Shoot For Success
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There’s a saying in the world of show business: ‘Show up on time, and don’t fuck it up.’ This is usually followed by more specific rules for being an actor or actress; you should know how to cry, laugh, be sad, and play a variety of different types of characters.
If you’re not good at all these things from day one then there’s no way you’ll get anywhere with casting directors. I’ve known people who were really pretty much awful actors who made it big because they knew how to work angles, and do whatever it took to be seen as a person who deserved attention.
They would lie about their age, change their names so that casting directors wouldn’t find them through search engines, or make themselves seem like they had a whole bunch of acting experience when they actually had none.
But I was never going to have any real luck until I got some actual professional training, which is what brought me to Los Angeles. There wasn’t anyone in New York who could help me out; there were just too many people trying to break into Hollywood for even one casting director to look over everyone in the city’s worth of aspiring performers.
And besides, there was only so far a talent scout or someone from an agency who might be willing to take a girl without a portfolio full of photos, a video reel, and a resume to back it up. That’s why I came to L.A. But now that my mom had died, I’d lost a lot of motivation to continue pursuing this dream.
My mother had been the driving force behind this plan and now she was gone, and I didn’t feel like I could dedicate myself to something new while I still mourned her loss.
I looked up at the sky above Hollywood Boulevard. It was late afternoon and the sun was low on the horizon. The wind whipped along the street, making everything seem a little blurry. A few cars cruised down the boulevard past me, but other than that, traffic was relatively quiet.
I hadn’t gotten a chance to see much of L.A. yet and so I decided it was time to head out. When I left the apartment building, the lobby’s security guard waved at me from the desk. He had probably seen my face on a dozen television shows over the years and recognized me right away. His name was Jack and he always tried to make conversation whenever I passed through the lobby.
“Hey there,” he said as I approached him, “You’re working today?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah.”
He raised his eyebrows curiously. “What are you doing? What do you do?”
I told him, mostly leaving out all the stuff about being a dancer.
Jack frowned when I mentioned the money-grubbing strip club and chuckled at the part where I described the girls as being dressed like they were headed to a cocktail party rather than the stage. We were silent for a minute after that. Then Jack shrugged and said, “That’s cool,” as if it were completely normal for someone to come to Los Angeles with no particular goal in mind besides getting paid for sex.
I walked around the corner to Sunset Boulevard and turned toward the west, heading towards Santa Monica. The streets here seemed quieter than those around Hollywood, although they weren’t exactly empty either. On the sidewalks stood men wearing suits who stared blankly off into the distance as they waited for their clients to arrive.
Others wandered aimlessly around, seemingly looking for anything to keep them occupied, even if it meant standing at an intersection and waiting for cars to drive by so that they could yell for attention.
It felt a bit like walking through New York City at three in the morning during the summer: cold and depressing. People were everywhere but no one seemed to know quite what they were doing.
After about twenty minutes of walking, I spotted two girls ahead of me on the sidewalk. At first, I thought they were just regular hookers, but then I saw their faces, both beautiful, with perfect skin and dark hair, and I realized they were celebrities.
Their eyes followed me as we passed each other, but neither of them spoke to me. They had that look about them like they knew they had to be on the move, to do something, but that nothing was clear enough to them to make any sense.
As I continued walking, I noticed a lot of women passing by in short skirts and heels, most of them wearing designer sunglasses, some of them carrying shopping bags, and others looking like they were trying hard to appear uninterested in whatever was happening around them.
One group of women was dressed as cheerleaders: bright colors, big pom-poms on their shoulders. A few blocks later, I came upon a line of police officers standing in front of a squad car near the entrance of a restaurant and bar.
There were four of them, and they seemed to be waiting for something to happen; their posture suggested that they expected the rest of them to join them soon. But then suddenly, two more policemen arrived, and the six of them took off running.
They crossed the street in unison and then disappeared inside the place, laughing as they jogged into the building. They didn’t go anywhere near the front door or the windows.
There were rumors that this place was a brothel and sometimes there were police raids, but I couldn’t understand how it could have been allowed to stay open for so long. If I were the kind of guy who would get involved in prostitution, then I wouldn’t want my wife to know about it.
Plus, if a woman is going to let some sleazy man she barely knows touch her intimately, it only makes sense for her to expect a pretty big financial return for that risk. I imagined that the cops might think otherwise, but I doubted that even a sting operation would last very long against an establishment like that.
The sun was setting when I finally reached the end of the block, coming to a stop at a crosswalk and waiting for the light to change.
The street was deserted. No one moved on either side. I wondered whether the people in those apartments across the street ever bothered to venture outside anymore or if they had given up and gone back to their rooms or apartments, leaving the outside world behind entirely. For some reason, this made me feel a little sad.
A small Asian man walked towards me from the corner and I watched him pass, trying not to stare at his tight black jeans and shiny leather shoes. He had an earpiece tucked into his right lobe and he glanced quickly over his shoulder before crossing the street. It occurred to me that it probably wasn’t safe for him to be on the streets at this hour and I hoped he’d make it home safely.
When it was time to walk again, I started down the sidewalk and came upon another group of police officers who were taking cover near a parking garage, peering out at a building with binoculars. I wondered why they had chosen such a secluded area for their surveillance. The entire complex was surrounded by a tall fence and a gate, but no sign of security guards or any type of surveillance.
I continued on, passing the parking structure and coming to the base of a large wall with an iron gate set in front of it. Above me, the sky was darkening; in less than five minutes it would be completely dark. It was now past ten o’clock.
“Hey, you guys,” someone yelled, interrupting my thoughts. “What’s going on?”
Two teenage boys in blue shirts stood on the other side of the wall as I approached, holding their cell phones high in the air as if they were hoping to get the best angle possible.
“Nothing much,” one of the cops said. “Just making sure there aren’t any terrorists around here.”
“No, we’re good, thanks,” the other replied, shrugging. Then he pointed toward the building I had just come out of, indicating the place where the women’s prison was located. “But we’ve got a few prisoners who escaped a while ago, and these kids have reported that some of them might be hiding inside this thing.”
I nodded, trying to act nonchalant as my mind worked through several scenarios. These men could be wrong. And yet, it also struck me as unlikely that two separate groups of teenagers would report exactly the same thing within mere seconds of each other.
“Well, keep your eyes peeled,” I told the cops. “You never know what can happen.”
“Yeah, yeah,” one of them responded as the other waved me away. Then they both took off running down the block in opposite directions.
As I walked on, I tried to imagine what it must have been like for those girls. Prisoners of conscience, held captive because of their sexual orientation? Or perhaps they were simply caught during a raid, or maybe they committed a crime and now the government didn’t want to waste money keeping them in custody. It was hard to say.
Either way, I couldn’t imagine that they were getting the care and attention they needed. I wondered how many of those prisoners had children, and whether or not they knew about their mother’s condition. It was easy to see why some of them might want nothing more than to disappear forever…
It had become fully dark as I approached a large, white house. There was no sign of security or any type of electronic detection system. A pair of uniformed policemen stood on the lawn, talking to a short, heavyset man in a suit. They looked relieved when they spotted me approaching, and the man hurried over to meet me.
“Can I help you?” he asked, smiling. He seemed harmless enough, although I could tell that his eyes were constantly moving left and right, looking beyond me as if checking to see where the next threat was coming from. “My name is Dr. David Kline. Welcome to my home.”
He extended his hand for me to shake, but instead of shaking mine, I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him close. He squealed in surprise and fell backward onto the grass, and the cops stared at me as if I were crazy.
My eyes were wide as I stared at the man, who was still clutching at his chest. When he finally realized that I wasn’t going to hurt him, he smiled and then chuckled nervously.
“Wow,” he said, rubbing his sore backside. “That’s quite a grip you’ve got.”
“Do you know what’s happening around here?” I demanded, glaring at him with my hands raised in the air. “Have you seen or heard anything suspicious? Have you been contacted by anybody else besides the police?”
Kline shook his head no, and I released him, feeling frustrated. I wanted to shout out in rage, but there were too many people around for me to do so. Besides, I had already made up my mind. If they didn’t talk to me, then they didn’t deserve to live.
The only thing that kept me from attacking him was the fact that there were children present, and even though I’d never met them before, I did feel sorry for them. As long as they remained unaware of what was really going on, they could probably go on living normal lives.
I looked around me and saw that I was standing on a small porch overlooking a large backyard, with the rear doors of three houses opening into a narrow alleyway between the properties. On either side of the street, several dozen people were gathered in front of different locations, watching me and the policemen as they spoke to Kline.
Several of the cops were carrying weapons, and the others were pointing their fingers in my direction, clearly trying to make sure that everyone understood that they meant business.
I moved closer to the edge of the porch, trying to find an escape route should I decide to run away. Then, all of a sudden, the ground began to rumble and vibrate under my feet. At first, I thought it must be something mechanical, but it soon became obvious that this was actually happening outside.
People were screaming as trees toppled over or broke apart; windows shattered and roofs came crashing down. The sky grew darker as the clouds turned gray, and rain started pouring down from the heavens in sheets.
And all the time, as it rained down upon us, I could hear the sounds of destruction coming from far away…
***
“What do we do now?” someone shouted in horror.
“We need to get inside,” another replied.
I was walking across the yard, toward the rear door of the house. “Come on,” I yelled. “Get out of the rain! This way!”
There was confusion as people ran around in circles, trying to figure out where to go. I was heading towards the kitchen when I noticed that someone was running behind me, jumping onto the back of my legs and trying to pull me down.
I stumbled over and fell to the wet ground, causing my glasses to fly off my nose and fall into the mud. The person was laughing hysterically as I tried desperately to stand up again, but another jumped on top of me and held me down.
At least four of them had managed to pile onto me while two more surrounded me defensively. All of their hands were grabbing at my jacket, and I struggled to free myself so that I could defend myself against these underminers, but it was too late — I was trapped.
I screamed in frustration as the rain poured down upon me, soaking my shirt and trousers. I had been so stupid, trusting that everything would be alright when I stepped out of the car. What if something horrible had happened to me while I’d been waiting in the darkness, alone? Or maybe somebody else had found me and taken care of me… But who could I trust anymore?
A voice called out from somewhere nearby: “Hey, you two! Leave him alone and move aside.”
I looked up to see a tall young woman approaching. She was holding a pistol in each hand and was wearing a leather trench coat over her clothes. Her hair was tied back into a ponytail and she was smiling as if nothing bad was happening to us. I couldn’t help wondering why the hell she was bothering to save our miserable little asses? Why wouldn’t she just leave us in the rain to fend for ourselves?
She pointed one of the guns at the nearest boy who was struggling to hold me down. “You let me go right now,” she barked.
The boy quickly let go of me and then took a step back. He looked scared as he watched his friend being forced to walk away; I guess they hadn’t known who she was either. I was about to thank her for intervening when suddenly I heard gunshots ringing out.
A bullet grazed my shoulder blade and hit my jacket, tearing a hole straight through it as it tore through flesh, bone, and muscle. Blood sprayed everywhere as I rolled sideways in pain.
My vision started to blur, and I could hear my heart thumping hard inside my chest. Then all went black and it felt like I was floating above myself…
***
I’m not sure how much time passed before I woke up again. When I opened my eyes, I found myself sitting on the floor of a dark room, wrapped in blankets. The space was freezing cold, and I realized I was naked. My left arm was bandaged and my entire body ached horribly.
And the worst part was that I couldn’t seem to remember anything from before the gunshot. It wasn’t until I looked at the other side of my body that I remembered what had happened after.
The woman who rescued me, she was gone; there was no sign of her anywhere in this room. As I lay on my back and tried to get some rest, I couldn’t help wondering whether she was really alive at all. Perhaps, I thought, this was just another nightmare from which I would eventually wake up.
Then all of a sudden, I started hearing noises coming from somewhere outside the window. At first, it sounded like music, but I soon realized it was a siren, calling people to prayer at sunset. It rang out loudly and seemed to echo throughout the entire city, making me wonder if everyone else was praying with such vigor.
It made me feel uneasy, but I didn’t know why; something within me just felt like it wasn’t right. I got up and moved to the window, peering into the night sky through a small gap in the curtains. There were street lamps everywhere and lights shining from every apartment block in the area, but it seemed like nobody was home or awake.
Even the police car parked nearby was missing its headlight. Was I the only one left living in this neighborhood?
As I stared into the darkness outside, I heard a voice call out: “Hello, sir? Are you still out here?”
I turned around and saw a tall man standing in front of me. He was holding an unlit matchstick as if it were the most important thing in the world, and I couldn’t understand why he kept staring at it. His skin was pale and he was dressed in a suit and tie that looked brand new.
His hair was perfectly groomed and his teeth were white as pearls. He was handsome enough, I suppose. But he gave off a strange vibe as if he had a deep secret hidden beneath his perfect appearance.
“Do I know you?” I asked, unable to take my eyes off him.
He chuckled lightly and shook his head as if to tell me he was kidding. “No, we’ve never met before.”
I frowned and then looked up and down at myself. I was wearing the same old outfit from when I’d been mugged, and my pants had a tear running through them.
There was another bang from the alleyway outside. Something had fallen onto the pavement.
“What is it, Mr. Goudas?” said the stranger.
“Someone’s hurt…” I whispered in shock.
The man nodded in understanding. “Well, let’s get him out of there before anyone finds out.”
And without waiting for a reply, he hurried over to grab my arm and pull me to my feet. We walked to the door together, where I managed to slip into a pair of slippers before stepping outside. It was still very quiet as far as traffic and foot traffic went; I could see several of the boys from earlier walking toward us.
Their mouths were open and their eyes wide as they pointed at me and whispered amongst themselves.
When we reached the sidewalk, I noticed the man leading me was wearing a police uniform and was carrying a gun. He held my hand tightly and led the way down the street with two of the boys trailing behind. After passing the entrance to the park, we arrived at a busy intersection.
Traffic was heavy on all four corners, but none of the cars seemed to notice the three of us crossing the road. The man in the police uniform stopped at a light at the corner, and he motioned for me to join him. He leaned closer to my ear and whispered in Spanish.
“You must be thirsty,” he said in broken English. “Why don’t you get a cup of coffee while I talk to these gentlemen?”
A few blocks away from my building was a place called Coffee Time, where there was always someone sitting on a stool by the window with a newspaper in their lap, smoking a cigarette.
A couple of cops stood outside guarding the place, although they were so preoccupied with keeping the peace among the other customers that they barely paid any attention to anything going on in the streets around them.
As I stepped inside, I could hear the sound of a television playing quietly in the background, and immediately noticed one of the guys from the park watching me from across the counter. It wasn’t until later that I learned he was the owner, and he recognized me when my name came up during the interrogation after the crime, which he had witnessed firsthand.
The End