How to Be a Movie Star

by TJ Klune

  “ACTION!” QUINCY said.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Liam said as his voice cracked. “You can’t keep going on like this, Grady. It’s tearing you apart.”

  Grady spun around, his chest bumping into Liam’s. “You don’t know anything about me, boy. You chose to forget us. You chose to forget me.”

  Liam reached up and ran his hand through Grady’s mane, fingers disappearing into the auburn hair. His heart was racing. He wanted Dante.

  But he also wanted Grady.

  He leaned forward and kissed the lion man.

  “And cut!” Quincy yelled. “Good. That was good. I want to try it one more time. I have an idea. Mason, I want you to really grab on to Josy, okay? When he first kisses you, I want you to stay still and not respond. Count to three in your head, and then I want you to just shove him against the tree. Got it? Let’s do it again!”

  Chapter 14

  FROM JOSIAH Erickson’s Instagram Story

  “Hey, everyone! Just checking in. Welcome to the 647 new followers I’ve gotten over the past week. It’s great to have you here. I hope you like pictures of me and also of food because that’s pretty much what you’re going to get. And of course, stuff from the set! I’m here with three of my costars, who are in a Vespa gang. They’re pretty great! Say hi!”

  “Hello. Hi. Hola. My name is Bernice. I wasn’t prepared for this, so I didn’t have time to write a speech. But I think the first time I knew I was destined for stardom was when I was told I was going to be a talking tree a few weeks ago. I haven’t looked back since. I have been banned from using our Instagram account, so you can send fan mail to my PO box, which is—”

  “Don’t give them our address! You don’t know what kind of deranged stalkers are out there. To anyone watching, if you even think of harming one hair on Bernice’s wig, just remember that I know sixteen ways to kill a man with my bare hands and—mmph.”

  “Sorry about that. Betty gets… protective. My name is Bertha, and I am the leader of the We Three Queens. You can’t have our address, but you may worship us from afar. Also, we would accept donations in our name to Planned Parenthood, because the male Republicans who wish to dismantle it should have their testicles hooked up to a car battery. Maybe then they would understand what it feels like to be a woman in America.”

  “And that’s it for today! I’ll be on again soon. Once again, thanks for following me! Josy out.”

  “ACTION!”

  “None of it is real,” Liam snapped, head in his hands. “It’s—it’s just a dream, okay? I don’t know how you’re doing this to me. This—this shared delusion. But it’s not real.”

  “My son,” John Eagleton said weakly. The machines hissed and beeped around him. “You always thought with your head and never with your heart. The rational child, no matter how much evidence to the contrary was right in front of you.”

  “How would you know?” Liam asked, laughing bitterly. “You were never there to show me otherwise. Always gone in this fantasy of yours. Tell me, Dad. Where did you go? What were you doing that kept you away for weeks at a time?”

  “I’ve told you—”

  “You’ve told me nothing. You’ve made up this goddamn story about this fantasy world that can’t be real. It can’t.”

  “Just because you don’t believe in it,” his father whispered, “doesn’t mean it can’t believe in you.”

  JOSY LAY on his bed with his arms behind his head, staring up at the darkened ceiling. The only light in the room was from Quincy’s laptop. He’d been typing on it for the past hour, though he was starting to slow down.

  It was only a few minutes more before he sighed and closed it.

  “All good?” Josy asked, proud of himself for staying quiet this whole time.

  “Yeah,” Quincy said, popping his neck. “I know I shouldn’t be messing with the script any more, but Roger said fine-tuning happens all the time.”

  “Big changes?”

  “Not really. Just… refining, I guess. Not too big a deal. You guys will have the pages in plenty of time.”

  “That’s okay, man. I trust you.”

  A pause. Then, “Thanks.”

  “Sure. You’re the director. You know what you’re doing.”

  Quincy snorted. “I don’t think that’s how it works.”

  “Eh. It sounded right in my head.”

  Silence followed, long enough that Josy thought Quincy had fallen asleep. He was jerked out of his own dozing when Quincy spoke again. “I don’t know how you do it.”

  Josy turned to his side, propping himself up on his elbow, hand against his head. He could see Quincy’s outline on his own bed. “Do what?”

  “You’re just… happy. All the time. And positive. About everything.”

  “Gustavo said it’s because I don’t know any better.”

  Quincy laughed quietly. He seemed to be doing that more lately. “I don’t think that’s quite it.”

  “Oh. Then I guess I don’t know why. I mean, I think I’ve always been like this, even when I didn’t want to feel like it.”

  Quincy turned his head toward him. “What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know, man. Like, there’s before Los Angeles and after Los Angeles.”

  “Which is better?”

  “After,” Josy said promptly. “No question. Sure, sometimes it sucks because I’m always broke and working crap jobs and getting passed over for roles. But they mostly went to people who deserved them, so I couldn’t be too upset about it. I’m not the only one who works hard to become an actor.”

  “Not famous, though.”

  “What?”

  “You said you’re not the only one who works hard to become an actor. You could have said to become famous.”

  “Oh yeah, I guess I did. Well, it’d be awesome to be famous for doing something cool, but I’m starting to think that doesn’t matter much to me anymore. Not like it once did. I like having followers on Instagram, and it’d be nice to be rich or whatever, but I don’t think that’s why I’m doing this anymore.”

  “Then what’s the reason?”

  Josy picked at a loose string on the comforter. “Because I like it. I like playing other people. Because it helps remind me I can be whoever I want to be. Like right now I’m playing this dude you wrote who doesn’t know what to believe is real or not and makes out with lion men and junk, and then I get to go back to being the same old Josy when it’s done. And I like that. I think I forgot that when I got lost in the idea of bigger and better things.”

  “Los Angeles can do that to you.”

  “I suppose. I moved out here without a clue what I was doing. I had, like, eight hundred bucks, three pairs of pants, and my portfolio of headshots that took me almost a year to save up for all packed in my car. Well, not the eight hundred bucks. That was in my bank account. I rented a really shitty apartment because it was cheap and found a job at a Mexican restaurant where no one spoke English.” He paused, considering. “I still don’t know how that happened. I was just looking for some tacos, and then I was washing dishes and getting paid.”

  Quincy snorted. “Sounds about right.”

  “Yeah, I guess it does. And it wasn’t all sunshine, you know? Sometimes I felt sorry for myself when I could only eat crackers for dinner and I didn’t know anyone. I even thought once about packing up and going home.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  Josy shrugged. “Because I would have been letting myself down. Even though it sucks to fail, it can teach you things you might not have known before. But I wasn’t ready to learn about those things yet. So I told myself that I would give it a few more weeks and rethink it then. You know what happened then?”

  “What?”

  “The very next night, I met Xander. He wanted to fuck around, but I said no, and we became best friends instead. And with him came Serge and Casey. And not long after that, I met my agent, Starla. I found people who believed in me. I figured I must be doing something right to
have that. Not everyone does.”

  “Before Los Angeles?”

  “It was harder,” Josy admitted. “But I still did the best I could. I mean, my parents weren’t—aren’t—too happy with what I wanted to do. They wanted me to go to college, which, okay. That’s cool, man, but it wasn’t for me. I just didn’t connect with school stuff, you know? Some of it was hard, and while I know I can push myself, I’d rather do it with something that I love.”

  “That sucks,” Quincy said quietly. “The parent thing.”

  “Eh. I guess. They’re old-school. Don’t get me wrong, they’re good people.” Josy thought hard, trying to find the right words. “But… I think sometimes kids are born to the wrong parents. You know? Not because the parents do anything wrong but because they don’t know how to just… parent. They always thought there was something wrong with me, that I was slow, even though I just thought about things in a different way. They didn’t like when I smoked weed, even though it made me feel better than any medication they tried to give me. They didn’t understand that I felt happiest on a stage or in front of a camera. I used to make all these movies with the big, clunky camcorder we had. Dumb things, but I liked them. They were never really interested in watching my movies, though. They had me, but they didn’t get me. I love them. And I always will. Just because we disagree doesn’t change that. But it doesn’t mean I couldn’t think for myself or make my own decisions. I told them that. And you know what they said to me? They said the door wouldn’t always be open when I failed and needed to crawl back home.”

  “Jesus.”

  Josy shook his head. “Do or do not, there is no try. So I did. And here I am. It took a lot to get here, but I made it.”

  “That’s a lot of pressure.”

  Josy laughed. “Nah, man. This? Here? This is golden. And you know what? Even if I never get another part again and have to go back to Frank at Applebee’s and beg for my job back, I’ll be okay. Because I got to be in a movie. And that’s awesome. Pretty awards and flashing cameras are nice and all, but they’re not everything to me. I’m glad I figured that out now and not before it was too late.”

  “You’re happy.”

  Josy grinned. “Yeah, dude. I’m happy.”

  “Have you talked to them? Since you left?”

  His smiled faded slightly. “A few times. But it’s always awkward. The last time I talked to my dad, he asked if I was still ‘hooked on the marijuana.’ Which, you know. Stupid, right? But I haven’t actually spoken to them in a long time. Almost a year, I think. I left them a message telling them I got the part in your movie and how cool it was, but they never called me back.”

  “They didn’t?”

  “Nah. But that’s okay, man. I’ve been too busy to worry about it anyway.”

  “Doesn’t it make you mad?”

  Josy’s answer surprised even himself. “Not really. More sad, but it goes back to me thinking I was born to the wrong people. And then I remember that I have the right people around me, and I did that all on my own. And then I feel better.”

  “Something has to piss you off. You can’t be happy all the time.”

  “Oh sure, dude. A lot of things piss me off. The fact that weed is still criminalized in a lot of the country, and minorities feel the brunt of that. When Froot Loops decided to add marshmallows. Michael Bay, but only because it makes Gustavo feel better. People who put ketchup in the pantry instead of the fridge. People who don’t like dogs. Racists who don’t care that they’re douchebags. How those little bags of potato chips you get at Subway are only, like, a quarter full. The gender wage gap. Taco Bell. Rodrigo Duterte.”

  “The Filipino president?”

  Josy scowled. “He knows what he did.”

  “You’re so….” Quincy didn’t seem to know how to finish his sentence.

  “Yeah, I get that a lot. I tell myself it’s cool that a lot people can’t find the right words to describe me. Makes me think I can’t be put in any box. Some people try, though. They see me and the way I look and think I’m just this weird millennial hipster dude. Others hear me talk and think how stupid I am. I smoke weed, so I must be a burnout.”

  “I don’t think you’re stupid,” Quincy mumbled.

  Josy grinned in the dark. “Thanks, dude. I’m smart in some ways and not so smart in other ways. That’s okay with me. No one should be smart about everything, because what would there be left to learn?”

  “Why do you smoke weed?”

  “It helps me relax. Keeps me focused.”

  “It does?”

  Josy shrugged. “Sure, man. I mean, it’s not for everyone. I would never pressure someone to do it if they didn’t want to. But it’s medically accepted for a lot of reasons, and I’m not hurting anyone when I smoke, so what’s the big deal? People shouldn’t be made to feel bad about the things they like to do if it doesn’t hurt anyone else.”

  Quincy snorted. “That’s easier said than done.”

  That frustrated Josy to hear, even if it was the truth. “Yeah, but it takes less energy to be nice than it does to be a dick. Like, a lot of those people who came to the library to hear you read. There was a girl there named… okay, I don’t know what her name was, but she called herself Tigress, and she said being in that room with other people like her made her feel safe and happy. It made me think there were people in her real life that don’t make her feel that way, and that makes me mad. Why do you have to shit on other people for doing what they love? Like, furries, man. I don’t get it. Not my thing. But you know what? It’s so fucking cool they have that. I’m not saying Tigress is a furry. At least I don’t think. But who cares if she is or not? What’s the point of making others feel bad about themselves?”

  “She felt safe there?” Quincy asked, sounding awed. “She said that?”

  “Yeah, man. And you could see it on her face too. All of their faces. I mean, when I was stalking you after that night—”

  “Maybe don’t call it that.”

  “Oh, right. When I was trying to learn everything I could about you without you knowing, I would read your blog and see all the comments there from people. They feel safe talking about whatever goes on in their heads because you gave them a space to do that. That’s pretty cool, man. People shit all over the idea of safe spaces only because they’re so filled with self-loathing they don’t know how else to be. That’s on them, and not anyone else.”

  Quincy turned his head toward the ceiling. When he spoke, his voice was rougher. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Really?”

  He shook his head. “Sort of, I guess. I knew they felt like they could say what was in their heads, but I thought it was just because I did too.”

  “It is, man. That’s the reason. You put the words down that reminded them of themselves and helped them find their own voices to say what maybe they couldn’t before. I think it takes a lot of courage to say the scary things that no one likes to talk about because they think it makes them look weak. That’s the cool thing about it. When you stand up for yourself, you never know if you’re standing up for someone who isn’t ready to do the same. And you might be giving them the courage to do it somewhere down the road. And when they do, they help someone else. And it keeps on going down the line. Serge said it’s good karma.”

  Quincy swallowed thickly. Then, “My parents died when I was a kid.”

  Josy winced. “Oh, man, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  Quincy waved him away. “It’s fine. I was young. I have a few memories, but… I don’t know if they’re real or just what I’ve been told.”

  “Did Roger raise you after that?”

  “Yeah. Even though I’m sure he didn’t think he’d spend his later years with a morose kid attached to his hip.”

  “I bet you twenty bucks that was just fine with him.”

  Quincy snorted. “Maybe. But he—I think he got more than he bargained for. I was a mess. I didn’t make friends. I didn’t do very well in school, even tho
ugh I knew the material. I was all over the place. I didn’t like to go outside. I didn’t like strangers. Once, when I was—twelve, maybe?—I just couldn’t get out of bed, no matter how hard I tried. There was this weight on my chest, and I couldn’t find a way out from under it. He thought I was sick, and then it went to the second day, and the third day, and then on the fourth, we both knew something was really, really wrong. He asked me why I couldn’t get up. I told him I wanted to die.”

  Josy exhaled sharply.

  “And not in that emo teenage everything-sucks-and-kill-me-now kind of way, though maybe there’s some truth to it. I honestly wanted to be dead. I even knew how I’d do it. And it was strange, too, because it was like part of me was thinking that I wanted it to fail. I could have easily gone into Grandad’s bathroom and grabbed a handful of his pills and swallowed them down. It’d work because I’ve never been able to make myself throw up. There’d be no way out unless I got my stomach pumped. So I barely even considered doing it that way.”

  Josy didn’t want to know, but he had to ask anyway. “How were you going to—”

  “Someone gave me a guitar for the birthday before that I never learned how to play. I was going to take one of the strings and wrap one end around the rod in the closet and another around my neck. I told him that. Because even though I wanted it badly, there was a small part of me screaming to make it stop. To fight it. And that little part of me spoke to him on the fourth day. He dragged me out of bed. He was slight, even then, but he’s scary strong when he wants to be. He didn’t need the wheelchair yet. He carried me down the stairs and out into the car. I spent the next month in a hospital. It was… terrible. All of it. I told him I hated him and myself. That I never wanted to see him again. That I wished I was dead. That he was dead. And you know what he told me?”

  Josy shook his head, not trusting himself to speak.

  “He told me I was allowed to hate myself all I wanted. Because he loved me enough for the both of us. And he wouldn’t let me go without a fight.” Quincy wiped his eyes. “He was in the middle a production. Some cheesy stupid direct-to-video thing. But he let someone else take over so he could be there every day. For that entire month. And when I finally got to go back home, the guitar was gone and he’d taken the door to my room off its hinges. The closet had been gutted, and anything and everything that I could use to hurt myself was hidden away or destroyed.”