Brandon Blake (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
signofthetimes) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
dreamlikenewyork2019-04-19 02:00 am
signofthetimes) wrote in dreamlikenewyork2019-04-19 02:00 am
"Only the fighter has got his back against the wall."
Who: Brandon Blake with his showrunners
What: Biting the bullet
Where: Manhattan, NYC
When: Simultaneous to this
Brandon sat in between his manager and publicist in the swanky skycraping HQ of the production company for his TV show. The showrunners were across the conference table and as soon as they arrived, started an animated discussion surrounding the news the show had just been renewed for three more seasons and they wanted to amp-up exposure of Brandon’s ‘relationship’ with Autumn so it could potentially piggyback onto Justin’s tour PR train because of Autumn’s link to him. They thought it would be cute and wholesome to cash-in on that. Then they were talking a new romance for Saxon, his character, in the next season and a potential interview with him and Autumn.
It was only the fact he had just been plied with an injection of anti-emetic medication that stopped him vomiting all over himself. He sat silently, head hung, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. He should be over the moon of the renewal news. Normally, he would be animatedly involved in discussions around plans for his character but the entire conversation was white noise in his mind, a fuzz in his head making the rest of him feel numb and detached. And then…
“Look, we know there’s substance issues. We’re going to have to insist you check into rehab ASAP, Brandon, so you’re in top form before look at the PR game-plan.”
It kicked off more round-table discussions on how to tackle the cliffhanger at the end of the last season and various options for the plot, including some courageous plan for stuntmen. Something snapped in Brandon and all plans he had for navigating this conversation went out the window.
“I have cancer!” Brandon snapped, cutting them all off mid-sentence. He finally looked up at the Executive Producers and the show’s Creator, Isabelle, directing this conversation. Now the room was dead silent and everyone around the table was gaping at him. “Leukemia, aggressive. If they can’t find a bone marrow match, it’s game-over in months. The only fucking substance issues I have is the chemo they’ve been pumping through my veins. I wasn’t hungover in those pap photos in the alley. I’m here today to tell you that I want to go public with it. You can strongly suggest I play the PR game and hide my true sexuality behind a beard for the sake of the show but I can’t hide this anymore. And I’m sorry. I know this fucks everything up. You can call my doctors if you need any clarification.” He put Tara’s card on the table and slid it over to them.
“Fuck,” Isabelle eventually gasped, putting her fingers to her lips. The EP beside her, Randell, picked up the card, looking at the credentials with his mouthing hanging open a little. “I-Is there anything we can do? H-How… when did you find out?”
“I don’t know that it’s a good idea to go public with this right n--”
“STOP!” Brandon growled, shooting a weak glare at Jackson, the show’s Head of PR. “I’ve been your fucking showpony and played along through all of this for the sake of the show’s image. I gave you your fucking beard because maybe faking a sexuality and relationship is the norm in this business and god fucking forbid we have a queer actor in the lead. But until you ever have cancer and force yourself to try to fucking hide it in the middle of treatment, don’t fucking preach to me about PR and image! You all want to hide this, then I’m done. I’m walking. Sue me for all I care, it’s not like I’ll have a use for my cash in a few months. You have no fucking idea how sick I’ve been.”
Isabelle shook her head, holding up her hand. “Jackson, this isn’t the time. It’s okay, Brandon, honey. Let’s just all take a breath and have this cards on the table discussion. I’m sorry you’ve felt like you couldn't approach us with this. We would never put anything above your wellbeing and health. You’re also under no obligation, contractual or otherwise, to disclose private medical details to us. Would you like to discuss this privately with us?” she offered, indicating to herself and the three other Executive Producers.
Brandon looked around the table but soon nodded. “Yes, please. That would be appreciated.” If nothing else, what he could really use right now were less people staring at him in shock like he was about to drop dead on the spot. Everyone else but the EPs, Brandon, his manager, and publicist were left in conference room.
A moment later, Isabelle got up and retrieved a bottle of water for Brandon from the bar fridge in the corner and came to sit closer to him. “I mean this with my sincerest support, is there anything we can do to help you right now? Brandon, I know recently we’ve asked a lot of you to keep the branding of the show and Saxon’s character secure and consistent. But we also have deep insight into fan culture and we knew if you came out as gay, that would erupt into hysterical and obsessive realms. Fans who already believe you and Jeremiah are secretly in love.”
“Don’t even pretend the bearding is for my own welfare. Let’s just call a spade a spade. I’ve been through hell and back recently, I don’t have the energy for all this PR BS. I’m honouring the bearding contract and in a way, it's taken the spotlight off what I’m dealing with having cancer, that’s all I want to say about that today.” Brandon didn’t want to accidentally fall into anything to do with Merlin. He needed some parts of his life private even more now than ever before. Merlin’s stress levels were through the roof, he didn’t want to make it worse. “What you can do to help me is let me go public with this on my own. A simple Instagram post which you all can sign off on first but my words. My fans deserve that much.”
“Does this mean you’re going to need a leave of absence from the show?” Randell asked and put his pen down on his notebook, giving Brandon his undivided attention. “I lost an aunt to cancer three years ago. I understand the ordeal of chemo.”
Brandon was quiet as he looked at each of his bosses. There had been times during his six years working with them that tensions had been ignited. Brandon could be stubborn sometimes and had always been given some creative input into Saxon’s character, which he appreciated. But he was more than aware the show had him by the balls these days for the pure and simple reason it was extremely successful and popular all around the world. The impact of his cancer news was going to be massive and he respected the fact the creators and controllers of it deserved his honesty here.
He wet his lips and looked away. “I’m not going to piss in anyone’s pockets here. This has completely wiped me out. I have no blood relations, so any potential match will only be partial. I’m only having chemo to buy me time. Bone marrow transplant is the only thing that’ll help me survive this. With no match, I’ve got a few months, at best. The chemo side effects have been horrific. I’ve got something called refractory vomiting, it’s not responding to treatment regimes to curtail it anymore so my Oncologist is constantly tweaking medications to find something that works. Yes, I was vomiting in the alley that day because it was after a chemo session. Searches for a match are ongoing but it’s impossible to say if it’ll be successful in finding one. The last thing I want to do is take a leave of absence but I’m useless. Now’s probably the time for you to look at Plan Bs for Saxon and align a way to write him out if you need to. Or, I dunno, pull a Travolta and Cage and do some weird face-swap scenario. I don’t know what to suggest, I’m sorry.”
Meredith, EP #3 started weeping across the table, apologising as she wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to make sure her mascara wouldn’t run. She was the one who had voice her support for Brandon to come out and use it as a positive experience for the show but ultimately, her opinion had been outnumbered. “I think we would all agree, sweetheart, that we wouldn’t want you to remove yourself entirely from the equation knowing how much working for the show means for you. Do you want to take a full leave of absence or would you prefer to work in a limited capacity when we start filming. We have many options in our Plan B box, even if we have to do a full rewrite. Saxon is the show. I think that’s a fact none of us can forget.”
Brandon closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, sighing. “Yeah. Trust me, that’s the one thing that’s haunting me about all this. I wish it was fucking drugs because then I’d have control over the outcome. I don’t with this. I don’t know how I’m going to be hour to hour, let alone a few months down the track. I’m sick as a dog, I can barely eat. I have this constant crushing fatigue. My attention span and memory has gone to shit with the chemo, so I don’t know how I’d go memorising scripts. Best I could probably do it lying in hospital beds. Considering where you left Saxon at the end of last season, probably not surprising.”
Isabelle was nodding, eyes narrowed as she contemplated the potential plots. “Hospitalised with the option of complications down the track if you do become fully incapacitated and can’t work.”
“I think we need to discuss the timing of Brandon’s announcement of his illness. Time is something not on his side and with all due respect, your team can write whenever necessary. Brandon’s condition is worsening, so that need to take precedence here,” Brandon’s manager, Alistair, jumped in.
Olympia, his publicist, nodded. “Brandon wants to get away for a few days once it breaks so he can escape for some peace. I would like to have something signed off and ready to go within forty-eight hours so we can align with his three-day chemo break. We can work directly with your team at that point so Brandon can return to rest in private.”
Brandon felt like he was stuck in the middle of a ping-pong match, watching the ball bounce back and forth, only instead of a ball, it was his life and it was getting pounded. “Look, we’re talking months here there’s only three possible outcomes. No match is found and I die. A match is found and it’s a success that triggers remission. Or a match is found and the graft fails and I die anyway. Every option, I’ll be sick as a dog and incapacitated, whether it’s death or during the transplant process. If you don’t want me to resign and leave, you’re going to have to write Saxon out for awhile. At least half a season, if not longer. I can’t give a timeframe. I really fucking wish I could. Can you excuse me for a minute?” He pushed out of his seat and had to run to the bathroom when he broke out into a clammy sweat.
Wasn’t the best predicament to end up in. The swanky expensive offices, a hive of activity bringing TV shows to life… and he was sitting in a bathroom stall throwing up into a steel trash can hoping like hell no one came into the bathroom while he was in there. He couldn’t stop when he heard the door open and was suddenly wondering if this really was the better option to the cancer just taking him and putting him out of his misery.
“Bran? It’s Oly. You need anything, love? Don’t worry, you secrets are safe with me.”
Brandon had his head resting against the cool wall of the stall, cursing the medication for not buying him a little more time away from the side effects. He had been up and down to the bathroom all night, and now the curse was plaguing him again. “I might need you to pinkie-swear on that. TMZ would have a field day with this, huh?”
“Fuck TMZ,” Olympia snorted and wet some handtowels, squeezing the excess water out and offering them to Brandon under the stall door. “They have their hands full writing shit about Britney and Bieber anyway.”
“Oly…” Brandon murmured, wiping his face with the towels. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Taking it public, not resigning? I feel selfish as fuck if I’m just going to… to… not make it anyway.”
Olympia’s stilettos clicked on the marble floor. “You haven’t been selfish enough, baby. Let them fucking deal with this. It’s their job. Your job is to take care of yourself. Unless they want to employ robots, they’re going to have to deal with their staff occasionally getting serious illnesses. If you don’t make it, it’s hardly going to be your problem, is it?”
“Hang on.” Brandon was taken over with another wave of sickness and made a mental note to try to remember to call Tara and report that he still wasn’t having a lot of success with remedies.
“You sound like hell, hot stuff. Want me to call that man of yours to come get you?” Olympia offered once it sounded like he was pulling through it. She left Alistair back in the meeting to be Brandon’s guard dog with whatever way the cookie was going to crumble now Brandon had disclosed to them that he was sick, something he initially planned to keep secret in the wake of his diagnosis. She was glad he changed his mind.
Brandon coughed out a little laugh, wiping his mouth with some toilet paper, the wet towels Olympia giving him now pressed to the back of his neck. “You just want to meet him.”
“Of course I do. Boy tamed the beast, he’s practically a unicorn. Monty said he’s adorable. Shorty with big feet,” Olympia offered.
Brandon finally made it out of the stall with a long-suffering shake of his head. “I need to keep her busy following me around with a roll of luxury Charmin. These public bathrooms aren’t doing me any favours and I’m not talking about my man’s cock. You guys need hobbies. He’s at the hospital for his match-test anyway.” He turned the cold faucet on and splashed his face with the water. He found some pills in the inner breast pocket of his jacket and popped a couple.
“If that’s something fun, you going to share?” Olympia joked, leaning back against the wall with her arms folded loosely in front of her.
Brandon looked at her via the mirror reflection. She had long curly magenta-coloured hair and a couture fashion style that made Brandon dizzy to look at right now. He tossed the box of pills at her. “It’s Lomotil. Party hard, baby.” Then he had one of those many moments of late where he had to give himself an inner pep talk just to get through the next few hours. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink, looking down at his feet with a few deep breaths. Olympia started to say something but he put his hand up to stop her. “I’ve had enough talking about it. You’ll have to get me on a better day.”
Once they were back in the conference room, Brandon knew he probably looked worse than he did rapidly exiting it because the EPs were trying their best to scrutinise him without directly scrutinising him. He just gave them all an even look in return, which must have been enough to avert them from asking any direct questions about whether he was okay. “I’m going to offer full-disclosure on something else because everything in my life right now is more difficult to cope with than I have words to explain and if anything about this part of my life,” he gestured around the room, indicating his professional life, “destroys this other part, I will pull the plug without question and I will put that in a written contract, seeing as you like things on paper so much. I’m in a relationship. With a guy who happens to be directly connected to Justin Campbell’s corporation and we’re going to be living together. I will honour the contract keeping my sexuality hushed and I’ll be discreet with my personal life. All I expect in return is privacy and respect that despite the fact there is a PR plan for a specific branding in place, it doesn’t stop me being gay or attracted to men. Considering my life could be about to be cut short, I’m not willing to sacrifice the little happiness I’ve managed to find for the sake of a TV show and appeasing audiences and the media. That said, no I don’t wish to discuss who he is or how he’s connected to Justin. He and his closest family and friends have signed NDAs with my legal team.”
He took a sip of water before he went on to continue. He was running out of energy and really wanted to be home in his own space lying on the sofa watching a movie. “I have no intentions of publicly going into the specifics of my condition like prognosis, treatment regimes, or clinical staging. I also don’t want this used as any sort of PR tactic or campaign. I’m not going to be speaking at cancer benefits or doing interviews about battling through chemo. I’m extremely conscious of the fact many people in this world are touched by cancer and I don’t want my experience held up against theirs in anyway just because I’m famous. What I really want is my privacy to be respected so I can deal with this as much out of the spotlight as I can, in the care of my partner, who is already facing a lot of stress taking on my complicated baggage as it is. Finally, if at any point my doctor tells me I’m terminal, it’s all cards off the table. I’ll apply to the courts to get my work contract rescinded on medical grounds and I will come out as gay so I’m not going to my grave a liar. Contract or not, I am lying about my true identity and I realise that’s on my head for selling my soul for a career. That’s it, my whole hand. If there’s anything you want to come at me for, now’s the time to do it.”
“We don’t want to make life harder for you than it already is, Brandon. We want to fully support you through your illness,” Randell insisted and Brandon didn’t miss the genuine sentiment in his tone, something he truly appreciated in that moment.
Isabelle was shaking her head and she had closed her legal pad over too. “It was never our intention to stifle your decision to come out, Brandon. You know us. You’ve known us for over seven years and you know how important representation is to us on our show. Hell, you know we’ve discussed the idea of Saxon having a fluid sexuality. Our hands were tied from the network execs. Suggesting a public relationship for media purposes was the brainchild of our publicity strategists so it would take the spotlight off your private personal life. If you toss the hounds a bone, it throws them off the scent. They wanted Ruby to be your beard and we fought tooth and nail because we knew it would be the last thing you agreed to and it would frankly be a PR shitstorm. We knew the show was potentially up for three more seasons and we needed to find a longevity tactic where all parties were at least content to go forward. They like that Saxon is a cash cow for the straight female demographic. Of course, none of us could’ve ever seen this storm was brewing on the horizon.”
A faint smirk more of cynicism than anything else played at the corner of Brandon’s lips and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “I guess you all just thought I high or drunk when I kept pulling the plug on bookings before Christmas. Much like getting my ass flayed for being hungover when I passed out on set during that night shot. I just want to know, did it occur to any of you that I might actually be ill? Anyway, that was why I didn’t push back on the whole argument about me needing a beard. One, I was too sick to fight and two, it seemed extremely fucking unimportant in the grander scheme of things. Then again, it was also before I met my partner so the stakes weren’t as high but now I just have to deal with it. And I would’ve preferred to throw myself off a cliff than pretend to be in love with Ruby. At least Autumn’s been compassionate and kind.”
“What else were we to think? The medic treated you for dehydration and you refused being taken to the ER,” Randell reminded him but then held up his hands. “Apologies. I think I speak for all of us when I saw we’re in shock and feeling extensive guilt about our duty of care towards you right now. How reckless it was for us to just assume you were pushing too far with partying.”
“How long before you were diagnosed had you been ill?” Meredith asked and she shared a brief glance with her colleagues.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to sue anyone. It’s not like I haven’t done all that shit now and again but when had I ever turned up on set drunk, high, or hungover? Or a production meeting, or a table read? I’ll answer that for you. A grand total of never, nor would I ever. I’ve always been extremely professional with my work and I didn’t feel I had any of you on my side.” Brandon looked at the water bottle in his hand. “Is there any chance I get sparkling? It sometimes helps take the edge off the nausea. It was about three or four months but the location shooting in London fell in the middle of it. I went to a doctor before it and they thought I had mono, maybe even something like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or anemia. The tests he did were negative for mono but showed I was anemic and would benefit from an iron infusion. I said I’d follow it up when I got back in the country.”
Isabelle hit the intercom button on the dock in the middle of the conference table. “Can we get some chilled sparkling water, please? Flavourless,” she requested of the receptionist. “We had been concerned you were overworking yourself and I admit, I thought that might’ve been a catalyst for relying on substances to push yourself harder. But we wrapped filming and the holiday break was upon us. We know you, Brandon. I don’t think you would’ve told us if you needed help. I guess that’s why we thought we should intervene here today on a non-existent drug problem. We should’ve reached out sooner.”
Brandon could see they were beating themselves up about the whole thing but he didn’t believe fault should really lie anywhere. It was cancer, there was no fault. He gratefully accepted the sparkling water when it arrived, sipping on it. “I would’ve tried to get medical clearance if you guys pushed me but other than that, nothing would be different. I’m not worse because I didn’t get a sooner diagnosis, which I did think but my Oncologist vetoed that. It’s just aggressive. When I wasn’t working, I was sleeping. That’s not even an exaggeration. There were times I’d sleep three days straight, getting up for the bathroom and that was it. The shooting days, I would be so exhausted and in pain, I would sit on the floor of the shower vomiting my guts up. I was starting to worry I’d peaked in acting in my early twenties. I can’t be angry at anyone for not realising I was seriously sick when I didn’t even realise myself. I was going to sit on this and just let the world think it was a drug problem but I realised more lies wouldn’t be fair on my partner when he has sacrificed a hell of a lot for me already. So, however you want to play it, I don’t care. Not because I actually don’t care but because I’m just not well enough to fight.”
“Would it help if your partner could meet us, Brandon? Perhaps we could give him a little more insight to what you do and why you’re so successful,” Meredith suggested.
Olympia snorted at that and Brandon rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it if he had been reserved about drawing Merlin into this side of his life when everything was all so new with them still. He shook his head. “No. That won’t be happening. With all due respect, I want these two parts of my life completely separate and in world where I feel like I’m constantly under the microscope in the spotlight, I value my private life being just that. For me as much as for him. I’ll reassess in a few months if I’m still here. For now, I would truly appreciate the production company and network giving me the privacy and space while I have treatment and work on fighting this. I would like Olympia and her team to work in synergy about my announcement and how to wrangle the media. She’s been fully briefed on my wishes and what I will and won’t answer when it comes to articles. And I don’t want any suggestion that Saxon has a parallel cancer storyline to this. It would be just too much for me to emotionally cope with, before any staff writer gets that genius brainchild of a solution.”
“Can I ask how your partner feels about PR relationship contract? It must be quite taxing, all things considered,” Isabelle guessed, putting her hand on Brandon’s, a gesture of support. “If you think it might be best all around to try to have it rescinded, I could approach the network for a discussion.”
“No, I know it’s going to be a good diversion once the cancer news breaks. Autumn can handle it. She’s an incredible actress. She’s got my back. That’s another thing, I don’t want her floated as the caring nursemaid sacrificing everything for me. That’s what my partner is doing and it would be a slap in his face to let that become a PR circus. Autumn knows him and the three of us have discussed it. I’m not saying he’s happy about it and it probably does hurt now news has come that the cancer is getting worse but he’s okay for the ruse continuing. Okay, I really need to go home because I’m starting to get woozy, so I’m going to do us all a favour and go before I become carpet roadkill.” Once he stood, letting Olympia and Alistair help him so he didn’t fall over, Brandon scrunched his face up. “Oh, and I’m hard to get hold of right now. Best to just try to go through Montana as much as you can. When I’m not sleeping, I’m puking, and when I’m not puking, I can’t remember where I left my phone. When I’m not all that, I’m in a shit mood. It’ll just be better for all of us to let her field everything.”
Olympia nodded, holding Brandon’s arm. “I’ll be in touch once Brandon’s given me his statement to get you to get it signed off for me. I’ll leave the legalities and technicalities with the network up to you. Make sure they know that if they give Brandon any grief about this, they will hear from his legal team and it won’t be pretty if the world has to hear they tried to block a potentially terminally ill celebrity telling fans that he has cancer. Probably even more pissed off than hearing he had to hide his sexuality too.”
Randell’s hands went in the air in surrender. “Hey, we’re on his side. They don’t need to be reminded there is no Wicked Symphony without Brandon and what he brings to Saxon.” He offered his hand to Brandon to shake.
Brandon shook Randell’s hand and accepted hugs off Isabelle and Meredith. “I’m sorry I was shitty with you all. I just had my hackles up with the drug thing and thinking you might not be okay with me wanting to go public with this. And I’m really sorry that it even had to be bad news.” He got emotional then but he wasn’t going to cry in front of his bosses. He just cleared his throat, blinking the tears back and let Alistair and Olympia take him home.
COMPLETE
What: Biting the bullet
Where: Manhattan, NYC
When: Simultaneous to this
Brandon sat in between his manager and publicist in the swanky skycraping HQ of the production company for his TV show. The showrunners were across the conference table and as soon as they arrived, started an animated discussion surrounding the news the show had just been renewed for three more seasons and they wanted to amp-up exposure of Brandon’s ‘relationship’ with Autumn so it could potentially piggyback onto Justin’s tour PR train because of Autumn’s link to him. They thought it would be cute and wholesome to cash-in on that. Then they were talking a new romance for Saxon, his character, in the next season and a potential interview with him and Autumn.
It was only the fact he had just been plied with an injection of anti-emetic medication that stopped him vomiting all over himself. He sat silently, head hung, hands tucked into the pockets of his leather jacket. He should be over the moon of the renewal news. Normally, he would be animatedly involved in discussions around plans for his character but the entire conversation was white noise in his mind, a fuzz in his head making the rest of him feel numb and detached. And then…
“Look, we know there’s substance issues. We’re going to have to insist you check into rehab ASAP, Brandon, so you’re in top form before look at the PR game-plan.”
It kicked off more round-table discussions on how to tackle the cliffhanger at the end of the last season and various options for the plot, including some courageous plan for stuntmen. Something snapped in Brandon and all plans he had for navigating this conversation went out the window.
“I have cancer!” Brandon snapped, cutting them all off mid-sentence. He finally looked up at the Executive Producers and the show’s Creator, Isabelle, directing this conversation. Now the room was dead silent and everyone around the table was gaping at him. “Leukemia, aggressive. If they can’t find a bone marrow match, it’s game-over in months. The only fucking substance issues I have is the chemo they’ve been pumping through my veins. I wasn’t hungover in those pap photos in the alley. I’m here today to tell you that I want to go public with it. You can strongly suggest I play the PR game and hide my true sexuality behind a beard for the sake of the show but I can’t hide this anymore. And I’m sorry. I know this fucks everything up. You can call my doctors if you need any clarification.” He put Tara’s card on the table and slid it over to them.
“Fuck,” Isabelle eventually gasped, putting her fingers to her lips. The EP beside her, Randell, picked up the card, looking at the credentials with his mouthing hanging open a little. “I-Is there anything we can do? H-How… when did you find out?”
“I don’t know that it’s a good idea to go public with this right n--”
“STOP!” Brandon growled, shooting a weak glare at Jackson, the show’s Head of PR. “I’ve been your fucking showpony and played along through all of this for the sake of the show’s image. I gave you your fucking beard because maybe faking a sexuality and relationship is the norm in this business and god fucking forbid we have a queer actor in the lead. But until you ever have cancer and force yourself to try to fucking hide it in the middle of treatment, don’t fucking preach to me about PR and image! You all want to hide this, then I’m done. I’m walking. Sue me for all I care, it’s not like I’ll have a use for my cash in a few months. You have no fucking idea how sick I’ve been.”
Isabelle shook her head, holding up her hand. “Jackson, this isn’t the time. It’s okay, Brandon, honey. Let’s just all take a breath and have this cards on the table discussion. I’m sorry you’ve felt like you couldn't approach us with this. We would never put anything above your wellbeing and health. You’re also under no obligation, contractual or otherwise, to disclose private medical details to us. Would you like to discuss this privately with us?” she offered, indicating to herself and the three other Executive Producers.
Brandon looked around the table but soon nodded. “Yes, please. That would be appreciated.” If nothing else, what he could really use right now were less people staring at him in shock like he was about to drop dead on the spot. Everyone else but the EPs, Brandon, his manager, and publicist were left in conference room.
A moment later, Isabelle got up and retrieved a bottle of water for Brandon from the bar fridge in the corner and came to sit closer to him. “I mean this with my sincerest support, is there anything we can do to help you right now? Brandon, I know recently we’ve asked a lot of you to keep the branding of the show and Saxon’s character secure and consistent. But we also have deep insight into fan culture and we knew if you came out as gay, that would erupt into hysterical and obsessive realms. Fans who already believe you and Jeremiah are secretly in love.”
“Don’t even pretend the bearding is for my own welfare. Let’s just call a spade a spade. I’ve been through hell and back recently, I don’t have the energy for all this PR BS. I’m honouring the bearding contract and in a way, it's taken the spotlight off what I’m dealing with having cancer, that’s all I want to say about that today.” Brandon didn’t want to accidentally fall into anything to do with Merlin. He needed some parts of his life private even more now than ever before. Merlin’s stress levels were through the roof, he didn’t want to make it worse. “What you can do to help me is let me go public with this on my own. A simple Instagram post which you all can sign off on first but my words. My fans deserve that much.”
“Does this mean you’re going to need a leave of absence from the show?” Randell asked and put his pen down on his notebook, giving Brandon his undivided attention. “I lost an aunt to cancer three years ago. I understand the ordeal of chemo.”
Brandon was quiet as he looked at each of his bosses. There had been times during his six years working with them that tensions had been ignited. Brandon could be stubborn sometimes and had always been given some creative input into Saxon’s character, which he appreciated. But he was more than aware the show had him by the balls these days for the pure and simple reason it was extremely successful and popular all around the world. The impact of his cancer news was going to be massive and he respected the fact the creators and controllers of it deserved his honesty here.
He wet his lips and looked away. “I’m not going to piss in anyone’s pockets here. This has completely wiped me out. I have no blood relations, so any potential match will only be partial. I’m only having chemo to buy me time. Bone marrow transplant is the only thing that’ll help me survive this. With no match, I’ve got a few months, at best. The chemo side effects have been horrific. I’ve got something called refractory vomiting, it’s not responding to treatment regimes to curtail it anymore so my Oncologist is constantly tweaking medications to find something that works. Yes, I was vomiting in the alley that day because it was after a chemo session. Searches for a match are ongoing but it’s impossible to say if it’ll be successful in finding one. The last thing I want to do is take a leave of absence but I’m useless. Now’s probably the time for you to look at Plan Bs for Saxon and align a way to write him out if you need to. Or, I dunno, pull a Travolta and Cage and do some weird face-swap scenario. I don’t know what to suggest, I’m sorry.”
Meredith, EP #3 started weeping across the table, apologising as she wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to make sure her mascara wouldn’t run. She was the one who had voice her support for Brandon to come out and use it as a positive experience for the show but ultimately, her opinion had been outnumbered. “I think we would all agree, sweetheart, that we wouldn’t want you to remove yourself entirely from the equation knowing how much working for the show means for you. Do you want to take a full leave of absence or would you prefer to work in a limited capacity when we start filming. We have many options in our Plan B box, even if we have to do a full rewrite. Saxon is the show. I think that’s a fact none of us can forget.”
Brandon closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, sighing. “Yeah. Trust me, that’s the one thing that’s haunting me about all this. I wish it was fucking drugs because then I’d have control over the outcome. I don’t with this. I don’t know how I’m going to be hour to hour, let alone a few months down the track. I’m sick as a dog, I can barely eat. I have this constant crushing fatigue. My attention span and memory has gone to shit with the chemo, so I don’t know how I’d go memorising scripts. Best I could probably do it lying in hospital beds. Considering where you left Saxon at the end of last season, probably not surprising.”
Isabelle was nodding, eyes narrowed as she contemplated the potential plots. “Hospitalised with the option of complications down the track if you do become fully incapacitated and can’t work.”
“I think we need to discuss the timing of Brandon’s announcement of his illness. Time is something not on his side and with all due respect, your team can write whenever necessary. Brandon’s condition is worsening, so that need to take precedence here,” Brandon’s manager, Alistair, jumped in.
Olympia, his publicist, nodded. “Brandon wants to get away for a few days once it breaks so he can escape for some peace. I would like to have something signed off and ready to go within forty-eight hours so we can align with his three-day chemo break. We can work directly with your team at that point so Brandon can return to rest in private.”
Brandon felt like he was stuck in the middle of a ping-pong match, watching the ball bounce back and forth, only instead of a ball, it was his life and it was getting pounded. “Look, we’re talking months here there’s only three possible outcomes. No match is found and I die. A match is found and it’s a success that triggers remission. Or a match is found and the graft fails and I die anyway. Every option, I’ll be sick as a dog and incapacitated, whether it’s death or during the transplant process. If you don’t want me to resign and leave, you’re going to have to write Saxon out for awhile. At least half a season, if not longer. I can’t give a timeframe. I really fucking wish I could. Can you excuse me for a minute?” He pushed out of his seat and had to run to the bathroom when he broke out into a clammy sweat.
Wasn’t the best predicament to end up in. The swanky expensive offices, a hive of activity bringing TV shows to life… and he was sitting in a bathroom stall throwing up into a steel trash can hoping like hell no one came into the bathroom while he was in there. He couldn’t stop when he heard the door open and was suddenly wondering if this really was the better option to the cancer just taking him and putting him out of his misery.
“Bran? It’s Oly. You need anything, love? Don’t worry, you secrets are safe with me.”
Brandon had his head resting against the cool wall of the stall, cursing the medication for not buying him a little more time away from the side effects. He had been up and down to the bathroom all night, and now the curse was plaguing him again. “I might need you to pinkie-swear on that. TMZ would have a field day with this, huh?”
“Fuck TMZ,” Olympia snorted and wet some handtowels, squeezing the excess water out and offering them to Brandon under the stall door. “They have their hands full writing shit about Britney and Bieber anyway.”
“Oly…” Brandon murmured, wiping his face with the towels. “Do you think I’m doing the right thing? Taking it public, not resigning? I feel selfish as fuck if I’m just going to… to… not make it anyway.”
Olympia’s stilettos clicked on the marble floor. “You haven’t been selfish enough, baby. Let them fucking deal with this. It’s their job. Your job is to take care of yourself. Unless they want to employ robots, they’re going to have to deal with their staff occasionally getting serious illnesses. If you don’t make it, it’s hardly going to be your problem, is it?”
“Hang on.” Brandon was taken over with another wave of sickness and made a mental note to try to remember to call Tara and report that he still wasn’t having a lot of success with remedies.
“You sound like hell, hot stuff. Want me to call that man of yours to come get you?” Olympia offered once it sounded like he was pulling through it. She left Alistair back in the meeting to be Brandon’s guard dog with whatever way the cookie was going to crumble now Brandon had disclosed to them that he was sick, something he initially planned to keep secret in the wake of his diagnosis. She was glad he changed his mind.
Brandon coughed out a little laugh, wiping his mouth with some toilet paper, the wet towels Olympia giving him now pressed to the back of his neck. “You just want to meet him.”
“Of course I do. Boy tamed the beast, he’s practically a unicorn. Monty said he’s adorable. Shorty with big feet,” Olympia offered.
Brandon finally made it out of the stall with a long-suffering shake of his head. “I need to keep her busy following me around with a roll of luxury Charmin. These public bathrooms aren’t doing me any favours and I’m not talking about my man’s cock. You guys need hobbies. He’s at the hospital for his match-test anyway.” He turned the cold faucet on and splashed his face with the water. He found some pills in the inner breast pocket of his jacket and popped a couple.
“If that’s something fun, you going to share?” Olympia joked, leaning back against the wall with her arms folded loosely in front of her.
Brandon looked at her via the mirror reflection. She had long curly magenta-coloured hair and a couture fashion style that made Brandon dizzy to look at right now. He tossed the box of pills at her. “It’s Lomotil. Party hard, baby.” Then he had one of those many moments of late where he had to give himself an inner pep talk just to get through the next few hours. He rested his hands on the edge of the sink, looking down at his feet with a few deep breaths. Olympia started to say something but he put his hand up to stop her. “I’ve had enough talking about it. You’ll have to get me on a better day.”
Once they were back in the conference room, Brandon knew he probably looked worse than he did rapidly exiting it because the EPs were trying their best to scrutinise him without directly scrutinising him. He just gave them all an even look in return, which must have been enough to avert them from asking any direct questions about whether he was okay. “I’m going to offer full-disclosure on something else because everything in my life right now is more difficult to cope with than I have words to explain and if anything about this part of my life,” he gestured around the room, indicating his professional life, “destroys this other part, I will pull the plug without question and I will put that in a written contract, seeing as you like things on paper so much. I’m in a relationship. With a guy who happens to be directly connected to Justin Campbell’s corporation and we’re going to be living together. I will honour the contract keeping my sexuality hushed and I’ll be discreet with my personal life. All I expect in return is privacy and respect that despite the fact there is a PR plan for a specific branding in place, it doesn’t stop me being gay or attracted to men. Considering my life could be about to be cut short, I’m not willing to sacrifice the little happiness I’ve managed to find for the sake of a TV show and appeasing audiences and the media. That said, no I don’t wish to discuss who he is or how he’s connected to Justin. He and his closest family and friends have signed NDAs with my legal team.”
He took a sip of water before he went on to continue. He was running out of energy and really wanted to be home in his own space lying on the sofa watching a movie. “I have no intentions of publicly going into the specifics of my condition like prognosis, treatment regimes, or clinical staging. I also don’t want this used as any sort of PR tactic or campaign. I’m not going to be speaking at cancer benefits or doing interviews about battling through chemo. I’m extremely conscious of the fact many people in this world are touched by cancer and I don’t want my experience held up against theirs in anyway just because I’m famous. What I really want is my privacy to be respected so I can deal with this as much out of the spotlight as I can, in the care of my partner, who is already facing a lot of stress taking on my complicated baggage as it is. Finally, if at any point my doctor tells me I’m terminal, it’s all cards off the table. I’ll apply to the courts to get my work contract rescinded on medical grounds and I will come out as gay so I’m not going to my grave a liar. Contract or not, I am lying about my true identity and I realise that’s on my head for selling my soul for a career. That’s it, my whole hand. If there’s anything you want to come at me for, now’s the time to do it.”
“We don’t want to make life harder for you than it already is, Brandon. We want to fully support you through your illness,” Randell insisted and Brandon didn’t miss the genuine sentiment in his tone, something he truly appreciated in that moment.
Isabelle was shaking her head and she had closed her legal pad over too. “It was never our intention to stifle your decision to come out, Brandon. You know us. You’ve known us for over seven years and you know how important representation is to us on our show. Hell, you know we’ve discussed the idea of Saxon having a fluid sexuality. Our hands were tied from the network execs. Suggesting a public relationship for media purposes was the brainchild of our publicity strategists so it would take the spotlight off your private personal life. If you toss the hounds a bone, it throws them off the scent. They wanted Ruby to be your beard and we fought tooth and nail because we knew it would be the last thing you agreed to and it would frankly be a PR shitstorm. We knew the show was potentially up for three more seasons and we needed to find a longevity tactic where all parties were at least content to go forward. They like that Saxon is a cash cow for the straight female demographic. Of course, none of us could’ve ever seen this storm was brewing on the horizon.”
A faint smirk more of cynicism than anything else played at the corner of Brandon’s lips and he cleared his throat, averting his gaze. “I guess you all just thought I high or drunk when I kept pulling the plug on bookings before Christmas. Much like getting my ass flayed for being hungover when I passed out on set during that night shot. I just want to know, did it occur to any of you that I might actually be ill? Anyway, that was why I didn’t push back on the whole argument about me needing a beard. One, I was too sick to fight and two, it seemed extremely fucking unimportant in the grander scheme of things. Then again, it was also before I met my partner so the stakes weren’t as high but now I just have to deal with it. And I would’ve preferred to throw myself off a cliff than pretend to be in love with Ruby. At least Autumn’s been compassionate and kind.”
“What else were we to think? The medic treated you for dehydration and you refused being taken to the ER,” Randell reminded him but then held up his hands. “Apologies. I think I speak for all of us when I saw we’re in shock and feeling extensive guilt about our duty of care towards you right now. How reckless it was for us to just assume you were pushing too far with partying.”
“How long before you were diagnosed had you been ill?” Meredith asked and she shared a brief glance with her colleagues.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to sue anyone. It’s not like I haven’t done all that shit now and again but when had I ever turned up on set drunk, high, or hungover? Or a production meeting, or a table read? I’ll answer that for you. A grand total of never, nor would I ever. I’ve always been extremely professional with my work and I didn’t feel I had any of you on my side.” Brandon looked at the water bottle in his hand. “Is there any chance I get sparkling? It sometimes helps take the edge off the nausea. It was about three or four months but the location shooting in London fell in the middle of it. I went to a doctor before it and they thought I had mono, maybe even something like Chronic Fatigue Syndrome or anemia. The tests he did were negative for mono but showed I was anemic and would benefit from an iron infusion. I said I’d follow it up when I got back in the country.”
Isabelle hit the intercom button on the dock in the middle of the conference table. “Can we get some chilled sparkling water, please? Flavourless,” she requested of the receptionist. “We had been concerned you were overworking yourself and I admit, I thought that might’ve been a catalyst for relying on substances to push yourself harder. But we wrapped filming and the holiday break was upon us. We know you, Brandon. I don’t think you would’ve told us if you needed help. I guess that’s why we thought we should intervene here today on a non-existent drug problem. We should’ve reached out sooner.”
Brandon could see they were beating themselves up about the whole thing but he didn’t believe fault should really lie anywhere. It was cancer, there was no fault. He gratefully accepted the sparkling water when it arrived, sipping on it. “I would’ve tried to get medical clearance if you guys pushed me but other than that, nothing would be different. I’m not worse because I didn’t get a sooner diagnosis, which I did think but my Oncologist vetoed that. It’s just aggressive. When I wasn’t working, I was sleeping. That’s not even an exaggeration. There were times I’d sleep three days straight, getting up for the bathroom and that was it. The shooting days, I would be so exhausted and in pain, I would sit on the floor of the shower vomiting my guts up. I was starting to worry I’d peaked in acting in my early twenties. I can’t be angry at anyone for not realising I was seriously sick when I didn’t even realise myself. I was going to sit on this and just let the world think it was a drug problem but I realised more lies wouldn’t be fair on my partner when he has sacrificed a hell of a lot for me already. So, however you want to play it, I don’t care. Not because I actually don’t care but because I’m just not well enough to fight.”
“Would it help if your partner could meet us, Brandon? Perhaps we could give him a little more insight to what you do and why you’re so successful,” Meredith suggested.
Olympia snorted at that and Brandon rolled his eyes. He couldn’t help it if he had been reserved about drawing Merlin into this side of his life when everything was all so new with them still. He shook his head. “No. That won’t be happening. With all due respect, I want these two parts of my life completely separate and in world where I feel like I’m constantly under the microscope in the spotlight, I value my private life being just that. For me as much as for him. I’ll reassess in a few months if I’m still here. For now, I would truly appreciate the production company and network giving me the privacy and space while I have treatment and work on fighting this. I would like Olympia and her team to work in synergy about my announcement and how to wrangle the media. She’s been fully briefed on my wishes and what I will and won’t answer when it comes to articles. And I don’t want any suggestion that Saxon has a parallel cancer storyline to this. It would be just too much for me to emotionally cope with, before any staff writer gets that genius brainchild of a solution.”
“Can I ask how your partner feels about PR relationship contract? It must be quite taxing, all things considered,” Isabelle guessed, putting her hand on Brandon’s, a gesture of support. “If you think it might be best all around to try to have it rescinded, I could approach the network for a discussion.”
“No, I know it’s going to be a good diversion once the cancer news breaks. Autumn can handle it. She’s an incredible actress. She’s got my back. That’s another thing, I don’t want her floated as the caring nursemaid sacrificing everything for me. That’s what my partner is doing and it would be a slap in his face to let that become a PR circus. Autumn knows him and the three of us have discussed it. I’m not saying he’s happy about it and it probably does hurt now news has come that the cancer is getting worse but he’s okay for the ruse continuing. Okay, I really need to go home because I’m starting to get woozy, so I’m going to do us all a favour and go before I become carpet roadkill.” Once he stood, letting Olympia and Alistair help him so he didn’t fall over, Brandon scrunched his face up. “Oh, and I’m hard to get hold of right now. Best to just try to go through Montana as much as you can. When I’m not sleeping, I’m puking, and when I’m not puking, I can’t remember where I left my phone. When I’m not all that, I’m in a shit mood. It’ll just be better for all of us to let her field everything.”
Olympia nodded, holding Brandon’s arm. “I’ll be in touch once Brandon’s given me his statement to get you to get it signed off for me. I’ll leave the legalities and technicalities with the network up to you. Make sure they know that if they give Brandon any grief about this, they will hear from his legal team and it won’t be pretty if the world has to hear they tried to block a potentially terminally ill celebrity telling fans that he has cancer. Probably even more pissed off than hearing he had to hide his sexuality too.”
Randell’s hands went in the air in surrender. “Hey, we’re on his side. They don’t need to be reminded there is no Wicked Symphony without Brandon and what he brings to Saxon.” He offered his hand to Brandon to shake.
Brandon shook Randell’s hand and accepted hugs off Isabelle and Meredith. “I’m sorry I was shitty with you all. I just had my hackles up with the drug thing and thinking you might not be okay with me wanting to go public with this. And I’m really sorry that it even had to be bad news.” He got emotional then but he wasn’t going to cry in front of his bosses. He just cleared his throat, blinking the tears back and let Alistair and Olympia take him home.
COMPLETE