Eli

Is everything in Hollywood fake?

Absolutely.

Does that keep people from obsessing over it?

Of course not.

I think that in the back of their head most people know that not everything is just how it seems, that the drama and the glamour and the picture-perfect lives of their idols that they see in the media can't possibly be an accurate depiction of reality.

They know this and yet they choose to ignore it. They like to cling to the idea of a perfect world where the rich and famous live in luxury and face no problems. Maybe it's inspiring or whatever, to think that there's a possibility, however small it may be, to escape the dull existence as a normal member of society and come to fame through a stupid clip on the internet or a conversation with the right person at a party.

To them, Hollywood must seem like Heaven's front yard, just a step away from not having to worry about anything ever again, like money and popularity are all it takes to have peace of mind. And so they keep watching, keep clicking, keep buying. Keep wasting their time following stories and scandals that publicists think up over their lunch in the cafeteria.

I suppose I was one of those people, a few years ago. But not anymore. Not since I've had the chance to meet some of those characters from the TV screen in person, without a camera in and a smile on their face. 

Celebrities lead a strange life that is constantly torn between extremes: They rise mile-high into the sky and then they crash hard. Some of them don't survive the rise because they start to fly too close to the sun. Others don't make it through the fall, when everything they had goes up in flames. Either way, they burn. There's no spark left in the eyes of those I've talked to in interviews, no trace of the charisma they exude on people's flat screens. 

Being a journalist is an odd profession because on one hand I want to tell the readers all of this, but on the other I know that I need to cater to the illusion if I want the magazine to be bought. It was easier when I had only just started working for Insider, perhaps because I hadn't met many of the burn-outs yet. Reading my more recent articles it is more obvious that I'm torn. 

And it doesn't just stand out to me; the red markings are becoming more and more frequent in every draft that I hand over to Liz, the unlucky editor who is usually the one to proof-read my work. TS is what she has scribbled next to at least five lines in the article I'm flipping through right now. It's her abbreviation for Too Snarky or, alternatively, Too Sarcastic, neither of which the readers of Insider can apparently handle. 

It's not something I can easily avoid and by now I'm getting sick of straightening it out afterwards. Perhaps it's not just my articles but me who is TS. 

Sighing, I lean back in my chair and look around the office. It's pretty deserted by now, most of my co-workers have gone home already. When I glance over at the big clock hanging above the printers, I am surprised to see it's already ten in the evening. The only people still sitting at their desks are those who have to meet a deadline tonight, which I don't.

Usually I don't like delaying unfinished work, but my enormous lack of motivation and the way my back cracks as I stretch a little convince me to call it a day. The sounds of typing and a phone vibrating somewhere, along with some muttered replies to my "See you" follow me into the corridor as I leave.

I want to head straight for the elevator in order to get home as quickly as possible, but then my eyes fall onto the door to my left, which is slightly ajar. My boss's name, Kara Sharpe, is glinting on a small metal plate below the number of the room. I've been here dozens of times and Kara and I get along well, but I still get nervous every time before I enter, probably due to my history of having a bit of a problem with authority figures. Even if they're only ten years older than me and 5'3'' tall.

Knocking twice, I push the door open to reveal the room behind it. My boss looks up immediately, a smile forming on her face as she sees me. "Hello Elijah. Is there anything I can help you with?"

I take her question as an invitation to enter. "Hi. Do you have a minute?"

Kara nods, setting down the paper she has just been reading.

"Listen, it's about that promotion we've been talking about?" I ask as I sink into the chair on the opposite side of her desk.

The smile on her face only wavers for a second before she pulls herself together and nods politely, gesturing for me to go on. 

"I kind of need it soon. I don't mean to be impolite," I say quickly. "It's just that I really need the money and we've been talking about it for a while now..."

Kara is silent for a moment, brushing a strand of her wavy brown hair behind her ear. I don't like the look on her face, pursed lips and a small furrow between her brows. It usually doesn't mean good news. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do about it at the moment," she says, confirming my suspicion. "You'll have to wait."

I shift a little in my seat. Discomfort and anxiety are making me fidgety, but I'm determined to not let them show on my face. "How long?"

A small sigh slips past her lips. She looks weary in the pale neon light from the ceiling lamp. I'm sure she already regrets staying longer at the office tonight. "I don't know. I understand that this must be frustrating for you, but there really is nothing I can do right now, especially not without the consent of the board."

Frowning, I ask: "What exactly needs to happen so I can get promoted? What are we waiting for?"

Kara's eyes wander across the room, looking anywhere but at me. "I'm going to be honest with you, Elijah. You know how much I appreciate you. How talented I think you are. And you are one of the best writers here. It's just that your articles haven't been the best lately. They're..." She gesticulates helplessly while she struggles to find the right words to tell me how much I suck. "They're negative. Bitter. Like you had to force yourself to write them because they were something you had no real interest in. And if I can pick up on that, so can our readers." She sighs again. "They don't want to read about how hard the show biz is and how most newcomers never manage to make it. They want to read about the big successes, stories about people who were like me and you and rose to the top." She falls quiet and finally looks at me. "Do you understand what I'm getting at?"

During her ramble, a lump has formed in my throat. What she's said is really just a summary of what all the red markings should have already told me. Still, it hurts to hear the words out loud. "Yes," I say through gritted teeth. "So, is there any way for me to get promoted or is that it? I'm just too negative to earn enough money to pay my fucking rent?"

Kara winces and I immediately regret everything I've just said. It's not fair to lash out at her when everything she's said is true. But by now I'm getting desperate. It's not just the letters from my landlord which are piling on my kitchen table that make me feel sick to my stomach, but also the thought of my family. 

It's been almost a year since I've graduated from college. The fact that I was even able to go there was some kind of miracle; my parents had been saving a lot of money for the sole purpose of sending me there, and I had been jobbing to afford it for years. In the end, I'm not sure if it was worth it, to be honest. All that going to college and becoming an English major have changed is that I now know some fancy words that no one ever uses in everyday conversation and that I'm 24,000 dollars poorer. Splendid.

My parents haven't asked me to pay them their money back, and I know they never would. But I also know that they need it. I have four younger siblings and all of them will want to go to college in a few years, but considering my parents' income, the chances look small. But I want them to live their dreams. I want it so bad it hurts.

So I've been saving money wherever I could over the past few months, have bought no new clothes or any unnecessary supplies, have ridden my bike to work to save gas money, have even given up on showering with hot water. And still, it's not enough. The sums I send them every month are pathetic, barely enough to pay for their weekly groceries. 

Gazing at Kara, I know that she would probably give me a sympathetic smile and some encouraging words if I told her all this, but I also know that she's not the type of person to give me a raise simply out of pity. So all I mutter is: "Please Kara, is there no way that I can be paid more? I... I could work overtime or-"

"You know I'm not allowed to let you do that," Kara interrupts me. "There really isn't anything I can..." She slowly trails off, her eyes drifting to a piece of paper on her desk. I crane my neck to see what is written on it, but she picks it up and skims through it before I can tell anything beside that it's an e-mail that she has printed out. 

Patience really isn't my strong suit, so after a few seconds of waiting for her to continue, I ask, jerking my chin in its direction: "What's that?"

Kara's eyes shift to rest on me again. There's a thoughtful frown etched on her forehead as she studies my face. "Well, this is just a ridiculous idea that Tom and I had..." she mutters, referring to our editor in chief. "You know Nathan Lowe, right?"

I can barely hold back a snort. Of course I know who that is. Labelled the heartthrob of our entire generation (which is a bit of a stretch, if you ask me), Nathan Lowe has made a name for himself making mediocre pop music and nursing his golden boy-image ever since he won some boring casting show four years ago. I expected the hype around him to die down a few months after, but surprisingly, he has made his way to the top of the album charts and become a household name.

He's one of the few people in Hollywood who doesn't seem like they're going to burn anytime soon, but who knows? Maybe he's just doing it quietly. 

"What about him?" I ask.

Kara glances at the door like she's worried someone might come down the corridor and hear her. Then she says, speaking in a low voice that has me leaning closer: "There's been talk from a credible source about an idea that Nathan's marketing team has pitched... I don't know if you've noticed, but he hasn't made it onto the cover pages for a while now. It's probably because he hasn't released any new music recently and there've never really been any scandals he's been involved in, being the sweetheart he is..."

I roll my eyes at this. Of course Kara likes him. Everyone does. I'm not quite sure why; I don't buy his good boy act. There's no way that someone like him is the angel that the press makes him out to be, but I seem to be the only one who thinks that. 

She continues, unfazed. "They want to change that. And you know one of the best ways to get onto the news?" She only waits for a second, not really expecting an answer from me. "Dating rumours. Relationship drama."

I lean back in my seat and cross my arms in front of my chest. "I don't understand how all of this has anything to do with-"

She cuts me off before I can even finish my sentence. By now she seems thrilled by the idea she seemed hesitant to talk about at first, sitting up straight and twirling a pen in her hands. "I'm getting there. So, Nathan's marketing team wants him to date someone, publically. But not just anyone, apparently. I'm not quite sure why, the details get a bit fuzzy here, but they've taken it upon themselves to arrange for some sort of casting for a potential partner for him." I open my mouth, but again, she intervenes before I can speak. "And get this: From what I've heard, they want it to be a guy."

Now that's a surprise. "Why?" I ask and can't help but to frown. "Won't people get worked up about that? I can't imagine that everyone would be on board with their celebrity crush turning out to be gay-"

"Of course not, but this is not about popularity," Kara answers with a knowing curl of her lips. "It's about being as scandalous and in-your-face as possible. It's about money and business and publicity, that's it. LGBT couples are a thing that makes for conversation in the media and the marketing team has realized that this is a way to create a stir and bring more attention to their product. Easy as that."

"I guess," I reluctantly say. I don't like the sound of that at all, of using sexual orientation as a marketing gag. Just one more piece of evidence of how fucked up Hollywood is. "Is he even into guys?"

Kara shrugs. "Who knows, really? There isn't a single report or picture or anything that gives anything away about his love life. Either he honestly doesn't have one, or he's done a damn good job at keeping it under wraps." A sly smile forms on her face. "So, what do you think? Interested?"

Not understanding what she's getting at, all I do is stare at her. Finally, realization dawns upon me and I shoot her a dark look. "You can't be serious. Why the hell would I want to pretend to date Nathan Lowe?"

"Because of the money," Kara simply says. "It would be your task to gather inside information that we can use. It's nearly impossible to find out stuff before all the bigger magazines have already been all over it. Plus, you could inform us where Nathan and you are so we could send a photographer there to take pictures. That way we don't need to buy photos off of paparazzi, you know how expensive that is... In turn, you would get a raise and a bonus for every piece of information you can get us. How's that sound?"

"Ridiculous," I retort. "You do realize that's illegal, right? Isn't that violating his right to privacy or something?"

She waves her hand dismissively. "It'll be fine as long as you keep your mouth shut and nothing leaks out."

I'm not convinced. It sounds like an insane plan and the glitter in Kara's eyes, somewhere between greed and childish excitement, isn't exactly reassuring. "It's too dangerous. Won't they do a background check and all? I mean, we're talking about smuggling me into the life of an insanely famous celebrity. Surely they would have ways to find out who I really am and connect me to Insider-"

"How would they? You've used a pen name ever since you started working here and they'll hardly have access to your bank account to see you're being paid by us."

She's right about that, I guess. The stuff I'm writing in articles isn't always nice, and because I don't particularly like the thought of angry fans showing up at my doorstep to seek revenge after I've ripped their idol to shreds, I never use my real name. Still, I don't have a good feeling about this.

"Thanks, but I think I'll pass," I say.

I'm about to get up and leave, but Kara starts talking again. "What is it, Elijah?" She asks provocatively. "Don't like the thought of being with a guy?"

I raise a brow. "I think that thought would've occurred to me before dating one. Or six, if we want to be precise."

The look on Kara's face, taken off guard and wide-eyed, makes me feel a little bit smug, but she regains control over her facial features all too quickly. Beaming at me, she says: "Even better. At least one thing you wouldn't have to fake."

"Forget it," I say, shaking my head. "I'm not doing it. It's too much of a risk. Ten dollars more a month aren't worth a lawsuit."

"Who's talking about only ten dollars?" Kara asks. "Obviously the raise would be considerable. We're talking about at least 500 dollars more a month, plus... let's say, around 80 dollars per piece of information you can deliver. And of course you would also be paid by Nathan, and though I don't know the exact sum, I'm going to guess it's between two and three grand a month."

My mouth goes dry as I try to digest those numbers. It's more than I've expected, more than I dared to hope. More than enough to support my parents and keep the wolf from the door for at least a little while. "Well, uh..." I stammer, unsure of what to say. 

Kara smiles in a way that tells me she knows exactly that she has me wrapped around her finger. "Think about it: Free housing in a mansion somewhere in Beverly Hills, free food, probably some fancy dates out in L.A. and all you have to do is send me an e-mail a few times a week and tell me about what's going on. It's easy money, Elijah, and you would help the magazine a ton. You know how our sales have gone back recently and stories about Nathan Lowe always sell... Of course there would be a bunch of other people I could ask who I'm sure would be delighted at the chance-"

"Fine," I hastily say. "I'll do it."

She nods, not at all surprised. "Awesome. All you have to do is send a three minute video of yourself to this e-mail address." She slips me the piece of paper she has been reading earlier. "Remember, there probably are dozens of other applicants, so try to impress."

"Of course," I murmur, but I'm barely listening anymore, my eyes already flying across the lines of the e-mail she has printed out. It's from one of our researchers and sums up the entire idea behind the casting and what the criteria for applicants are. Male. Age twenty one to twenty five. Fluent in English. Willing to move to Los Angeles. I look up again. "How did the researchers even find out about this? Isn't it top secret and all?"

Kara shrugs. "One of them is friends with one of Nathan's stylists, who apparently is a bit too chatty." 

"Alright..." I say, admittedly a bit overwhelmed. "Well, thanks for telling me about this. I will send in a video."

Kara nods, smiling at me. "Good. Tell me as soon as you get feedback."

"Will do. Have a nice evening," I mutter. I'm too caught up in my thoughts to hear her reply as I grab my bag and leave the room.

I know it's a stupid idea and I know it's dangerous and that the chances of me getting picked are miniscule. And yet, as I ride my bike home and already go over what I could say in the video, the feeling in my stomach isn't anxiety but a spark of excitement. I've been waiting for a change for months, something to make everything a little less hard and a little more bearable.

Maybe this is it.

And hell, even if it isn't, everything is better than being stuck in a tiny apartment in Reno, trying to compensate the ever growing stack of unpaid bills and hoping for a miracle.

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So what do you guys think? I would love to hear your opinion on this chapter, since the first one is always the trickiest to write