How to Be a Movie Star

by TJ Klune

  Josy hadn’t caught his breath by the time Quincy had calmed some, though still giggling as he posed with Sassy for a picture. Quincy looked over at him and motioned for him to come over.

  Josy, not necessarily graceful on the best of days, managed to not trip over his feet as he did what Quincy asked. “You need to be in the picture too,” Quincy said, eyes bright. “Remember? We met because of Sasquatch, and so I want you to be here with me.”

  And how could Josy say no to that?

  He couldn’t, of course.

  Sassy said, “Oh my god, you’re Josiah Erickson! From the movie! I follow you on Instagram!”

  Josy managed to say thank you, distracted by Quincy’s arm around his shoulder, pulling him close. He reminded himself that Quincy was stoned—or on his way to being stoned—so he had to be careful not to take advantage of the situation. It wouldn’t be right. And it wasn’t as if he’d have to wait long. He thought he would wait for Quincy however long it took.

  “Say monster porn!” Sassy said.

  “Monster porn!” Quincy bellowed right in Josy’s ear.

  “Monster porn,” Josy echoed quietly.

  And now that the floodgates had opened and Q-Bert’s fans were aware that the Josiah Erickson was also present at the No-Thanks Giving Festival, they were swarmed for hours. People asked for photographs and autographs. Josy signed some boobs, which made him feel like a rock star, but also kind of uncomfortable.

  Not to be outdone, of course, Mason Grazer made an appearance, saying that he too was in the movie, and for anyone who wanted a photograph with him, he would waive the fee for today only.

  Josy rolled his eyes but let it go.

  It was a day of no-thanks, after all.

  But there was a moment that cemented it all for him, a moment when he realized just how lucky he was to have someone like Quincy, even if it didn’t turn out the way he wanted. If Quincy was only going to be his friend, he would treasure him.

  It came when a trembling young black woman approached Quincy, eyes darting side to side. She had been waiting in line until her turn came, and when it did, she looked panicked, as if the idea of fleeing was better than anything else.

  Quincy saw her just as Josy did, and though his smile was getting dopier by the minute, he stepped away from the last group of people he’d taken pictures with and moved toward her.

  Her eyes widened, and she wrung her hands. She wasn’t dressed in a costume of any sort. She was wearing jeans and a heavy coat, a beanie pulled down over her dark curly hair.

  Josy knew this was most likely going to be private, and apparently Dee did too. She had come to help control the line of people wanting to speak to Q-Bert, and immediately started pushing them back a little. She hadn’t been too happy when she’d found out that Quincy was about to be stoned, but Quincy had told her he’d be all right. She’d seemed surprised but hadn’t said another word about it.

  Josy was about to leave and head back to the booth to give Quincy and the woman some space, but Quincy reached back and grabbed his arm. His hand slid down Josy’s wrist until their fingers intertwined. He didn’t let go, and Josy stood just behind him, squeezing back tightly.

  “Hi,” Quincy said quietly, the sound of the crowd around them fading to the background. “I’m Q-Bert. It’s nice to meet you.”

  “I know,” the woman said, barely able to hold Quincy’s gaze. “I mean… sorry. I just… I know what you look like. Oh god, sorry. I’m being stupid about this.”

  Quincy smiled at her, and it was soft and sweet. “No. You’re not. You’re doing just fine.”

  She nodded once, her hands balled into little fists. “It’s just… I live in Eugene. And I’ve always wanted to meet you. And then I saw you were here, and I thought I would try. I know you probably didn’t want all these people—”

  “What’s your name?”

  She looked up at him, surprised. “Mia.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mia. Can I shake your hand?”

  She hesitated. Then, “Yes.”

  He did. Her fingers were long and thin. The sleeve of her coat pulled back slightly, and Josy thought he saw twisted white scars on her wrist.

  Mia took a deep breath and it out slow as she pulled her hand back.

  “Did you come by yourself?” Quincy asked her.

  She shook her head. “My mom came with me.” She glanced back over her shoulder, and Josy saw a woman clutching her hands to her chest, a reassuring smile on her face. She gave a little nod to her daughter before Mia turned back around. “She knew it was important.”

  “That’s great.”

  “I need you to know something,” Mia said. “I don’t talk about it a lot. Is that okay?”

  “Yes,” Quincy said immediately. “That’s okay.”

  Mia blinked rapidly as she looked away. “So, this is probably going to sound weird. But I need you to know you helped me. I was—stupid. I hurt myself. On purpose. Because everything was too loud and I didn’t know how else to make it stop. It felt like it was night all the time.” She took a shuddering breath. “I don’t know how I found you. But I did, and then I read more and more, and it was dumb and stupid, but it made me laugh. And then I looked at your website and saw you talking about all these things that I felt. Anxiety and depression, and so many people commenting about feeling the same, and I felt like—I just need you to know that it made the night go away a little bit. I didn’t feel so dark anymore.”

  Quincy squeezed Josy’s hand until Josy thought his bones creaked, but he didn’t dare pull away.

  Mia gave him a watery smile. “You didn’t fix me. I don’t know that I’ll ever be fixed, not all the way. But you gave me the courage to try. You and all the others. I’ve made some really good friends with people in our community, and they told me what did and didn’t work for them. And so I tried. I got the help I needed. I still have bad days, but I have good days now too, and that’s because you helped to show me how. You and all the others. So, um. Just. Thank you for that.”

  “You’re welcome,” Quincy said, voice thick. “That means more to me than you could ever know.”

  She nodded, already taking a step back. “That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say. I don’t want a picture or anything. I just—I’m going to go now.” She glanced at Josy before spinning on her heels and hurrying toward her mother. The woman didn’t look back, but her mother did as she wrapped an arm around her daughter’s shoulders. She mouthed thank you to Quincy before they disappeared into the crowd.

  “Holy shit,” Quincy breathed, reaching up to wipe his eyes. “That was….”

  “Yeah, man,” Josy said, moving to stand at his side. He still held Quincy’s hand. He didn’t ever want to let go. “That’s was pretty gnarly. I told you that you mattered, remember?”

  “I just—I believed you? But—Christ.”

  “You’re a good dude.”

  Quincy turned his head, eyes wide. “Oh my god.”

  “What?”

  “Josy! That was heartfelt and amazing!”

  “I know!” Josy didn’t know why they were yelling, but he went with it.

  “No, you don’t! That was life-changing. And I am fucking stoned.”

  Josy gaped at him.

  “I was listening to everything she said. And it was heartbreaking and hopeful and I hurt hearing her words, but I kept thinking, ‘Quincy, you’re really high right now, you have to be serious because this is real. You absolutely cannot tell her to buy one of Lottie’s cookies, even though everyone should eat one.’ I was touched by everything she said, but I also started thinking about Cup O’Quiche, and why is that a thing? Is this what munchies are? Do I have the munchies? Josy, that girl was brave, and I’m thinking about quiche in a cup!”

  “Yeah,” Josy said. “That’s just swell.” He turned to look at Dee, who was watching them both with a frown. He shook his head at her, and Dee turned around, telling the crowd that Q-Bert was going to take a break but he’d be back later. �
��Tell you what, why don’t we go see if we can get you some of that quiche, man. Fill you up real good.”

  “I’m a stoner,” Quincy announced to no one in particular. “I am a stoner because I’m stoned.”

  “Hell yeah, Q-Bert!” Sassy yelled at him. “Me too! Party on, Q-Man!”

  “Bodacious!” Quincy yelled back as Josy tried to pull him away. “Or whatever!”

  “Oh my god,” Josy muttered. “What the hell.”

  “WOW,” BERTHA said.

  “Oh my goodness,” Bertha whispered.

  “This is unsanitary,” Betty muttered.

  “I love everything about today,” Roger said with a sigh.

  “Oh my crap,” Quincy moaned through a mouthful of quiche in a cup, eyes rolling back in his head. “Is god a mass murderer? Because this tastes like it was made from angels.”

  Josy didn’t know quite what to do with that. He didn’t know really what to do with any of this. Quincy was on his second Cup O’Quiche, having demolished the first one even before Josy had finished paying for it. Rather than risk losing his hand, Josy had handed over his own, which Quincy promptly started to devour. He had a bit of quiche on the tip of his nose. Josy should not have found that as adorable as he did.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Quincy said, cheeks bulging. “Do you want some?” He held out a bite on a plastic fork.

  Josy somehow managed not to grimace. “No, thanks, man. That’s all you. You kill that quiche.”

  “I will,” Quincy said savagely. “I’ll kill it so good.” He shoved more in his mouth. “Do you think I should have more? I think I should have more. Also, do you think the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles are circumcised?”

  Yeah, Josy was so fucked.

  “Don’t we have that thing we have to get to?” Betty asked Bertha and Bernice. “Remember? That thing we have to go to so we don’t have to be here?”

  “What thing?” Bernice frowned. “I don’t remember there being a thing.”

  “That thing,” Betty growled.

  “Oh,” Bertha said. “That thing. No, that got postponed until some other day. We have absolutely nowhere else to be, so we’ll stay right here.”

  “What is quiche, exactly?” Quincy asked. “I mean, who decided that it should be created? Who is its maker? It’s such a weird word too. The first three letters are the same as the first three letters of my name, and I don’t think I’m this delicious.” He looked sad about that. “Do I taste this good?”

  “I think we should let Josy answer that question,” Bernice said, and Josy was startled to learn that she was evil.

  Quincy looked him with wide, glassy eyes. “Josy, do I taste good?”

  Josy’s heart stumbled in his chest. “Um. Yes?”

  Quincy grinned. He had spinach in his teeth. He looked like he had spent the last hour fellating the Hulk. “Wow. That makes me feel good. But that also might be the pot. I am having all these ideas. Like, okay. Ready? Idea one: a man named John McClane fights against German terrorists holding hostages in a large tower in the middle of a city. While it’s an action movie, it’s also secretly a Christmas movie.”

  “That’s Die Hard,” Josy said.

  “Oh. Shit. Okay. I got it! Idea two: we write a book about the creation of the universe and mankind by an omnipotent being that no one ever sees but still believe exists. And here’s the kicker! The text of the book is actually full of contradictions that people will pick and choose what they believe in because they’re mostly hypocrites.”

  “That’s the Bible,” Josy said. He was so good at trivia.

  “Dammit. Okay, idea three: we somehow get superpowers and wear costumes where we fight politicians who are trying to take away rights from marginalized people.”

  “That’s… huh. I don’t know what that is.”

  “That’s my brain on drugs!” Quincy bellowed before eating more quiche.

  “Once, when he was seven, he fell down and scraped his knee,” Roger told the We Three Queens. “He was convinced he was going to die and demanded that I amputate his leg. I always thought that was going to be my favorite memory of him. This is so much better.”

  “Marijuana certainly lets people have a good time,” Bertha said.

  “Especially for those who don’t do it,” Bertha said, squinting at Quincy as if he were some kind of bug she’d never seen before.

  “I still think we need to go do that thing,” Betty muttered.

  “Oh no!” Quincy gasped. “The quiche is gone!” He turned the cup upside down, and sure enough, only crumbs fell out onto the ground. He looked heartbroken. “What will I do now? Maybe we should go get some more.”

  “Yeah,” Josy said, taking the cup and fork from him. “How about we wait a little? I don’t think that much quiche is good for anyone.”

  Quincy looked like he was going to argue, but then he shook his head. “Right. Of course. That’s just crazy talk. I don’t know what I was thinking. You are—”

  “You do realize we can see you backing away toward the quiche stand, don’t you?” Bernice asked, sounding delighted.

  Quincy stared at her. “You can? I thought I was being subtle. Being high has really messed with what I think I’m capable of.” He sighed. “Josy, you should probably hold my hand so I don’t try and escape to get more quiche.”

  “Yes, Josy,” Roger said. “You should probably hold his hand.”

  The We Three Queens chuckled quietly.

  “Yeah, sure, man,” Josy said. “I totally got you.”

  “You do, don’t you?” Quincy asked as he took Josy’s hand. “You got me.”

  Josy reminded himself that Quincy wasn’t sober and therefore should not be kissed within an inch of his life in the middle of a crowd. “Yeah,” he managed to say. “I do.”

  “I’ll take that,” Bertha said, plucking the empty quiche cup from Josy. “You two just stand and there and hold hands.”

  “I just had the best idea,” Quincy whispered fervently.

  “I do hope it’s about another movie that already exists,” Bernice said. “I’m going to beat Josy on this one.”

  “We should take a selfie!”

  And since Quincy was singing the song of his people, Josy was helpless to resist. “Dude, yes. Yes to all of that.”

  “Except we’re not going to do it ourselves!” Quincy said grandly. “We’re going to let other people take it for us.”

  Josy blinked. “But… that’s not a selfie. That’s just a photograph.”

  “Then we should take that.” Quincy pulled his phone out of his pocket and thrust it at a random passerby. “Excuse me, stranger. I must call upon you to take the best picture of your life. Do you accept the task I have bestowed upon you?”

  “Uh, yes?” The man looked down at the phone. “No one has ever trusted me to take a photograph of them before. I will accept the task wholeheartedly.”

  Josy believed Abby, Oregon, was a weird and wonderful place.

  “Thank you, kind sir! Grandad, you stay right there. We Three Queens, next to him. Josy, you stay by me.”

  They all did as he said. When one is being instructed by someone stoned for the first time, one listens. It’s the rules.

  The man pointed the phone at them. “Everyone say ‘Thanksgiving is a lie to cover up the destruction of a peaceful populace!’”

  When all was said and done, the photograph would show the tiniest slice of life on this cold winter’s day in a small mountain town. There was a man in a wheelchair, his makeup expertly applied, if a bit heavy. He was smiling serenely and looked at peace. There were three women standing next to each other, pink jackets flashing brightly in the bright sun. One of the women stood with military precision between the other two, fighting a losing battle against a smile as the women on either side of her leaned in and kissed her cheeks.

  There were two more people in the photograph, young men with their arms around each other’s waists. The man in glasses was smiling goofily, spinach in his teeth. The other
man, fedora cocked to the side, was staring at him with such a soft look on his face that it caused anyone who would see it frozen in time to think only the happiest of thoughts.

  “He’s in love,” they would say. “You can tell that he’s in love.”

  But none of them saw the photograph right away. Because as soon as the phone was handed back to them, the sound system screeched, causing everyone in the crowd to turn toward the stage.

  Leslie Von Patterson stood on the stage, inexplicably dressed in turkey motif. Her dress was brown and orange and yellow, and she had a fan of feathers across her back. She wore a red scarf to act as a wattle, and she wore yellow lipstick that appeared to be acting as a beak. It was quite the sight.

  Casey suddenly appeared at their side, Lottie trailing behind him. “Hey, man. You’ve seen Gus?”

  Josy shook his head. “I thought he was with you.”

  Casey frowned. “He said he had to do something, but I haven’t seen him since.”

  Mrs. Von Patterson tapped the microphone. “Testing. Testing. A little hot. I’m getting a lot of feedback. Can we—Pat, can you turn this thing down. Christ, is it so hard to—there. That’s better. Maybe if you had done what I’d asked in the first place, I wouldn’t have had to shout at you. I hope you remember that for next time.” She turned from glaring at someone offstage to smiling primly at the crowd gathering before her. “My name is Leslie Von Patterson. I am the president of the Abby Fun Committee. Thank you for attending our twenty-first annual No-Thanks Giving.” She paused as the audience applauded. “I see that we have a much larger crowd than we normally do, and some of them appear to be furries. Welcome. You’ll find that we accept all eccentricities here in Abby. But please remember there is to be no fornicating in public, or whatever it is furries do.”

  “We’re not furries!” a mermaid yelled. “We’re characters from books! Not that there’s anything wrong with being furries!”