My heart started racing as I debated what to say to her. She’d just said we worked because we were honest, brutally honest, but if I told her the truth now, she’d never let me go to L.A. She’d tell me I was being foolish, then she’d drag the guys into the decision…she’d hold me back. And I really couldn’t handle the idea of Anna holding me back. I needed her support, even if she didn’t realize just what she was supporting.
Feeling my headache returning, along with a surge of nausea, I said, “Yeah, something like that. And…they’re filming it next month, so I’m going to have to fly to L.A. Just for a couple days though, I won’t be gone long.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Did I really just say that to her? Yes, I had. I’d just told a major-ass lie to my wife, one I couldn’t hide forever, and when she did find out the truth, she was going to fucking kill me. But I had no choice. She’d shoot down my plan if she knew all the details, and I was dying in the D-Bags’ shadow, I needed to break free. She’d see that once the show erupted. She’d support me then, I just knew it. I’d be totally honest with her…when the time was right.
Anna studied me a second longer, and I prayed my poker face stayed in place. Fuck, was I sweating? Just when I thought she was going to call bullshit, a huge smile broke her tepid expression. “Ah, babe, that’s great! A commercial was kind of something I’d been tossing around in my mind. It will let you stand out, but it won’t interfere with the band. It’s a win-win!” Leaning over, she gave me a heartfelt kiss. “See, I told you your talent would be recognized and appreciated soon.”
She leaned over to kiss me again, and I had to swallow the lump of shame in my throat; it was the first time the emotion had ever truly touched me, and I didn’t like it. At all. I probably shouldn’t have done that. But it was too late now…I’d already spun the web, and all I could do was follow it through. But fuck…on the other side of my deceit was the Promised Land—a TV show, where I was the star! Fuck, yes! This was going to be amazing.
The next few weeks were filled with endlessly meeting the guys and working on the new album. I kept quiet on my “side gig,” which was a really hard thing for me to do. It made me appreciate myself even more. I mean, if the guys understood the restraint I was using on a daily basis around them, they’d be seriously impressed.
Arnold, Harold, or whatever the hell his name was sent me the lengthy electronic contract right away. Since it all seemed legit to me, I signed it without reading it all the way through. Two weeks after I signed the contract, he shipped me the script for the pilot episode. Luckily, I intercepted the package before Anna saw it, and immediately hid the script away in my office. My lie to my wife would be completely exposed if she saw the thick manuscript I’d been sent—no commercial had that many lines—and if I slipped up now, my dream would never come true. To keep my hope alive, I had to keep Anna in the dark, so I only read through the script when I was alone.
It felt strangely horrible to not include her in my excitement. I was so used to telling her everything, no matter how small, and this was huge for me. Holding back from her made me feel incomplete, like I was constantly forgetting something. But I knew what would happen if I told Anna the truth, and because I wanted this so badly, I maintained the lie. It was temporary anyway. Once the show got picked up, I would have to come clean to her and the guys. Even if I was ordered to keep quiet, I wouldn’t be able to hold that shit in.
I was anxious to start filming, and I often practiced my acting technique in the bathroom. But memorizing the script was harder than I thought. I hoped they let me cheat while filming, have someone saying the lines in my ear or holding up cue cards that I could glance at. Something.
By the first part of December, the D-Bags were putting the finishing touches on our third album. Matt was stoked about it, said it was our best one yet. Considering the fact that they’d shot down every single one of my ideas, I wasn’t so sure it was anything more than mediocre. It saddened me that the guys refused to listen to me, refused to let me guide our band to epicness. For all of Matt and Kellan’s pretty words about pushing the envelope, they were sticking with the status quo. It was disappointing, to say the least. But I had bigger and better things on my horizon, so for once, I wasn’t worried about it.
I wasn’t worried about the album, but I was a little concerned about what I was going to tell the guys when it was time to fly to L.A. to film the pilot. I’d have to explain my absence somehow, and I had no idea what to say. “I’m blowing you guys off for a while” probably wouldn’t go over too well. It was a Saturday afternoon in mid-December when I finally got the call from Harold that I’d been waiting for.
“Mr. Hancock, I hope you’re having a great afternoon. All ready for Christmas?”
Even though he couldn’t see me, I shrugged. “Yeah, guess so.” Anna had been shopping for the girls almost nonstop. I swear our house had enough pink and purple presents in it to fill about six Toys for Tots trucks. She claimed most of them were small items, but I didn’t care. Kids should be spoiled, no harm in that.
My gift to Anna was better than anything she’d picked up for the girls though. Not long after Onnika’s baptism, I’d gotten one-way plane tickets for all of my relatives and sent them packing. Our house was blissfully quiet again. My parents were already trying to plan a return trip for the holidays, but I told them they’d have to wait until the next baby. God, I hoped Anna didn’t get knocked up again too soon. She’d kill me.