Chapter 2 #3
I browse listings for upcoming stunt classes, looking for any chance to diversify my skill set.
Right now I’ve got fights, acrobatics, fire work, wire work, and every way there is to fall.
I could stand to brush up on judo. Maybe I could take a page out of Birthday Girl’s book and get into horses.
I worked with a guy a few gigs back; I should have his number somewhere in my contacts…
But at that point, why not motorcycles? Or trick driving? Or boat work? Or, I don’t fucking know, skydiving? Base jumping? Bull riding? There are too many fucking options.
When I finally wander out of the locker room, the party is long gone. I stop by Svetlana’s office to get my pay for the day.
As I step through the doorway, she offers me a white envelope with a check inside—then pulls it back at the last moment.
“We’re always looking for more staff, you know. You’re good at this.”
I offer a cocky smile. “I know. I’m sure Grace already told you I like to keep my schedule open.”
“It’s very flexible.”
“It is until it isn’t. I appreciate it; I really do. And I’m flattered.”
Svetlana still doesn’t extend the envelope.
I sigh. “I’ll think about it?”
She nods. “Good. And your ‘cougar’ left something for you.”
With a smirk on her lips—or maybe she’s smiling as much as her botox will allow—she hands me the envelope. Stacked under it is a hundred-dollar bill with a phone number written across it in bright red pen.
“How much to get you to say you never saw me again?” I ask.
“A hundred.”
I nod and lightly salute with my envelope. “I’ll take my chances.”
Svetlana waves, and I head out into the August heat, sliding into my car and cranking the AC.
I sit and stare at the ten red digits on the bill.
It could be a sign from the universe. Time to grow up and move on, get a real job instead of chasing this run-off-to-join-the-circus pipe dream of being a stunt performer. I’m twenty-eight. I can only use the excuse of ‘I’m young, I’ll figure it out’ so much longer.
There’s a chance that if I’d had a coach like me when I was Birthday Girl’s age, someone looking out for me, things would’ve gone differently.
I open a blank contact profile, tap in the number, then hit save. My thumb hovers over the call button.
You need the money, Mylo. Suck it up.
The words EDDIE HOLBECK (AGENT) flash across my screen, accompanied by the shrill chime of my ringtone. I’ve never hit the accept call button faster.
“Mylo!” Eddie calls out, sounding both relieved and anxious.
Eddie’s hardly older than I am, and we’ve been working together for half a decade.
He stuck his neck out for me a couple years back and got me my biggest gig to-date, so even with this dry spell I haven’t considered changing representation.
“Hey, Eddie. What’s up?”
“Please, please, tell me you can get on a plane tonight.”
My heart jumps, and I punch the speaker button as I put my car into gear—stick shift, so I can stay sharp. “You know I’m always free, Eddie.”
I can practically hear him pumping his fist. “You never let me down, Mylo! This is a big one. Like, really big.”
“Yeah? Who for?”
“I literally can’t tell you. It’s very last minute; the studio is really strict about their NDAs and all that. They’re supposed to email the docs ASAP.”
That’s plausible, but a yellow flag. “Why so last-minute?”
“Injury. Nothing fatal, I checked. Freak accident type thing. But they already have the rig set up, and it’s mid-filming, so every day is costing them.”
“On location?”
“Yeah, New Zealand.”
I laugh as I pull onto the highway. “Eddie, you know I won’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but am I really the fastest person they can get? I’m not gonna show up and they found someone local, right?” Excitement makes my foot heavy, and the engine purrs.
“Guarantee you it won’t happen. It’s doubling for a lead, and the casting director assured me they are completely fucked if you can’t get there. She saw your tape and said they have to have you.”
My heart pounds like it does when I climb the ladder for a high jump. I accelerate, slipping into a narrow gap to join the flow of traffic. “You’re shitting me.”
“I am not shitting you, Mylo. This is a big fucking deal.”
“And you can’t tell me who it’s for?”
“And I can’t tell you who it’s for. All I can do is tell you to get your ass on a plane.”
The sky is blazing blue, the clouds drift high overhead, and it’s a goddamn gorgeous day to be in LA. “Eddie, you prick. I fucking love you.”
“Save it for your acceptance speech when you get your Taurus, alright?”
I have to be dreaming. “These stunts are that big?” The Taurus World Stunt Awards are the Oscars of stunt performing.
“They’re the biggest. Mylo, you’re gonna freaking shit yourself when you see who it is.”
My limbs tingle, and my mind spins through all the action directors who might fit the bill. But I shove those thoughts aside; they’ll only drive me crazy. If I get ahead of myself, dream too big, and show even a flicker of disappointment when I arrive, I could lose the job that fast.
Right now, I need to compartmentalize. “Alright, well, it sounds like I need to get my fucking ass on a plane.”
“Soon as I get off with you, I’ll tell ‘em you’re in. Tickets should be in your email by the time you get to the airport. NDA and stuff should follow shortly.”
“I owe you one, Eddie.”
“You owe me ten. Now, go have fun, kid.”