Stars in Your Eyes(6)

They tried to fight me on it. “There’s no way in hell I actually need one million dollars,” I told them. Five hundred thousand is nowhere near a lot in LA, but it definitely is for me. I feel a little like I don’t know what to do with myself. Do I start saving up to buy a house? (I’m trying to ignore that a home here would probably be a quarter of the price in Decatur.) Or do I rent out one of those lavish condos for a few months? Pretend to be a part of this lifestyle for as long as possible? I hate money. I hate that I need so much of it just to have this dream of acting.

The restaurant is shiny with golden reflective walls and a bar that glows soft colors and large light bulbs that hang from the ceiling, plants everywhere. Paola walks closely beside me, heels clacking on the concrete floor. She’s got dark brown hair that tumbles over her shoulders, paler skin that might have a touch too much blush on her cheeks. She’s taller than me by a few inches. Most people don’t expect me to be this short in real life. I’m an average five foot, six inches, unlike the six-to seven-foot Adonis actors. Pretty sure Logan Gray is about six feet, three inches. I wonder how our height difference will look on-screen. If I don’t get fired, anyway.

“Breathe,” she says. “Just breathe.” I’m not sure if she’s talking to herself or to me.

“Even if I’m fired, there’ll be other roles to audition for, right?”

“You’re not going to be fired.”

“But if I am…”

She hesitates. “Sure. Yeah. Of course.”

I think I know what she’s afraid to say. Stars rise and fall quickly in LA. Everyone’s screaming my name right now, so it’s better to capitalize on the moment and get a role like this one so that my profile will continue to skyrocket. Losing this chance could just as easily mean that my profile will plummet, and within a month, no one will care about who I am.

I feel like I usually do right before I step in front of a camera. I have pre-performance nerves, because that’s what is about to happen: I need to perform. I have to show fake confidence and apologize for yesterday. “I wasn’t feeling too well,” I could explain.

The restaurant is almost empty. People are still setting up some tables. I think only high-profile guests might be allowed inside early. I see someone who might be Keanu Reeves eating lunch in the corner, reading a newspaper. Paola visibly stiffens when we see the table we’re supposed to reach. But I think it might be a flinch of surprise more than anything. That’s why I get stiff, anyway. Dave Miller is there. So is Reynolds Bachmann, one of the executive producers. Not surprising, for a sorry, we have to let you go sort of meeting.

Not as expected, though? Logan Gray and his manager, Audrey. Why would they be here if I’m going to be fired? Are we both about to be let go from the film? Is production about to be stopped altogether?

Audrey has white-blonde hair and blue eyes that I think might be color contacts. She reached out to me and Paola when I was hired a couple of weeks back. She suggested a friendly meeting with Logan, and I’d accepted, but Gray cancelled at the last second, and then that not-so-friendly interview on the red carpet…

Logan’s leaning back in his seat, shades back on. He doesn’t look up when Dave stands, arms wide in welcome. His collared shirt has some sweat stains today, not that I mind. The fact that Dave doesn’t care about appearances has made me feel more comfortable with him.

“Great. You’re here. Please, sit.”

Paola and I take the last two empty chairs. Audrey gives a friendly hello. Reynolds checks his phone. He’s much more a suit-and-tie guy, not something I see a lot in LA. His silver-gray jacket might just be over a couple thousand dollars. I’ve never understood spending so much money on clothes, especially in a place where so many people are struggling to find a place to live and food to eat. But maybe I’m not so different. I live here, too, and have more money than I really need.

Reynolds nods at me and Paola. “Appointment coming up,” he says to Dave.

“Something to drink?” Dave asks us, ignoring him.

“Just water,” Paola answers for both of us. She knows I’m sober.

Dave waves down a woman passing by in uniform, who nods.

“Sorry we’re a bit late,” Paola says.

“Five minutes?” Dave shrugs.

“Ten,” Reynolds corrects.

Gray’s sigh is loud. Audrey kicks him under the table, a little more obviously than she probably expected. Her face turns red as she sips her own glass of water.

The woman comes back and puts the two glasses on the table. Her eyes linger on Gray for a long second. Gray meets her gaze with a smirk.

“Business, then,” Dave says. “Let’s get to it. We’ve—well, we’ve got a problem. Take off your shades, Gray.”

Gray takes his time slipping the shades off. The bruise has started to turn green. Paola sits straight, almost quivering with tension. I try to relax into my role, but my voice cracks a little. “Yeah? Is everything okay?”

“Not really. No.” Dave scratches his beard under his chin. “Publicity for the film is—it’s not great. This is supposed to be the number one rom-com of the season. Got word from PR. The negative attention is already affecting buzz for the film.” His eyes land heavily on Gray.

“Look, Dave,” Gray says, “if you’re going to fire me, then fucking fire me.”