Bourbon and Ray-Bans

I woke up the next morning exhausted. Sleep had not been an easy thing. I spent the morning exploring the city on foot. No one bothered me and it was nice to be out on my own. Several lovely people stopped to chat and take pictures. By noon, I was back at the convention center and headed towards the conference room where our Walking Dead panel discussion was taking place. Norman was already there talking to Sean Clark, his convention manager.

Norman smiled at me while continuing his conversation with Sean. He looked tired. I figured he and Flanery had been out pretty late. I was amazed the man could keep up this lifestyle in his forties. I’d probably be in a wheelchair by then.

We were introduced to a raucous standing ovation. The fans had come out in full force. I smiled so hard my face hurt. These people made every hard thing so worth it.

After some customary and very obvious, repetitive questions asked by the panel moderator, the audience got their chance to ask us anything and everything under the sun. Norman chatted about his weapons collection and some of his past films. I laughed through a story about my first kiss and whether or not I had ever met an actual redneck as hot as Daryl Dixon. Two little girls got kisses from Norm after they gave him some art work of Daryl hunting squirrels.

Finally, the dreaded question was asked. This time by a male fan which was a first.

“So, Norman, I gotta ask. Brodie’s the hottest actress to hit television in ages, bro. If you haven’t made a move yet, you better before someone else does.” Ha!

“Is that a threat?” Norman’s eyes were shining with amusement.

“Not at all, man. I wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.” This guy was cute. I pulled a Norman and flashed him the call me signal.

“You two could have a good old fashioned high noon showdown. Winner gets an as yet unspecified sexual favor provided by moi while the other gets an eternity in hell. I could get down with that.” The crowd cheered and started chanting Norman’s name. The guy in the audience pouted.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” He deserved some attention. If Norm could flirt, so could I.

“Brent Allen.” He suddenly looked very nervous.

I gave him the come here signal with my finger. The people went nuts as the guy slowly walked forward looking seriously terrified. Of me. Bless his heart. When he got to the stage I walked around front and told him to pull his phone camera out. He did so dutifully. I wrapped my arms around his shoulders, stood on my tiptoes, and bit his earlobe quite suggestively for our photo op. He turned six shades of red, but took the photo and thanked me profusely. I kissed his cheek. He had really made my day.

With that little bit of excitement, the panel came to an end.

“You sure seemed to be enjoying yourself with..Brent, was it?”

“Normally, you’re the one who gets all the love. I have to take advantage of any crumbs tossed my way.” We had gathered our things and headed out of the room.

“Well, you made that kid’s day. He’s going to be spending a lot of alone time with your picture.” He chuckled at himself.

“Gross. Way to ruin my happy moment.” I punched him lightly on the arm.

“You better get used to the boys drooling all over you. It’s only going to get worse. Just wait to our GQ piece gets released. You’re going to have stalkers.”

“What do you mean? We haven’t even shot that yet. What do you know that I don’t know?”

He grinned and ignored my question. That could only mean one thing. Nudity. I jogged to catch up with him as he headed towards the elevators.

“Wait, Norman. I never agreed to naked pictures.” I was dead serious. This wasn’t going to happen.

“Topless pictures.”

“Same. Fucking. Thing. Not going to happen.” I joined him in the elevator, angry as hell. How did something like this get approved without my even knowing?

“Relax. No one will see anything. Well, except me and maybe a handful of people at the shoot. The magazine will creatively cover up the forbidden nipple slips.” He was absolutely enjoying this little information reveal way more than he should.

I crossed my arms over my chest and glared at him. “How do you even know this?”

“Known the photographer for a long time. Went to dinner with him last time I was home. The idea is to give the fans a little glimpse of something while our characters stew in their own sexual tension for the next however many years. AMC’s only sticking point was that we weren’t allowed to actually kiss. They’re saving that for prime time ratings. Stop looking so pissed off. It’s all part of the game and what you get paid a hell of a lotta cash to do.” He left me when we got to his floor with a little wave of his hand and a lopsided grin.

“Well they can have their fucking money back, then!” I shouted as the doors closed. We both knew I didn’t mean it, though. I’d do the shoot even if it killed me. Hell, maybe I’d just embrace the situation and go all out. It’s not like I was particularly modest about my chest. At least now I could spend the next month eating small salads and doing a million crunches. No more M&M binges for me. Hollywood, here I come.