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Ticketholder: The Master Doctor
Starring: Sandro Diamante
Gender: Male
Sexuality: Homosexual
Nationality: Spanish
/ Passionate / Elegant / Hardworking / Private / Half Deaf
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[img]
Today was not your day.
Despite waiting at the back exit to the theatre for an HOUR after the show, you had failed to catch Sandro Diamante for an interview. If that wasn’t bad enough in itself, your ride was late and it was pouring outside in the gloomy streets of London. You shivered as the cold rain soaked through your thick jacket.
“Lousy cab…” you mumbled to yourself.
Immersed in your misery you failed to notice the absence of rain beating your back. It was the sudden chuckling voice that made you snap to attention.
“I don’t know what good this’ll do now, seeing as you’re thoroughly soaked.”
You looked up to see a smiling man in sunglasses and a hat holding a dark umbrella, shielding you from the downpour. As he beamed down at you, his glasses slipped down his nose, revealing his pale eyes. Recognition hit you, like walking face first into a brick wall.
“S-Sandro Diamante??”
The tanned man winked and put his finger to his lips.
“Don’t wanna start a riot now. We’ll talk somewhere quieter.” As if summoned by his presence, a cab pulled up to the curb next to you.
He walked over to the vehicle, opened the door, and politely gestured for you to get inside. “You first.”
You climbed in, and scootched to the far side, allowing for Sandro to sit in beside you.
“Take us to a cafe please ” he told the man driving.
…
“Café Mocha?”
“That’d be me!” You grabbed the steaming cup, and walked over to the little table by the window where Sandro was already sipping his drink.
As you sat down, you addressed him nervously, “Umm, Mr. Diamante?”
“Please, just call me Sandro.” He laughed pleasantly, as he placed his cup down on the table.
“Well, uhh, Sandro,” you took a deep breath, and pulled out a notebook and pencil, “I’m a reporter for the London Magazine, and I was wondering if you could answer a some questions?”
A mixture of anger and annoyance flashed in his eyes, but it quickly faded to strained smile.
“Yeah sure.” he replied, smile doing nothing to mask his bitterness.
“You don’t have to, I mean, if you don’t feel-’”
He cut you off angrily as he hit the table with his fist “I said, its fine.”
Sandro looked up to see your fearful face. His demeanour immediately softened and he rubbed the back of his head guiltily, “I apologize, it wan’t right of me to lash out at you like that.”
“You see, I am not fond of all the aspects in the life of a celebrity. People are practically breathing down my neck all day… I’m always being watched…"
[image here]
"But that’s not even what really scares, me. Some days, I am afraid that it is my very passion that will corrupt me. Make no mistake I live for what I do, and I don’t think I’d ever want to do anything else, but the acting world has never been very genuine. It’s so easy to get swept up in the glamour and artificiality, it makes me wonder if I’ll look back and regret the person I have become.”
Sandro sat back into his chair and sighed with a smile, “Anyway, please, go ahead and ask your questions. I’ll answer. ” He smiled, and this time, it was genuine.
Slowly, you closed your notebook, stood up, and turned to leave. Utterly confused and shocked, he called after you, “Where are you going?”
You turned to face him one final time.
“Never, in all my career have I ever heard someone speak to me so deeply and genuinely. I don’t think you should be afraid, it’s plain to see you’re not like the rest. You’re far better. Far more… human.” And with that you turned on your heels and walked out of the cozy little Cafe.
━
