Page 3 of Living Hell

“Is something wrong?” I pulled at her arm, causing her to stop.

She winced, and I was surprised I hurt her. My grip wasn’t tight. I wondered if I’d have to call for the on-set nurse if she was too dehydrated.

Right at that moment, a flash went off. I turned and found someone with a camera standing between the trailers.

Just what I needed, the paparazzi. Despite whatever was bothering Cara, she flew into action.

“Hey,” she said and ran after the cameraman. Within seconds, they were gone in between the maze of trailers. Maybe she wasn’t as sick as I thought.

Just about everyone had a trailer while filming during the middle of August in the California desert. The director wanted the oppression of the heat to show on our faces. He felt it made every reaction more realistic, but it also made it more dangerous.

I’m sure I already drank my body weight in water today, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

I knew this role was a big step in the direction of my dream—being a real player in Hollywood. Where I could pick and choose my projects and never have to worry about a paycheck like my mom did when I was young. As much as I wanted to star in a big Hollywood movie, it was only a stepping stone to running the show.

I headed off without Cara. As I reached for the door handle of my trailer, I heard someone inside. A cold shiver ran down my spine and what little moisture was left in my mouth evaporated at the sound of the female voice on the other side of the door.

I admired and feared her at the same time. One day I hoped to be strong, powerful, and maybe even a little feared like the woman yelling at someone inside my trailer.

I’d recognize that loud, southern drawl anywhere.

My agent, Babette Gotti. Why was she here? The only time she went to see clients on set was to inform them she would no longer be representing them.

I tried to tell myself I’d been through worse, which, of course, was true. There were other agents in Hollywood. Good agents. Talented agents. But the more I willed my brain into looking on the bright side, the truth weaseled its way inside and took root. Babette was the best.

Her younger sister loved my videos back when I was a Vidtube star eight years ago. I was different, talented, and like nothing she had ever seen before—Babette’s words, not mine.

We met when I was a naïve twenty-one-year-old with hopes of stardom. I had been in Hollywood for two years at that point with only a few commercials and the Vidtube channel to show for it.

It wasn’t the fame I was after, but the money. My mom and I never had any. I remember the day she had to sell what few possessions she had from her family back at the reservation she grew up on, just so we could eat and pay rent.

That was the day I started my channel back in my hometown. It took a few years to make it a success and move out West to Hollywood, but I was determined to make money and ease my mother’s burden.

Both my mother and I moved to Hollywood right after I graduated from high school and I hadn’t been back since.

Here I was with everything I wished for—fame, money, finally a leading role in a big-budget movie. I knew what stood behind the door would cause it all to slip away. I understood nothing was forever. I just figured that I’d have a little more time before it all vanished.

A cool puff of air hit my face as I opened the door and climbed the three steps into my trailer.

“And I said he makes at least five mil or so help me, Jonathan, I will haunt you. You know what I mean,” Babette said into the silver bracelet on her wrist.

She always had the latest gadgets from Silicon Valley. Babette was the kind of cool that was effortless but striking. The woman walked through a desert set and there wasn’t an ounce of sand on her. Even the dirt knew to keep its distance from her.

I stood there like a guilty child in the principal’s office. My heart pounded in my ears as I studied her, still dumbfounded that the woman was only ten years older than me. She barely looked a day over thirty. Her skin pale, freckled, and radiant.

Her icy gray eyes flickered over to me. A stabbing pain hit my heart, and I knew this was the moment when my career skidded to a halt, dying a bloody death in the harsh California desert. The past eight years rolled through my head like an old movie.

Eight years! So many people told me to give up and go back home. They told me it shouldn’t take this long to make it. Even a year ago, my mother explained that it wasn’t meant to be, but I refused. I knew patience and hard work would lead to success.

Apparently, I was wrong.

“My client’s here. I’ve got to go.” She tapped her bracelet and turned to face me.

Her fiery red hair was pulled back in a tight bun. I believed she was wearing the same navy pantsuit as when I first met her, and it still appeared flawless.

“I.D., it’s so lovely to see you again. Please, have a seat,” Babette said as her blood-red lips curved into a warm smile. She waved at our surroundings as if this was her trailer, not mine, with such a flourish that I almost believed that I was a guest inside this trailer.

I swallowed but did as she said. There was a small built-in couch with a tan zigzag pattern along the wall nearest to me. I settled on the farthest cushion from her.

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