Your Fallen Star: Under the Stars Book 1

by Raleigh Ruebins

  The man at the head of the table spoke first. I think his name had been Mr. Nyburg.

  “Mr. Stone, we are so glad to have you here today.”

  I laughed a little. “Yeah, I keep hearing that. Thanks. You can call me Leo. And… I’m glad to be here too,” I said. “So you guys want me to be in a commercial, huh?” I cut right to the chase. I was starting to get weirded out with all their niceties. And why did they have five people seeing me just for an initial meeting?

  “We absolutely do want you to be part of our novel marketing campaign, Leo. Tamara here has actually prepared a comprehensive package for you to browse through at your leisure—it has information about our products as well as the terms we are willing to offer for the campaign.”

  A woman pushed a thick and glossy folder toward me.

  “And of course, we will send you home today with one of all of our products. We definitely want anyone speaking for our company to have an intimate familiarity with our products.”

  I touched the folder with my hand, hesitating before I opened it.

  “So none of this is final, or whatever, until we talk about it and I sign contracts and everything, right?”

  “Of course, Leo. Of course. This is just our offer, and you can familiarize yourself with the terms, and with our products, before you make any decisions.”

  I nodded, then opened the folder.

  The first few pages were slick product sheets, detailing the health benefits and ingredients of all of their product line. There were lotions, body washes, exfoliants, and even some male-marketed light makeup, which I actually thought was kind of cool.

  Then I flipped to the second section of the folder, and saw the sample contract that they had provided me with.

  And I almost fell over in my chair.

  “As you can see, Leo, we are offering you a handsome amount of money. We really think you’re a great fit for us, and we’d be delighted if you’d join the team.”

  They were offering me $250,000 per commercial, and they wanted me to sign on to appear in at least 5 commercials.

  I’d make over a million dollars, just from being in a few commercials.

  “I did have a question for you all,” I said.

  “Anything, Leo—ask us anything.”

  “Um… so I see your guys’ commercials all the time. Have you ever seen The Lakeside? People call it a soap opera but really I think it’s just as good as any of those other prestige TV shows on HBO or whatever. But anyway—when I watch The Lakeside, I see Tiako commercials constantly. And they’re super well done, but… they’re always full of… young, gorgeous women. So I’m just wondering… why me?”

  Mr. Nyburg smiled and nodded. “Until now, that has been our target market—young women, aged 18-33. But really, we are now looking to expand into other markets, and we are no longer looking to just appeal to young women. And that’s where you come in.”

  I paused. “So… you’re looking to appeal to… old men?”

  Mr. Nyburg laughed, warmly and openly. “No, no, of course not old men. That’s not why you’re here at all. We are though looking to appeal to people who may feel like their… years of youth have passed them by. But we’re here to show them that those years haven’t passed at all.”

  I swallowed, looking down at the shiny folder and then back up to his eyes. “Okay. So if they see me in the commercials, they’ll see that I’m… doing well in life, and part of it is through using Tiako lotions?”

  “Precisely, Leo. I think you understand our vision perfectly. We don’t want someone like Chandler Price—someone already so polished and pristine. We want someone well-known, but that people can relate to.”

  It wasn’t ideal. In fact, it kind of made me squirm, thinking about the fact that I would be representing a group of people who had reason to believe their best years were behind them. But if the intention of the commercial was to make me seem like I was doing fantastic, then maybe it could be okay.

  And the money was certainly way more than okay.

  “We do actually have a mockup to show you—just something our department put together,” he said, turning to the big screen TV at the front of the room. And then a commercial started playing, which was apparently like a “rough draft” for what my commercials would one day be.

  It started with an athletic man running in the park. A good sign—taking care of my body was one of the things I knew I had done successfully in recent years, and I’d be happy to get a chance to show it.

  The man ran through the park on a sunny morning while a voiceover talked over the visuals. “Whether you’re just starting life, or you’re bouncing back, Tiako has the products for you.”

  The commercial then changed to an older man, with graying hair, struggling to get out of bed. He got up, almost hobbling, to his bathroom, and began to use the products. As he used them, more vitality returned to his face, and he looked happier.

  And then at the end, he went out to his front yard, where the fit, running man arrived home, embracing him in a hug.

  “Oh, that’s great,” I said, “So it’s like a May/December gay relationship? I’d be happy to be part of something like that,” I said.

  Mr. Nyburg smiled. “I’m so glad to hear that, Leo. We’ve got someone great lined up for the role of the younger man—”

  I held up my hand, signaling him to stop.

  “Wait. Wait. I would… I would be the older guy, in that commercial? The one with totally grey hair?”

  “Oh, it was just a mockup, Leo—but of course we will be able to apply product to your hair for the shoot. You don’t have to have grey hair, we will make it grey.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “So… so wait a second. When you said you want to show me thriving, you meant… show me as being years older than I actually am?”

  “We are trying to expand our market. And I know 5*Star had a lot of fans that were young women, but they also had an incredibly large fan base of older gay men. Exactly the type of market we are targeting—men who care about their skincare, and feel connected to nostalgia when they see a member of their former favorite band.”

  I got up from the table, shaking my head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can do this. No matter how good the money is.”

  “Leo—Leo, wait. I know it might be a bit of a tough sell, but hear me out. You could be working in this commercial with one of the hottest young stars today. You know who just signed on for the role of the younger man? You’ll never guess, Leo. It’s that good.”

  I sighed heavily, staring at him. “Who?”

  “Wimby Samslit. Have you heard of him? He is absolutely the hottest up-and-coming star. We’ll get the millennials with him, and we’ll get Generation X and beyond with you. Everyone will be happy.”

  And I actually laughed, the sound escaping me before I could control it. It was too funny.

  “Wimby. Wimby. You met Wimby, and you didn’t immediately want to gouge your eyes out? Thank you for your extremely generous offer, Mr. Nyburg, but no amount of money could make me work with him. Goodbye.”

  As I pushed open the glass door I realized that the nice assistant from earlier had been waiting outside the room the whole time.

  “I hope your meeting went spectacularly well, Leo—”

  “It didn’t, it went like shit, you got any of that champagne you mentioned earlier?”

  Her eyes widened, and I walked fast past her toward the elevator. She followed me in, and I jabbed the button for the lobby, and then the door close button.

  “Oh—uh—we do have champagne, on the ground floor—”

  “I was joking, dude. I don’t want champagne. I just want to get the hell out of here. Back to the geriatric ward.”

  She was silent after that, and just looked at the floor for the rest of the short elevator ride. I went back out to the valet and they retrieved my car, and then sped off toward home.

  Fuck commercials, fuck Tiako, I didn’t need it.

  I was going on the Stan
Ballard Late Night Show that night, and after the biography, maybe my life would finally go somewhere again.

  I thought of Jamie, out there writing away, not knowing that my career—and screw it, my whole life—was in his hands.

  Twenty-Two

  Jamie

  I’d been sitting in one of the conference rooms at Ella’s office building, hacking away at the nearly-finished manuscript on my laptop, when I heard a faint knock at the door.

  I turned and saw Ella at the window, smiling. I motioned for her to come in, and she came and sat at the table near me.

  “Jamie. How have you been?”

  “I’ve been… okay,” I said, not sure how else to say it. I couldn’t exactly say, “Well, Ella, other than losing someone I thought I had fallen in love with, things are just peachy.”

  I minimized the document on my laptop screen and turned to her. “The book is going really well—I actually think I’m almost done with the first draft.”

  “Wow, Jamie, that’s amazing, you’re a fast writer. Here’s hoping the editor will be half as fast as you.”

  “Yeah, it’s been happening so fast. I think most of the work is actually the interviewing process… and thinking about how to structure the book. But the actual writing has felt really natural.”

  She raised her eyebrows, smiling. “I mean, that’s why I wanted to hire you. I knew you could do good work, and so far it seems like you’re absolutely living up to that.”

  I think I probably blushed a little, squirming in my seat. “Well, thank you, Ella. It’s been a really good opportunity. So… what’s up?”

  “Well… First, I just wanted to say…” she said, staring at the table and tapping on it lightly with her manicured fingers. She was suddenly uncharacteristically hesitant—usually she spoke her mind, and was very immediate. “I don’t know really what happened with you and Leo. And it’s not at all my place to pry. But I noticed you guys have just been meeting here recently, instead of elsewhere.”

  I nodded.

  “I just want to make sure your heart is still in the biography, Jamie. Because Leo has this commercial offer, now, and—”

  “Wait,” I said softly, watching as she fiddled with her charm bracelet. “He’s gonna be in another infomercial? I thought he said he was done with that forever.”

  “This isn’t just an infomercial, it’s a genuine commercial. For Tiako personal care products. And I don’t know yet whether he’s going to do it or not, but the offer is incredible, so I’d be surprised if he turns it down.”

  “Wow,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Tiako. That’s a big deal. They’re huge.”

  She nodded. “They really are. And they really want him. To the tune of a lot of money.”

  “Oh,” I said, staring out a window. My heart sank a little, thinking of Leo doing something he hated for a large paycheck. “But… do you think Leo really wants to do that again? Just… be in commercials? I kind of have a huge point in the biography about how he’ll never be in them again. He talked about it a lot.”

  She shrugged. “It’s not too late to change the biography, Jamie. But this can probably only be a good thing. If more people see him in the commercials, maybe it’ll cause more people to buy the book. It’ll be good for Leo, for you, and for me.”

  I looked at her, unconvinced. “Okay. Not my place to say what’s best for him. But I really just… I want him to be happy.”

  “I do too, Jamie.”

  I got up, closing my laptop and pushing it into my backpack, ready to head out of the office for the day. It was only lunchtime, but I figured I’d go get something to eat, work in a coffee shop for a few hours, and then go home.

  “Oh, but Jamie—the reason I came in here wasn’t to tell you that. I wanted to let you know that Leo is actually set to be on the Late Night Show tonight.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Wait. The Late Night Show? With fucking Stan Ballard?”

  “Yeah—actually, I’m surprised Leo didn’t tell you about it.”

  I took in a breath. “Yeah he doesn’t really tell me stuff anymore, unless I specifically ask it for interview questions. But that is amazing to hear, Ella, I’m so glad he’s on a big show.”

  “Here’s the thing, Jamie, they just called me and asked if you’d be able to go in, last minute. Leo’s going to announce his biography on the show, and they said it would be better TV if you were there in the audience. You won’t have to say anything, they’ll just zoom in on your face when he mentions the book. No pressure.”

  I stared at her, blinking. “Are you serious?”

  She laughed, standing up. “Yes, I’m serious. And if you’re down for it, you better get going, because they tape at 5 o’clock, and they’re gonna want to put makeup on you first. It can take at least an hour to get to Burbank from here if you hit traffic.”

  “Holy shit, Ella. Wait. I’m gonna be on the Late Night Show… tonight?”

  She laughed at me again. “Not if you stay here all day. Now go ahead, eat some lunch, and then go, Jamie. I’ll email you the address and all the details right now.”

  I hugged her, then bounded out of the building and to my car. As I drove back to Silver Lake for lunch I realized that there had been so much Leo was keeping from me: the offer for the Tiako commercial, the fact that he was going to be on the freaking Late Night Show… it stung, a little, realizing how out of touch with his life I had become.

  But it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to be there for him, to see him announce the book on network television. Because I knew so deeply that he deserved something good. In the car I called my mom to inform her to watch the Late Night Show that night—she screamed, told me that she was already setting up the DVR, and said that I was “well on my way to winning an Oscar already.”

  I went to my favorite Korean lunch spot near my house, but the parking lot was a total mess and I almost got hit nearly 5 times, so I got the hell out of there and just went to a sandwich shop nearby. I ate too fast, then was back in my car, racing home.

  The suit I wore to Chandler’s party was the pretty much the only semi-professional looking suit I owned, so I threw it on at home and then was on my way to Burbank. Right before I left I checked the GPS for the route, and it seemed like a very easy straight shot, just heading north on the freeway.

  But when I got onto the road, I knew something had gone horrendously wrong. There had been a bad accident on the freeway, and they were rerouting people off to take another route. I knew I could just go up through the Los Angeles Zoo—but first I would need to actually be able to get off the freeway.

  And it was looking like that could take forever.

  So first, I panicked. I called Ella, who said basically what I didn’t need to hear: “Get off the freeway.” I checked Google Maps incessantly on my phone, draining the battery and only seeing the traffic get worse and worse. I pictured Leo, getting ready to tape the Late Night Show, and realizing that I hadn’t even shown up. Did he even know I was supposed to show up?

  I considered texting him, but I knew it might make him feel only worse, so that was out.

  But after an entire hour had passed, the impossible happened: the traffic inched forward. And then ten minutes later, it inched forward again. Until eventually, a half hour later, I was near the exit, and ten minutes later, I was on the offramp, and traffic was starting to move. I finally made it off, and headed north toward Burbank. Driving 35 miles per hour felt like going 100. It was pure freedom. I pulled up to the building address that Ella had texted me with time to spare.

  The buildings—plural—were huge, and I had no idea which one was the one I needed. As I rushed around trying to find some semblance of an entrance, I noticed a glint of metal across the lot. I ran over to the person and realized as I got closer that it was the guy that I had seen the other day, selling flowers for cheap.

  “Hola, senor,” he said, smiling.

  “It’s you,” I said, staring at him. “How are you all the way down her
e? Last time I saw you, you were two hours away from here.”

  “I go all around Los Angeles,” he said, smiling warmly at me. “I don’t like staying in one place. Anyone special you need flowers for today, sir?”

  “No…” I started, and took a step away. But something stopped me, and I turned back to him. “Um… actually… let me buy a bouquet.”

  “You have a special lady to see tonight, sir?” he said, smiling and opening the lid on his cart, showing me all the flowers he had.

  “No, no special lady. Just someone I’m really proud of.”

  “Everybody likes flowers,” the man said, smiling and holding up a bunch of them. I actually thought that Leo would probably hate flowers, but I hoped that some part of him would appreciate the friendly gesture. It wasn’t like I was buying him red roses or something.

  I paid the man, tipping him well, and asked if he knew where the entrance to the studio was. He had no idea.

  So I continued my search around the perimeter until I found a door that people were walking through, and I followed, walking until I hit a service desk.

  “Name, please?” A dispassionate woman asked at the desk.

  “Oh, uh, yeah, I’m here to be a sort of… guest, or, audience member? Of the Stan Ballard show.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me, totally unsmiling. “Audience member, or guest? And your name, sir?”

  “Sheffield. Jamie Sheffield.”

  She clicked away at a computer for a minute, taking two breaks to sip from her soda and stare into the distance. “Yeah, sir, you’re not in our system.”

  “I’m… Ella Lansing told me to come here. I’m a guest of Leo Stone’s.”

  “Let me call someone for you, honey.”

  She made a call and in one minute, there was a young show assistant bounding toward me, gripping my arm. She dragged me toward the elevators, using her badge to enter and pushing the button for the top floor. She talked a mile a minute, and didn’t seem to have any need to breathe. “You made it. Thank God. They were, like, completely sure you weren’t gonna show up. The show is kind of crazy tonight, so, bear with us, but… oh God, we’ve gotta get you to makeup. Is that what you’re wearing? That’s fine. It’s good, actually. Have you been on a show before? It’s okay if you haven’t. Sorry, two of the other assistants called out sick today and so it’s kinda, just, me, handling it all, and I’ve had six coffees, and I’m a little—”