Читать книгу Junkfood Sexlife - Jessamyn Violet - Страница 10

It was a good day to be good looking.

Gerard arrived at his audition right on time and took his seat among the other actors, glancing around as he always did to see who was better-looking or brighter-looking than him. He saw a few of his usual competitors who he’d continually proven to beat out. He felt sorry for them, really. They always looked so deflated when he walked in.

There was only one guy who looked almost as equally handsome and intelligent as Gerard knew he looked himself, and this guy was a fresh face. The new competition met his eyes, and they gazed at each other levelly.

Where had that guy come from?

Pay it no mind, Gerard told himself. You’ve beaten out bigger names than you. This guy isn’t even recognizable.

The bastard sure was handsome, though. With piercing eyes. He had “that face.”

It was probably nothing. Gerard reassured himself he’d get the part because he’d always wanted to do something like this, and he’d served his time. With a couple minor roles in major action movies under his belt, alongside a lead role in a 3-season show, he was now reaching the tier where he finally saw himself as undeniable and didn’t need to sweat it out in the waiting room as much as he used to.

He did wish that guy would stop staring at him, though. To confront the situation, he met his rival’s gaze. He was feeling charitable, so he even gave a small smile. The guy didn’t return it.

So… He was a tough handsome bastard.

Well, that was the last Gerard would try to be friendly. He took out his phone and began texting with his agent, Jimmy. His schedule was filling up fast in the few brief months he was to be staying on his favorite coast. With a force much greater than luck, he’d have to extend his stay because he’d land something good.

Jimmy was inviting him to happy hour with one of his favorite podcasts’ hosts, Matt Bogart. Fuck yeah, he wanted to join them.

“Gerard Vice!” a petite blonde called out in a voice that made it sound like he had been picked to win the lottery.

Gerard stood and looked at no one. He walked directly into the casting room, eyes fixed on the prize. Five people sat at the conference table, tablets scattered about, the newest version of super-camera set up behind them. He was familiar with two of the casting agents. One of them had cast him in his largest grossing commercial yet. He took that as a good omen and flashed them all his trademark winning smile.

“Good day, ladies and lords of the casting castle.”

Who knows. He felt like being silly. Luckily, it got a better response than he expected.

“Hey, Paul, Kathy,” he continued, slathering on more cheesy charm. “Haven’t seen you both in a while. Hope all’s well!”

Paul nodded at him. Kathy waved amicably. The woman at the far end cleared her throat and smiled.

“So, Gerard, why don’t you go ahead and state your name, and then just launch into it, give us your improvised impressions of the five characters back to back.”

After stating his name, he riffed as a Texas cowboy named Buster Spurs, a gay South African gymnast called Clarence, Billy the super nerd astronomer, Wylie Ryles, the British rock star, and Tommy Murphy, the hard-ass Boston cop.

By the end he had scrambled brains, but they felt like good scrambled brains. Like he had whipped them well enough to be fluffy. The casting directors seemed impressed. Paul said, “Go back to Wylie and tell us more about your alibi, why it couldn’t have been you who killed Marjorie.”

Automatically he slipped into his Brit rocker’s mind frame.

“I was out at the club until just past 2am, then I went home with this one model who’s shooting the cover of Vogue next month, Vanessa Butterfield. Just ask her, we spent a fabulous night together that night. Besides, I could never kill a birdie. I love them all so much. They’re like pillows from the Devine Mother. Why would we ever slash something that brings us the most comfort in the world? They’re what we live for, yeah. It could never have been me, you see, I only touch women in ways that feel damn dirty good for them. It’s a bloody tragedy, that’s what it is. I’d kill the bastard myself if I knew him.”

The casting directors gave him a short round of applause. He hadn’t heard them do that for anyone else. He left the room gliding on a slanted ray of light, glowing brighter with each of the jealous glares cast his way by the waiting room competition on his way out.

Traffic to Hollywood was the usual nightmare. When he arrived at the Mexican restaurant, it appeared Jimmy and Matt Bogart were already at least a pitcher and a half into margaritas.

“Traffic was unbelievable,” he said, sliding into the tall black booth.

Jimmy gave him a hard pat on the back and filled a margarita glass for him.

“That’s why we rarely see each other, you wannabe west-sider. Gerard, meet Matt Bogart.”

Gerard shook his hand enthusiastically. “Great to meet you, Matt. I love your show.”

“Thanks!” Matt grinned a sloppy, puppyish grin. “I’m a west-sider too. Where do you live?”

“Venice, just Rentarooming in a house on the canals.”

“I’m in Venice, too. Right behind Abbot Kinney. Little house I got a great deal on back when Venice was a place for gang bangers and broke-ass artists. Which tells you how old I am and how long I’ve lived there.”

Gerard nodded. He already knew all of this, as he’d listened to enough of Matt’s podcasts to win an I Slept With Them First trivia night.

Jimmy motioned to the waiter for another pitcher. “We gotta get you on our level. Nobody should be in El Compadre stone-cold sober. Place is a legend.”

Matt looked around. “Can’t believe it’s still standing. What a cucaracha. Gotta say, I dig this TBD 3000. Little robotic fucker has me feeling hope for the first time in a long time.”

“Is TBD going to be on your show?” Gerard asked, slurping at his margarita.

“That’s hilarious. I tried, actually. They have a strict no-entertainment policy. The New Constitution doesn’t allow it to do anything non-related to politics. But,” Matt leaned in, his dirty blond hair peeking out from his Rams hat, “I have an inside connection that assures me I’ll get selected for The Interviews.”

“Your father’s connection, I assume?” Jimmy asked.

“No,” Matt said defensively, but didn’t bother to elaborate.

“Hey, how’d the audition go, star man?” Jimmy asked.

Gerard hated when Jimmy called him that, but it was better than the occasional “little star man” his agent used when he was really drunk.

“It went really well, actually. I even got applause.”

“That’s my boy. You’re my golden ticket.”

Matt looked vaguely interested. “So you’re an actor? What was the audition for?”

“This TV series called Time’s Up. I’d be playing 5 different characters like a crazy person does in real life,” Gerard said.

Matt studied him. “Well, you must be good. I know Jimmy doesn’t take on many actors.”

Jimmy smirked. “I don’t have time for anything less than top-shelf. But listen, I wanted you two to meet for reasons other than the fact that you’re two of my favorite dudes. Matt, Gerard has a story for you that’s definitely good enough to place him as a guest on your show.”

Gerard paused from catching up on his margarita and stared at Jimmy. Then he looked at Matt. Matt raised an eyebrow and let out a girly giggle.

“Must be a good one,” he said, “because you look scared shitless.”

Gerard’s mind scanned and reviewed. When had he told Jimmy that story? Damn. She would probably murder him for telling that story. But he’d dreamed of being on the podcast from the start, and he’d always known he’d had the goods. It never felt right, though, no matter how many angles he’d tried to justify it from.

“Who do you have?” Matt asked Gerard. Gerard stared back, tongue sitting on the bottom of his mouth, motionless. Matt looked at Jimmy. “Who the fuck does he have?”

“Kristina Brightside,” Jimmy said, as seductively as Gerard had ever heard the bastard say anything.

Matt’s eyes grew huge. “Holy FUCK.” He stared at Gerard. “Seriously? This could be the most-listened to episode of my career. Seriously? You slept with Kristina?!?”

Gerard nodded slowly while deep inside his own head, hitting his brain with a sledge hammer, feeling almost free of his conscience. The damned thing was putting up an unusual amount of fight. He kicked back the rest of his drink to hasten the demise.

“When?! How?!” Matt stuttered on. “Well, we’ll get to that. Jesus Christ, kid, you’re a regular hero. I’ve never even heard of anyone who knows of someone who even got her to look their way. I can’t wait to hear this fucking story. Let’s take a car back to my place right now. I could streamline this thing to air tomorrow. Fuck.”

Gerard took a big, long, deep breath. They always said there was no telling how far anyone would go to get themselves ahead in this town.

And now it seemed he was about to find out.