After the "Good Morning New York" interview ended, Landon felt the producer's goodwill as he came over to shake hands.
"Great performance," the producer said. "Rosanna told me when she came out that you're a natural storyteller. Keep it up, and we can collaborate again when you release your next song."
Landon smiled and thanked him. Next time?
Tracy said yesterday that the second song would need at least three to four weeks of preparation, and there were still two months left for the filming of "A Beautiful Mind."
There was never enough time.
He wasn't working 996 anymore; it was 997 now.
Zoe handed him his coat, and the two walked into the elevator in silence.
In the underground garage, that familiar black sedan had already started, and the driver, Bruce, rolled down the window and nodded.
He was an African-American man in his thirties, a driver-bodyguard Tracy had arranged for him; he didn't say much but was very reliable.
This also relieved Zoe of her role as a driver.
"Still heading to the set?" Bruce asked.
"Yeah." Landon sat in the back seat and took out his phone.
Several messages popped up on the screen.
A work brief from Tracy, a final confirmation from Def Jam regarding next week's radio schedule, and a simple smiley face from Jennifer Connelly—this was their secret code, telling him to be careful tonight... Recently, Jennifer had taken a particular liking to cosplay.
He was about to reply to Jennifer when his phone rang. It was Rachel's number.
"Hello?"
"Landon, it's me." Rachel's voice sounded off, with a noisy background.
"Something's happened. Justin just... on a radio interview... he's gone crazy."
Landon sat up straight. "What?"
"He's been hinting at Britney's new flame, saying that person'suddenly emerged in the music scene recently' and 'lives in the same high-end community'."
Rachel's voice was trembling.
"He also said Britney has been'strongly recommending this person's new song' in the media lately—isn't that talking about you? Britney did recommend your 'Yeah!' to the media yesterday!"
The car was stuck in traffic on Fifth Avenue, unable to move an inch. Sunlight from April streamed through the window, but Landon felt a chill.
That bastard. He had been too kind last time, choosing photos that weren't the most explicit ones.
"That's not the point!" Rachel lowered her voice. "The point is he's implying there's something going on between you! He said Britney 'frequently visits another villa in the same high-end community' and that he 'has reason to believe the breakup wasn't one-sided'."
"Tabloid reporters are already digging. They found out that you and Britney do indeed live in the same gated community!"
Landon closed his eyes. Britney had visited several times, all at Rachel's invitation. But those times were during the day, and Rachel was always present.
"Rachel, calm down," he said. "You were there every time Britney came to our house."
"You don't understand these media outlets! They'll say we're a 'cover'! Justin is like a mad dog right now. His image was damaged after the breakup, and he needs someone to shift the focus!"
"And you—a white singer who suddenly emerged, living near Britney, and publicly recommended by her—you're the perfect target!"
The phone vibrated; it was Tracy calling.
"Rachel, I have to take Tracy's call," Landon said. "Take care of Britney, don't let her post anything else."
Answering the phone again, Tracy was very calm. "Justin Timberlake just hinted on KIIS-FM in Los Angeles that Britney has a romantic interest in New York, and the description points to you. Three reporters have already called my cell."
"I know."
"Listen, this is no coincidence," Tracy said. "Britney recommended your song to the media yesterday, and Justin starts hinting today. He's diverting attention because public opinion is against him after the breakup. And you, as a newcomer publicly supported by Britney, have become the most convenient target."
The car moved forward slowly for a few meters and then stopped again.
Bruce glanced at the rearview mirror. "The accident ahead hasn't been cleared yet. We might be stuck for a while."
Landon didn't respond. His mind was racing. "We have proof that Rachel was present whenever Britney came to my house."
"That's useless," Tracy said flatly. "The media doesn't care about the truth; they care about the story. 'The Pop Princess's Secret Date with a New Singer' has much more selling point than 'The Pop Princess visiting her best friend's house'."
"And Justin's team is smart. They didn't name names, they just hinted—this creates a buzz without the risk of a defamation lawsuit."
"So what do we do?"
"Standard procedure. First, you say nothing. Don't respond to any media inquiries."
"Second, I'll prepare a brief statement emphasizing that Britney is a good friend of Rachel's and they hang out occasionally, and that you and Britney are just ordinary friends. Third, go to work as usual today and act like everything is normal."
Landon rubbed his temples. "What if reporters follow me to the set?"
"Then use the standard answer: 'I don't comment on other people's private matters; my focus is on music and acting.' Remember, smile and stay calm." Tracy paused.
"And—I'll handle things with Def Jam, but be prepared. If this escalates, it might affect the promotion of 'Yeah!'. People will start listening to the song through a biased lens."
The call ended. Landon put down his phone.
Zoe looked at Landon worriedly.
The car finally began to move, slowly passing the accident site.
A taxi and a delivery truck had collided, with debris scattered everywhere.
Landon looked at the mess and felt it was a metaphor.
The phone vibrated again. An unknown number, area code 212.
He didn't answer. Thirty seconds later, another unknown number called.
"The media is starting to look for you," Zoe turned her head from the front seat. "I have missed calls on my end too."
"Silence them all," Landon said.
The car drove onto the 59th Street Bridge, the East River shimmering with gray light below.
The set was getting closer, but Landon knew today's filming wouldn't be easy.
Bruce steered the wheel steadily. "Should I take a detour? There might be reporters waiting at the entrance of the set."
"No," Landon said. "Go in normally."
"Understood."
The car stopped on the outskirts of the set. Landon didn't get out immediately.
He watched the busy staff outside, the equipment, and the temporary Princeton University signs.
In a few hours, he would put on Charles's costume and return to the 1950s.
The reality was that his own life was becoming more and more like an illusion.
"Let's go," Zoe pulled the car door open for him. "The Makeup Artist is waiting."
Landon took a deep breath and stepped out of the car. By the time he walked toward the dressing room, he already had that smile he'd practiced countless times on his face.
People nodded to him along the way. "Hey, Landon, I saw the interview this morning. It was great!"
"Thanks," he responded with a smile.
In the dressing room, the lights in front of the mirror were very bright. Landon sat down and looked at himself in the mirror.
Zoe began preparing the foundation.