think I’m capable of interviewing myself, though,” he said with a chuckle.
That got a laugh out of the audience. “True, true,” Cliff said. “I guess I’ll try to keep myself together then.” He paused for another round of laughter. “So… how have you been?”
The question was asked with only a tinge of empathy, which was a change from a few months ago. Back then, right after he’d come back to America, in the first interviews he’d done since Ella’s apparent suicide, the interviewees had filled their voices with fake concern as they asked the poignant questions meant to draw emotion out of him. He’d always obliged, as he was meant to, and it wasn’t that difficult to drum up some sadness for all that he had lost--including Mark. But this time, he was meant to be on the mend. It had been almost a year since the events that had changed his life forever. The world expected him to have accepted his losses and moved on.
So when he pressed his lips together and nodded, looking at the floor, before answering, “I’m doing all right, Cliff. Thanks for asking,” it drew applause not because he wasn’t wonderful or perfect but because he represented triumph over tragedy. After all that he had gone through, he had come out on top, and others saw that it might be a possibility that they could do the same.
“Good, good,” Cliff said, tilting his head to the side as he nodded in turn. “It does us all good to hear that.”
Cliff then launched into a discussion of the movie that had gotten Rome the Oscar nod. They spent the first segment before the next commercial break talking about the movie, how Rome had felt it had elevated his acting skills in a way no other film he’d ever worked on had done, and how much he’d learned from the all-star cast. When Cliff asked him how he felt about being nominated for the industry's highest award, it took no acting whatsoever on Rome’s part for him to say he couldn’t believe it had happened.
“I had to see it in print before I believed it,” Rome said, shrugging. “Until it was actually in the papers, the day after the announcement, I still wasn’t sure.”
Cliff gave a hearty laugh. “I can see you there, with your newspaper open at breakfast, finally deciding the rest of the world was right!”
“Exactly!” Rome agreed, though it wasn’t quite what had happened. Close enough. “I know it sounds cliche to say it’s an honor just to be nominated, but it’s so very true. I wasn’t expecting it at all.”
“Really?” Cliff asked. “Because… I’ve got to say, I was truly impressed with how well you portrayed this character, a young man who, not unlike yourself, had gone through tragedy in his life, and overcome it. Really, it was heartwarming and touching.” The audience applauded in agreement.
Rome felt his cheeks turning slightly pink as he dropped his eyes to the shoes Juliet had chosen for him and took a deep breath. “Thank you,” he said before looking up at Cliff. “That means so much. I appreciate it.”
Cliff nodded and then launched them into the commercial break. Rome took a sip of the water he’d been provided and tried to slow his racing heart. So far, he was doing well. Cliff was asking him about the topics he wanted to discuss and not mentioning the ones he wanted to avoid, but he had the idea that was about to change. He’d only have one more short segment, so maybe they wouldn’t hit all of them, but even just one or two low points could ruin the momentum Rome had built up for himself. The makeup artists were taking care of Cliff’s shine as he looked over a few note cards. Rome took a deep breath, hoping he could make it through the last segment as poignantly as he’d made it through the first.
After the break, Cliff did another short reintroduction of Rome to the studio audience and the folks who would be watching at home, eventually, once the program aired, and then he got to the part of the conversation Rome had been dreading. “Now, tell us about this project you’re currently working on,” Cliff began, a hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Is what I’m hearing true? Are you doing a movie alongside a… robot?”