"Orlando, this would be *wonderful* publicity," Robin insists.
"I really don't think it's what I want to do," I say as I wander around my publicist's spacious office. "A commercial for the GAP was one thing, but this is something else entirely. I mean, they want me to be in my *underwear* for God's sake! My mum would never approve!"
"I hate to say this, but you're not going to get very far if you only do things that your mother will approve of."
"Listen, there's nothing wrong with taking your clothes off for a movie, but there's no reason to do it for some random photo shoot. I'm not a model, Robin; I'm an actor. Do people even care about that anymore?"
"Of course, but it's going to be another five months until 'Pirates' hits theaters, and you want audiences to know you as more than just Legolas," she says.
"I don't want them to know me as the hunk of the week! How is that going to help my career, Robin?"
She sighs and leans back in her chair. "I'm trying to get you out there, Orlando; that's my job. I can't *do* my job if you won't play along."
"But can't you do your job without presenting me as this kind of pin-up boy? That's not what I'm in this for." I sit down across from her and lean forward, giving her my best pleading look. "You're really good at what you do, but I need you to listen to what I want right now. Could you just try to put me out there as someone who studied drama and loves the *art* of acting instead of just another 'handsome hunk'?"
"I'll try," she says.
"Thank you."
"So does this mean that you're turning the photo shoot down?"
"That's what it means."
"Well, I suppose I can't force you," Robin sighs, looking disappointed.
"Hey, I did do that teen magazine shoot last month. What was it, GM?"
"'YM'," she corrects me with a small smile.
"Look Robin, if you really want me to do some really good photos, Viggo has taken a bunch. We could send 'em out to the magazines and just make up some phony credits," I tease.
"Get out of here," she laughs. "Go home to your boyfriend and tell him I say hi."
"Will do. Bye."
*****
"How did it go?" Viggo asks as I walk into the kitchen and immediately slip my arms around him.
"Not great," I admit.
He unclasps my arms and turns around, frowning as he cups my cheek. "What's wrong, love?"
"Robin wants me to do this photo shoot where I basically strip down to my underwear. She thinks it'll be good for my career."
"I hope you told her that I'm the only one who's allowed to see you in your underwear."
I raise my eyebrows. "This from the man who takes his clothes off onscreen at the drop of a hat?"
"Hey, that was before I met you," he says defensively. "Now I only get naked around my Love Pig."
"Good."
"What about this photo shoot, though? Are you stripping down?" He doesn't look upset at the prospect, just curious.
"Hell no!"
"Why not?"
"Look Vig, Robin is a great woman and a terrific publicist, but recently I feel like she's only getting me out there as this 'hot young thing'."
"But that's what you are," he teases.
"I'm trying to be serious," I tell him with a sigh. "I really want people to know that I'm more than the boy with the cheekbones."
His eyes grow serious and he takes my face in both of his hands. "Orli, you're *much* more than that. You are an incredible actor with infinite talent who just happens to be absolutely beautiful. But you have to understand how this business works. Like it or not, it's Robin's job to sell you to the public and to the press, and she has to pander to the fact that most audiences are probably more interested in what type of underwear you prefer than what classes you took at Guildhall."
"Boxers."
"Hmm?"
"I prefer boxers for my underwear," I clarify.
Viggo laughs, kissing my forehead before stepping away to work on dinner. "I know that, Orli. We've been together for three years, and I'd like to think that I'm a perceptive man."
"You're a very perceptive man. That's one of the many reasons why I love you."
"Thank you. Now, could you do me a favor and retrieve my son to set the table?"
"Sure. HENRY!" I bellow.
"Well, that's one way to get him," Viggo says dryly.
"Jeez, that's rude," Henry teases when he comes into the kitchen a moment later. "Haven't you ever heard of something called *courtesy*, Bloom?"
"Obviously not," I retort. "I was asked to retrieve you to set the table, and your father did not specify *how* I was supposed to retrieve you. So I shouted. Deal with it."
The teenager shoots me a smirk and grabs some napkin, going to start setting the table. "You'll get yours, Orli. You'll get yours."
Viggo is pretending to ignore us as he puts the finishing touches on his homemade tacos and guacamole, but I can see that he's smiling. "Okay, *children*. Dinner's ready."
"This look's great, Vig," I say enthusiastically.
"Yeah, it really does, Dad," Henry chimes in. "Thanks so much for making my favorite."
"I thought buffalo wings were your favorite," Viggo teases.
"Everything's my favorite," he shrugs. "I'm a growing boy." That he is. The kid is now almost as tall as Viggo and I are! How did that happen?! I suddenly feel very old.
Like usual, our dinner conversation is a mixture of the usual family chit-chat and the bizarre Mortensen-Bloom randomness. Henry has started dating his longtime crush, Jemila, and is positively buzzing about the fact that they're going to a little party together this weekend. Viggo teases his son mercilessly about the fact that 'his baby is growing up', causing Henry to launch a handful of guacamole at his dad. The edible missile lands on the floor and is cleaned up by Maude; no harm, no foul.
"That dog is, like, a human vacuum," Henry says.
"She's not a human, mate," I laugh.
"Okay, she's a canine vacuum," he revses.
"She seems to be a fan of your guacamole," I tell Viggo with a grin.
"Orli, she's a fan of anything edible," he says.
Henry laughs and takes a bite of his taco. "So," he says through half a mouthful of ground beef and tortilla, "how was your afternoon, Orli?"
"It was okay. Nothing special."
"Your meeting didn't go that well?" Wow, the kid is perceptive. That's another thing he gets from his dad.
"It wasn't horrible," I tell him with a tiny smile. "I'm just having a bit of difficulty with something."
"Is your publicist giving you shit?" he asks. "Do you need me to beat him up for you?"
"My publicist is a woman, not a man. And please, don't beat anyone up," I laugh.
"Seriously, is there a real problem?"
"No, not a real problem," I assure him. "It's just sort of a problem with the image that's being projected on my behalf versus the one that I *want* to be out there."
"Ah, you mean the fact that half the girls at my school practically faint when someone mentions your name?" he says with a grin.
I raise my eyebrows. "Please tell me you're kidding."
"Not really. Jennie Stefanko, who's in my history class, has your cover picture from 'YM' plastered on her binder. It freaks me out because she sits right in front of me, and I'm like, 'for fuck's sake, that's my dad's boyfriend -- I can't concentrate on the Russian Revolution when he's staring at me like that!'" He pauses. "Um, not like I said that to her or anything."
"Henry, watch your language," Viggo says sternly.
"Oh, come on, like you never say the 'f' word," Henry laughs with a roll of his eyes. "Anyway Orli, you're *huge* at my school."
"You never told me this!" I exclaim.
"Well, you never asked," he shrugs. "I didn't want to just inflate your ego like that."
"God, this is so weird," I moan, burying my head in my hands.
"*You* think it's weird?" he scoffs. "Imagine how it is for me! Here I am, knowing that you're very happy being Dad's boyfriend, yet day after day I go to school only to be practically *assaulted* by some girl who knows that my dad played Aragorn and could I please get an autograph from the beautiful Orlando Bloom the next time my dad happened to see him, because she desperately wants to have nineteen of his children. It's not exactly as if I can explain that you're a one-man man."
"No, I guess you can't."
"All I can say is thank God that you're not Jemila's type. Otherwise, I might have to kill you."
"Henry!" Viggo exclaims.
"I'm just kidding," he laughs.
"Viggo, don't worry," I chuckle. "I really needed the laugh." I kick Henry under the table. "Thanks, kid."
"Don't worry about it, stud."
*****
"How's that book coming along?" I ask Viggo as he finally places the Love Pig bookmark in his book and puts it on the nightstand.
"It's a terrific book; I'm so glad that you got it for me. And there's only about twenty pages left until I'm finished with it."
"Good." I smile, kicking off my fuzzy yellow slippers that he loves to tease me about and joining him under the covers. "Ready for sleep?"
"Not just yet." He stops my hand as it reaches over him to turn off the lamp.
"What's the matter?"
"Listen, I know you were upset when you got home earlier, and I want to make sure you're okay."
I sigh. "It's just that I worked really hard at drama school and then for all those months in New Zealand, but I feel like it's all being glossed over so that some magazine can get a shot of me with my shirt off."
Viggo pulls me into an embrace and kisses my forehead. "Orli, this is a bizarre town. People are going to see you how they want to see you, and unfortunately there's only so much you can do about that. You just have to learn to do your own thing and achieve your goals despite whatever image the public has carved out for you."
"But how come you never seem to have that problem?" I pout. "You always get to be the eccentric artist and no one ever tries to make *you* something that you're not."
"Yes, but nobody gave a shit about me for a very long time," he points out. "I was taking roles just so I could put food on the table for what seemed like forever, and I wasn't rating cover articles on 'Premiere' magazine or anything like that. It wasn't until 'G.I. Jane' that a few people noticed me, then a few more with each movie until 'Rings' hit. And at that point I had published my poetry and photography, and everyone was happy to portray me as the crazy artist, so that's how it went."
"Yeah, I guess. And I don't mean to sound ungrateful, Vig."
"You're not ungrateful at all," Viggo chuckles. "You're grateful for the opportunities you've been given in acting, but you don't have to be grateful at all for being packaged as a pin-up boy. Look, don't worry about this love. Just because girls are hanging your pictures on their walls doesn't change who *you* are. And don't, under any circumstances, let this undermine your confidence in yourself. You are so much more than a pretty face; you are an actor whose abilities are limitless, and one day the whole world will see you as more than the elf, more than the pin-up, and more than the pirate. They will simply see you for who you are -- a beautiful brilliant man."
I smile and bury my head in his neck, kissing his warm skin. "Thank you, Viggo. I love you so much."
"I love you, too." He strokes my hair. "Come on, Orli; let's get some sleep."
"Okay."
Viggo turns off the lamp and we settle into a spoon position so he's behind me with his arm securely around my waist. "So can I ask you a question?" he murmurs, his lips brushing against my earlobe.
"Mmm, of course."
"This decision of yours not to appear in any photographs in your underwear . . . . does this apply to *my* photographs?"
I laugh and kick his foot. "Of course not, you nutcase. You should feel free to take pictures of me whenever inspiration strikes, whether I'm in my underwear or completely starkers."
"I like the sound of that," he purrs. "I'm going to make you my own personal pin-up boy, Orlando Bloom."
I look over my shoulder and give him a grin in the darkness. "I
can't wait."
