Chapter 3
When we landed in California, Katie the Publicist wanted to take a picture of Juniper and me in front of the plane, but I said no, because I couldn’t have people in real life know that I was on a private plane. “You Insta for your fans not your friends,” said Katie the Publicist.
“I Insta for my friends,” I said.
Juniper laughed. She took a step toward me and grabbed my hand. “I love it. He’s like the last Truffula Tree in Lorax Land. Don’t cut him down, Katie. Let him live.”
“Love you,” I said to Juniper. She smiled.
_____
There were two black SUVs waiting for us—Juniper and Katie and Studio Todd disappeared into one of them, and then Ellen and I got into the other. Our driver said his name was Al.
“Like Alvin?” I asked.
“No,” he said.
“I’m Kai,” I said.
“Like Cobra Kai?”
“Exactly like it,” I said.
“You’re coming in from New York?”
“Yeah.”
“You don’t sound like a New Yorker,” he said. Beside me, Ellen was inside her phone. The SUV didn’t smell like one thing or another so much as it smelled overwhelming.
“I’m from Indiana,” I told him.
“My condolences.”
Ellen handed me the phone. It was Juniper’s Instagram, a picture of her and me holding hands with the plane in the background. “Juniper posted this?”
“If I had to guess, Katie posted it for Juniper.”
“She said I was the last Truffula Tree in Lorax Land, and then she cut me down.”
“No need to be dramatic, Kai. It’s Instagram.”
Katie was not a studio publicist like Ellen; she worked for Juniper. Once you get famous enough, you get your own publicist. Juniper was famous enough. But now she was about to happen. That’s what Ellen said. Ellen said people like Juniper don’t know what’s coming, but it’s coming anyway.
“Where in Indiana?” Al asked.
“Indianapolis.”
“Race cars,” he said. “That’s all I know about Indianapolis.”
“Yup. You from here?”
“No, I’m from Iran. You know Iran?”
“Sure,” I said.
“You in a movie?”
“Yeah,” I said.
“What movie?”
“It’s called Andy Warhol Never Gets Old.”
“About the artist?”
“Yes,” I said.
Ellen jumped in. “It’s about the last year of Warhol’s life. Kai is an absolute revelation in the film.”
“So who do you play?” Al asked.
“I’m Andy’s intern. The movie is mostly about Andy, but there’s a subplot where me and this journalist who’s writing about Andy kind of fall in love.”
“They don’t kind of fall in love. They do fall in love,” Ellen said. “It’s very romantic.”
“But we’re both kind of messed up,” I said. “In the movie, I mean.”
After a while, Al said, “I meet a lot of actors.”
“You ever meet Matthew Malone?” Ellen asked.
“Sure, I met Matthew. Drove Matthew a few times. Nice guy. Quiet.”
“Matthew’s in the movie,” Ellen said.
I could hear Al smile. Matthew makes everyone smile. It’s his superpower. “That’s great. Congratulations. What are you doing next?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t even know what I’m doing tonight.”
Al laughed. Outside, Los Angeles was tinted gray. I’d only been here a few times. Before the movie, I spent a year in New York auditioning and working, and before that I was a senior in high school.
I don’t like to think too much about all that stuff, where you are in your life or in your career or where you live or whatever.
It gives me a stomachache. I get the same stomachache when Ellen shows me the calendar laying out the twenty-three days before the movie’s premiere, or when I look at Reddit, or when the ATM asks if I want to see my account balance.
I have some kind of stomachache most of the time, and so I don’t eat enough, which is part of the reason I don’t look like someone who is about to happen.
All the guys who are going to happen in young Hollywood are ripped.
Everyone always says Los Angeles is sunny, but it’s mostly just dry. No weeds growing in the sidewalk cracks. Summer in Indianapolis looks like nature is about to take the land back from us—everything wet and humid and green and growing. In LA, even the green lawns look parched. Never enough water.
Al asked me if I liked Matthew. I told him I did, which was the truth, and I thought about one time when Matthew told me that it was easier to love than to be loved.
But I wasn’t thinking of Matthew Malone.
I was thinking about Juniper. I hadn’t seen her in a month before that flight.
We’d FaceTimed, but I’d almost forgotten about her presence, the way air shifts when she’s near you, like how people’s voices change when they read poems out loud.