2. Fanboy Stalker
TWO
fanboy stalker
I pull my beat-up pickup truck into a parking spot at the address Char, the assistant, gave me. It’s a modern-looking business building with blue glass windows covering every inch, in a part of town away from the studios. Though not a skyscraper, is still looks imposing. But that might have more to do with my reason for being here.
My nerves have vanished since watching all of Brianna’s videos. I even found a couple of interviews she gave online. I wonder if that makes me somewhat obsessed. Staying up half the night watching anything I could find that included Miss Pop Star? Sounds like the textbook definition.
Perfect. I’ve been reduced to a fanboy stalker.
It doesn’t matter. My research paid off— Yeah, that’s what it was. Research —and I now know exactly what I’m getting myself into. Every video had some shirtless guy with glistening muscles, their hands all over Brianna, in some sort of romantic setting. Not one of them actually kissed her, which puts me a little more at ease. There won’t be as much pressure to perform.
That’s what she said. I chuckle to myself, imagining Jacob’s typical comeback to my accidental double entendre.
Shoving my keys into my back pocket and silencing my phone, I enter through the main doors to find a security check next to the elevators. I still haven’t gotten used to the drama of Hollywood, such as a full security checkpoint in a nondescript office building. Overkill, much? Back home, everyone knew Betty at the Grab ‘n’ Go would call your mama if she found you stealing, so no one did. Except for my childhood tormentor, Ross. But he was a little shit, and even his mama knew it. No one was ever surprised.
I guess in Hollywood, everyone’s a security risk. Everywhere you go. And it still surprises me every dang time.
The guard checks for my name on a list and then buzzes me through a glass partition leading to the elevators. The office is on the tenth floor. When I get into the elevator, I see the tenth floor is also the top floor.
Knowing that makes me slightly nervous all over again. The big guns usually take the top floor. But this is a “sit-down” with the star herself, so it does seem appropriate for the big guns to be hosting it.
The ride up is quick—not nearly enough time to settle my stomach. The doors pop open, and the only sight in front of me comes through the glass door to the office where my meeting is.
My jaw drops. The office takes up the entire tenth floor? Well, shit.
The entire floor is dedicated to—I look once again at the name on the glass doors—Siren Song Sound Production. A chill runs down my spine as I imagine Brianna as an enchantress, seducing me to my death with her music. Isn’t that what a siren is? Or is the name referring to an alarm? Neither option paints a comforting picture, so call me confused.
I shove my hands deep into my pockets as I enter through the main door and approach the receptionist. I feel completely out of place as I take in the polished wood counter and minimalist design. I didn’t picture a corporate setting when I imagined a Hollywood audition. But what do I know? I’ve never made it past the first step. This could be the norm for callbacks.
The receptionist is a young brunette, cute with cat eyes and a button nose, but obviously all business with her tailored dark gray jacket and severe bun. She looks up at me and purses her lips. The woman definitely gives off a “don’t fuck with me” vibe.
“Can I help you?”
The nameplate at her desk reads “Rachel,” but I don’t dare call her by her first name. I have a feeling she embodies the “siren” part of the company name.
“Zack Marin to see Ms. Royce,” I say, doing my best to play the unaffected A-hole most of the guys I run into at auditions seem to embody. My declaration comes out confidently, but I think I miss the A-hole part. Not flippant enough. It just isn’t in me, I guess.
Rachel’s eyes narrow for some strange reason. She’s most likely unimpressed by me. “Of course. She’s expecting you. Just down the hallway.” She points to her left and drops her eyes back to her desk. “You’ll see it.”
See what?
I nod rather than ask any questions. Rachel seems impatient, and I don’t need her to snap my head off. She’s a little scary, to be honest. Probably why she’s the gatekeeper to this place.
I turn down the hallway where she pointed, and ten steps in, I figure out what she meant I would see. The hallway opens up to a lounge, more like a cool bar scene than an office. An open space filled with overstuffed white leather couches and little side tables—the kind you’d rest your drink on—spreads out before me. I half-expect to see a DJ and strobe lights. Instead the lights are dimmed, and as I walk in, it’s impossible not to notice the reason. Enormous clear glass windows line the back wall, offering a perfect view of the Hollywood Hills and their infamous sign in the distance.
My left shoe is barely inside the space when a side door bursts open and a bubbly redhead bounces out. She looks right at me, with the biggest grin imaginable plastered on her face.“Phony” runs through my mind. No one’s that excited about anything. Especially not meeting me.
“Zack! You’re right on time!”
Her voice comes out so loud I almost jump. It takes every ounce of energy to keep my composure. She must have been a cheerleader in high school.Those girls always made me sweat.
“I’m Char. Great to meet you!” She shoves her hand out to shake mine. I oblige like the gentleman I was raised to be.
I haven’t said a word yet. Char is so bouncy and excitable she hasn’t given me a chance to open my mouth.
“Let’s have a seat by the window,” she says, gesturing to the center of the room.
Her red hair bounces as she walks, and I’m hit with the jarring yin and yang of this place. Where Rachel was a buttoned-up gray cloud of doom, Char comes off all sunny and bright. She’s in a floral-patterned dress that flows all the way to the floor. The scent of citrus wafts through the air behind her as she moves.
“I just love this view, don’t you? It’s amazing to look out these windows every single day!”
Yup, cheerleader. Every sentence is punctuated with an exclamation point. I wonder if this chick is proof of the drug problem in Hollywood. Everyone seems to be on something. Although, with how bright her personality is, Char’s drug of choice is probably sunshine and rainbows.
We sit down on one of the couches—not close enough to make physical contact, but close enough that my heart rate picks up. It’s the situation; the setting we’re in. The room around us is less like a meeting room and more like a pickup scene at a club. I hate that scene. Avoid it at all costs. So sitting in the midst of one for the sake of a callback has my head spinning.
“So, shall we start? Or do you need anything ...? Water? Energy drink?”
“No.” I finally speak. “That’s fine. I’m good. We can start.”
I wonder what we’ll be starting. Will Brianna make an appearance soon? I hesitate to ask, not wanting to sound like a douche. Or a fanboy stalker.
Jeez .
“You are just adorable, by the way. And so fit! I love the healthy, all-American look you’ve got going! It’s perfect, really.”
She sounds like one of the ladies back home going on about how big I’ve grown. “Just look at you, Zack! All those muscles!” I don’t appreciate Char’s assessment any more than I appreciated it from those women. Another reason to stay in Hollywood at least: avoiding hometown cougars.
“Thanks.” I sound fake, but I don’t know what else to say.
“Your headshots are great. Clean-cut, handsome. But we want to kick them up a notch. Add a little heat, if you know what I mean.”
I just shrug, not knowing what difference headshots will make if I’m being offered the job anyway.
“So, tell me, how long have you been involved in martial arts?” Char leans forward, elbows on her clipboard and fists under her chin, looking like a little girl waiting for a bedtime story.
I take a deep breath, not knowing how to feel about how things are going so far. “About fifteen years.”
Char’s eyes pop. “Impressive! We watched some YouTube videos of your competitions. You’re really good. I’d love to add that detail to the bio on your headshots as well.” She looks down at her clipboard and starts scribbling some notes.
“Really? How did you find those?” I’m in shock, not even realizing there was footage of me anywhere on the internet. I don’t have any social media accounts, and I certainly don’t post videos of myself anywhere.
Char glances up at me, a smirk on her face. “Everyone has a cyber footprint, Zack. You just have to know where to look.”
The way she puts it makes my nerves act up. It sounds ominous, like a threat.
“You grew up on a ranch—am I right?” Char moves on to another hidden piece of information I’m shocked she knows.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “It sounds like you already know everything about me. You’ve certainly done your research. ”
“Oh, come on, Zack. Don’t tell me you haven’t done yours.” Char looks me directly in the eyes with one eyebrow raised.
She has me there. Research. Not fanboy stalking. Damn.
“Touché.”
“Now, do you have any experience with a gun or a rifle?” Her face is completely serious.
“What does that have to do with this video?” I have a hard time keeping my voice level now the questions have gotten insane.
“It’s background information, that’s all.” Char’s voice is equally as level as my own, but I have a feeling she’s keeping something from me. When I don’t answer, she waves a hand, brushing off the question. “We have an idea for the video, and it would help if you appeared like you knew what you were doing.”
“Yes. Mostly rifles, but I’ve also trained with handguns.” I feel weird admitting it. This situation looks more like an interrogation, and I’ve just confessed to the crime.
“Ever shot anything?”
I can’t tell if the look on Char’s face is hopeful or worried.
“No. But when you live on a fifteen-hundred-acre ranch in the wilderness, you have to be prepared to protect yourself from animals that don’t care about your hopes for the future.”
Char nods, making more notes. “Well-put. So, not a big hunter. No hidden images online of you standing next to your latest kill?”
“Shouldn’t you already know that?” I know I’m being too much of a smart-ass when Char gives me the look . She’s better at that than my mom. Jeez. I sigh and answer honestly. “No, I’m not into hunting. Never have been. I’m not a fan of violence, really.”
“But you have a black belt. Isn’t that kind of violent?”
Wow. She’s really putting me through it. Jacob was right about the grilling I’d get. Maybe she’s afraid of what I might do to Brianna.
I decide to give her some reassurances rather than promote my skills. “It’s more about self-discipline and respect. We never attack, only defend. But I could kill you if I needed to.” I say it with a smirk, but I honestly have no idea why this leaves my mouth. Another confession I didn’t intend to make.
I need to get this thing back on track and away from personal questions.
“I’ve gotta say, I’m confused right now. Is this a callback for the video, or ...?”
Char has the decency to look surprised. “Yes, of course! We’d love you for the video! My job is to screen our top choices and narrow them down. You’re in the number-one spot.” She leans in to whisper, “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
With the confidence boost from her little secret, I wink. “Haha, oh yes, I did.”
Char just laughs as she stands up. “I guess it’s time for part two. Follow me.” She waves her hand for me to go with her.
I have no idea what “part two” might entail, but when in Rome, right?
I follow behind as casually as I can, with my hands in my pockets. I feel anything but casual. This whole experience is strange and unexpected. Hollywood.
Char opens the same doors she stepped out of earlier and walks me to an elevator, different from the one I took to the tenth floor. It only has one button: up. The door opens immediately, producing an entirely pink interior. When we step inside, I see that there are two floors: ten and R.
Roof. We’re heading to the roof? What the hell for?
The ride is swift. The doors open to reveal another surprise.
The roof has been set up as a garden. Planters overflow with plants and flowers of all kinds, in every shade of pink you can imagine. Char steps out and begins walking forward into the rooftop jungle. I follow, because what else am I supposed to do?
It’s excessively bright on the roof after being in the dim elevator. The sun almost blinds me. I put my hand up above my eyes to block it.
That’s when I see her .
Sitting on a pink lounge chair, huge sunglasses covering half of her face, Brianna Royce is reading a book. My heart pounds as I walk toward the pop star every guy seems to fantasize about. All I can see is a tiny thing hiding behind glasses and a novel. She cuts a glance in my direction, lowers her glasses to eye me with those big sky-blues, then pushes the glasses back up and returns to her book. But in that instant glance, I see it. The look. The one I hunted for all over the internet.
Fear.