Page 30 of Hollywood, Ending

“Yeah, sorry. What?”

“Juniper transparently and authentically likes you, and you transparently and authentically like Juniper, and this transparent and authentic fondness should be regularly reinforced to your followers, which Juniper has been doing magnificently.”

“Well, isn’t Katie the Publicist doing the actual posting?”

“Another thing you need to understand is that Katie is Juniper, and that I am you, at least for the next twenty-three days.”

“So I should give you my Instagram password.”

“Also Facebook,” she said. “You aren’t dating anyone, are you?”

“Not really?”

“No.”

“What?”

“If you’re not really dating someone, no, you’re not dating anyone. Yes, you’re single. No, you’re not in a relationship, and yes, you transparently and authentically like Juniper. Will they? Won’t they? That’s what we’re going for here.”

“Right, yeah,” I said. “No, I’m not in a relationship.” I wasn’t, either. There was this girl in New York I had been out with a few times. She was a grad student at Columbia studying something called “social virology.” She was smart, and interesting, and attractive, but she wasn’t especially nice. On our last date, she had called me “fascinatingly undereducated,” which stung because I was undereducated, and I felt it all the time. Everyone knew more than me about everything—about wine and about strains of weed and about Russian literature and about social virology. I was always behind in every conversation.

“Kai. Your socials.”

“Yes?”

“Are you literally not hearing the words I’m saying?”

I literally was not hearing the words she was saying.

“We’ve got your Insta and Facebook verified. You don’t have a Twitter, correct?”

“Correct.”

“Well, you do now. You won’t ever have to think about it. Listen, your socials are great. We just need to up the PPD a bit. I can post for you—with your approval of course.”

“PPD?”

“Posts per day. I know it’s a lot. But when you see the movie, you’ll understand. It’s a special film, and you are a revelation in it. But we’re gonna be heavily reliant on social to promote it.”

“Okay,” I said.

“What’s your Insta pass?” I gave it to her, and my Facebook, too. She stood up, ruffled my hair like I was a little kid, and said, “I’ll let you get ready. So excited for you.”

_____

While I was in the shower, Agent Bob called me and left a voicemail. I listened to it on speaker while lying in a Hotel Bel-Air robe on the Hotel Bel-Air bed. That bed was so nice it made me almost feel like I was weightless, like I wasn’t even in a body.

“Kai, it’s Bob. I know young people don’t listen to voicemails but I gotta tell you kid I’m so proud of you and what you’ve achieved and so excited for the future. I got a call from the head of the studio this morning and he said he saw the movie and you’re an epiphany. That’s what he said. An epiphany! Don’t fire me when you blow up, okay? I’m kidding but I’m not kidding. I’m setting up a meeting with Brian. He wants to talk to you about Gods of Andromeda. Wants you to test this week while you’re in town. With Juniper already cast it’d be great for us. Same studio, same power couple. Not that you’re a couple of course. Unless you are. None of my business! Enjoy this, Kai! This is as good as it gets. You’re going to absolutely explode.”

5

It’s not really hot in LA, even though the sun is always shining. The air feels like nothing on your skin. Los Angeles is the opposite of weather. I went down the three elevators, got lost in the winding paths of the Hotel Bel-Air, and eventually found the entrance, where several black SUVs were lined up. Windows tinted. I wondered if they were full or empty.

I was wearing black jeans and a Mountain Goats T-shirt. Over by the valet stand, an old guy was smoking a cigarette. He was a famous actor, but I couldn’t place his face or remember his name. William something. One of those guys who has been in a hundred movies, but you don’t really notice him.

Ellen appeared and said, “Thanks for dressing up, Kai.”

“Was I supposed to? I can chan—”