by TJ Klune
Her eyes narrowed. “Who’s Frank? Is he your boyfriend?”
Josy gagged. “Oh god no. Frank’s the Rodrigo Duterte of Applebee’s who wouldn’t let me sit in the bathroom stall in peace and made me like Q-Bert’s rain photo.”
“I… don’t know what to do with any of that.”
“Right?” Josy exclaimed. “He’s so annoying.”
“You can tell Q-Bert yourself,” Dee said. “He’s here.”
“Whoa,” Josy breathed. “Unexpected. I’m sorry I’m so sweaty all of a sudden. Does he know Quincy? Are they friends? Do you think he can put a good word in for me?” Josy frowned. “Well, maybe not ask him that, seeing as how the last time I tried to talk to him, he ran away.”
Dee looked toward the ceiling. “Oh my god.”
Josy looked toward the ceiling too. There was some very nice crown molding. “Oh my god,” he agreed. “Is that original to the house, you think?”
Instead of answering, she continued to pull him down the hall. “Did you prepare for your audition?”
“Did I prepare,” he scoffed. “Of course I did. It’s going to be amazing, though I have no idea what the audition is for. I looked up the Kickstarter, but it was really vague. And all the rewards involved promises of nudity, which seems like prostitution.” He sighed. “Shit, I shouldn’t have said prostitution. I should have said sex work. The word prostitute has a negative connotation, especially against women.”
Dee coughed roughly. “Where did you learn that?”
“My weed dealer is a feminist. She teaches me a lot of things. Did you know that women only make seventy-eight cents for every dollar a man makes? And that’s only about white women. It’s even worse for women of color. That’s just wrong.”
“I know we don’t know each other very well,” Dee said, “but you need to know I love you.”
“Aw, thanks. Ditto, dude.”
“The Kickstarter was ambiguous for a reason. Quincy gets… nervous about these things. Roger decided it would be best to just keep his own name on it instead and only use Quincy as a last resort. He’s protective of Quincy. Luckily it wasn’t needed, though when everyone finds out, they’re going to flip.”
“That was a lot of information to take in. I have so many questions. Why are people going to flip, and what exactly are they going to flip about?”
She stopped in front of a large mahogany door. She turned and eyed him up and down. He wasn’t sure what was going on, so he stood there awkwardly.
She reached out and straightened the collar of his shirt. “I got you in. Roger was fully on board, but the rest is going to be up to you. Don’t blow this. You get this one chance.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Josy told her seriously. “But I’m going to do the best I can.”
She smiled. “I know you will. I watched your commercials on YouTube. You looked really cute in those tiny shorts, even though you were supposed to have genital herpes.”
“Thanks! I was really proud of that spot.”
She pushed open the door and motioned for him to walk through. “Take a seat with the others, and we’ll call you in when it’s your turn.”
He took a deep breath, steeled himself, and stepped forward to face his destiny. Or rather, to wait to face his destiny, which was almost the same thing.
And that’s when Dee said, “One more thing. You should know that Q-Bert’s real name is Quincy Moore. He’s the screenwriter, first-time director, and Roger Fuller is producing. He’s also Quincy’s grandfather, who loves his grandson more than life itself. And Quincy doesn’t know you’re here. So! Don’t mess this up.”
She shoved him the rest of the way through the door and slammed it behind her.
NOW, IT should be said that Josiah Erickson didn’t do well with surprises. For his sixth birthday, his parents threw him a party. The problem with that was they didn’t tell him about the party, and when people jumped out and yelled surprise, Josy screamed for a long time, to the point that the partygoers would later compliment him on his lung capacity and his ability to not pass out even when his face turned blue.
Everyone learned that day to avoid surprising Josiah Erickson if at all possible.
But since life is chock-full of surprises, Josy had to learn to roll with the punches. His friends knew in no uncertain terms to avoid surprising him with anything, lest he go into a tailspin that typically could only be resolved by Vlad the Inhaler, a copy of The Bride of Frankenstein, and kettle corn.
Dee loved him. She had just said as much. But she didn’t know him. If she had, she probably wouldn’t have dropped such a large bomb in his lap.
To say that he was befuddled would be an understatement. In fact, he was beyond befuddled. The idea that Q-Bert and Quincy were one and the same had never crossed his mind. He hadn’t actually thought Q-Bert’s real name was Q-Bert; that was ridiculous. It was just a stage name, a nom de plume, like Casey’s C.S. Richards or the Rock. Josiah had considered adopting a different name for his acting career, but Starla had told him that Josiah Erickson fit his whole aesthetic, whatever that meant.
So there he stood in a mansion in Hollywood Hills, wearing a sweater in September, sweating profusely, with the knowledge that the man he’d tried to be friends with and then accidentally stalked was the same man who would now determine the fate of his movie career.
All in all, Josy was having a very strange day.
And it certainly didn’t help that at least ten people were in the same room with him, staring while his brain went on the fritz.
Most sat in folding chairs against the walls. They were all men roughly his age, but he didn’t recognize any of them. Oh, he knew they were most likely his competition, but that typically didn’t bother him. As with any audition, the only thing he could do was give it his all and hope for the best. He’d been rejected more than not, and if he wasn’t right for the part, there was nothing he could do about it. Do or do not. There is no try.
But this felt different.
Not only was this a part in a movie produced by the man who had once made a film where a seventy-foot-tall woman had destroyed the male-dominated United States government by picking up the White House and throwing it into space, he was also Q-Bert’s—Quincy’s—grandpa, and probably knew all about how Josy had laughed in his grandson’s face, even if he hadn’t meant to.
Josy stood against the door, waiting for the browser in his brain to install the new information and reboot.
It took a lot longer than it should have. The software didn’t seem to be compatible with the hardware.
Finally he was able to move, though he wasn’t quite able to bend his knees as one should. He managed to lurch to an open chair next to a man with devastating eyes and a jawline that looked as if it could cut through concrete.
“Are you okay?” the man asked him warily as Josy collapsed on the chair.
“No,” Josy said honestly. “Have you ever been shoved into a room by a lesbian after she altered your entire world?”
“No.”
“Oh. I have.”
“Okay?”
“I don’t recommend it.”
Josy couldn’t even find it in himself to be offended when the man scooted his chair away a little bit.
He sat back in his own chair, trying to remember the calming techniques Serge had taught him. Josy didn’t understand what chakras were, but he figured now was as good a time as any to try to center them. He breathed in through his nose and out through his mouth. He wished he had a joint. That would be rad right now.
Another door opened on the opposite wall, and a harried woman stepped in, a clipboard in her hand. “I need Morgan Ecchols.”
A man a few chairs down stood up. He had to be at least six four and looked as if he were an underwear model who liked to stand near the large windows in his loft and brood as he stared down at the city below, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other pressed against the glass.
He carried a ream of paper
s and followed the woman through the door. It closed behind them.
It looked as if everyone in the room had papers in their hands.
Everyone, that is, except for Josy.
He tried not to panic.
He leaned over to Jaw Guy. “Were we supposed to bring something with us?” he whispered. “My agent emailed my portfolio like instructed, but I didn’t bring anything else.”
Jaw Guy smirked. It didn’t seem very nice. “Uh, yeah. The script? With the scene? You do know you’re at an audition, right?”
Josy blinked. “Sure. But I memorized mine. Didn’t everyone else?”
Jaw Guy laughed. “What are you talking about? Who the hell memorizes their auditions?”
“Actors,” Josy said, confused. “Wait. Did you not know you were going to an audition?”
Jaw Guy scowled at him. “No one memorizes their entire auditions.”
“Oh. I do.”
“What are you, some kind of method actor?”
“I don’t know,” Josy said. “I guess I’ve never thought about it. Method actors are supposed to be in character all the time, right? I guess I could be. Wait. Hold on. Let me get in character.”
He wiggled in his seat, shaking the tension from his shoulders. He took another breath and let it out slowly. And then suddenly he was Liam, a young man in his midtwenties who, according to the partial script he’d gotten, was weary and carried the weight of the world on his back.
“There,” Liam said. “My life is difficult, and sometimes I remember just how bleak these dark days can be.”
“Some of us take this seriously,” Jaw Guy snapped at him.
“I do,” Liam said morosely. “I take everything seriously.” He looked away, staring into the distance, contemplating the cruel reality that he’d found himself in. “So seriously.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jaw Guy muttered. “Don’t talk to me, you weirdo.”
The door opened again, and the same woman reappeared. The underwear model wasn’t with her. Liam/Josy wondered if he’d been so good in his audition that she was here to tell the rest of them they could go home. But when she said, “I need Alexander Gibraltar,” Jaw Guy stood, and Josy figured underwear model probably had been shown out. Either that, or this whole thing was the front for a weird sex cult and he had already been sacrificed to multiple orgasms.
Josy really hoped that wasn’t the case. Orgasms were nice, but getting stoned and cuddling with legs tangled together was even better.
“Good luck,” Josy said, but since he was method, Liam added, “not that I care, because I’m weary.”
Alexander Gibraltar (which had to be a fake name) glared at him as he followed the woman through the door.
Method was hard. Liam was angsty, and Josy by default was not. Josy decided that it was probably just better to let it go until it was time for his audition.
Besides, he was more nervous about the whole Q-Bert/Quincy thing. Auditions for life-changing movie roles were nothing in the face of getting a second chance at a first impression. Should he greet Quincy like they’d never met? Should he apologize up front? He still wasn’t quite sure how to make friends, especially when said friend was potentially his future boss.
Unfortunately for Josy, he still hadn’t figured it out when he heard his name called. He looked up and blinked when he saw he was the only one left in the room aside from the woman standing in the doorway. He hadn’t even seen them leaving.
“Oh crap,” he said.
“You coming?” the woman asked.
“Oh crap,” he said again as he stood. Fortunately his knees had figured out how to bend properly, so when he walked toward her, it was mostly normal. Sure, his armpits and palms felt as if he’d just gone for a swim, and he was pretty sure the skin under his left eye was twitching, but still. His knees could bend. That was good.
He could do this.
He could do this.
“You look like you’re about to run in the opposite direction,” the woman told him. “Please don’t do that. I don’t want to have to chase you.”
“I’m method,” he told her. He immediately felt bad because he was lying, but he didn’t know what else to do. “This is acting. I’m an actor.”
“I don’t get paid enough for this,” she muttered. Then, “Come on. They’re waiting for you.”
Chapter 7
HE DIDN’T have time to learn her name or forge a connection with her before she abandoned him in front of another door down the hall. “Go in,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll be here when you’re done to take you out.”
“Bye,” Josy called after her. “Thank you for showing me the way!”
She ignored him. Josy hoped she would have a better day after this.
“You can do this,” he muttered to himself. “You can do this. This is going to be it. Five years down the road, they’re going to read your name off for the Best Supporting Actor Oscar, and you are going to thank god and Jesus and Starla, and then you’re going to talk about standing in front of this door. And you are going to sniffle but not quite cry, because you have strength. You can do this. Do or do not. There is no try.”
He raised his hand.
He knocked on the door three times.
“Come in!” a voice called.
He opened the door.
It wasn’t what he expected. Granted, he didn’t know exactly what he was expecting, but this wasn’t it.
It was a large sunroom, the walls and ceiling made of glass and black metal. Two ceiling fans spun lazily above him, and an ornate rug lay beneath his feet over hardwood floors. There was a white sofa and what Josy called a fainting couch, something he’d always wanted to own but had no room for. Or money for.
A table had been set up at the opposite end of the room. On it lay a couple of iPads and an open laptop. Dee stood next to the table, that same evil smile that made Josy uneasy on her face.
Next to her was an older man in an electronic wheelchair that looked impractically futuristic, like something Professor Xavier from the X-Men comics would be in. On one of the armrests was a brightly lit control panel that had more buttons than a TV remote. The man himself was eyeing Josy with interest, his dark eyebrows looking as if they’d been painted on, and very recently. In fact, he looked as if he was wearing quite a bit of makeup, and Josy was instantly enthralled by him, almost forgetting that he was about to throw up. The man’s lipstick had been expertly applied, his cheeks rosy. His hair was mostly gone, but what was left was white and curled artfully around his ears. He wore red velvet suit, the lapels black, with a white collared shirt underneath, open at the throat. Josy wished he owned such a suit. It looked dashing.
“Well, well, well,” the man purred. “Who is this stunning creature I see before me?” His voice was wispy and effeminate, the words so airy they sounded like they would float away at the slightest of breezes.
Dee rolled her eyes. “You know who this is, Roger.”
“Yes,” he said, eyes glinting. “But I would like to hear it from him.” The man held out his hand, fingers shaking slightly.
Josiah so had this. “Josiah Erickson.” He walked forward until he reached the table. He took Roger’s hand in his own, unsure if this was supposed to be a handshake. He made a split decision. He brought Roger’s hand to his lips and kissed the cool skin. “At your service.”
Roger squealed. “Oh my goodness. You are darling. Dee, you didn’t tell me he was so… this.”
“That’s because I know how you get,” Dee said dryly.
“Pishposh,” Roger said, never taking his gaze off Josy. “I have no idea of what you speak. Ignore her, dear boy. She’s confused.” He pulled his hand away. “I am Roger Fuller, queen of the B movies, not to be confused with the Queen B, which is apparently Beyoncé. Lovely woman. I’ve never met her, but I assume she is. I must say, your portfolio doesn’t do you justice. You are simply stunning.”
“Thank you,” Josy said, unsure if he just got compared to Beyonc�
�. “I like everything about you.”
Roger gasped, a hand going to his throat. “Flattery will get you everywhere with me. Please, tell me more. And be quick about it. I fear that we only have moments left before our love affair is doomed. My grandson will return and you’ll forget about little old me.”
“I don’t know that anyone could forget about you,” Josy said. “Have you seen you?”
“Oh, the absolute heartbreaker you must be,” Roger said. “But you have no idea, do you?”
Josy was confused. “Um, no? I try not to break any hearts. That’s not nice, though I believe honesty is important.”
“Is that right? Tell me, then, something. Honestly. The first thing that comes to your head.”
“How do you have a grandson when you’re so….” Josy blanched. “Uh—I mean, that’s not what I meant to ask. I’m sorry. That was rude. I didn’t mean to say—”
“Yes, you did,” Roger said, sounding amused. “That’s exactly what you wanted to know. How do I have a grandson when I’m so camp, people pitch their tents around me.” He waggled his eyebrows at Josy. “I am staggeringly bisexual, if you must know. Josy’s grandmother, may she rest in peace, was a lovely woman. And she knew how to wield a whip like you wouldn’t believe.”
Josy didn’t know quite what to do with that. “How grand.”
“Indeed. Now, when Dee told me about you, I knew we just had to have you audition for our little picture here. I do hope you’re as good as you look. I would hate to be disappointed like I’ve been all day with these little shits that come in here and think they’re doing me a favor. Do you want to disappoint me?”
“No, sir.”
“Good.” His expression softened. “And while I may play a part, just know that you’re safe here. I would never make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with. I may skirt the line, but I will never cross it. I’ve seen and heard too much of the so-called casting couch. Men and women should never feel uncomfortable or harassed. And I expect the same for the people I employ. I know there are… rumors of the sordid variety that float around about me, but most of it is hogwash. I treat you with respect, and I ask you do the same for me. Are we clear?”
