The Greatest Showman #1326 - Embarrassing Goodbye

Chris couldn't help but seethe. "One thousand two hundred and eighty-seventh embarrassing goodbye"—this was the applause, the cheers, the shrill screams and eager crowding, all directed at him. Even if he hated it, it belonged to him. Damn Renly—he had done it again. Publicly embarrassing him, slapping him in the face!

If this scene were recorded by reporters, it could stain his career. "Damn him," he muttered through clenched teeth.

And then, it hit him—this was Cannes, the city filled with reporters and countless flashing lights. No doubt, the incident had already started circulating on social media.

What was he supposed to do?

Just as Chris began to feel trapped, the club beside him suddenly sprang to life. A wave of waiters rushed out, diving into the crowd to control the chaos, dispersing it with remarkable precision. In what felt like a rescue mission, they managed to extricate Renly from the frenzy.

What followed could have been a scene straight out of a movie. Surrounded by the waiters, Renly swiftly retreated into the private club, while the crowd of fans behind him continued to scream and chase after him. It was almost as though they were reenacting a classic moment from The Bodyguard.

Chris stood stunned for a moment, caught off guard by how quickly everything unfolded. He was still grappling with his own embarrassment, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw the club's door begin to close. It seemed the staff had completely forgotten about him, leaving him stranded outside.

He took a quick step forward, only to be blocked by two staff members. "It's me! Are you crazy?" he snapped, before realizing what he had said. They let him in, but just as quickly, the staff closed the gate behind him.

Inside, Chris's eyes immediately landed on Renly, still looking disheveled.

Renly's shirt was torn open, the holes in his jeans had been ripped wider, and his once-pristine white sneakers were now covered in a chaotic mix of footprints. The worst part, however, was his face. It was covered in sweat, his features a mess, as if he'd just finished rolling around in mud. Even his baseball cap had been knocked off, revealing a tangle of hair underneath.

But Renly, despite his obvious disarray, wore a helpless smile. He shook his head gently, spread his hands, and quipped with a hint of teasing, "God, welcome to Cannes." It was a simple sentence, but the tone conveyed a deep irony, and everyone around him couldn't help but share a knowing smile.

The staff members all laughed softly. Renly, always the gentleman, nodded his thanks, and with a broad, childlike grin, he added, "Thank you."

Then his gaze turned to Chris. "Hey, Chris, welcome to Cannes."

There was no sarcasm, no mockery, no tension. The tone was calm, as if this were just another accidental encounter in an unfamiliar city.

Chris froze for a moment. He couldn't remember the last time they had faced each other like this. The awkwardness was palpable, and he struggled to force a response, only managing a sheepish smile.

"Sorry, I'm being rude. Can I borrow the bathroom to clean up? Or should I just head to the beach and embrace the sea?" His words were humorously light, not the kind of laugh-out-loud humor, but enough to bring a chuckle from the people around him.

A staff member in formal attire approached and, apologizing for the oversight, led Chris to the bathroom. Renly nodded politely at everyone, including Chris, before following the staff member into the club, leaving Chris standing at the entrance.

A deep irritation gnawed at Chris's chest.

This was why he disliked Renly—everything about him was too perfect, too graceful. There was nothing spontaneous, nothing unrefined. Renly moved with an effortless elegance, a bone-deep sense of superiority. Even when things got awkward, he managed to handle them with an unflappable air, a kind of high-level, detached composure. Chris hated it.

He wanted to see Renly falter, wanted to catch a glimpse of the panic, the vulnerability that everyone tried to hide.

"God," Chris muttered under his breath as the staff continued to chatter in French. He didn't catch a word, but his frustration only deepened. Then, one of the staff members turned to him with a strange expression.

"Sorry, Chris, but—was that really Renly Hall?"

Chris raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"That Renly Hall?" the staff member asked, still in disbelief.

Chris resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yes, that Renly Hall."

The staff member's eyes widened. "God!" He threw his hands up in disbelief, and Chris couldn't help but ask.

"What happened?"

"I—uh—I told him the club was a private event, and he couldn't get in," the young man said, shaking his head in frustration. "I didn't realize..."

"You didn't recognize him?" The staff seemed genuinely shocked, and the others around him started to murmur.

"Pierre, are you out of your mind?" one of the staff members gasped.

"You turned Renly Hall away?" another added.

Chris just stood there, silently observing the scene unfold. Renly was a household name by now. His fame rivaled the likes of Leonardo DiCaprio. How could anyone, especially in a place like Cannes, not recognize him?

Renly's face was everywhere. Even so, Chris understood. Renly's sphere of influence mostly stretched through art films, not the commercial blockbusters that everyone knew by heart. So, it made sense that some might not immediately connect the face with the name.

"Hey, you okay?" Chris clapped the young staff member on the shoulder. There was no judgment, just a silent sympathy. He'd been there. He knew how it felt.

As they talked, another staff member whispered to Chris about how this would become the most talked-about moment of the 66th Cannes Film Festival. Renly, the one star everyone clamored for, had been turned away from a private party. It was almost too ridiculous to believe.

Renly appeared again, walking toward the entrance with his usual grace. He stopped and turned to thank the staff, giving his standard polite nod.

The club's entrance was cleverly designed, resembling a port, with a straight hallway opening up to the interior, offering a clear view of the sea. As Renly passed by, the space seemed to come alive.

Chris couldn't help but feel a strange sense of foreboding. It was Cannes, after all—where the line between fantasy and reality blurred so easily.