by TJ Klune
He had such a way with words. Josy wasn’t surprised Quincy was an author. Though he did seem to have a problem with breathing, and his skin was turning red.
Josy did the only thing he could.
He clapped.
For a good seven seconds, he was the only one.
But then Roger joined in, and Dee, and the rest of the crew. Mason didn’t, but Josy knew that while Mason was a good actor, he also didn’t have a soul. He was just an attractive human husk put on this earth to send unsolicited dick pics and to test Josy’s love of everything.
Quincy looked slightly shocked at the applause. Shocked, but almost pleased.
Josy liked that very much.
THE FIRST scene to be filmed in The Stories of My Father (Working Title) was an intimate one. Liam and Dante, separated but still desperately in love, returned to Josy’s hometown to his father’s bedside. The elder Eagleton was not long for this world and had summoned his son back to the house where he’d grown up. Some exterior shots had already been done over the weekend, but this was the first time there would be actors involved. The movie itself would start with Liam working his dead-end jobs and receiving the phone call that would bring him back. There would also be a strained car ride with Liam and Dante driving back across the country, with a voice-over from Liam describing their relationship woes, but that would come later. Films were rarely—if ever—shot in chronological order.
Josy was shown the mark on the floor he’d have to hit. Mason would remain in the background near the door, looking pensive and unsure.
“And I will be doing nurse things,” Mrs. Havisham announced. “Like taking temperatures and administering injections.”
“No,” Dee said. “You’re going to pull the blanket up a little higher on John Eagleton and then exit. Nothing else. You don’t have any lines.”
“I shall pull the blanket up,” Mrs. Havisham announced. “No one will ever pull a blanket up as well as I.”
Dee sighed as she looked at Quincy. “Later we’re going to talk about a raise.”
Quincy was sweating. “Okay. So. We are going to begin. Just… get right into it. Places, everyone. This is going to be a long take—”
Roger snorted. “Listen to him. Long take. How adorable.”
“—a long take, and we need to make sure everyone hits their marks.” He turned to Josy and Mason near the door. “Josy, you’re seeing your dad for the first time in years. He’s… he’s never been so frail. Even though you had your differences, you always saw him as a larger-than-life figure. And now for the first time, you actually see him as human. Weak and fragile. You’re angry, but you’re also heartbroken.”
“Sadly mad,” Josy said. “Got it.”
“Mason, you stay near the door. You’re unsure. You’re going to reach out and squeeze Josy’s hand before he walks to his father’s bedside. Just for a second.”
“I should be able to handle that,” Mason said dryly.
Josy wondered if it was too late to have certain roles recast.
Quincy turned toward his grandad. “And you—”
“I know what I’m doing,” Roger said. “We talked this morning. Have trust in us, and we’ll put our trust in you.”
Quincy nodded tightly. He went to stand behind the camera, an Arri Alexa, something that was apparently extraordinarily expensive. Quincy had said Roger cashed in a few favors to get it. Josy didn’t want to know what that meant but figured it was Hollywood lingo. One of the crew members had been fixed with a Steadicam as well. He looked like one of Gustavo’s maligned Transformers.
Josy took a deep breath.
This was it.
This was his moment.
This was how he was going to be a movie star. For the rest of his life, he would look back at this very second. Hopefully it would be the start of a long and storied career, but even if he was seventy-six and working in a Burger King of the future (where they sold space fries made from asteroids or something), he would fondly remember this day where he had achieved his dream. Not many people got to do that.
(And space fries sounded amazing.)
“Ready?” Quincy asked.
Everyone nodded.
“Quiet!” one of the crew shouted.
A clapboard came out. A real live clapboard.
And the sound it made was just like in the movies.
“Action!”
Liam Eagleton stood in the doorway, looking at his dying father. A wave of the sad mads ran through him. This… this man hadn’t been there for his son. He’d disappeared for days on end, leaving his only child with a nanny. He said he’d always come back, and he did, but he was a stranger, months passing by without any contact. By then, a young Liam had made his own family out of his imaginary friends.
Mr. Zucko, the half man, half zebra with a penchant for talking tough and fighting crime as a private investigator.
Dill, the gigantic cucumber who was scared of brine, as he didn’t want to become a pickle. He was Mr. Zucko’s secretary.
Boris Biggles, the sunflower with a mustache who was gruff and filled with a quiet pain at the loss of his sunflower family in the Great War against the Weeds. The weeds had won.
Grady, the man with the mane of a lion and the heart of a king who had tea with Liam on the days he felt loneliest.
These imaginary friends who Liam had forgotten until he saw his father on his deathbed.
Dante reached out and squeezed his hand.
Liam took a deep breath and took a step forward.
His father’s eyes were closed. The machines around him beeped. His nurse pulled up the blanket to just under his chin. She looked up at Liam and smiled softly. “Your daddy is dyin’,” she said in a deep Southern accent. “He’s lost his livah due to the plague. Such a turrible thang.”
“Cut!”
Josy blinked as Liam retreated within.
“You don’t have any lines,” Dee growled at Mrs. Havisham as Quincy looked toward the ceiling.
“I’m aware,” Mrs. Havisham said, puffing out her chest. “But I thought if I’m to be in this little picture I should make the most of it. Also, I’ve always wanted to be a Southern belle, which is why I affected an accent. Y’all undastand?”
Josy had to admire that. He’d done the same thing many times before. Of course, he wouldn’t say that out loud because he didn’t want Dee yelling at him. She was really awesome with the way she cared for Quincy, but she was also terrifying.
Dee’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t. Speak.”
“Eep,” Mrs. Havisham said.
“Places!”
Imaginary friends. Dying father. The sad mads.
“Action!”
Unnamed Nurse pulled up the blanket a little roughly, and maybe she was glaring, but she kept her mouth shut. She stalked out of the way as Liam approached, leaving Dante behind him at the door.
He made his way to his father’s bedside, hand shaking as he reached out to touch his father’s arm. But the moment before he made contact, he curled his hand into a fist and pulled his arm away.
“Dad,” he said quietly. “I’m here. It’s me. Liam.”
John Eagleton’s eyes fluttered open. “Liam?” he croaked. He coughed roughly. “Liam, is that you?”
“Yeah, Dad. It’s me.”
“Oh, bless my stars. So it is. Let me look at you, my son. Come closer.”
Liam hesitated, but then he leaned over.
Old, gnarled fingers came up to touch his face. They stroked his beard.
“Oh, my boy,” John said, voice quivering. “Oh, my son. I’m so happy you’re here. There isn’t much time left. And I have so much to tell you.”
“Cut! Okay, I want to try something different. Let’s start again.”
NOW, IT should be said that when one goes to the movies, one is witnessing the final product after months—maybe even years—of work. The takes are the best they can be.
But what most don’t realize is that it’s born of repetition. The sa
me take happens again and again and again. A single uninterrupted shot that lasts ten seconds could take hours to film.
That, coupled with a novice director and a cast who, aside from Roger Fuller, had never really been part of a project of this magnitude… suffice it to say, it was exhausting.
They finally wrapped for the day just as the light was beginning to fade. They’d had a single break for lunch where Quincy had disappeared into their shared room with his laptop, muttering under his breath about how he needed to rework a couple of scenes, given the way Josy and Roger had played their reunion. Josy thought about bringing him up an egg salad sandwich with pickles, but Dee had stopped him, shaking her head. “It’s better if he gets this out now,” she told him quietly. “Let him be for a little bit.”
Quincy had come back down near the end of the lunch break. He hesitated in the doorway to the kitchen until Josy waved him over to the seat he’d saved. He set a sandwich and some chips on a plate. “Eat,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
Quincy did.
And then they went back and did the same scene again.
And again.
And again.
When they’d finished for the day, Dee helped Roger back into his chair. Roger told Quincy to take a break, that he’d review the dailies and make some phone calls. He had business to tend to, after all.
“He’s always networking,” Quincy said, staring after his grandad as the rest of the crew started putting away the equipment.
“That’s because he likes you,” Josy told him. “That’s pretty great, having someone like that.”
Quincy turned to Josy. “It is?”
Josy shrugged. “Sure. I mean, I would think it is.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. Then, “Do you have that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you… have someone?”
“Like Roger?”
“Yeah.”
Josy thought for a moment. “No, but that’s because there’s no one like Roger, I think. And that’s okay, because it makes him special. That’d be cool, though, man.”
“What about your parents?”
He reached up and scratched his face. The makeup was starting to itch. He was looking forward to washing it off. “They don’t—they’re not like Roger. They don’t get me. Like, this whole acting thing, right? They told me a long time ago I was wasting my time. Which, okay, they can think whatever they want. They didn’t believe I could do it. But that’s fine, because I believe in myself enough for all of us.”
Quincy stared at him. “I don’t get you.”
This was good. Two new friends talking, getting to know each other. Josy liked this a lot. “Why?”
“You’re like… this guy.”
“Yep. Sure am. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Quincy looked frustrated. “I know how things go for me. How it works. I know what I’m capable of and what I’m not. I know what I have to do to push myself, and I know where the line is that I can’t make myself cross. I have these boundaries set. Sometimes I can expand them, and sometimes they shrink. But you… you just… do whatever’s in your head. You say it like it is without a second thought. Why do you do that?”
Josy squinted at him. “Who else am I supposed to be but who I already am?” He blinked. “Wow, that sounded like I went to India for eight months and learned about chakras. Holy crap.”
Quincy gaped at him.
“My friend Serge went—never mind. I don’t understand what you have to go through, you know? Because I’m not you. But how cool is it you can do all these things even when your boundaries shrink? That’s pretty rad, man. Mad props and stuff.”
“You’re so weird,” Quincy blurted. His eyes widened in horror. “I didn’t mean—”
Josy waved a hand at him. “That’s okay. I’m fine with that. I don’t think that’s a bad thing. And maybe I am. But I found a bunch of weirdos like me. I don’t have a Roger. But I have a Serge and a Xander. I have a Gustavo and a Casey. There’s the We Three Queens and Lottie, and you know what? They’re good enough for me because I’m good enough for them.” He grinned. “Hey, we should take a selfie together! How cool would that be? Commemorate this shit, you know? First day and everything. Is it okay if I touch you again? You don’t have to say yes.”
Quincy paled. “T-touch?”
Josy shrugged. “Selfies mean we get close together. I have to put my face near your face because that’s how friends do it.”
“Right. Friends.” He nodded like he was steeling himself. “Yes. I can do that. I can do a selfie with you.”
“Awesome.” He pulled out his phone and moved until he stood next to Quincy. He put his arm slowly around Quincy’s shoulders, giving him plenty of time in case he changed his mind. He didn’t. Josy held out the phone in front of them. He liked the way they looked next to each other on the screen. Quincy was looking down, as if he couldn’t bear to see himself. “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to,” Josy told him quietly.
“Okay,” Quincy mumbled. “Maybe not yet.” And he turned his head toward Josy, his nose scraping along Josy’s beard. It tickled. Josy laughed. He heard Quincy inhale sharply before he chuckled too.
That was it.
That was the picture.
He pressed his thumb against the screen, capturing the moment.
“Wow,” Josy said, looking down at the screen. “I don’t think we even need a filter for that one. Good job.”
Quincy stiffened slightly as Josy removed his arm. He looked down at the screen. Josy had a wide smile on his face, mouth barely open with a hint of teeth. And Quincy’s lips were quirked upward, nose against Josy’s cheek.
“You don’t think people will get the wrong idea?”
Josy was confused. “About what?”
Quincy shook his head. “Nothing. Never mind.”
“First day on set,” Josy muttered, typing on the phone. “Going great. Can’t wait to show you more. Hashtag actor life. Hashtag no filter. Hashtag this guy is pretty great. Hashtag Liam Eagleton FTW. Annnnnd posted.” He put his phone back in his pocket and looked up at Quincy, only to find him staring again. “What?”
“Uh. Nothing. I’m just… going to go.” He practically ran toward the door.
“Do you want to come to dinner with me? I’m going to Casey and Gustavo’s house. Gustavo said he learned how to make enchiladas, but Casey said they’re gross. I can’t wait.”
“No,” Quincy said over his shoulder. “I’m just—going to go to my room.”
“Our room,” Josy reminded him with a wink.
Quincy nearly tripped before he disappeared through the door.
LATER THAT night, when he opened the door to their room, a little stoned and very full of gross enchiladas, he was careful not to disturb Quincy, who seemed to already be asleep. He had kicked off his comforter at some point and was huddled on the bed. Since Josy didn’t want his friend getting cold, he tiptoed over to Quincy’s bed and pulled the comforter up and over him.
“Good night, dude,” he whispered. “Have good dreams about directing and stuff.”
Chapter 11
The Stories of My Father (Working Title)
Day 5
Location: Outside Eagleton Home
Scene 7
THERE WERE days when acting was hard. An actor had dialogue to memorize, makeup to be caked onto his face. He had to be fitted in Wardrobe, wearing clothes that he would never actually wear in real life because loose jeans were the worst. An actor had to follow direction, repeat specific lines over and over and over, and stand here, and stand there, and don’t cross your arms, Josy, that’s not what you’re supposed to be doing.
But then there were days when Mason Grazer was a gigantic sunflower and all was right with the world.
Josy told himself it was rude to laugh.
But he also told himself he needed to get it out now so he could embody the wonderment Liam would feel at seeing his old imaginar
y friend come to life.
So he laughed.
He laughed his ass off.
The Stories of My Father didn’t exactly have the biggest budget, but that was okay. Quincy, and in turn Roger, had insisted on as many practical effects as possible. Roger had spoken happily on what creature makeup was capable of, especially in the hands of a master. He told the crew how they managed to turn a tiny woman into a seven-foot-tall voracious vampire with shag carpeting, ketchup, and duct tape.
But since creature makeup masters were also expensive, they had to rely on Roger’s expertise. That wasn’t so bad, given Roger had played many roles in his lifetime: producer, director, script doctor, effects artist, queen of the B movies with feminist agendas and queer undertones through almost gratuitous nudity.
To be fair, had the transformation been done on any other person, Josy would have been astonished by the obvious skill that stood in front of him. Boris Biggles had been brought to life.
However, it was also Mason Grazer as Boris Biggles, which made it hysterical. He wore a tight green skinsuit that had been wrapped in plastic leaves and vines. On his head had been placed a crown of yellow petals that fell artfully around his face, which had also been painted yellow, with black flecks across his cheeks. He had a thick, bushy mustache.
He looked amazing.
And absolutely ridiculous.
Josy laughed until he could barely breathe.
Boris Biggles scowled at him and told him to fuck off, which was great, as he already seemed to be getting into character.
“If you try and take my picture, I will end you,” Mason warned him. “I don’t need to be on your tiny little Instagram account.”
Josy wiped his eyes. “Man, you have, like, ten more followers than I do. And also, you’re a sunflower with a mustache.”
THE SCENE was a crazy one. Liam was in the shower. He heard a creak outside and thought it was Dante, who’d had to leave earlier than expected. He walked out of the bathroom and into the hallway of the old house. He saw a flash of green and yellow and followed it until he stumbled across his old imaginary friend, thus setting off the true adventure of The Stories of My Father (Working Title).
