How to Be a Movie Star

by TJ Klune

  “On lockdown, man.”

  “Exactly,” Quincy said hoarsely. “Lockdown. I didn’t understand then, though I do now. I thought he didn’t trust me, which, even if that was it, he was in the right. Not trusting someone isn’t the same as not loving them. It was because he loved me enough for the both of us. I figured that out. Eventually.”

  “I’m glad you did,” Josy whispered. “I like that you exist in the world. I think a lot of people would say the same thing.”

  “I like that you exist too.”

  Warmth bloomed in Josy’s chest. “Thanks, man. That’s cool of you to say.” An idea struck him. “Do you still trust me?”

  “Yeah. Of course.”

  “Close your eyes. Like, you can’t open them until I say. No matter what you hear.”

  Quincy closed his eyes.

  Josy got up from the bed and went to the large closet. He pulled out spare blankets and pillows. He laid them on his bed before grabbing the two chairs from the desk in the room. He positioned them between the beds. It wouldn’t be the best—he needed more chairs—but he didn’t want to wake anyone else up by trying to get some.

  He draped the blankets over the chairs, tucking the ends between the mattress and the box spring on his bed. He took the pillows and spread them out on the ground. To finish it off, he took the lamp from the desk and set it on the floor near one of the chairs. He switched it on and sat back on his knees. It was a rush job, but he thought it’d be okay. He crawled out of the blankets and reached over, tugging on Quincy’s hand. “Keep your eyes closed. Put your feet on the floor and then hunker down.”

  Quincy moved. He was wearing loose shorts and an oversized shirt. His legs and arms were bony, all sharp angles. He slid to the floor, eyes still closed. It was awkward, trying to get him inside without hitting anything, but somehow Josy made it work.

  He pulled Quincy inside, dropping his hand and pressing against his shoulders, pushing him down on his back on the pillows. Quincy scrunched up his face, but he didn’t peek. Josy exited one last time, grabbing the comforter off his bed and pulling it down with him. He lay next to Quincy as he covered the both of them. It was a little cramped, and his head hit one of the legs of the chair, but that was all right.

  “Okay,” he said. “You can open your eyes now.”

  Quincy blinked slowly as he looked around. “What is…. Did you make a blanket fort? Seriously?”

  Josy grinned, head tilted toward Quincy. “Yeah, man. I wanted to do that for you on the first day of the movie. You looked all shy and scared when you were talking to all of us, and I wanted to keep you safe. A couple of years ago I tried out for this commercial. I don’t even remember what it was for, just that one of the casting people was really mean to me. They said I should just give up and go back to whatever Podunk town I came from. That I didn’t have what it took to be an actor. Normally shit like that doesn’t bother me much, but for some reason, it did this time. I was sad. And my friends don’t like it when I’m sad. So Xander and Serge picked me up from my apartment and took me to Casey’s house. In his living room, he’d made a huge blanket fort for me. It had lights on strings and joints and cookies, and we stayed in there all night. The next morning I still wasn’t ready to leave, so Xander and Serge called in sick, and Casey ordered Chinese food at seven in the morning, because you can do that in Los Angeles. We ate noodles and those tiny corns that seem really pointless but I like for some reason. And I felt better. Sometimes you need to hide away from the rest of the world. And it’s okay to do that, just as long as you don’t forget the world is waiting for you when you’re done.”

  Quincy turned his head. The low light reflected in his eyes. “Thanks, Josy.”

  “No problem, man. I like being in here with you.”

  And for the first time, it was Quincy who reached out and took Josy’s hand.

  They slept, eventually.

  FROM Q-BERT’S Blog

  Yesterday was a harder day than I expected it to be. It hit without rhyme or reason, and even though I tried to power through it, it still got the best of me. I was angry with myself for allowing it to happen, for letting it trample all over me and suck me down like the swiftest of quicksand. But then I remembered that sometimes these things happen, no matter how strong I try to be. It’s not about winning every battle. It’s about how you face the war. It’s okay to have bad days, just as long as you remember to not let the bad days last forever. Winston Churchill referred to his depression as a black dog, and I get that, because I can feel it nipping at my heels. And while this dog may never be put down, it can still be muzzled and placed on a short leash. I can take the fight out of it because I am stronger than it is, and you are too.

  Couple that with anxiety and well… it sucks, frankly. Living with it is like having a person constantly following you, heckling you with every step you take. They know all your faults. All your insecurities. And they don’t just whisper them in your ear. No, they shout them until they’re the only voice you can hear, even if you’re standing in the middle of a crowded room.

  I get a lot of comments on here asking for ways to beat it back. Some of you tell me that you feel like you’re drowning. If you ever feel this way and can’t seem to get it back under control, seek help immediately. There’s no shame in it. A doctor. A friend. A clergy person. Pick up the phone and dial one of the phone numbers I have listed under the GET HELP tab on this website. Do something, because a world where you don’t exist is a world that will always be dimmer. I was reminded recently that you’ve helped me build a wonderful community here. I see the comments of those having bad days getting responses from others offering solace and ways to help.

  Remember this one thing: you are never alone.

  “OKAY, IN this scene, Josy, I need you to look just crazy with awe, okay? Liam has never seen anything like the Three Oracles before. Even with all that he’s been told, even with everything he’s been through, this is still a big moment for him. It’s hitting him like nothing has been able to. Even with what he’s heard from his father, even with Boris and Grady and Dill and Mr. Zucko, this is the moment when it becomes real for him. We’re going to add SFX in post, but it’s not going to be much. Some fairy lights and such, which is what the tennis ball is for. Follow it with your eyes as it moves around you. Got it?”

  Josy nodded. “Got it.”

  “I’m a tree,” Bernice said happily. “I get it now. I am the oldest living thing in the forest, and you two are my weird monster and my cat. Oh, the joy I feel.”

  “I’m not going to lick myself,” Betty growled. “So you can get that out of your head right this second.”

  “I think one of my tentacles is coming loose,” Bertha said with a frown. “Unless it’s supposed to break off and I grow a new one. I’m still not quite sure what I’m supposed to be.”

  Quincy took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

  THE BELL chimed overhead as Josy opened the door to Lottie’s Lattes. He bowed and said, “After you, my good sir.”

  Quincy rolled his eyes as he went inside. He hung his jacket on the coatrack but kept the scarf wound around his neck. Josy thought it looked good on him. He was a big fan of scarves. He didn’t own one himself. Los Angeles wasn’t really a scarf kind of place.

  There were a few people at the tables inside. Two teenage girls sitting near the door saw them as they came in. Their eyes widened and they immediately put their heads together, whispering furiously.

  Lottie stood behind the counter, her red drag-queen hair as frizzy as it’d ever been. She grinned at the sight of them. “Welcome to Lottie’s Lattes, where we like you a lottie.”

  Quincy blinked. “What?”

  “It’s her catchphrase,” Josy said, pulling him toward the counter. They held hands a lot these days, sometimes without even thinking.

  “It’s part of my brand,” Lottie agreed. “If I ever decide to open another store somewhere, the employees will be required to say it for every custo
mer. Gus says it’s stupid and the foundation for a terrible business plan, but he runs a video store in 2015, so I’m not too worried about what he thinks on the matter.”

  “Doesn’t he own most of the town?” Quincy asked.

  Lottie shrugged. “Just like his daddy before him. He’s a good landlord. Jimmy, who owns the hardware store, ran into some financial trouble last year, and Gus helped bail him out. We take care of our own here. What can I get for you? Fair warning, everything is pumpkin spice flavored, because that’s what one does in the fall. It’s an epidemic of catastrophic proportions.”

  “The muffins?” Josy asked.

  “Pumpkin spice.”

  “Coffee.”

  “Pumpkin spice.”

  “The egg and bacon sandwich?”

  Lottie leaned forward and whispered, “Pumpkin spice.”

  “Whoa,” Josy said. “That sounds awesome. And gross.”

  “That explains the lasagna you brought for lunch last week,” Quincy said with a grimace.

  She shrugged. “People buy it. I mean, I don’t eat them, but for some reason, from October to just after Thanksgiving, people turn into junkies looking for their next fix. And I’m the dealer waiting to take their money. And then it’s peppermint everything, because Christmas and Jesus and stuff. Should the licensing go through, I already have plans next year for pumpkin spice and peppermint cannabis.”

  “How’s that going?” Josy asked as Quincy looked at the baked goods behind the glass. It really was all pumpkin spice. Josy was suitably impressed.

  Lottie scowled. “Oh, the government is taking their sweet time, of course. Just because Oregonians overwhelmingly approved the legalization of recreational marijuana doesn’t mean the powers that be won’t drag their feet. I’m being told February 1 now, at the earliest. It’s going to be strictly regulated, but I’m not worried about that.”

  Quincy looked up. “How is Casey able to do what he does at the B and B?”

  “He doesn’t sell it, at least not yet. He found a workaround. People pay to stay at the B and B at a slightly higher rate, and he’s able to give his consumables as gifts. While it’s not sustainable for the long run, it works for now. See something you like? I wouldn’t recommend the egg and bacon sandwich. It’s disgusting and—”

  A loud crash came from the kitchen.

  Lottie sighed as she tilted her face toward the ceiling.

  “That was nothing!” a voice called out. It sounded like Bernice. “Everything is fine and nothing is broken, such as the mixer!”

  “The We Three Queens are practicing their recipes for No-Thanks Giving,” Lottie told them. “They said that they can’t do it at their house because the last time they experimented, Bernice misread the recipe and used seventeen onions instead of one.”

  “I get that,” Josy said. “It’s why I don’t cook anything except for when I have to use the microwave.”

  “What’s No-Thanks Giving?” Quincy asked, pushing his glasses back up.

  Lottie stared at him.

  He shifted nervously.

  “Josy,” she said slowly. “Does your friend not know about No-Thanks Giving?”

  Josy scrunched up his face, thinking back if he’d told Quincy or not. “I don’t think so? We’ve been really busy making a movie. I don’t know if you know this since you’re not an actor, but it’s a lot of work.”

  “Oh, I know it is. I was in a movie once.”

  “What? You were?”

  “Oh yes,” Lottie said with a nod. “The seventies were a very sexually liberating time. I think I still have a bootleg copy of it somewhere, if you’d like to see. But you should probably keep in mind that back then, we had very different ideas on how much body hair was socially acceptable.”

  “That’s okay,” Quincy said hastily. “Don’t even worry about trying to find it.”

  “Are you sure? It’s no trouble at all. There was this one scene with me and three guys who—”

  “Seriously. Not a problem. Don’t look for it. At all.”

  “No-Thanks Giving is what’s celebrated in Abby,” Josy explained. “They’re really big on festivals here.”

  “Sometimes it’s about strawberries,” Lottie said. “And sometimes about the eradication of the native people by white men.”

  Quincy looked between the two of them. “I’m learning not to question the things that happen here.”

  “That’s probably for the best,” Josy said. “This will be my first No-Thanks Giving. I couldn’t afford to come up here last year, but Casey told me about it. I tried to ask Gustavo, but he said I’m not allowed to ask him about festivals because they’re the worst.”

  “He’s very opinionated about festivals,” Lottie agreed. “While the rest of America gets together and celebrates the fact that our ancestors took land that didn’t belong to them by shoving bread up a turkey’s asshole, Abby puts on a festival in protest. There are booths for food and crafts and a bunch of other things. We have a stage set up where people can get in front of everyone and talk about what they’re not thankful for, or thankful for, or tell a joke or whatever they want, as long as they keep it mostly appropriate. Everyone chips in, and the people who have booths donate half of all proceeds to a specific charity. This year it’s the Native American Rights Fund. They’re sending a couple of representatives to give a presentation, and they’ll have their own booth as well.”

  “I don’t know what to say to any of that,” Quincy admitted.

  “It’s okay,” Lottie said, reaching across the counter and patting the back of his hand. “It’s just the years of systemic racism you’ve been taught by the American school system. You’ll learn.”

  Another crash.

  “Don’t worry about that!” Bernice yelled. “That was just… well, definitely wasn’t the mixer this time!”

  Lottie huffed out a breath through her nose. “Would you excuse me for a moment? I’ll be right back to take your orders.” She whirled around and stalked into the kitchen, making colorful threats involving pumpkin spice being shoved into places that Josy didn’t think needed the festive fall flavor.

  “This town is so weird,” Quincy said, staring after her.

  “Right? It’s awesome. I love it here.” He nodded toward an empty table. They sat down, and the two girls near them giggled and flushed brightly when Josy winked at them.

  Quincy drummed his fingers on the table. “You do, don’t you.”

  “What?”

  “Love it here.”

  “Yeah, man. I mean, it’s nice. Quiet, you know? Don’t get me wrong, LA is okay too. But even when you’re surrounded by millions of people, it can sometimes be lonely. I don’t feel like that here.”

  “Why do you stay in LA, then?”

  Josy hadn’t ever really thought of it that way. “I kind of have to. Not many calls for auditions up here. It’s my job.”

  “Say you could, though. Say that you were a famous actor and you could live wherever you wanted.”

  Josy thought hard. “Would I get to have my own private plane?”

  “Sure.”

  “And a popcorn machine?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “Maybe. Casey and Gustavo are here. And Lottie and the We Three Queens. But Xander and Serge aren’t. And you’re not either.”

  Quincy twitched. “How’s that now?”

  “You live in Los Angeles, right? If I moved here, I wouldn’t get to see you as much when we went back home. It’s like Casey and Gustavo living here. It sucks, because I love them and don’t get to see them as much as I want.”

  “You want to see me after we go back?” he asked, voice hushed.

  Josy cocked his head. “Well, yeah, man. Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” A terrible thought struck him. “I mean, unless you don’t want to hang out with me when we go back. I know you’ll be busy with the movie and editing and life and—”

  “No,” Quincy said quickly. “I want to see you. All the time.”

 
“Really? All the time?”

  “Well, maybe not all the time, but most of the time.”

  “Dude,” Josy breathed. “That’s just what I was thinking! Like, not all the time, because I have to sleep and sometimes I have to practice my facial expressions in the mirror, but most of the time is good for me. And you get to meet Xander and Serge! I think you’ll like them. They can be scary. Well, that’s mostly Xander, but only because he likes to pretend he’s all badass even though he’s like Mallomars.”

  “What’s a Mallomar?”

  “It’s a cookie that’s hard chocolate on the outside and marshmallow on the inside. They’re really good when you’re high, but disgusting when you’re not.”

  “And that’s like Xander?”

  Josy shrugged. “A little bit.”

  “I don’t—”

  The two girls suddenly appeared at their table, breathing heavily. “Hello,” the one on the left said in a quiet voice.

  “Hi,” the one on the right whispered breathlessly.

  “We’re really big fans of yours.”

  “Like, the biggest fans.”

  “Can we please have your autograph?”

  Josy grinned. “Oh, that’s so cool. Do you want me to take a picture of the three of you too?”

  “They’re not asking me, Josy,” Quincy said, sounding amused.

  Josy looked at him, then back at the girls. “They’re not? Who are they talking about, then?”

  “You,” the girl on the left said.

  “So you,” the girl on the right said. “We follow you on Instagram, and we watched all your commercials on YouTube.”

  “I have your picture on my wall,” the girl on the left said. “You’re my favorite.”