Stardom

     Larry Luria was not the type to march over to a stranger, introduce his hand to shake, and offer his business card. Heck, he didn’t even have the money to make a business card. But perhaps that was because he didn’t do enough networking, enough building connections that’d get him somewhere…

     No matter. He knew what he was getting into from the moment he declared to his stupefied parents as an 18 year-old that he was going to be a director. Oh, yes, he said it just like that. A director. Yes, yes, with the dramatic wave of a hand up against the sky. Or, rather, against his home’s drywall ceiling with a dog-shaped coffee stain.

     But, now, Larry was rising in the ranks. He was of greater importance.  He had been working as an assistant director for a big film studio in New York, Avalon Films, for three years now. Finally, after giving his boss, Daniel, multiple hints and suggestions throughout the years, when he formally proposed making a movie of his own to Daniel, he said yes. Now, he had everything to gain. And everything to lose.

     That’s why, after stalking Constance Sharpe on the internet, he’d seen she took great interest in Starbucks lattes, found her building, and was currently staking out the Starbucks across the street that she went to every morning. She was a rising actress during the early 2000s, the only thing that cut her ascent to fame being her kind heart. She had been donating tons of money to and promoting a nonprofit whose founder ran away with all the money and ran. They had been close friends, too. The police hadn’t cared that she claimed ignorance and innocence – they needed someone to blame, and she just happened to be close enough to do just that. The courts needed information, and all the evidence pointed to her. She had been framed. Her acting career was cut short, like a youthful, fuzzy dandelion suddenly plucked out of the ground without its permission by some child looking for entertainment.

     She was the perfect lead actress for his movie: she needed a comeback, and he needed someone within reach but still notable. She was not too famous, but just famous enough to be impressive to have as part of the cast.

     Larry saw Constance enter the Starbucks wearing long boots, their heels clicking against the pavement softly, and a brown trench coat. She seemed to be hurrying somewhere. He decided not to disturb her while she got her coffee. He knew only too well how some people fared before having their morning coffee. While he waited for her to leave the shop, he mustered the courage to go up to her. She must’ve left with that Caramel Apple Cream Latte, Starbucks’ fall edition drink, he had seen on her Instagram. 

     She walked incredibly fast in heels. She seemed to want to barrel into something, almost angry. Finally, she neared Central Park. It was quite chilly, and even the trees seemed to shiver. She decided to sit on a bench in the 72nd St. bandshell, staring out into the distance blankly. Her caramel-brown eyes looked tormented, almost. Poor thing. Larry wouldn’t be able to handle all that regret. That’s why he chose never to regret any of his choices. Not even when he bought Luigi’s mozzarella and not Mama Lucia’s and it turned out to be brittle. He refused.

     He slowly approached, wondering exactly how he could make this work. He decided to pull up his presentation on his phone, his story board and movie info folder from his bag, and sat down on the far end of the bench. She kept staring into the abyss, the blue sky. He slid closer. She took a sip without moving her gaze still. He slid closer. She sighed. He slid closer, until they were five inches apart.

     She switched to look at him, finally. He was too embarrassed to look at her, so he decided to look at the abyss, too.

     “Fine day, isn’t it?” Larry asked. She looked at him once over.

     “No autographs,” she said vacantly.

     “I’m not here for an autograph,” he said. 

     “Ha!” She made him jump. “That’s what they all say.” She took another sip.

     “Is that a Caramel Apple Cream Latte?” Hopefully she’d be impressed.

     “Yes,” she looked at him, suspicious. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so nosy.”

     “Well, I do my research, haha! You see, I’m Larry, an assistant director at Avalon Films, and I’m directing my own movie: The Anaconda Files.” He gave her his business card.

     She looked it over, yawning. She put it back in his coat pocket. “I’m not acting in any movies anymore. So leave before I call the police and say you’re harassing me.”

     He needed to turn this around, fast. He showed her his storyboard, fumbling with the flimsy folder and catching it before it fell on the ground. He tried telling her about how he could help her become a star again, but she just scoffed. You’re an assistant director at a mid-size film studio. What do you know about fame? She thought.

     Truth be told, Constance was tired. She was tired of all the sleazy agents and managers calling her up to try to convince her to be their next victim they could sink their vampire fangs into and drink dry. But she had already bled too much, and she was now just a husk of a body, hollow inside and out. She was tired of all the sad job offers from these boutique studios and small-town directors. It’d just make her feel worse to act for them. She had an ego to protect, even though it had already been broken to pieces. Most of all, she was tired of being tired. She needed a change. What could this Larry guy do for her?

     “Listen, Larry.” She put her hand on his shoulder. She knew how to reason with people. “I’ve seen a lot of directors like you. They all come to me with these big propositions, I say no. Then, a few months later, I look ‘em up, see if I shoulda agreed. But I’m never wrong. Their films either go bankrupt, or they stay a nobody that I can’t even find online, their film a very poor quality. Or both. So, I suggest you just go back to your boss and help him with those other films. Take it from someone who was once there.” 

     Constance was about to go back into her daze, settling into her familiar position - but, before she could, Larry slammed his folder down on the park bench, the poor flimsy papers. 

     “No,” he clenched his fist, looking straight at her.

     “No?” She blinked, shocked. “Larry, you’re going to have to take a ‘no’. That’s all I’m giving,” she snorted.

     “No.” He sat up straighter, with a defiant, fiery look in his eyes. “You listen, Constance. I did not scour the internet for 100 hours, stake out your favorite Starbucks for a month straight, or walk up to this dang bench to be told ‘no’. I’ve been told ‘no’ all thirty years of my life. Yes, I understand you think I’m some nobody. But I can’t imagine what that means about you - a star who fell from the top of the world.”

     She gaped at him. Larry knew she’d met her match. He was done being stomped on.

     “Just because someone tells you ‘no’ doesn’t mean they’re right. My movies are of the highest quality out there. I never sulk around, feeling sorry for myself because I haven’t made it - yet. I keep moving on, keep pushing for the next opportunity to show the world just how great of a director I am. Because I always did, do, and will know I have what it takes. Do you?” 

     He reached out his hand. Truth be told, he was terrified, balancing on a very thin tight rope. He had just insulted his best option for the lead role. But he was also tired of being belittled. He hadn’t survived his mother’s nudging that he needed to eat more as a child only to have it all end here. 

     Constance’s eyes widened to match her oval-shaped mouth. Her blonde curls floated in the wind, her long lashes blinking. She considered. She thought. Maybe Larry was right. Maybe she needed to stop harboring the past. That’d be the best kind of revenge against that despicable man she used to call a friend. She wasn’t some charity case, and she wasn’t waiting for him to come back. It was time to rise again, like a phoenix from the ashes. She liked the sound of that.

     “You’re a special one, aren’t you, Larry?” She gave him a wry smile. 

     He practically bounced off the bench. “Does that mean you’ll star in my movie?!”

     “Yes, that means I’ll be in your movie. But you have to promise me one thing.”

     “Yes, anything!” He jumped up and down the sidewalk like a kid excited to get an ice cream cone. What a strange man.

     “This,” she pointed to her drink, “is hot cocoa. Don’t tell anyone that I don’t actually get these disgusting lattes. Gotta keep up the appearances.” She winked.

     “Deal,” he said, the two shaking hands.