by Hazel Jacobs
“You must be Natalie Summers, it’s a pleasure.” He offers his hand, and I take it—it’s super soft. “I’m Magnus. We spoke on the phone.”
“Yeah,” I say, slightly shocked I’d forgotten the man’s name. I remembered the way his voice had sounded and what he’d said, but the name itself was superseded by all the other stuff he’d been telling me at the time.
I decide I don’t like that—the idea that I can go through a whole conversation without remembering someone’s name. I’ve always had problems with names, but at that moment, I I’m determined to do better. I don’t want to be one of those people—whether my fame is a fifteen-minute thing or a lifetime thing—who forgets people’s names?
Magnus Burns is my new manager as of last night. Usually, people meet their managers and get to know them before they sign on the dotted line, but all of this took place so quickly. I don’t think any of this happened the way it’s supposed to.
In person, Magnus has slim shoulders and a clean line of hair over his chin which looks well-groomed and cared for. His suit is tailored, and his shoes are shinning to perfection. He has a calming presence which I’d gotten a hint of on the phone but appears a lot stronger in person. He seems like the type of guy who might smile at strangers on the street and return someone’s wallet after they dropped it.
“And you are?” Magnus asks, speaking directly to Shane.
Shane practically flings me out of the way to gain access to Magnus. “Shane Vicars, best friend and moral support.”
“I remember,” Magnus says, his hand lingering over Shane’s as they gaze at each other. “You’re in a lot of the videos. You have talent.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere.”
I roll my eyes and wonder if Shane pursuing my manager is going to be a problem down the line.
“Maybe you guys should be signing him, too?” I say, taking a seat.
“I’m sure we’ll consider it,” Magnus says, releasing Shane’s hand but giving it a lingering look before he joins me at the table. Shane is practically vibrating with glee when he joins us. “Now, to business. First of all, how are you?”
I have to think about that.
My first response is fine.
My second response is I am freaking out all the time.
Yesterday, one of my lecturers stopped the class so he could take a selfie with me for his daughter, which led to a round of selfies and autographs. Shane was keeping tally next to me, and, eventually, this drew the attention of the campus police.
I was asked to leave campus.
Actually, I was kicked off campus because people wanted to take pictures with me—that’s how quickly this YouTube viral thing has escalated.
The interviews I agreed to at the start of the week have been done, and new people call for interviews every day. Some of them are from my home town in Michigan, while others are from as far away as Australia. I’ve found myself talking long into the night, getting very little sleep—and what sleep I have had has been broken by anxious dreams where I lose all my teeth, or I’m falling off a damn building—and generally being on the edge of my seat all the time.
People who didn’t even know I existed last week have been calling to ask about my process for making videos. Why I make the videos I make. What inspires me. What clothes I wear. Who my celebrity crush is. I’m starting to wonder whether this is going to be my life from now on because if it is, I think I’ll have my fingers crossed for this fifteen minutes of fame to be over sooner rather than later.
“It’s overwhelming,” I tell Magnus.
He nods, his lips pursed, and I get the distinct impression he’s heard the same response before. “I think it will be overwhelming for some time. Sudden, viral fame is a bit difficult to deal with. Just think, though, you went to college for the arts, right? Success in the arts generally requires fame. You’re just experiencing your success sooner than you would have otherwise.”
Shane said that last night.
“I said that last night!” Shane declares my thoughts.
“Great minds,” I mutter. “And I do get that, but it doesn’t really make it any easier. I guess… I guess what I need is a plan. I need to know what’s next. I don’t think I can keep going making these tiny YouTube videos, and getting kicked out of school because people are swarming me.”
Not that I’ll stop YouTube. I like YouTube. It’s fun, and if that’s where I got my start, then I think I should at least try to stick to the platform.
Magnus seems to get that, though. He nods sympathetically and opens the laptop at his elbow—a MacBook I only just realized was there—and clicks around for a second. “I’ve come up with something. I’d like your input on it, and, of course, this is your career we’re talking about, so you get veto power over everything. But since I know you want to work on Broadway someday, and I know where you’ve gotten your start, this is what I think we need to do to help you get there.”
I nod and lean over so I can see the screen. Shane is leaning, too, but I think it’s mostly so he has an excuse to get into Magnus’ space.
The plan seems remarkably complicated and yet completely simple. It’s all about figuring out what I have to do to arrive at my ultimate aim—to act on Broadway. There’s even a slight tangent at one point so I can try my hand at other acting, like in movies and television. Magnus says he figured I might like to at least have a taste of those things before I make up my mind and fixate it on Broadway.
“Of course, I’d be lying if I said it wouldn’t be more lucrative if you were to go into television or film or aim for a professional music career,” he says. “Bass Note would make more money that way than if you made it on Broadway, but we don’t believe in shoving people into roles they may not like. However, you never know…” and he gives me a sheepish grin, “… maybe you’ll like television work as well?”
I laugh at him. The longer I look at the screen, the more grounded I feel.
Immediately, I can tell he’s done his homework. A lot of these ideas are ideas I’d already had myself—use YouTube as a platform to develop and try new things, but also take music and acting lessons. Since I’ve got a lot of AdSense and subscribers from YouTube already, there’s a following. So one of the first things Magnus wants me to do is capitalize on that by going on a tour.
“A tour?” I ask.
“That’s right,” Magnus replies. “It will take about two months to finalize dates and locations. Do you think you can plan a show by then?”
“I… uh…”
“She can do it,” Shane says, cutting me off before I have the chance to put my foot in my mouth.
I ask, “Music or skits?”
“A bit of both would be ideal,” Magnus replies. “It will allow you to showcase all of your talents and give you the chance to build a portfolio for the next stage.”
The next stage is to devote several months to Broadway auditions and TV pilots. Magnus even has a note in the document—Make an announcement that Natalie will be taking a break from YouTube during this time—so the plan is for me to keep uploading YouTube videos while I’m touring? That sounds like a lot, but other YouTubers have done it. Granted, they were more talented than me. But still… I can do that… maybe.
Two months to write a show. Actually, it sounds doable—completely doable. It’s the type of project they have us practice at Vassar, where students pretend they’re going to be performing and plan the event right down to the budget and the size of the entourage.
“I see the two months of planning has some time built in for auditions?” I say, pointing to the screen. “And interviews?”
“That’s right,” Magnus says. “You’ll need to do a lot of press between now and when the tour starts to maintain your momentum.”
“I get that…”
Magnus pauses as he’s scrolling through the screen looking up at me with a slight frown. “What’s wrong?” he says.
“Nothing, nothing, really. I actually like it.” All i
t needs is a book deal, and I’ll be a full-blown YouTube entrepreneur cliché. “I guess I just worry that maybe I’ve skipped a step. I feel like it should have taken years to get to this point.”
Magnus clicks his tongue against his teeth and nods. Shane reaches over to rub my back in slow, even circles, just like we used to do in the drama workshops to de-stress from a long day.
“That’s actually a pretty common reaction to this particular type of viral fame,” Magnus says. “Imposter syndrome. And I’m going to tell you what I’ve told every artist I’ve ever worked with… nowadays, no one consumes media that they don’t have to. So if you’ve gone viral, it’s because you’ve tapped into something authentic in your audience. You have that talent, and because of that, you deserve to be where you are.” He reaches over and puts his hand on mine, and I feel again how remarkably smooth his skin is. “Other people might be just as talented, or even more talented, but that doesn’t make you less deserving. I promise.”
Shane’s looking starry-eyed, and I wonder if he’s going to propose to my manager right here and now. I’m starting to feel a lot better—the walls in the room don’t seem as close as they had when I’d started to feel that way, and the colors aren’t as stiflingly bright. I think I’m going to like working with Magnus.
“Okay. Thanks.”
Magnus squeezes my hand and pulls away turning his laptop screen back toward himself and typing something. “Now, you mentioned you were being swarmed on campus?”
“It’s no big deal,” I say, shrugging it off. “I just… a lot of people wanted pictures, and eventually, campus police were called.”
Magnus frowns a little as he looks at his screen. Carefully, he maneuvers his mouse around clicking several times. While he’s working, Shane leans over to rest his chin on my shoulder, smiling when I glance down at him. I’m glad he’s here, even if he hasn’t really contributed much beyond making it very clear he wants to have my new manager’s babies. I’m more into buff, muscular guys myself, but I get Magnus’ appeal.
It makes me wonder if Magnus had been serious about signing Shane. Shane is more of an actor than a musician, so Bass Note probably wouldn’t be the best fit for him in the long run. But wouldn’t it be wonderful to share representation with my best friend? Wouldn’t it be wonderful if, while I was making a name for myself on Broadway, he came with me to some of my auditions and was discovered?
“I think,” Magnus says, drawing me out of my thoughts and back to the matter at hand, “… we should get you a bodyguard.”
“A… woah… that’s not really necessary, is it?”
Magnus’ eyes flicker to me before turning back to the screen. “We would have arranged for personal protection for the tour, but since you still go to school and are surrounded by fans, you should have protection. I don’t believe you want to drop out, and we don’t want another Hannah Marks.”
I wince, and I feel Shane tense. Hannah Marks was killed outside one of her gigs about a year ago. She was meeting fans, and then some man with a gun put an end to her and her YouTube career.
At first, my brain tells me it could never happen on campus, before I remember all the campus shootings that have happened in the last year, and I feel ice creep into my heart.
Even if it’s unlikely, is it worth the risk?
Am I already at the point where I need to worry about people trying to kill me?
“I guess… if you think it’s a good idea.”
Magnus nods. “I do. I’ve changed around the budget, and we shouldn’t get hit too badly with the fees. I think in the long run, you’ll benefit from this. Consider it as inspiration. Maybe you can write a song about him.”
I nod, too troubled by the idea to really speak. I look down at myself at my pink dress and short legs. I’m athletic, and I look good on camera, but I couldn’t ever hope to defend myself if someone wanted to attack me. I’ve never even been in a fight before. Most people are surprised by that. They see the color of my skin and think I must have at least gotten into a hair-pulling contest or something, but it’s just not a reality for most of us. I can’t even think of anyone in my immediate circle who’s ever been in a fight.
Wait, I think Shane punched a Trump supporter once. That probably counts.
“When do we meet the man?” Shane asks.
“How about I arrange a meeting… next week?” Magnus asks. I realize he’s looking at my schedule, and I realize I don’t know my schedule.
“Can I… have a copy of my schedule?”
Magnus gives me a sympathetic smile. “I’ve just sent you the Google calendar link. You’ll be able to see everything. We haven’t budgeted an assistant for you, but I imagine for the first few weeks it’ll mostly be phone interviews and a couple of TV appearances. We can arrange cars for you for those.”
“Great, thanks,” I say. I’m starting to feel slightly overwhelmed again.
“Let’s talk about the tour,” Magnus says. “What do you think it should look like?”
I blink, thinking hard. I can’t offer him any concrete details because, obviously, I’ve never thought about going on tour before. I start to flounder before I have a sudden shot of inspiration and pull my phone out scrolling through my videos.
“Why don’t we brainstorm some stuff while I’ve got you here? What’s the budget?”
I can tell I’ve said the right thing. Magnus scoots closer to me in his chair, leans over, and looks at my screen. Shane is leaning in as well, his fingers tapping on the table in that restless way he has when he’s delighted by something.
This is really happening, I dimly think as I open the video that started it all.
I’m a viral YouTube star, and my management is so protective of me that I’m getting a bodyguard in a few days. This is my life now.
I hum the lyrics to ‘Love on the Brain’ by Rihanna under my breath as I tap my finger on the table in front of me, patiently keeping the tempo of the song that’s been stuck in my head all day. I’ve been working on my lyrics like crazy, but sometimes the words don’t come, and I need to listen to something else to get some inspiration or see how the pros do it. Rhianna is always a great start.
As I stare around the café, I consider whether it would have been a good idea to bring Shane along with me. He was great moral support when I’d met with my new manager. Of course, he might have been too good—Bass Note has taken an interest in Shane just as they did with me. That’s one of the reasons he couldn’t make it today—he’s been in meetings all morning.
He could have made it. If I’d asked, he would have rushed over after the last meeting and been by my side while I met my new bodyguard. I just hadn’t asked.
I’m a big girl. I can meet my own damn bodyguards, thank you.
I tuck my hair behind my ear and turn my head slightly when a group of teenage girls comes into the café. It’s not that I think I’ll get swamped here, or anything—people are still talking about my videos and sharing them—but I haven’t reached full Jennifer Lawrence status yet. I had become used to keeping a low profile after a week spent lurking half-hidden in the shadows on campus.
Not even two weeks on the popular culture radar, and I was already taking precautions. What does this mean for the future?
The girls pass right by me, and I adjust my sunglasses. I’m an asshole wearing sunglasses indoors and sipping a mocha frappuccino with a fake name on it. If Shane could see me, he would smack these glasses right off my face. I’ve got a faded pair of coveralls on and a light, pastel pink shirt underneath. My hair is loose over my shoulders and chest falling in straight lines.
Next to my elbow, my phone rings. I quickly scoop it up and check the caller ID. Unknown.
Wearily, I answer it anyway. “Hello?”
“Natalie Summers?”
A gruff man’s voice. I start to worry, but I push down the concern. “Speaking.”
“I’m Blake West, from Shadow Corp security firm.”
My shoulders fall with relief.
“Hi, yeah, I’m at the café.”
“So am I,” Blake replies. I turn my head, but I don’t see anyone talking on the phone. “Are you wearing the sunglasses?”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be right there.”
He hangs up without so much as a ‘how do ya do,’ and I stare at my phone for a moment before swiveling around at the sound of the door opening and closing at the opposite end of the room.
Whenever I see women in movies or on TV shows who get all tongue-tied at the sight of a man, I laugh. I laugh because it doesn’t seem possible to me that a member of the opposite sex—however beautiful—could possibly make a woman short-circuit by doing nothing more than entering a room. Sure, I’ve salivated over guys as much as the next straight girl, but I’ve never seen one who made me stop thinking—one who looked so good I couldn’t imagine opening my mouth and making words come out.
Until now.
The man who enters the café stares directly at me for a moment before making his way over with purpose. He’s dressed for a New York winter. His charcoal scarf is tied in an elegant knot around his neck, and he deftly removes it, his fingers moving down to undo the buttons on his black, double-breasted overcoat. His jeans are dark and snug, but what draws my attention even faster are his eyes. They are half-hidden by a furrowed brow, dark and flickering, looking at me and then around the room and then back to me as though he’s taking everything in. Blake’s blond, tall, and his jaw looks like it could cut me.
He is, without exception, the most gorgeous man I have ever seen.
Shane is going to be spitting fire when he finds out he missed this, I think as I quickly send the signal to my legs to move for fuck’s sake!
I stand up awkwardly, nearly knocking over my drink in the process. The man stops just in front of me, his eyebrows furrowing even more.