by M. E. Carter
“Luke is not weird,” she shoots back. “Just disabled. And I didn’t think about it because it was like a one-day job while we were in the middle of a busy season or something. Matthew didn’t even leave town for the shoot.”
I open my mouth to keep playing this tit-for-tat game with her, but Matthew speaks before I can argue.
“Done. You have tickets to… hang on…” He zooms in while I blink rapidly a few times, in serious disbelief that this is happening. “Looks like it’s an all access pass to the event, all the pictures, autograph signings, and one round-table of your choice. Will that work?”
I’m not sure how it’s possible, but my jaw drops even further. I turn quickly to Carrie and point at her. “If you don’t marry this man, I will.”
She looks up at Matthew and makes what can only be described as googly eyes at her fiancé. “Don’t worry about that. I can’t wait to be Mrs. Matthew Roberts.”
He makes a sound that can only be described as a grunt, and then leans down to gently take her lips with his. And they kiss.
And kiss.
And kiss.
And as fun as it is to read about, standing two feet away from them while they make out is not the same.
“Okay, so I’m wildly uncomfortable now. I’m going to get another drink. You guys… just”—I wave a hand at them—“carry on or whatever.”
They don’t even notice when I walk away. Not that I expected them to. If he’s finally getting all the sex, I applaud their ability not to disappear in the middle of this party.
Sidling up to the bar, I wave the bartender down.
“I’ll take another pinot, please.” He nods at my request and turns away to hopefully fill the glass to the top this time. While I wait, I open my email app and sure enough, Matthew has already forwarded me a message from someone at the con asking for verification of my information for the VIP tickets.
I can’t believe I have scrimped and saved and spent three years trying to meet Hunter Stone. Yet Matthew sends one quick text and suddenly I’ve got the most expensive passes money can buy at my disposal.
Not that I’m banking on using them. The universe has a funny way of shutting me down at the last minute. So as excited as I should be, I’m not. I’ll believe this miracle when I see it.
Chapter Five
Hunter
When did I get this old? Or rather, when did I start looking this old?
The fine lines around my eyes, the same ones my mom says are from smiling, are more obvious than a year ago. If I lift my brows, my forehead crinkles and, while a few years ago they went away quickly, now, they linger. Maybe it’s exhaustion and not aging.
I’m exhausted. Beyond exhausted, actually.
For years, I studied and honed my craft. Learning from anyone who would teach me, asking questions, and taking any gig—paying or not—to put my efforts to work. Off-off-off Broadway, also known as dinner theatre in a former pizza place, may be where I started but it isn’t where I sit.
Now, I’m one of the most sought after actors around, thanks to my big break with Prince of Darkness. The announcement that our little television show was going to be turned into a feature film catapulted those of us who could still stop by the local market for a frozen pizza into pseudo stardom. That doesn’t include the film I co-starred in last year that’s scheduled to release for spring break. When I signed on, I had no idea our little action film we had so much fun filming would be touted as this year’s “Blockbuster to Beat.” The response has been overwhelming to say the least.
“Sir,” the chipper voice calls out, pulling my attention from the mirror. I turn to face the kid who has been assigned as my handler for the day. Dressed in a pair of skinny jeans the color of an eggplant, he’s sporting a pair of glasses that used to be popular in the eighties. Grinning from ear to ear, he’s also bouncing on the balls of his feet. When I first introduced myself to him he went on and on about my co-star, Penelope Warner. I can’t blame the kid, she’s gorgeous. A bit of a hard-ass but beautiful, nonetheless.
“What’s up?”
“I’ve been asked to tell you we’re only five minutes from your announcement.”
Nodding my head, I move toward the door to the small bathroom attached to the green room my co-stars and I are using as our “safe space” this weekend. My how times have changed. Three years ago at this convention I could have roamed the aisles like the attendees and used the public restroom like any average guy. Now, I’m hiding out in the green room until security is ready for us to move.
Taking the last few minutes of down time, I splash ice cold water on my face, hoping to reduce the puffiness under my eyes, and waking me up. It’s go time and it isn’t fair to the people who have spent their hard earned money to meet me if I’m not fully “on.” I hate that term but that’s what it is. I turn the actor persona on and off regularly.
With fans and the press, I’m expected to be all smiles and conversational. Charming and witty. Everything I’m not unless there’s a script and director involved. Growing up in a large boisterous family I was never one to fight for attention. Desperately shy and introverted, I sat on the sidelines while my siblings and cousins bantered and roughhoused. Preferring to be an observer rather than a participant, nobody was more surprised than I was when I fell in love with theater.
Classmates swore drama was the road to an easy A in high school, so I marked it as my elective freshman year and, like they say, the rest is history. I was bitten by the acting bug after only a few weeks and, while I spent the first year as part of the ensemble, I was determined to learn and succeed.
Patting my face with a paper towel, I take a deep breath and slowly exhale. It’s a few hours. I can do this. Turn on the charm, take some photos, and thank every person who waits in line for the thirty seconds the organizers allow them to speak to me. That’s why I’m here. Why I do this. For them.
Once the last photo is snapped, I’ll slip back to my dressing room and recharge. Let my mind settle and get ready for the second half of the day. At least during that time, I’ll be with my castmates and the attention will be on them too.
Exiting the bathroom, I stop in front of the kid who hasn’t moved since I went into the bathroom.
“How do I look… what’s your name?”
“Andy, sir.”
“Not sir. Just Hunter. Do you think I’ll get a bunch of shit for not dressing up?”
The kid looks me over. What is his name? I know he just told me and yet, my mind is blank. Ask me to repeat the monologue that got me accepted into my first acting class and I wouldn’t hesitate. But, remember the guy who is keeping me on schedule for twelve hours today? Not a clue. Assessing my choice of attire for this occasion. I’m not only dressed down, but it’s a look my character would wear so it seemed like a reasonable choice. Dark wash jeans and a black T-shirt with a pair of well-worn motorcycle boots to complete the look. Really, I didn’t have the energy to think outside of a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.
“Nah. You’ve got that brooding vampire look going. Seems on brand.”
On brand? Who is this guy?
“What do you know about brand…?”
Following him as we exit the room, I nod hello to other actors in the hallway as I fall in step and wait for him to tell me his name.
“It’s Andy and I’m a business major with a minor in marketing,” he replies casually, seemingly unaffected that I can’t remember his name. It gives me a twinge of guilt that he’s used to actors blowing him off so I make a mental note to try harder. Just for today.
“And you think my brand is brooding?”
Snorting a laugh, he shakes his head before saying, “I think that’s what the public believes to be true. Whether it is or not isn’t for me or anyone else to decide. It’s the perception.”
“Well, the perception is wrong. I’m not brooding. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Pausing at the door to the small room I’ll stand in for the next few hours, my handler
turns to me. His expression is a little patronizing but also sympathetic. “If I’ve learned anything working at these events, there isn’t much of a difference. There are a few waters in there on the table and I’ll be in the room should you need anything. We’ll hand you whatever needs to be signed and when you’ve got your John Hancock on it, we’ll take it from you to keep moving things along. About halfway through, we’ll take a short break so you can regroup and hit the bathroom. Cool?”
Speechless at how this kid, who can’t be more than twenty-one years old, seems to have this business all figured out and can keep us on track for the purpose of this day, I simply nod.
“Show time.”
Taking in a long breath, I exhale and turn “on” my work persona before entering the room.
• • •
I should have asked… damn, I really need some sleep. I still can’t remember his name. “Handler” seems like a great alternative. I should have asked Handler to work in at least two breaks today. The fans have been great, making me laugh and even embarrassing me a little with their requests. I’ve signed everything from glossy photos to T-shirts and canvas bags. One woman, at least seventy years old, insisted I sign the back pocket of her jeans. When she shimmied her rear in my face as I tried to scribble my name, I was both entertained and mortified. She, was neither. Proud and flirtatious was more how she felt.
Glancing down at the first major gift I bought myself that proudly adorns my wrist every day, I note there are only about twenty minutes left in this session. I’ll have a little time to relax and get my mind ready to finish out this day with a big smile on my face.
Uncapping my water, I lift the plastic bottle to my lips as the next person steps up. The first thing I notice is the pile of blonde curls and big brown eyes that are the size of half dollars as she approaches me. A dazzling grin is spread across her pretty face, one I return as I recap the bottle. Then she stops.
What is she doing?
Looking into the large bag crossed over her body, she’s mumbling, and I think cussing herself out as she rummages through the satchel. Tilting my head, I watch her, fascinated as she appears to argue with herself. Just when I think she’s about to give up on whatever it is she’s searching for, she lets out a squeal and lifts her eyes to me.
“Hi.”
That’s why I get paid the big bucks. I’m full of all the great lines.
“Hi. Oh wow. This is happening. Holy shit. Oh! Sorry.”
Chuckling at her word vomit, I lift a brow and immediately regret that as thoughts of my forehead creases comes to mind. “What’s happening?”
Her cheeks pinken as she gets closer to where I’m standing. “This. You. Here. Ohmygosh. I’m sorry. I’m not normally this weird. Hi. I’m Celeste.”
Extending my hand, I introduce myself. “Hunter Stone. Thanks for coming today. I hope you weren’t waiting too long out there.”
“Nope. I actually just got here. Thanks for the VIP pass, by the way.”
VIP pass? Who did I give a VIP pass to?
It takes a few beats before her words make sense. My new buddy, Matthew, reached out to me a few weeks ago for a pass to this con and I’d completely forgotten about it.
“Oh, you’re Matthew’s friend. Nice to meet you.”
“Celeste. I already said that. Shit. Sorry,” she rambles before finally catching herself and her word vomit. “I wouldn’t say I’m Matthew’s friend, but he is marrying my best friend, so I guess we’re going to be friends by marriage.”
Pointing at the plastic in her hand I inquire, “What do you have there?”
“Oh!” she shouts. The room we’re in is small which makes the sound much more amplified than one would expect. “Sorry,” she whispers.
I’m not. This woman is hilarious and a breath of fresh air. She seemed a little nervous when she walked up but no longer. I realize I’ve been smiling the entire time I’ve been talking to her. Not the actor smile but the real me smile. Natural and sincere.
The calm I feel around her overrides Handler’s impatient toe tapping. I know it’s his job to keep us on track. And I know this interaction is taking longer than he deems appropriate. I just don’t care.
“It’s a playbill. I’ve been following your career for years. I saw ‘Get Up’ three times in the six weeks it ran and knew one day you’d be here. Well, not here here. I mean, if you’d asked me then I never would have guessed you’d be playing a vampire on television. A duke or earl in a period piece? Absolutely. A vampire? Nope.”
Blown away by her declaration, I open and close my mouth a few times before gathering my wits to ask, “You saw ‘Get Up’?”
“Yep. I’ve been saving this playbill for years. Will you sign it?”
Looking down at the table where she’s placed the aforementioned yellow pamphlet, I note she never relinquished control of it to any of the volunteers and has it safely secured in a plastic sleeve. Wow. This woman is serious about her memorabilia. Cautiously, I slide the playbill from inside the plastic and quickly thumb through the pages. Nostalgia hits me. This little production was one of my first when I arrived in New York. I had less than no money, but I knew this was where I could learn the most. I shacked up with four other actors in an apartment no bigger than a postage stamp and paid the bills by bussing tables and walking dogs.
It was a struggle but still some of the most fulfilling years of my life. Scribbling my name across the front, I carefully return the item to the plastic sleeve as—Andy! Like in Toy Story. Thank goodness I’m not losing my mind completely. Andy clears his throat from behind me.
“Oh shit. I’ve been in here too long.”
“It’s okay,” I reply with a wink. “You have the special VIP pass. Besides, I know a guy who will make sure you don’t get in trouble.”
Celeste’s cheeks redden at my poor attempt to flirt. Not that I’m trying to flirt but sometimes I slip into character without even realizing it.
“I better scoot. Thanks for signing this.”
I watch as she walks away and, for the first time all day, I feel the exhaustion melt from my muscles. Seeing that playbill has reminded me of why I’m here and all I’ve accomplished.
Chapter Six
Celeste
I look down at my map of the hotel again and back up to the numbers on the wall. This hotel’s layout is so confusing. I’d probably know my way around better if I’d stayed here but I used all my points to book the cheapy flight from La Guardia to Chicago specifically for this weekend and didn’t have any left over to splurge on a swanky place like this. Besides, the Motel 6 by the airport is still bigger than my apartment, so it’s fine for sleeping. And Chicago has a great bus line that is a little slow but is easy to use. It dropped me off just down the block this morning.
My confusion isn’t helped by the fact that the next event on my agenda is the one I’m most nervous about—a private meet and greet with Hunter Stone and eight of his biggest fans. Or at least the fans that were willing to shell out a shitload of money to chat with him for forty-five minutes.
Usually there is a lottery or something to even have a chance to buy one of these tickets, so you can imagine my shock when I found out it was included in my pass. The lady at registration explained I didn’t just have a VIP pass. I had an “Actor’s Guest VIP.” It gives me access to everything. Even backstage and the green room. No way I’m taking advantage of those perks. I had a hard enough time talking to Hunter Stone for thirty seconds after spending an hour working on breathing techniques. I’m staying out of any areas where he may pop up and conversation has to be ad libbed. I’ll just gather my free T-shirt and call it a win.
Later, of course. I’m not missing the chance to chat with him during this meet and greet.
A convention volunteer—I only know that because she’s wearing the white shirt and black slacks uniform they’re all wearing—steps out of the room I’m walking past and we almost collide.
“Oh! I’m so sorry. I was looking down at
my map,” I apologize. “I can’t seem to figure out where I’m supposed to be.”
She smiles kindly, like me getting lost is the most normal thing in the world. “This hotel isn’t set up well if you’re trying to get multiple places back to back. Which room are you headed to?”
“Um…” I look back down at my itinerary to quintuple check I have the right room number. It does me no good if I tell her the wrong thing and end up on the other side of the property. “Four thirteen D.”
“You’re in luck.” She points to the placard on the wall. “It’s right here. The Hunter Stone meet and greet?”
“Oh good.” I let out a breath of anxiety that had been blooming in my chest. “I was so worried I’d be late.”
She grabs a clipboard off a small table next to the door and begins flipping through pages. “Nope. You’re the first person here. I like it when people are punctual. Especially since I can already tell who is going to come racing in at the last minute.” Finding the page she was looking for she adds, “Can I see your badge please?”
I hold out the badge given to me at registration with my name, picture, and level of ticket on it. The organizers went all out with the fancy tags and lanyards. This sucker is even laminated. Of course with how expensive it would have been to purchase if I didn’t “know people,” they better provide fancy little perks.
“Okay, Celeste. Thank you so much.” The volunteer, whose name is Klarissa judging by her name tag, drops the clipboard and picks up a paper bag, shaking it. “When you go in the room, there is a round table with ten chairs. Each chair is numbered randomly. Whatever number you pull out of this bag, that’s the chair you are to sit in. Make sense?”
I snicker. “That’s to make sure there aren’t any catfights over sitting next to the star, isn’t it?”
“Smart and prompt. You may be my favorite fan yet.”
Klarissa holds out the bag and I dig in, not having any real preference on where I sit. If I’m across from Hunter Stone, I’ll be able to make eye contact. If I sit next to him, I’ll be able to smell him. Actually, that’s probably a bad idea. Being in his presence already made me fumble my words. I don’t need to fall out of the chair too.
