The guy…Arnold or something…closed his eyes. “I’m not…that’s not…” With a strained expression, he reopened his eyes. “Iris Studios is currently producing a pilot for a TV show. It’s about an up-and-coming rock star, struggling to navigate the dark and seedy side of show business as he attempts to make a name for himself. Think Sopranos meets The Partridge Family. Naturally, we need a musically gifted actor to play the lead. We’ve searched the world over, Mr. Hancock, auditioned dozens of musicians, but no one else will do, because no one else is you…”
By the way he said it, it was clear he was expecting some sort of response from me. I had no idea what he was droning on about though.
“What?” I said to Arnold Berkanator. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t listening. Could you repeat that?”
He looked at my glass, then back up to my face. “Maybe we should talk later, when you’re sober.”
He handed me a business card, but I swished my hand at him instead of taking it. “Nah, now is good. I remember crap better when I’m plastered. Ask the guys. I learned all our songs shit-faced.”
Arnold brought his hands to his head and started rubbing circles into his skull. Ah, he must’ve suffered from the not-enough-sex headaches that Kellan had. I’d sympathize, but I never had that problem. “Like I said, we want you to film a TV show about an up-and-coming musician. You would be the focal point of the show—the star.”
The fuzziness in my head instantly evaporated at his magic words—You would be…the star. The rock star, star. I slapped my hand down on the table. “I’m in! Where do I sign up?”
Arnold didn’t look any less confused by my pronouncement. “Do you want to hear any more details about the show, about your role in it, about our vision, about the steps we’ll need to go through to get the show on the air?”
I took a long gulp of my whiskey. It went down as smooth as apple juice now. “Nope. Don’t care. You had me at star.”
Shaking his head, Arnold said, “Well, all right…I’m glad to hear you’re on board. If you give me your number, I’ll call you tomorrow with details about the pilot.” I instantly reached into my pocket and handed him my phone. He stared at it, blinking, then he finally picked it up. “Getting a show on the air these days is a complicated process, and even great shows sometimes fail. Because of the riskiness involved, I’m obligated to tell you that we’re only filming the pilot right now. There is no guarantee the series will be picked up, or that it will remain on the air if it does get picked up. The market is very competitive, but with your high-profile status, I have no doubt that the show will be a smashing success.”
Finishing my whiskey, I banged the glass against the table. “Dude, that shit’s practically guaranteed to be gold now that you’ve got me. Just tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.” For a split second, my foggy brain started wondering if I should talk to the guys first, or Denny. As our manager, he might have an opinion about this. I immediately shook that thought out of my mind though. Those fuckers had abandoned me a long time ago, left me to rot in the shadows. They couldn’t blame me for trying to find some sunlight. And if it turned into something bigger one day…well, then they would only have themselves to blame for not appreciating what they’d had.
Arnold called himself from my phone to get the number, then handed it back to me and stood up. Extending his hand again, he formally stated, “It was very nice to meet you, Mr. Hancock, and I’m looking forward to our future project.”
Instead of taking his hand, I saluted him. “Likewise.”
He left the table still looking baffled, and a slow, simmering excitement started to bubble through my insides as I watched him walk away. You would be the star. Damn straight I would be.
Chapter 9
To Be or Not to Be…Awesome
I woke up with a pounding in my skull and little or no memory of what had happened last night. Anna screaming at me didn’t help any. “You left them with your family! Then you didn’t come home until four in the morning! Where the fuck were you?”
Fuck if I knew. I’d woken up outside of Pete’s by the Dumpster. I had some vague recollection of Rita patting my leg and telling me to sleep it off…but that could have been a dream. A really weird, fucked-up dream. “I told you, I went to Pete’s to blow off some steam, and I passed out somewhere. But I made it home in one piece, and that’s really all that matters.”
Her eyes narrowed to dark and dangerous slits. It was hot. “Yes, it’s much easier for me to kill you when you’re alive. I told you I didn’t want your family as babysitters. You should have called Jennifer. And why did you need to blow off steam? You told me you were fine.”
“And I am, kind of. I just…with everything the guys have done to me recently…I needed…” Stopping myself, I let out an annoyed huff. I was so tired of thinking and talking about the guys. When would my life ever revolve around me? A dull buzz started gonging in my brain. It was different than the whiskey headache beating against my skull. It was almost like the throbbing was trying to tap out a message in Morse code. Something had happened last night that was important, that I should remember…my mind was completely blank though.
Anna got that anxious look that unsettled my stomach. I think she was scared I was just going to up and quit or something. But where would I go? Even I wasn’t stupid enough to throw away everything for nothing. See, Chelsey, I’m not the dog with the steak. The story doesn’t apply to me.