Advice Zac Efron Gave Me for my 28th Birthday in NYC
[editors note: very important — this is complete fiction. i’ve never met zac efron.]
When Zac Efron would visit me in New York we’d typically meet first at his “shadow” condo on 45th and Lex. Lame — I know. But you have to understand that Zac is particular about his privacy. Plus, his dealer refused to deliver south of 34th and I wasn’t about to fuss.
While waiting, I’d play him songs I liked on Spotify from the week, being that Zac didn’t have much time to explore new music. Typical deep house and indie rap shit, but he was totally open to everything. One time we even listened to the entire “Jesus Christ, Superstar” soundtrack.
We’d always begin with Zac’s favorite drink: Whiskey & Coke. But here’s the thing about Zac — he liked to drink them separately. As in, he’d have a cup with the whiskey, and a completely different cup with the Coke. And no ice. That was how he liked it! Despite his “frat boy” persona, I never once saw Zac drink from the bottle.
His dealer Preya was always on time and always called three minutes before arriving, so as to give Zac and I time to tidy up a bit. We trusted Pre (that’s what he called her), but also acknowledged it was important to keep up appearances.
Zac and I were both “in recovery” so we kept it to a gram. During our first few “chill sessions,” I offered payment, but was summarily refused. That’s another thing about Zac is he’s super generous.
Speaking of which, I think people romanticize what it’s like to be a famous movie star but they’re just regular people with regular problems. That’s why Zac and I got along so well. We could treat each other regular. I think he liked that I had been to college and was in a frat and stuff but didn’t horde it over him like a lot of people on set (it got particularly bad during a pretty popular recent comedy of his, which he’s asked me to keep anonymous).
Generally things were great, but the saddest night I spent with Zac was when he realized it was 2am and none of his friends had texted to see where he was at. For some reason this really got to him. He kept holding his phone up to the window and saying things like, “Oh, that’s what you think?” I told him it must be hard for his friends because they can’t be sure if he’s hanging out with them because he actually likes them or if he just needs someone to spend his money on so he doesn’t feel so guilty. That didn’t go over too well so I poured out two HUGE lines onto his iPad mini. I’m talking like… caterpillars who had just eaten other caterpillars.
He said he had to take off his shirt to do the line because “the air is closer” and I didn’t argue, especially because he immediately did both lines, same nostril, one breath. Maybe this was all to impress me but I knew my job was to be the “chill” friend so I quietly scrolled through my Spotify account, settling on FKA twigs, and we sat in silence listening to “I’m Your Doll” for a while until I told him he could put his shirt back on.
“Are you a feminist?” Zac asked me, out of nowhere. “I’m trying to be a better feminist. I’m reading all these blogs and I just feel so like, helpless. Then that makes me feel guilty.” Although I was more than prepared to talk Judith Butler with my high school idol, all I could muster was:
“Yes?”
Zac stumbled quickly, “I guess I’m just trying to be a better listener.”
After pouring us another warm whiskey I asked where he wanted to go in Brooklyn tonight: “Club or warehouse?”
It sounds bad to admit but I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I really wanted to get back with my friends and dance a bit. Zac was staring at the back of his phone, but then he suddenly snapped to it and threw me in a headlock, chanting “Lets doooo this” as we stumbled goofily towards the door.
But it wasn’t always like that. Let’s go back.
Zac and I first met at a late-night pizza joint back in late 2011 when he was shooting “At Any Price” in the Chicago suburbs. He was doing that thing where he leaned against the wall and chomped discretely but confidently at the slice through the red hood of his sweatshirt. It was close to 4am and he safely assumed everyone was way too hammered to even know it was him. Everyone but me, of course.
Something about that pizza technique gave me the confidence to walk over and say, “I know a place around the corner that’s open till five if you want to grab a drink.” We talked about Chicago for a bit — how we both loved “Devil in the White City” and freshwater beaches. But the conversation quickly turned to compensation and art. Zac was concerned about demanding a certain salary.
We traded numbers and hung out every weekend until the end of the shoot, which went on for another seven weeks. Mostly we just chilled at his hotel and prank texted celebrities he knew from my phone. Nothing mean, just like silly stuff. Zac was obsessed with cheesy references. Haha like when we texted Jodi Foster the fibonacci sequence, then said we had the wrong “contact.” So dumb! But I couldn’t resist.
Anyway, the advice Zac gave me on my birthday last year was: “Don’t live your life for the tabloids.” Which, when I think about it now, is pretty much bullshit, cause I’m not famous at all. Sometimes even your best friends give shitty advice.
