Slate: The Salacious Story of a Hollywood Casting Director

by Rowe, Brian

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m gonna be OK.”

  “You’re not, Brandon. Your parents still pay your fucking gas and insurance bills.”

  “So do yours!”

  “But I’m still in college!”

  Brandon kissed Derek on his left cheek. Then he took his tongue and licked him all the way from his belly button up to his soft, tasty lips.

  Derek giggled. “You just know I worry about you, right?”

  “I know you do.”

  Brandon kissed him one last time and made his way over to the bathroom to start getting ready. He grabbed a clean pair of underwear from his dresser drawer.

  “Can I join you?” Derek asked.

  “Where?”

  “Where do you think, doofus? In the shower.”

  Brandon laughed. He grabbed a shirt. “If you do that, I’ll never be ready in time.”

  Derek sat up and smiled. “Brandon?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I love you.”

  Brandon stopped to look at him. Derek looked so beautiful, naked and sweaty on his queen-sized bed. He wanted to capture this moment forever.

  “I love you, too.”

  ---

  When Brandon bust out of the bathroom thirty minutes later, clean-shaven, and smelling like a bed of tulips after a rainfall, he was surprised to find Derek already vacant from the apartment. He had been looking forward to giving that innocent college sophomore a goodbye kiss on the pecker.

  He walked over to his desk to see his phone lit up once again, this time with a text message. He looked down. Of course, it was from Vivien. DID YOU GET MY MESSAGE PLEASE LET ME KNOW YOU GOT MY MESSAGE.

  He text her back and looked at the clock. He knew he was already late.

  Still, there were other matters to resolve before he could appropriately start his day.

  Brandon hadn’t finished yet.

  I’ll be right there, V.

  He unzipped his pants and started jerking off. And he surprised even himself.

  For the first time while having a boyfriend, his fantasies while masturbating actually involved that boyfriend. He wasn’t thinking about any of the young, hot pop stars of today, or Zac Efron’s legs wrapped around him. He closed his eyes and pictured Derek going down on him, then riding him like a wild bronco with his tongue buried deep inside his throat.

  Brandon came on his phone. He wiped it down with a paper towel.

  -24-

  Vivien had her feet up on her desk and her fingers on the last page of a screenplay when Brandon charged into the office an hour later. The building, typically loud with activity, was eerily quiet this Monday morning.

  Brandon threw his backpack down on the floor and pulled out his laptop. “Good morning!” he shouted.

  She didn’t respond. All she did was motion for him to come into her office with her frantically gesturing left index finger. Brandon walked over and sat down in the chair opposite her.

  “Thanks for coming early,” she said.

  “No problem,” he said with a forced smile.

  She turned her chair toward Brandon and crossed her legs. She had a screenplay in her lap.

  “I read your script.”

  He looked at her with anticipation. “Really? The Misanthrope?”

  “Yes.”

  His smile looked forced no longer. “That’s fantastic! How long ago did I give you that script?”

  “Couple months, maybe? I’m really sorry it took this long.”

  “No worries.”

  “Brandon, it’s good. It’s really good.”

  She didn’t stop him when he jumped out of his chair and started dancing around the room. “I knew you would like it! I knew it!”

  “Have you shown it to anyone else yet?”

  “Just friends and family,” he said, sitting back down. “You’re the first industry person to look at it.”

  “And this is your first script?”

  “Yes. I’ve written some short stories, too, but this is the first full-length screenplay.”

  “How long did it take you to write it?”

  “A year.”

  Vivien’s cheery mood turned sour. Too fucking long, she thought.

  “How long did it take you to write the first draft?”

  “A few months, I think. Why?”

  She sat up and tossed his masterpiece on her desk. “Because, Brandon. I think you have what it takes to write me a fake screenplay.”

  He didn’t say any words for a moment. She wanted to giggle at his obvious confusion.

  “I’m sorry…” There was a pause so long that Vivien could’ve taken a bathroom break. “What?”

  “Now I have some things to tell you,” she said. “They’re very personal, and they must not leave this office. Do you understand me?”

  She uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, not taking her eyes off him.

  “Of course, V. You can tell me anything.”

  “I’ve thought of you for the past two years as part of my family, Brandon. But I will turn on you, I swear it, if you leak any of what I’m about to say to anyone.”

  “I promise. My lips are sealed.”

  “OK.”

  She looked at him with suspicion. But she figured she could trust him.

  I can’t do this myself.

  Vivien sighed and looked down at the carpet. “I walked into my backyard four days ago and found Patrick fucking his secretary in the Jacuzzi.”

  Brandon’s mouth dropped. Then he gasped. “WHAT!”

  “Shhh. Keep your voice down.”

  “HE DIDN’T!”

  “He did.”

  “Patrick? But I like Patrick!”

  “Shhh… quiet.”

  He jumped up and started pacing the room. His femininity factor jumped from two to twenty. “Oh, that asshole! That bitch! Do you want me to kill him for you? Is that the reason for this early morning meeting?”

  “No, no, I don’t want you to kill him.”

  He sat back down. His jaw dropped even more. “Oh my God… Gavin…”

  “Shhhhhhh.”

  “How is your little boy taking it? Oh my God, is he OK?”

  “He’s fine,” she said. “He’s a little shaken, obviously, but he doesn’t really know the details. He just knows Mommy and Daddy are spending some time apart.”

  “This is so sad, V. I’m so sorry.” He put his hands out for her to grab onto. She didn’t. “How can I help?”

  She stood up, put her back to the wall, and crossed her arms. “You can help by conspiring with me to do the unthinkable.”

  “Which is?”

  She grabbed a stack of headshots. “Here.”

  She dumped at least fifty of them over Brandon’s head.

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked.

  “Look.”

  Brandon peered down to see the headshots of young men. He looked at one after another. Each actor looked between twenty and thirty, and hot. He looked up at Vivien like he hadn’t yet solved the puzzle.

  “Why does Patrick get to have all the fun?” Vivien asked. “I want someone young, too.”

  Brandon looked puzzled. “I still don’t think I understand.”

  Vivien started pacing the room. “I’m not gonna let Patrick bring me down. I’ve already moved on, and I’m looking for someone new. I’ve been trying for the last few days to find a younger man. But nobody wants me. They look at me like I’m a grandmother, which, for the record, I’m definitely not. Yet.”

  “You are a stunning, gorgeous woman, V. You could get any guy you want.”

  “I’ve barely flirted with a guy since I married Patrick,” she continued, oblivious to his compliment. “I’m rusty. I feel like I’m a young teenager again, not knowing what the hell I’m supposed to say or do. I need to get back in the game. And I need your help.”

  Brandon didn’t say any words for a moment. Finally, he opened his mouth. “Forgive me if I’m out of line here, V, but don’t you think it’s a li
ttle bit soon to be thinking about dating other guys, just four days after seeing Patrick cheat on you? I mean, how long were you married to him?”

  She didn’t look happy. “What’s your point?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, don’t you need, like, time to mourn, or something?”

  “Brandon. I could be weak and just stay at home for the next six months and cry my eyes out. But you want to know something? I’m not really in the mood to play that game. And I don’t really give a shit if I’ll regret this later. It’s just something I know I have to do. I want you to grow the fuck up, you know, age a few fuckin’ years and put yourself in my shoes. This is not the time to question my state of mind. This is a time to smile and nod and pay attention to what I’m telling you.”

  Brandon looked like he had just shit his pants. “Well, if it’s dating help you need, V, then I know some good online dating sites that can help you—”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “We can do a whole lot better than that.”

  She stopped pacing, stood up straight, and towered over the cowering Brandon. “I’m going to create a fake movie project, and I want you to write it.”

  He looked to be repeating her sentence over and over again in his head.

  “I’m a casting director, Brandon. I can bring the guys to me.”

  And then, it clicked. “Ohhh.”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh!”

  She sat back down on her reclining chair and cracked her knuckles.

  In her twenty years of casting, Vivien had cast many movies that got made and released, but also movies that didn’t even make it to production. Sometimes she worked for producers and directors on projects that needed name actors attached in order for financing to be raised. There had been a movie entitled Attack of a Generation about the Columbine massacre that she and Brandon had worked tirelessly on for five months, holding a dozen casting sessions or more, only for the producer to decide out of nowhere that he wanted to abandon the controversial project completely.

  In those sessions, she had brought in the biggest names of the male twenty to thirty set. Every young actor in town wanted to be a part of it. When the project died, irritable agents called for weeks. Vivien just told them that the producers couldn’t secure financing. Eventually, the agents went away, and she moved on to her next project. The film was officially dead.

  “This town is used to movies that just go away, Brandon,” she said. “Who’s to say I can’t throw another one into the mix? Who’s to know a movie we cast is real or fake? Nobody checks the facts. Nobody at the agencies talk to anybody but me. They believe what I tell them.”

  “Which is?”

  “That I have a new project that is going to cultivate every young actor’s career from obscurity to superstardom.”

  Brandon tried to follow her thinking. “So you have these guys come in and audition for you. Then what will you do with the ones you like?”

  Vivien smiled so big her teeth looked bigger than her face. “Anything I want.”

  Brandon looked shocked, but he nodded. “Wow. OK.”

  Oh, I agree. Wow.

  “You are sick, V. You have no morals. You are using your position as a casting director for wish fulfillment and sexual power.” He paused. “I love you so much.”

  She threw Brandon a giant notepad and pen.

  “So you need to start thinking and start writing,” she said. “This is the movie. It’s called The Men. It’s a movie with an ensemble cast of men, and only men, and it’s the perfect antithesis to that awful movie with Annette Bening and Meg Ryan. I don’t know how young I want my perfect guy to be, so we’re gonna create five main characters. The youngest will be twenty-one, and the oldest will be forty. We will have one session for each character. We’ll start with the youngest and work our way up.”

  “So you could theoretically get with five different guys?”

  “Mmm hmm. Maybe more.”

  “More than five? Ms. Slate, I’m impressed.” Brandon continued to write furiously on his pad. “What do you want their names to be?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  “OK. The plot?”

  “Make it up.”

  “All right.”

  “But here’s a start.” She handed him a piece of paper with scribbles all over it. Vivien stood behind him and pointed down at it. “This has the ages and qualities I’m looking for in each actor.”

  Brandon tried to make out the awful handwriting. “So you want actors to play twenty-one, twenty-five, twenty-nine, thirty-four, and forty.”

  “Correct.”

  “What kind of genre do you want it to be?”

  “I don’t care. Just make this script good.”

  “OK.”

  “Here’s the thing,” she said. “To bring the actors in, they, as well as the agents, need a script. I mean, we know that. And they need something legitimate. Even the most amateur of young actors aren’t gonna come in if there’s no script.”

  “Right.”

  “So I need you to be on top of your game with this one.”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “This sounds like fun. How much time do you want me to work on it? Couple months?”

  She darted her eyes away from him, as if she had just caught a glance of his pubic hair. “I want the final draft on my desk by Friday.”

  Brandon just stared at her, not changing his expression. “Umm, come again?”

  “Friday.”

  “Which Friday?”

  “This Friday.”

  Brandon looked ready to either cream himself or kill himself. “You’re not serious.”

  “I am, completely. You can do it, Brandon. I believe in you.”

  “Uhhh, no. Don’t think so. Four days? That’s fucking impossible.”

  “You don’t have to work this week,” she said. “I have that new intern Alyson coming in. She’s good. I figured I’d start training her, anyway.”

  “OK but still. You want a final draft on Friday.”

  Vivien took out her pen. “Brandon, how much have I paid you the last six months?”

  Now it was his turn to turn away from her gaze. “Five grand. Maybe less.”

  “It’s been hard for you, hasn’t it?”

  “You have no idea.”

  She jotted some numbers down and ripped a check from her checkbook. “You deliver me a well-written, polished script that doesn’t deviate from my notes by this Friday at twelve noon? This check is yours.”

  She waved it in front of his tired eyes.

  “Is that a ten?”

  “That’s a ten.”

  Now he really looked like he was going to faint. “TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS!”

  “Ten grand. I want to release the breakdown on Friday afternoon. I want to start seeing actors the following week. I’m serious about this, Brandon. Dead serious.”

  He remained standing, looking as if he wanted to bounce out of the building, run to the nearest mountainside, and bust out a ballad like Julie Andrews.

  She sat back down and scooted her chair up to her computer, knowing the conversation was coming to a close.

  “You have all week to work on this, and only this,” she said, not looking at him. “Don’t let me down. This is going to be great fun for the both of us.”

  “Yes it will,” he said. “It most certainly will.”

  She heard her office door open. When she turned her head around, he was already gone.

  -25-

  The last four days had been so devastating that Vivien decided on Monday afternoon that she was going to take the next four days off… by focusing solely on work.

  There was so much going on in her little casting bubble, especially given that Brandon wasn’t there to help, that she didn’t have time to think about much of anything besides her job. She had a session on Tuesday afternoon for Throes of Death, then the real session for Christmas in Quebec on Thursday morning. Vivien had gotten so used to having Br
andon set up all the sessions and confirm all the actors that she felt like she had time traveled back to 1990, when she was assisting her old boss Janice, sorting through a crinkled up old agency book, asking a temp at CAA if Kim Basinger would read for their director and, if so, take her top off.

  Alyson was brave that week, taking everything on as if she had been working for Vivien for months. She got to work super early, stayed until nightfall, asked Vivien good questions, and caught on quickly. Vivien recognized within a few days that Alyson was bound to become her star intern of the decade.

  “Could you get me a Diet Coke?” Vivien asked Alyson on Tuesday. Alyson didn’t respond with words. She responded by presenting Vivien a Diet Coke, ice cold, already opened.

  On Wednesday Vivien walked into the office to find everything—papers, books, and files—completely organized. She would’ve yelled at Alyson if she hadn’t categorized everything so damn well. The books to all her projects were on a shelf in alphabetical order, and the casting director and agency books were spread out on the intern’s desk like an assortment of encyclopedias.

  When half of the actors didn’t show up for the Throes of Death session—Vivien tried to face the fact that this project just wasn’t any good—Alyson took it upon herself during the lunch break to call in more suitable actors for later in the day. When the director was about to leave due to the bad turnout, a barrage of actors, young and old, mostly inexperienced, showed their faces and ended up bettering nearly every actor who had come before. Vivien still needed to cast Christmas in Quebec, but her auditioning work on Throes of Death was finally done.

  ---

  Friday rolled around and Alyson was still giving 110 percent. Vivien walked in around eleven to find the intern organizing yet again. She handed Vivien all her phone messages, organized by time of the call, of course, as well as a surprisingly fresh cup of coffee.

  “Here you go,” Alyson said.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  “Happy Friday, huh?”

  “Uh huh.” Alyson responded like a robot. Vivien assumed Alyson wasn’t one to go out and party on a Friday night. She pictured Alyson going home after work and just staring at a blank wall all weekend, counting the minutes until she could return to the office on Monday morning. But there was nothing negative to report. The girl busted her ass, and Vivien was impressed.