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***

In the green room, you’re sweating. Sweating makes you angry, and being angry is distracting you from getting mentally ready for the interview, because you have to focus hard on not showing it.

Jerrell is one of Desiree’s minions. “Minion” is not a nice word, but you always feel leery around your publicist and her team.

All they care about is crafting an image.

They worry about Sterling Grayson, The Brand? and not so much Sterling Grayson, the person.

Granted, your brand is literally everything.

You have hundreds of employees who depend on you maintaining it, some of whom you’ve never even met.

Your brand is your livelihood, and everyone else’s.

That doesn’t mean that you aren’t piqued listening to Jerrell as you both watch the host deliver his opening monologue on the large screen.

The sound is muted, but the captions are on.

You can hear the roar of the studio audience through the walls, a muffled wave of sound.

Chris Morton is talking about Donald Trump’s wig collection.

Jerrell is talking about the agreement that Desiree struck with the producers to get you on the show.

“He agreed to the list of pre-approved topics,” he says, glancing at his phone screen to read off a list. “Some of it is the usual stuff. Politics and your family are no-goes, same as always. Desi told them that they can lob all the softballs they want: the album, the tour, the single, and so on. Questions about Kai should be tactful. Obviously, the big no-no is the GoGo situation. He agreed that, under no circumstance…”

You tune him out again. Desiree already shot you an email with the specifics, and you are the type that retains things when you read them.

It’s not Jerrell’s fault. He’s nice enough, from the limited time you’ve spent with him.

You mostly employ women on your staff when it comes to positions you have to interact with, but you don’t mind him.

He’s polite. Deferential. On top of things.

Trying to ground yourself in the moment and get on top of your interview prep, you observe the green room.

Here and now. Five things you can see. There’s an obnoxiously-large flower arrangement on the far side of the long vanity.

White roses and lilies, which are stinking up the air.

They match the aesthetic of the room, which is very white overall—white high-pile rug on the pale wooden floor, white lights, low white couches with white throw pillows.

Do all the white things count? You draw a breath through your nose.

No. There’s the mirror on the wall, in which you can see yourself all dressed and made-up for the camera.

You like the diaphanous, finely-woven, loose blue cardigan from your stylist’s rack, which you wear open low with a trio of dipping silver chains around your neck and some linen pants.

Hair and makeup left you with loose waves and a look that’s a lot softer than your normal stage face.

Your phone is on the vanity. You hold it low and snap a selfie in the mirror to send Kai.

As ever, you wish he was there with you.

All the grounding exercises in the world can’t compare to his presence.

At sound-check earlier, you shook hands with Chris and the actress who’s his other guest on the evening’s show.

It’s always a little weird meeting your peers, because sometimes they are also fans, like this girl.

She’s been nominated for an Oscar, but when she sees you, her eyes get that shiny look that you’ve come to dread.

“Hi, I’m Sterling,” you say, by force of habit.

“Oh, I know,” she giggles. Covers her mouth, blushing.

“Did I really just say that? Wow. This is kind of crazy. I’ve been listening to you since your first album.

Is that weird? Shit, I’m rambling. I’m so embarrassed.

But, when my agent told me you were the other guest, I had a legit freak-out moment. ”

You smile warmly, and hold her hug a moment longer than you normally would.

You enthuse about how much you liked her last movie, which you watched on the plane ride over exactly for this moment.

The compliment makes her blush. It’s a relief when a PA comes and tells her that they are ready for her on set.

She probably had more to say, but she obediently trots off after the assistant, her high heels clicking on the floor.

It seems like it takes forever for Chris to be ready for you.

Finally, you get your cue, and you cross the stage to his desk.

The studio audience goes nuts. It’s hard to see them with the glare of the lights, but they sound young and largely female, which tracks.

Just like it always does, the roar of their adulation perks you up, and the smile you give Chris is genuine.

You sink down into the chair beside his desk and cross your legs at the ankle.

“Sterling Grayson!” Chris crows. “Welcome to the show.”

“Thank you for having me.”

“So, you just concluded the Goalposts Tour. Triple-digit nights on stage, hundreds of thousands of fans. Unprecedented ticket sales. The Grayling hashtag on social media called it “the battle of the century” trying to get seats. And now, all of a sudden, it’s in your rearview. What does life look like these days?”

You laugh. “A lot more relaxing, obviously. There’s nothing that fulfills me like being on the road. I love interacting with my fans every night and performing the songs, obviously. But it’s nice to take a break, too.”

“What’s on your itinerary?” he presses. “What does relaxing look like for you?”

“I have a lot more time to read, which I love. My Tbr pile took a serious backseat for the last couple of years. I get to spend more time with my dogs. And my partner plays football, so I’m looking forward to not missing any home games this season.”

“Your partner ?” Chris repeats, an eyebrow cocked.

“You say that so casually, like you didn’t just melt the heart of every Trainspotter in the audience.

If there’s any fan more passionate than a normal Grayling, it’s a shipper of you and Kai Reinhart.

How is he doing? Getting ready for next season? ”

The grin on your face is like Coca-Cola—the real thing. You roll your eyes fondly.

“We are both very active people,” you say. “He’s working out a lot. I’m in the gym most days of the week, but he’s next-level. I’m trying to stay limber for dancing to pop songs, and he’s trying to knock over guys shaped like refrigerators. We’re not the same.”

Chris leans over the desk. “What’s the best part of watching football for you?

Is the food good in those VIP suites? Do you enjoy putting together your outfits?

People are always buzzing about your game-day style.

Or is it really just the thrill of watching jacked dudes in tight pants roll around on the ground? ”

Your first reaction to that is that you prefer it when Kai’s wearing no pants at all, but that’s not something that you could ever say out loud to anyone on Earth. So you cock your head and start to tick things off on your fingers.

“That was a bunch of questions!” you say.

“Um, the food is always amazing. The Hard Rock has a concessionaire that does lemon-pepper yucca fries to die for. I always make my friends try them when they come to home games. As for the outfits, yes, it’s a ton of fun.

Kai got me a custom jersey for Christmas, and I predict that one will get a lot of play in the new season.

And, really, when I’m watching the guys in the tight pants, all I’m thinking is that I have to up my squat PR.

Again, the football workout is like nothing I’ve ever experienced. They’re so, so strong.”

If Chris is dismayed that you took a borderline-skeevy question and made it family-friendly, he gives no indication.

The conversation shifts to how different it is visiting an NFA stadium versus performing in one (very), your favorite TV shows to watch on your limited free time (you and Kai sometimes catch one or two episodes of Schitt’s Creek between commitments because they are short and mindless), and what your diet is like now that tour is over (a lot fewer calories, heavy on the protein/low on processed and inflammatory foods).

It’s pretty painless. Before you know it, the director is yelling cut and the adjacent stage is being readied for your performance.

There’s going to be about an hour-long break, and you are thinking that you need to run to the bathroom before hair and wardrobe get their hands on you.

The audience’s chatter is a steady buzz.

The doors to the soundstage are open, as they are free to come and go during the intermission in filming.

“Great interview,” Chris comments, rolling his neck. He stands up and stretches. “Probably going to pull the highest ratings of the year, if I had to guess.”

You shrug. “It’s always good talking to you.”

He flops back in his chair. Takes a long pull from a disposable bottle of alkaline water that was hidden somewhere in the recesses of the desk. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You just asked me a bunch of them.”

“Off-record.” He gestures with his chin at the fish-eyes of the cameras, which have nobody behind them at the moment.

It’s very tempting to say no, I don’t think so, Chris. To get up and go find a restroom. But the vestiges of your pre-fame tendency towards people-pleasing flare at the oddest times, and that’s probably what compels you to nod.