“You are?” Fletcher didn’t correct him. Maybe he could throw a few words together about the launch of the man’s first solo presenting gig and get it into the magazine to show willingness. Keep him smoothed over. Whichever way he went with this, he’d need input from Kris Sharpe.
“Of course. I love that little mag!” Kris laughed, almost forcefully, as though the flashing lights had come up to tell the audience what their correct reaction should be. “So far, I’ve not read a bad word about me. That makes us friends.” He tapped Fletcher on the shoulder, then waved at the chair. “Please, sit. I’ve a few minutes before filming the teaser, what would you like to know?”
Fletcher sat, Kris followed, indicating to the ladies behind the serving hatch that he could use a drink with the universal gesture of making a cup with his hand. Cam sat beside him, head gear wrapped around his neck and rolled-up script peeking out of his back pocket. Thankfully his scent was masked by the over-potent use of whatever cologne it was Kris had sprayed on every inch of him. It clogged Fletcher’s throat. Which he took as a blessing in disguise and used the opportunity to dig out his recorder and notebook.
“Do you mind if I record?” he asked, setting his mini-recorder on the table.
“Is it necessary?” A sudden frown appeared, quickly replaced by a smile that could’ve been mistaken for fake, forced.
“It gives my wrist a rest. But no worries, I’ll use a pen.” Fletcher adjusted his position, hovering the pen over the paper and wondered, now he was here, what the hell he was doing.
What was he meant to ask? What route should this interview take? What would a proper journalist be asking him right about now? What did he really want to know? Hey, why aren’t you and Jackson talking anymore? Why didn’t you stand by him when he was arrested? Weren’t you supposed to be the best of friends? In which case, do you know something the police don’t? Do you think it’s because he did it?
“What’s the new show about?” Was what he settled on.
Suddenly, there was a grin. A wide, stunning beam that produced dimples in his cheeks and brightened his deep brown eyes. That was the Kris the nation was used to seeing. The showman.
It meant he’d just got into character. The answer would be practiced.
“It’s a project I’d been meaning to run with for a while. Needing a new avenue, I pitched the idea to the producers of the old Roadshow and now here we are.” He held out his arms in indication of the studios just as a cup of espresso was placed in front of him, two cubes of brown sugar and a silver spoon. “Reunite is a show about bringing people together. From long lost relatives, to absent friends, to those who had an impact on someone’s life, nurses, supporters. Past lovers…that sort of thing.”
Fletcher refused to acknowledge that Cam had just gazed his way.
“Sounds great for Saturday prime time. I’ll bet there’ll be some amazing stories. Few tears, I’d imagine.”
“Absolutely. We have one couple who parted ways when they were sixteen, would you believe? They’ve both been married, had children, grandchildren. Both their partners have sadly moved on to pastures new and now they’re reaching out to each other. It’s quite the tearjerker. Can you imagine that? Getting back in contact with someone who used to mean so much but time and distance kept you apart? We’ll be doing the reunion live on air. I recommend stocking up on the Kleenex.”
“I’ll be sure to do that.” Fletcher scribbled on his pad, nothing of interest, just a simple another reunion show. He took a deep breath before braving the next question. “This’ll be your first solo presenting gig. How do you feel being up there, taking the helm on your own for this one?”
Kris shifted in the seat, clearing his throat then swirled the cup of coffee. Gestures that could’ve seemed on the surface as hesitant reactions to being asked a difficult question. But they were all rehearsed manoeuvres, telling his onlookers that he was feeling uncomfortable, that the question was difficult, that he was struggling.
Beneath the surface? Fletcher wasn’t convinced.
“I feel ready,” he said, straightening his shoulders and smiling. “And confident that the public will be behind me one hundred percent. I might make a few gaffs but all in all, I’m excited for this next chapter.”
“And how does Jackson feel about it?”
“Excuse me?” Kris frowned.
“How does Jackson feel about your solo appearance?”
“I wouldn’t know, you’d have to ask him.” Slamming back the espresso, Kris held Fletcher’s gaze in a way that said he was fine with being prodded about his ex-co-star, but dare he go further with that route of questioning then his exclusivity might be cut short.
A lot to show in one look. But Fletcher had always been good at reading between the lines.
“I’ll be sure to do that, thanks.” Another scribble, very much looking forward to going solo. “So, will you be flying solo from now on or will there be your own reunion now that Jackson has been released?” He peered up, widening his eyes in both intrigue and innocence.
Cam shifted beside him to the point his knee rubbed against his own. Fletcher didn’t acknowledge it and, in actual fact, didn’t even get much of a reaction from it. He was too focused on what Kris was preparing to say.
“No. There won’t be any reunion of Jax and Kris.” A solid, bold statement. No hint of remorse, regret, relief. Just a nice well-rehearsed soundbite for the press.
“I see. I’ll bet there are members of the public who’ll be disappointed to hear that.”
“I’m sure there’ll be others who accept that has to be the way things are from now on and will be rooting for my lotus flower moment.”
“Lotus flower?” Fletcher furrowed his brow at the statement. Or was it a metaphor? “Like rising from the shite?”
“Exactly. Or blooming in spite of the shit.” He held up a hand. “Don’t quote that.”
Fletcher hovered his pen over the pad, then nodded. He made a mental note of the lotus flower connection, though. For some reason, it seemed apt. A flower that was pure and clean, with beauty emerging from a murky pond. But of a night, that same flower closes its petals and sinks back to mingle amongst the gloom.
Interesting.
“And by shit, do you mean Jackson Young?”
“I mean the incidents surrounding him.”
“Right. I see. So is he separate from those incidents? In your mind?”
Kris fidgeted once more, this time with a squirm rather than eased control. “I’m not here to answer questions about Jackson. I’ve given my statement.”
“Of course. But, for the record.” Fletcher tapped the nib of his pen to the paper. “This is your first show without him. And he was just released from prison twenty-four hours ago, citing no evidence. I think the public would like a few words on how you feel about that.”
“My answer to that is the same as it was six months ago. Jackson and I have parted ways. Whatever demons he needs to work through, I wish him the help and support he needs but that cannot and will not come from me. My heart goes out to the Payne family. I can only imagine the torment this latest development will be causing them.”