Page 4 of The Actor: Harrison

One thing I’ve never liked about this industry is that you have to attend parties like these. They’re so fake and you have to kiss asses to get what you want. If you’re a woman, you have to suck at least a couple of dicks if you want to be taken seriously.

This is why I never made a big splash in Hollywood. I’m not willing to compromise and I have to fight like hell just to land an indie movie with a low budget and a lot of extra work. But I’m happy with that. I don’t want to mix my art with mediocre blockbusters that just fatten the pockets of big production companies.

“You look like you want to bolt any second now. Don’t do it. You fought tooth and nail for this project. By some miracle you got the attention of one of the biggest producers in Hollywood; don’t waste this chance because you’re allergic to this industry,” she says with a serious expression.

She’s right. I played my cards right. I used all the connections I had to gather a bigger budget for this movie and I’m willing to do anything to bring it to the screen. Well, almost anything. I’m not going to have sex with anyone for it.

“Let’s find Kevin and see what we can work on,” I suggest, reaching out my hand and inviting her to lead the way.

We make our way to the middle of the dance floor, dodging people grinding against each other. I swear to God I saw Harrison Bates putting his hands on Samantha Wild. Doesn’t he know she’s married? The truth is, he probably doesn’t even care. He’s the golden boy of Hollywood, with his perfect blond hair and striking blue eyes. He represents all the reasons why I don’t like this industry when it comes to big names.

“Here you are!” Kevin’s booming voice diverts my attention from pretty boy.

“I promised you I’d come, and here we are!” I shout over the loud music.

He laughs at my response and I can see Harper next to me chuckling. Am I so predictable that everyone thought I wouldn’t come?

“I was sure you’d stay away from this place,” he remarks.

“If you want, I can walk out and you’d never know I was here,” I suggest, more as a hope that he agrees than an actual joke.

He laughs. I don’t.

“No. Walk around, mingle with people. We need more money for your movie. Shake your pretty ass in front of some rich producer and open his wallet,” he suggests and I feel my skin crawl.

Kevin is one of those who wouldn’t say no to an offer for a blowjob in exchange for some favors. He wouldn’t push it on you, but if you offer, he’ll gladly oblige. This is why he’s celebrating his divorce. He’s also someone with an exceptional nose for good movies. If he smells something worth his money, he puts in every effort for it to succeed. That’s why I put up with him—his misogynist remarks, his fake tan, and that hair that’s way too dyed for his age.

“I’m not kneeling in front of your friends,” I point out and he rolls his eyes.

“I know you don’t do those things, but it never hurts to be nice.”

“I’m always nice!”

“No, you’re not,” both Kevin and Harper say in unison.

I look at my friend in disbelief.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. I’ve seen grown men walking away crying after talking to you,” she remarks and Kevin laughs.

“It’s not my fault they’re so insecure they can’t take having their flaws pointed out,” I scoff and they both roll their eyes this time.

“Just be nice and bring home some money. We need it,” Kevin says before turning around and walking away.

The truth is I don’t know what to do. I’m awkward in these situations and when I’m nervous I tend to blurt out everything that’s on my mind. It’s not like I try to offend people on purpose, but I tend to say what I think and sometimes those things aren’t nice.

“I saw a director I want to talk to. See you in a bit?” Harper asks.

“Wait! You can’t leave me alone!” I plead.

She raises a scolding eyebrow.

“Okay,” I concede. It’s not like I’m a toddler who has to be supervised all the time, but I feel more confident when I have her around.

She disappears between famous Hollywood actors and waiters serving champagne. I make a turn and scan the crowd, looking for a group of people big enough they won’t notice if I slip into the conversation. I spot some not too far from me—a couple of well-known actresses, three producers with their wives, an award-winning director, and two other men I don’t know. I approach the circle as they’re talking about something I don’t get so I just listen to the conversation.

A couple glances at me, but the cheap dress I bought two years ago at the mall and the unfamiliar face don’t grab their attention, and they just keep talking about their weekend at Saint Barts. Another couple just got home after a three-week retreat in Aspen. I can’t even think about not working for three weeks straight. If that happened, it would mean one of my projects flopped and I’d be desperately looking for something else to take its place.

I listen to their problems about yachts being too big to fit into some ports, pet therapists that can’t understand why their dog keep stealing food from their plates, or the embarrassment of their credit card being declined while they were buying art in Dubai.

---