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“Hanging in there. See.” He flipped the phone to show Drew where he was, hanging above the set with the crew and the cameras far below him.
“How long have you been up there?”
“Feels like forever. Waiting to fight the Trikillion or some shit.”
“Why?” Drew wondered.
“Long story. I meant to call you. I lovedDead of Winter. It had meat on the bones. Great movie,” Griffin said with genuine enthusiasm. That was the name of Drew’s breakout Sundance hit about the dead cowboy. The lead actor was rumored to be up for an Oscar.
Drew cut to the chase: “I’m about to go into production on something I think you would love. It’s a little more grounded.”
“Grounded would be nice,” Griffin said, his feet dangled in the air.
“It’s a small indie. I’m paying favored nations. Scale plus ten. Amari Rivers just signed on. Love for you to play opposite her.” Griffin knew that Amari was rising, as the agents would say. She was a singer, actress, YouTube celebrity. And damn talented. And the tub scene inBeer Boyhad everyone talking. “It’s a small indie. Shooting in the middle of nowhere. Finger Lakes. Upstate New York.”
“What’s the story?” Griffin asked, waving to the director that he was not ready. It didn’t matter. A crane started moving him around in front of the green screen.
“It’s about a couple that meets in second grade, and they go from friends to boyfriend and girlfriend. Always finding their way home to each other. It’s likeBoyhoodmeetsWhen Harry Met Sallywith one of those you didn’t see coming endings.”
“I’ll do it,” he blurted out.
“Don’t you want to read the script?”
“Of course,” Griffin said, a little embarrassed by his eagerness. “Send it over.”
Over the course of the day, as he battled Robotrons and acted across from a tennis ball that took the place of a space creature to be CGI’d in later, Griffin read the script and loved it. He hated the title. But inside the script was a tender story about a couple that destiny wanted to bring together but fate had other plans. And the ending—he loved the ending. It was shooting in a small town where the screenwriter grew up. Griffin had grown up on the backlot of a movie studio. He wanted something real. This movie would get him out of LA to Upstate New York. And there was nothing more real than a Christmas movie shooting in July. It was a great part, and it would lift his spirits. He found himself humming, “We need a little Christmas, right this very minute…” Yes, this was going to be great.
The moment the director yelled “It’s a wrap,” Griffin ran from the overproduced sci-fi pic into a waiting limo and got on the plane to Buffalo. He felt great escaping Hollywood until—
***
“They found me!” Griffin shouted out to his driver.
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about, sir.” The driver looked out and saw that the magnificent Belhurst Castle built in 1885 was surrounded by a mob of young people, mostly teenage girls. Griffin’s fans—the Griffineers—had found him. Someone had leaked his travel info.
“Fuck me,” he said out loud.
“I think everyone out there would love that chance, sir.”
Griffin ordered the driver to stop the car. They were far enough away to not be noticed. Yet. The limo straddled the street and the entrance to the Belhurst castle. Griffin noticed a young college couple walking around the limo. He rolled down the window.
“Hey, you want to make fifty bucks?” Griffin realized that didn’t sound too good, so he added something worse: “Take off your shirt.”
“I’m not into that, man,” the guy in the Hobart and William Smith (HWS) shirt said. Luckily, the young woman recognized Griffin.
“You’re that actor, Griffin James.”
“I am. And I could use some help.”
“The Griffineers,” the co-ed said. “We saw them. Read about the movie. Cool.”
“You know what else is cool? Twenty-four-hour limo service. Give me your shirt, hat, and sunglasses, and I’ll give you fifty bucks and the limo for the day,” Griffin said. “You okay with that?” he added to the driver.
“It’s all overtime to me.”
Griffin and the guy did a quick exchange of shirts. They were about the same size. Griffin got out of the limo, grabbed his luggage, and put on the shades, blending in like a local college kid with the HWS shirt and baseball hat. He had instructed the limo and the students on what to do. The limo would approach (it did), the Griffineers would notice it (they did), the guy in the back would then roll down his window just enough to extend his hand out the window and give the fans a thumbs-up. He did. And they went nuts. Screaming. Cheering. The limo would then start pulling away slowly so the fans could follow it. As the pied piper limo and fans cleared the front of the building, Griffin walked up to the beautiful castle entrance.
Drew was waiting outside the entrance, distracted by his phone.
