by TJ Klune
The walkie-talkie screeched. “On it, boss.”
The door immediately opened behind them, and the woman from before jerked her head at Josy. He glanced back at Quincy, who had slumped in his chair, eyes closed. He hoped he’d have a moment to talk to him before he had to leave. He wanted to apologize for the laughing and the stalking.
Miranda closed the door behind them and stood in front of it, clipboard clasped against her chest.
Josy smiled at her.
She didn’t smile back.
Josy smiled less.
“None of the others were told to stay,” she said.
“O… kay?”
“Except for you.”
“Is that good?”
She shrugged. “Your facial hair is problematic.”
He frowned. “For the movie? I mean, I suppose if I get the part, I can shave it—”
“For real life.”
“Oh. I’m… sorry?”
Miranda huffed. “Have you ever bought a repurposed table that was once part of a fishing boat?”
“Whoa,” Josy said. “Those things exist? That sounds awesome.”
“Yeah, I figured as much. I don’t like you.”
Josy blinked. “Huh. That’s new. Most people like me. Maybe you just don’t know me?”
“I know your type.”
Josy looked down at himself. He appeared as he always did. Maybe…. “A man?” he asked.
“A hipster.”
Josy was relieved. “Oh. Yeah, no, I get it. It’s not for everyone.”
“You can take your gentrification and shove it up your ass.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Josy said. “Do you mind if I take a selfie for my followers? This house is insane.”
“I absolutely do not care.”
“Thanks!” He pulled out his phone and opened the front-facing camera. His mustache was curled at the ends, but he thought he looked okay. Maybe Miranda was just having a bad day. He didn’t know what life would be like if it wasn’t socially acceptable to have a mustache. He hoped that women would one day feel comfortable to do what they liked with their own facial hair. Xander had once introduced him to a cool chick who had dyed her armpit hair bright blue. Josy had liked her immediately.
He held out his phone, grinned at the camera, and snapped the photo. It turned out pretty good for the first try. Sometimes he had to take nine or sixteen before he got the right one. Since he didn’t know how long he’d have to wait, he figured it was good enough. He didn’t spend long on his filter choice, deciding to go black and white because it gave him depth.
Audition day! he wrote. I think it went well. Wish me luck! #actorlife #instagay #beardboy #mansionsarecool #iamhungry
“Annnnd posted,” he said. He put his phone away and looked back at Miranda. “My followers like it when they see what I’m up to.”
“Wow, how interesting,” Miranda said flatly. “I’m not one of them.”
“Sure,” Josy said. He hesitated. Then, “So, you think I have a chance to get the part? I mean, that would be so cool—”
“I’m Mr. Fuller’s assistant. I do what he asks me to. If you’ll recall, he didn’t ask me to assuage your ego.”
“Right, right. It’s just—”
“Stop talking.”
“But—”
“Hush.”
Josy hushed.
They stood awkwardly for another five minutes. Josy thought he was going to go insane. He wanted to call Gustavo or Casey or Xander or Serge, but he didn’t think Miranda would like that. He thought of suggesting that she smoke out to relax, but since she was glaring at him, he kept that to himself.
Fortunately the walkie-talkie attached to a clip on her belt burst to life. “Miranda?” Roger said. “Please escort Mr. Erickson back in.”
She pulled it off the clip. “On it,” she said. She stepped away from the door and jerked her head toward it. “Go in. And don’t even think about trying to flirt with Mr. Fuller to get special favors. I see the way you walk. It’s not going to work.”
Great. Now he felt self-conscious. He didn’t know there was something wrong with the way he walked. “Of course,” he said. “I will try and work on that.”
She scowled at him as she opened the door.
Mason stood next to Quincy, bulky arms crossed in front of him. Quincy was typing on his laptop again, muttering to himself. Dee was putting her camera away in a large bag on the table. Roger sat back in his wheelchair, fingers steepled under his chin.
Miranda slammed the door shut behind him.
“Hi,” Josy said. “I just wanted to say thank you for—”
“Do you have a problem with nudity?” Roger asked.
“Like, in general?”
“For a part.”
Josy was slightly alarmed. “Like… to get the part? Because I don’t think that’s very fair—”
“In a part,” Roger said.
“Oh! No. I mean, I already had to once for a Japanese energy drink.”
They stared at him.
He smiled his most charming smile.
Quincy coughed roughly.
Josy hoped he was okay. He knew the Heimlich maneuver if it was needed. He’d done a safety video two years ago where he played a scientist or a doctor or something.
“Right,” Roger said slowly. “The script calls for a nude scene. Your bum would be shown. We will, of course, make you as comfortable as possible. A modesty pouch will be provided for your genitals.”
“A cock sock,” Josy said. “I know what those are. My friend Casey gave me one for Christmas last year. His boyfriend said it was traumatic to think about, but Gustavo thinks most things are traumatic—wait.” His heart stumbled all over itself. “What do you mean my bum? My genitals?” There was a sharp stinging in his eyes. “Are you… am I getting the part?”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First things first. Is there anything we need to know about from your past that could bite us in the ass down the road? I’ve perused your social media, and while there is an inordinate number of pictures of yourself, it seems relatively harmless.” He frowned. “Aside from the numerous commenters who desire to see you naked and apparently consider themselves masters of the erotic with how many of them want to fellate you.”
Josy’s heart was pounding. “I have a very loyal following.”
“Quite. Have you ever been arrested?”
“No.”
“Ever been so strung out that you injected white lightning between your toes?”
“No. At least I don’t think so? I don’t know what half of those words meant. I mean, I smoke weed, but—”
“Everyone does. My doctor. My grocer. My priest, though I don’t actually have a priest. If I did, I assume he would. Have you ever taken naked pictures of yourself in various states of arousal and sent them to a vindictive ex-lover who you spurned and will unleash them upon the world at the slightest hint of your success?”
“Um. No? I promised myself the only time I would ever put my junk on film was if I was in a Merchant Ivory production where I played a lord who lived in the British countryside and lay in the grass while my horse grazed nearby. I even have an accent ready and everything. ‘Lost me knickers, I did, and I’m positively chuffed as pudding, wot, wot—’”
“There are contracts to be worked out,” Roger said. “You’re going to be paid, but it’s not going to be much. This is a crowdfunded indie film, after all. The shoot will last six weeks, so any other employment will need to be put on hold, though we might have a problem with the shooting location, seeing as how we have none currently. We’ll figure it out. I have… favors that I can cash in. But yes, Josiah. We would like to offer you the part of Liam Eagleton in the film The Stories of My Father.” He frowned. “That’s a working title, one I’m not fond of. It lacks a certain oomph. But no matter. You have a presence about you, one that I haven’t seen since Joseph Zeiber auditioned for my film Attack of the Killer Mongeese from Madagasca
r. And, as you probably know, he went on to win a Daytime Emmy Award or some such thing before he died a horrible death involving an anvil and rampant alcoholism. Yes, I’ve got a good feeling about you. I think you could be something grand. An actor of the highest caliber.”
And since Josiah Erickson had been dreaming of this exact moment for as long as he could remember, he did the only thing he could.
He promptly burst into tears.
“Oh dear god,” Mason muttered.
“Are you all right?” Dee asked, sounding alarmed.
“Yes,” Josy sobbed. “I’m perfectly fine. I promise. I’m just so happy.”
“Miranda!” Roger barked into his walkie-talkie. “Can we bring Mr. Erickson some tissue? In addition, I would like cranberry juice. And god help you if it’s anything but room temperature!”
FORTUNATELY NO one seemed to mind much that Josy needed a little time to compose himself. Except for Mason, that is, who rolled his eyes at Josy before leaving in a huff. Josy was okay with that. After all, it wasn’t every day that he was cast in his first feature film, and he wasn’t going to let someone like Mason Grazer ruin that for him.
He couldn’t even find it in himself to be embarrassed. Maybe later it would hit that he’d cried in front of Quincy, but now he was just happy.
And crying.
But whatever.
They left him in the room with a wad of Kleenex Miranda had shoved at him. Roger told him he would fax all the paperwork over to Starla and they would talk soon. He said something about an announcement needing to be made, but they could work out the details later. Dee patted him on the shoulder, telling him that when he located his missing balls, find her and she would walk him out.
Quincy looked like he was going to say something, but instead swallowed it down and hurried from the room, laptop clutched to his chest.
Josy felt a pang at that, but since he had snot dripping from his nose, he thought it was for the best.
He eventually got himself under control, the sweet ache in his chest reduced to a warmth spreading through him.
He had done it.
Through all the crap slung his way, he’d told himself that if it was meant to be, it’d happen.
And here it was. This moment.
Validation.
He wished his former teacher, Mr. Stefan Alabaster IV, wasn’t in prison. He would call him and thank him for casting him as a block of American cheese. Maybe he could send him a letter later, and a recipe for toilet wine if he could find one. It was the least he could do.
He wiped his eyes again, sure he’d gotten his emotions under control. He was tired, but it was a good tired, the one he always felt after having an exciting day. He needed to call his friends and tell them the good news, but that could wait until he left. He needed to find Dee. Maybe even see if Quincy had a moment.
He wasn’t expecting to find Quincy on the other side of the door, hand raised like he was about to knock.
Quincy’s eyes widened as he took a step back. “I… I was just….”
“Is this real?” Josy asked him. “Did that really just happen? I’m going to be in a movie?”
Quincy nodded slowly. “I guess so.”
“I really need to hug something. Is it okay if I hug you? You can tell me no if you don’t want to. Maybe Dee will—”
“No,” Quincy said quickly. “I mean yes. I mean—” He coughed. “You… you can hug me. That’s—that’s okay. Just… not too hard.”
Josy was more than okay with that.
In the history of hugs, it certainly wasn’t the best. Not even close. Josy wrapped his arms around Quincy’s back, hands clasped loosely. Quincy was stiff, and for a moment he didn’t respond. Josy hooked his chin over Quincy’s shoulder and held on gently. He was about to let go when Quincy reached up and carefully put his hands on Josy’s back, patting once, twice, three times.
It wasn’t the best.
But it was good.
Josy pulled away.
Quincy blushed, taking a step back, looking down at his shoes.
“Thank you,” Josy said. “That was very nice of you. And I promise I am going to do everything I can to make this the best movie ever made.”
Quincy cleared his throat. “It’s not that good.”
“Maybe. But we’ll act like it is.”
“Thanks, Josy.”
“And I need you to know I’m sorry.”
Quincy looked up, alarmed. “Oh, hey, no, you don’t have to—”
“I do,” Josy said firmly. “It’s important. I didn’t mean to laugh at you at the library. You surprised me. That’s all it was. It had nothing to do with you. I was flattered. I am flattered.”
“But you don’t date.”
Josy hated the look on Quincy’s face. “It’s not you. It’s me. Wait. That sounded bad. But it really is me. I swear. I don’t—I don’t do attraction like that.” He’d never had a problem saying it out loud before, but now that he was here in front of Quincy, it sounded stupid, and he didn’t know why.
Quincy cocked his head. “What? What do you mean you don’t—oh. Oh geez. Are you asexual? Or aromantic? Is that the right term? I always get them confused. That’s okay! If you—”
“I’m demisexual. I mean, I thought I was gray-ace for a long time, but demi fits me better.”
“I don’t know what that means,” Quincy admitted.
“It means that I have to get to know someone really well before I even think about wanting to do… anything with them.” He frowned. “I’ve tried to force it in the past. I thought there was something wrong with me, that I wasn’t normal. But it only made things worse. Just because I like the idea of something doesn’t mean I can make myself want it. So it wasn’t you. It was me. I promise.”
“You don’t have to apologize for being who you are.”
“I know. It’s just—” He groaned. “I wanted to be your friend really bad. And I made a mess of things. I… stalked you? But not physically! Like, online and stuff. And it wasn’t really stalking. I just read about you and stuff. And looked at your pictures. And went through every entry on your blog.”
“Wow,” Quincy said.
Josy winced. “Yeah, it was probably getting a little out of control at the end. But I read about the things you’ve gone through, and I know how hard it must have been to ask me what you did. I should have had a better reaction. That’s why I’m apologizing. You were being brave, and I wish I’d seen that.”
“You didn’t know anything about me,” Quincy mumbled. “You couldn’t have known.”
“Maybe. But good people deserve to be treated with respect because everyone goes through things we don’t know about.”
Quincy shuffled his feet.
Josy wanted to hug him again but kept that to himself. Quincy had put some distance between them, and it was probably for the best.
“Maybe we could start over,” Quincy said finally. “Because I’d really like to be your friend.”
“Really? Oh man, that’s so cool. Like, you have no idea how cool that is. This is the best day of my entire life. Holy crap.” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Josiah Erickson.”
Quincy stared at his hand for a moment before shaking his head. He reached out and took Josy’s hand in his. “Quincy Moore. Also known as Q-Bert.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Josy said, squeezing his hand before letting it go. “I am going to be in your movie.”
Quincy laughed. It was a lovely sound. Josy vowed to hear it as often as possible. “Yeah, I guess you are. There’s still a lot of work ahead, but… we’re getting there. We’ve got you and Mason. And since Grandad is going to play the role of Liam’s father—”
“Shut up,” Josy exclaimed. “Seriously? He’s literally one of the most perfect human beings to have ever existed. I wish I could pull off lipstick like that.”
Quincy snorted. “Don’t let him hear you say that or he’s going to give you every tip you never wanted.” He frowned. “Seriou
sly. Don’t let him hear you say that.”
“Uh, okay?”
“Good. There’s a bunch of smaller roles to fill, but we’ll get there. The only other issue is location. We don’t have the budget for big sets, and I was hoping to film in Angeles National Forest, but we’re having a hard time with the permits and finding the perfect small town where the first part of the story takes place. It would have been easier because we could have just traveled to the shooting locations each day.”
“You need to film in a forest?”
Quincy shrugged. “Yeah, I mean, it’s a big part of the movie. It’s where Liam ends up through his father’s stories and has all his adventures. You’ll see what I mean when you get the full script after I make some changes to it.”
Josy wished he could help. If only he knew of a small town in the middle of a forest where they could make this movie. If only he knew someone with connections in a small town in the middle of a forest where they could make this movie. But unfortunately, life wasn’t that simple. It didn’t just drop everything you needed into your lap like it was kismet, or whatever it was that Serge talked about.
“That sucks,” Josy said. “Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it ouuuohhhh my god.”
“What?” Quincy asked, looking worried.
“What what? Oh, sorry. I just remembered that today was Tuesday brunch and I forgot to call one of my best friends. He’s probably really worried about me. His name is Gustavo, and he lives with his boyfriend, who is one of my other best friends, in a small town in the mountains in Oregon.” His brow furrowed. “Hold on. Wait a minute. That’s… huh. I think I’m beginning to have the start of what might be an idea.”
“What’re you—”
“Shhh,” he said. “I’m thinking.”
And he was. In fact, Josiah Erickson was thinking as hard as he ever had in his life. He was thinking so hard that he was actually starting to get a headache.
Casey went to Oregon.
Casey met Gustavo.
