From his childhood to his rise to the top

Just as all directions point, David O'Ryan was no less than other artists of his rank, betting on the creation of a documentary about his life and his cinematic journey. Who doesn't want to know about that kid who started in the nineties as the son of a sitcom protagonist? That kid who conquered the small screen to achieve, at just ten years old, his first role as the protagonist of a youth drama. Has anyone forgotten that "Dad, do you love me?" that caused great critics to debate about his majestic performance to this day?

Under the audiovisual production of Universal Cinema, this documentary will take lovers of a good documentary to delve into the adversities our Hollywood star has encountered. A film that will show his vast legion of fans, spread across every corner of the world, snippets of his day-to-day, his childhood, and part of his trajectory in the film industry.

Little is known of the team except that it will be directed by a great film director who has been in contact with the actor for months.

My parents, my friend Willy, and my kind of boyfriend slash friend slash work colleague are with me at our last dinner together. The news of my departure to Hollywood has not been well received by my father. He doesn't like the idea of me moving into a celebrity's house, letting six months of my life wither away without becoming the great journalist he wants me to be. To give you an idea, my father is a journalist who talks about more serious topics, like wars, politics, and the economy, while I dedicate part of my life to digging up gossip about celebrities and talking about it in a magazine that publishes what I write whenever it feels like it.

Fortunately, he's a great believer in David O´Ryan's talent.

"It'll be a good experience," I tell my father. "A kind of paid vacation."

"Daughter, why did they choose you? That actor could have the best if he wanted, why you?"

I ask myself the same question.

"I don't know," I tell him the truth.

"I still think you took a risk by signing without consulting us first."

"It's the opportunity of my life. Appearing in that documentary will only bring me good opportunities for the future. Do you know what they told me at work? Nothing. They are thrilled to have one of their journalists in the credits of a documentary like the one that's going to be made."

"I think it's a great opportunity," says Josh, my boyfriend slash friend slash work colleague.

Josh is a fashion photographer I've known for ten years. We met on the subway. We became friends because he had a partner, then lovers because he broke up with his girlfriend, who cheated on him big time, and finally, we are ex-partners with benefits who meet at family dinners. Few know about the friends with benefits situation we have.

He is well received at my parents' house for being the perfect son-in-law every parent wants for their daughter. Why aren't we formally together? And why did we break up? We're not together for one reason: he's head over heels for a woman who isn't me. We broke up when we realized that dragging on a relationship in which I'm the only one feeling was a waste of time. And for other reasons that I'll tell you about later.

We're friends until time says otherwise.

I smile gratefully for being my unwavering support. What a normal and attractive beauty! He's an average guy, but he has an attractiveness to his personality that outshines the most handsome anyone who stands in front of him. I'm still somewhat in love. It's not easy to forget that he was my great support from the beginning.

But honestly, what are the chances that a man whose heart beats for another person will fall in love with you again? If I had to lean towards an answer, I'd say there's no chance. As much as he enjoys spending the occasional passionate night with me, I know there aren't many more.

Willy catches me with love-struck eyes looking towards Josh.

"If Josh doesn't mind losing sight of her for a few months, who are we to say anything?" My soulmate throws in the dig. "They'll know if they can be away from each other."

He says this in front of my mother when he knows she gets her hopes up every time we talk about reconciliation. She adores Josh. And she adores the option of seeing her daughter in a formal commitment even more.

My twenty-nine years weigh heavily on my mother. She can't stand family meals because she is the center of conversation for having an uncommitted daughter. My mother is a metropolitan woman from New York, but she remains anchored in archaic thoughts where a woman has to be married before turning thirty.

"Josh is going to miss you. Those eyes are used to seeing you," my mother says, glancing at the photographer.

I sigh.

I need to change the subject. I don't want to let my mother steal the spotlight on a day like this.

"I'm happy," says Josh. "She's finally going to meet her idol."

"Meet is not the word. She's going to live with her idol, buddy," Willy reminds him. "I feel sorry for you, parents of the creature, but you have to be aware that your daughter is going to share a home with the most handsome celebrity my eyes have ever seen. He's a cannon of a man. Those blue eyes that can make you pregnant just by looking. That perfect face. His square jaw. That blond, casual hair inspired by the 1950s. Damn, it makes my mouth water," he takes a bite of his hake. "I would be worried. My partner can't be near that man without me being present to set an alarm between the two."

I laugh at his words.

Josh raises his eyebrows.

"Do you realize you're talking about a man who's been married and has a partner for twenty years?" I ask, erasing the smile from my mouth.

"What a cheek you have!"

Willy is one of those who thinks that all humans would let ourselves be carried away if David O’Ryan winked at us.

"What are you talking about?"

"Let's block the topic for a while. Then you tell me how it went."

Josh shakes his head.

Dinner continues without any problems. We talk about topics that my father does care about.

Once dinner is over, we say goodbye to my parents. I don't live with them. And on the days I come over for dinner or lunch, I usually stay for a couple of hours and then return to my shared apartment with Willy.

Josh, Willy, and I head to a bar near the apartment for a drink to celebrate that in a few months I'll be one of those with half a million in the bank. I invited them for a few drinks.

Willy, the cheeky one, has invited a fling he intends to bring home tonight and left with him a few minutes after we sat down.

Josh sits next to me at the bar.

"We're going to miss you. The habit of going out on Fridays the three of us will be interrupted for a few months."

Since we broke up, we have signs of affection for each other where we always include Willy in the middle. For example, instead of saying "I love you," we say "we love you." If we want to go out together, we send a message where Willy seems to be the key piece.

Me, still feeling butterflies in my stomach, comment:

"You'll find good company in Willy. Besides, I don't know, maybe, I don't know, when I come back I might see you with that girl you like."

"Mariah is already history."

What!

We both fall silent.

Breathing heavily the scent of alcohol and leather that permeates the atmosphere.

Looking at each other intently.

And then I lower my voice and adopt a tone of surrender:

"But you still have her in your head."

"No. You're wrong."

"Oh, really?"

He smiles affectionately.

"Don't mess with me. Haven't you realized that I haven't been interested in any woman for a long time?"

"Why? Do you like Willy?"

He laughs.

"No, I don't like Willy."

"And who has you enchanted this time?"

Please, please, say that I am the love of your life and give me the joy of my life.

"Let's just say no one in particular. I don’t know…"

If I had a bit of audacity, I'd slap him for being a jerk.

"You don't know," I give him a loving squeeze on the forearm. I can't hurt him.

We stay silent for a long time with smiles that I would categorize as romantic and cheesy.

Have you ever downloaded one of those games that keep you awake for days? You start determined to beat the record and convinced that you'll achieve it. But as days go by, it gets too difficult. You get tired, and you end up quitting. You leave it.

I am like that in love. I can hold back from saying what's on my mind for a while, but I can't hold back much longer.

I take a sip of my daiquiri.

I look at him.

I glance away towards the bartender.

I look at him again, determined.

"I'll have you in my mind. When you can, take a few days off and come see me. I'm still the idiot who loves you."

I'm cheesy and romantic.

He laughs, relieved.

"Really?"

"You broke up with me. Remember that."

"Because there was a lack of that spark. That tickle that's needed for a relationship to be more than just sexual attraction."

"We're friends and good lovers in bed, what else is needed for it to work?"

He smiles tenderly and caresses my cheek.

"I don't know."

"Are you going to wait for me or are you going to keep flirting on social networks?"

"Explain."

"I need something that ties me to what's happening between us. Words alone are not enough."

"I don't want to promise fidelity. It doesn't come naturally to me."

A mixed blessing.

"In that case, Josh, it's better if we leave everything as it is."

"I'll come see you. I promise."

His implicit ardor makes me feel insulted, and I become defensive.

"Don't bother if you don't feel like it."

He sighs and runs his fingers through my cheek again.

"Don't start with the turbulent games that drive one crazy. If I say I'll come see you, it's because I want to."

You see? I like love with courage. I leave half-measures for friends with benefits. If I offer you my heart on a platter, you take it and protect it.

"Okay," I smile, not very convinced.

"Okay."

"Yes, damn, okay."

"Okay, damn," he laughs, pulling me to his side. "Your hair always smells so good."

"It's the shampoo."

"I'll have to buy some bottles to keep you in mind."

"You had to see me leaving the city for you to say these nice things."

"What a liar!" He exclaims, laughing. "If I always say cheesy romantic things to you."

"Yeah, right, now it turns out that telling me I dress like a teenager is a compliment."

Josh is thirty-two years old and always dresses in the New York style, spending a fortune to serve fashion and style. And me, well, I'm a case apart. Fashion for me is on another planet. I like to buy good jeans, a good sweater, a warm coat, sneakers that withstand my walks. Simple. But he, who is quite the influencer, thinks I look like a mess with my basic clothes. It reminds him of the high school stage. When you picked your first rags from the basic store in town.

He shakes his head. He lets out a laugh that half the bar hears.

"I didn't say that. I said you have an innate elegance wearing high school kids' rags."

"And saying my room smells like mozzarella cheese is another compliment."

"Your room smells like pizza."

I want to make it clear that the smell doesn't come from my feet. The thing is, when I work late, I order some pizzas that end up spending a few days in my room. Willy and I are not exactly examples of cleanliness, to say the least. However, my room compared to Willy's can be said to be a landfill. The bastard does particularly clean his area.

"You're doing poorly in the reconquest, eh, handsome."

"And who said I want to reconquer you?" He teases, arching his eyebrow.

"You."

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

"I want you not to forget about me," he says, leaving me speechless.

I blink.

A tingling sensation runs through my body.

"And why is that?"

"You're going to meet David O´Ryan and all the people around him."

"Do you really think that by living with the actor I'm going to end up hopelessly in love? What? Am I fifteen?"

"Remember he's married."

"It's just that, if you had bothered to read my articles, you'd realize I'm a fan of the beautiful family he forms with his wife and daughter."

He pulls me to his side and wraps me tightly. His warmth and the scent of his cologne trap me in the dream of what it would be like for us to be a couple like in the old days. He hugs me firmly and securely, as only he can.

He kisses my shoulder and pulls away from me.

"These six months will be magical. You'll see the magic of luxury and power."

"I'm a guest. Just another member of the service."

"I fear the worst from that service. Can you imagine falling in love with the chef?"

"I'm not going to fall in love. I think I'm already in love," I clarify what he refuses to understand. "Is it possible to feel romantic love for two people at the same time?"

"Technically, in this beloved world, everything is possible. But thanks for saying you feel something for me. I'll be thinking about you all the time."

Ugh, how cute. You can't tell me his last sentence isn't ultra mega romantic. "I'll be thinking about you all the time," I repeat the phrase in my head with a romantic melody in the background.

"Let's drop the cheesiness and focus, shall we?"

"Let's focus then. Tell me, what did they say at work? Tell me the truth. Don't sugarcoat it like you do with your parents."

"The boss is furious. My articles, news, and blogs are very successful and he doesn't like that I'm leaving work for six months. He told me in so many words that if I don't continue writing, I'll be heading to the unemployment line as soon as I return to New York, so we've reached an agreement."

"Really?"

"I'll continue with the blog. They force me to write an article a week for the print magazine. And if a bombshell news story comes up, I'll have to write for the digital magazine."

"In short, he told you that you're going to continue working for DailyWeek from the other side of the United States."

"That's right."

"You know what? It's the best thing that could have happened to you. You can't risk it all for a job that's going to cover you in glory. You don't know how it might end."

He's right. I can't risk it all on one card. If anything goes wrong, I'll be left without a job and without those earnings I dream of seeing in my bank account.

I sigh.

"The problem is that those who hired me have specified that they want me available twenty-four hours a day for them. They won't allow me to write about the O´Ryan family while I live with them."

"You solve that with one of your sweet smiles. You look into the bosses' eyes and tell them you're obligated by your contract with DailyWeek to comply."

Without warning, a laugh bursts from my mouth.

"A week ago I was sitting here complaining about not having enough work, and now I'm here complaining about too much work. Life takes many turns, dear."

Tomorrow I catch a plane to Los Angeles. Tomorrow will be a new beginning.