Thaddeus Waverly Is Not Who You Think He Is
You wouldn’t even know it. One of the world’s rarest creatures—the leading man who can still command 20 mil per picture easily—could be standing right next to you. Thaddeus Waverly, upon whom God bestowed one of his finest creations, the face of Thaddeus Waverly, might very well be two feet away, closer than you ever get to most human beings these days.
And you wouldn’t have the slightest clue.
Not that it’s your fault. After all, what’s the multi-multi-millionaire star of just about every summer gangbuster of the past ten years doing riding an elevator up to the fourth floor of an Extended Stay America in Cartersville, Georgia? Nobody in his right mind would expect to see him here. It’d be like spotting a bald eagle perched on the merchandise bureau in a Starbucks—you’d be forgiven for thinking it’s part of the corporate décor, or a new kind of advertising.
But then he takes off his sunglasses. And there they are, those Scotch whisky eyes, 140-proof.
Your heart just about leaps out of your mouth and presses the Emergency Stop button, but you swallow it down and keep your cool, daddy-o, because when you walk into next week’s Atlanta magazine pitch meeting with a 3,000-word scoop of chocolate Thaddeus ice cream, your editor, her editor, and even Hannah in design will forget all about the rage incident.
Boo-yah.
“I’m sorry?”
It’s the voice of Jesus Christ, but it’s coming from his latter-day saint, Thaddeus John-Milton’s-Paradise Lost-in-3-D ($1.4 billion worldwide) Waverly. And the two of you just had the beginning of an inadvertent conversation. Might as well have a middle, a drink, another middle, another drink, an end, and a follow-up text message.
But how to play it? Ah yes, the Knowing Neg.
“I won’t tell anybody,” you say, eyes on the doors in front of you.
“Scuse me?”
You’re already on the third floor. Better man up, or you’ll be man down for the rest of the month.
“Look,” you say, stoppering a nervous urinal onslaught with a deft Kegel maneuver. “You want privacy, and I want to give it to you, but if Thaddeus Waverly is spending a night alone here, then he’s got a lot on his mind, and I bet”—you’ve stopped at the fourth floor and you’re holding the doors open and you’re thanking whatever cut-rate deity might accept your coarse gratitude that no one is waiting outside—“I bet he’d like to get some of it off his mind.”
You somehow have the balls to turn and look him right in the area immediately to the left of his face.
“I work for Atlanta magazine and I’d love to interview you, even if it’s off the record,” you say, and though the first part is a lie, it’s only a few months’ time and a restraining order from truth.
But Thaddeus isn’t buying what you’re throwing away. He stares silently, then moves to step around you and away from you and back to his room, never to be so close again and always so far away from the rest of your life.
So you block him in.
“My wife left me about six months ago,” you say, to your and his surprise. “I don’t know what brought you here tonight, but—”
“I am not into that gay crap, and if you—”
“No! Neither am I! That’s not what I’m saying at all, Thaddeus. Haha! I work for Atlanta mag—”
“Who the hell is Thaddeus? Why do you keep calling me that?”
You roll your eyes. You roll your tired fucking eyes. “Thaddeus, that game was up a while ago. You need to get a better disguise, man. I can give you some pointers.”
The elevator starts to sing an angry, one-note song. Thaddeus Waverly sucks a breath in through his nostrils and slowly drags the back of his hand across his forehead, which is rumored to be insured for five hundred million Euros and a pride of lions.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “Or who you think I am. But if you don’t get out of my way, I will get you out of my way.”
It’s a test. Thaddeus Waverly is testing you. And unlike pretty much any test in your entire academic, professional, or marital career, this one will be the one you ace because—
You’re on the floor. Your elbow hurts. You are groaning and cursing on the thin, scratchy hallway carpet and Thaddeus Waverly is striding past you and informing you that he is about to go to his room and call security and you better not follow him you freak and it feels merciful.
The elevator door closes. Thaddeus Waverly’s door opens, and closes.
You already have a title.
Notes