Hollywood 101 Page 3

  “You look like a goldfish,” she whispered. “Not cool.”

  She moved on and, like everyone else, I watched Indie Starr and her entourage head toward a booth. The whole place had gone quiet, even the movie people.

  “Khatchadorian!” yelled Swifty.

  The shout seemed to break the spell and conversation started up again as I headed back to the kitchen. I started de-glooping a stack of plates the height of Mount Rushmore but, even more than usual, my mind wasn’t on the job.

  Indie Starr!

  I was so wrapped up in my Hollywood daydream that I didn’t notice how much time had passed. Then a shadow fell across the sink.

  I looked round and saw the big guy-who-might-have-been-Hector.

  “I didn’t mean to—” I began, but the big guy-who-might-have-been-Hector held up a paw.

  “Miss Starr has requested a meeting outside in her car, sir,” said Hector—I’m gonna call him plain old Hector because it’s kind of boring calling him the big guy-who-might-have-been-Hector.

  “With me?” I looked around, half expecting to see he’d been talking to someone else. Someone famous. Hector just nodded.

  “This way, if you please. Miss Starr doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

  I WALKED OUT of Swifty’s in a daze.

  Hector held open the door for me and we walked quickly across to one of the shiny black cars. He went to the back door and opened it. I looked at him nervously and he gestured for me to get in. Was I going to be whacked for being rude to a movie star?

  I put my head inside, feeling like one of those dudes at the circus putting their head in a lion’s mouth.

  There, sitting on the backseat, was Indie Starr herself.

  “I am so sorry, Miss Starr,” I said. “I didn’t mean to—”

  “Get in,” she muttered impatiently. “And quit apologizing. You didn’t do anything.”

  I got in. Indie Starr turned to Hector.

  “We’ll be five minutes, Hector,” she said.

  “Mr. DeMartelli said not to—”

  Indie Starr cut right across Hector. “I don’t care what Mr. DeMartelli said! Go!”

  “Of course, Miss Starr,” said Hector. He closed the car door and walked off about ten paces, where he stood waiting like some kind of robot.

  “You have to be firm with them,” said Indie Starr. “Otherwise they’ll boss you around.”

  I nodded, like I gave orders to bodyguards every day.

  “So, anyway,” I said, “like I was saying, I—”

  Indie Starr shifted in her seat and looked at me. “Still the same old Spartacus,” she said.

  “Yeah…I guess. Eh? What?”

  Indie Starr took off her sunglasses, put on a pair of regular black glasses, and smiled. I heard a funny buzzing sound in my ears.

  “It’s me,” said Indie Starr. “Kristen.”

  Then everything went black.

  BEFORE INDIE STARR pulled the old Clark Kent Switcheroo by putting on glasses and becoming instantly recognizable as my old friend Kristen Doe, I’d always sorta, y’know, laughed at those superhero movies where the superhero hides their identity by wearing or not wearing glasses.

  Now I knew I was dead wrong.

  I had had no idea that Indie Starr was Kristen, or Kristen Indie Starr, or what was going on. I only knew that it was one of the biggest shocks in my life.

  Which was probably why I fainted.

  Okay, that’s not something I’m too proud of so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t pass that around. That sort of information can be dynamite in the wrong hands. Like Miller the Killer’s, for example.

  Anyway, it was only for a couple of minutes. Three, tops.

  When I opened my eyes, Indie…Kristen…whatever her name really was…was looking at me with a worried expression.

  “You okay, Spartacus?”

  I nodded and sat up straight. “I’m fine.” I looked at her. “So what do I call you? ‘Indie’? ‘Miss Starr’? ‘Kristen’?”

  “Indie will do,” she said. “Believe it or not, that’s my real name. The Indie bit, not ‘Starr.’ That was Vic’s idea.”

  I didn’t say anything. Now I was coming round from the shock of discovering the long-lost love of my life was a movie star, I was getting pretty riled about being kept in the dark. Now I understood why she knew so much about the movies. And all the Hawaii stuff! Indie had been in that Hawaii cop show for two years!

  “I can see you need an explanation,” said Indie (it was going to take me a while to get used to calling her that).

  So she told me.

  “I GOT THE Average Joe job about six months ago,” said Indie. “It’s a pretty majorly major deal for me. I mean, I know I’m all famous and everything”—Indie put a finger in her mouth and made a gagging noise—“but this is the biggest thing I’ve ever been cast in. I wanted to get the details right. I hadn’t been a regular kid since…well, since I can’t remember.”

  “So you went undercover at HVMS?” I said. “See how us ordinary kids walk and talk?”

  “Yes, exactly,” said Indie. “You don’t know what it’s like in Hollywood, Spartacus. I go to school sometimes but it’s mostly home-tutoring. And when I am in school everyone else there is either in the movies or TV, or wants to be in movies or TV. I see more of people like Hector and Vic than anyone else, even my mom.”

  “You’ve got a mom?”

  Indie rolled her Icelandic-glacier eyes and blew out a long sigh. “Oh, yeah, I’ve got a mom alright. If I’m ever real mad at you I’ll introduce you to her. My dad’s okay, but I don’t see much of him. He’s in movies too. A producer.”

  Indie sat back against the super-squishy, super-expensive leather seats. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about what was going on, Spartacus.”

  I shrugged. Tried to look like I wasn’t bothered. Failed.

  “If the press had got hold of it the story would’ve been all over the news. And my co-star in Average Joe is a humongous star. His people insisted on a total news blackout. They’re going to make the announcement about the movie today. So, you see, I couldn’t have told you,” she said. “Plus, I wouldn’t have learned a thing.” She held up her black notebook.

  “I always wondered what that was all about,” I said. “I thought you were writing a book or something.”

  “I was, in a way.”

  Hector appeared at the window and Indie buzzed it open.

  “Mr. DeMartelli said to remind you that we have an interview with Hot TV at one, Miss Starr.”

  Indie nodded. “One minute.” She slid the window back up and turned to me.

  “I’ve got a proposition, Spartacus.”

  “Oh?” I said.

  “You wanna be in the movies?”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “I want this to feel real,” she said. “So that’s your job. If you want it. My Production Advisor. Welcome to Hollywood, Spartacus.”

  ONCE WE GOT back inside Swifty’s and Indie mentioned I was now on Team Starr, things got a little frosty. To say her decision wasn’t welcomed by everyone would be an understatement.

  No sooner had Indie gone to the bathroom when her agent, Vic “Sharknado” DeMartelli, got stuck into me. Vic was the beardy guy who, I now realized, I’d seen months back with “Kristen” in Swifty’s.

  He leaned over and jabbed a thick finger in my chest.

  “Just so you know, kid, I’m not real keen on you hanging around. But what Indie wants, Indie gets. So you get to stay, but I’ll be watchin’ you. Close. Every step of the way.”

  Worse still was the girl in white. Phroom. Yep, that’s right: just Phroom, no surname.

  Phroom (I found out later) was Indie’s full-time meditation and yoga assistant. She looked a lot like Indie. Like Vic, Phroom wasn’t exactly what you’d call ecstatic about one R. Khatchadorian coming along for a ride on the Indie Starr Express.

  “I’ve got my eye on you, Khatchadorian,” she snarled.

  I told
Swifty I had had a better job offer and headed for the car. Phroom waited until Indie was safely out of earshot and cornered me next to the gum machine. “I heard all about you. But Indie’s mine. Got it, buster? Mine. I crawled over a football field of broken glass and flames to get this job, so keep your sticky little ordinary paws off. If you want to keep ’em, that is. And remember, compared to me, Vic’s a total pussycat. Namaste.”

  I realized I hadn’t breathed the whole time Phroom had been speaking. I let out a long breath.

  I’d just learned my first Hollywood lesson.

  HOLLYWOOD 101, LESSON No1:

  EVERYONE IN HOLLYWOOD IS LOOKING AFTER NUMBER ONE.

  INDIE AND HER “team” headed back to Los Angeles while the movie crew started work in Hills Village. Things got hectic real quick.

  Item one: Mom had asked me a bajillion questions when I got back home and, I mean, as soon as I put a toe inside the door. Someone—probably Swifty—had called her to say I’d left the diner as part of Indie Starr’s entourage. She wanted to know if they’d tried any Hollywood funny business with me. I didn’t know what she meant (or I pretended not to). She wanted to know if I’d signed a contract, if I was going to act in the movie, if I could get her lunch with George Clooney.

  Take a wild guess at the answer.

  Item two: Hills Village basically became Hollywood. If the scene at Swifty’s had seemed full-on, by that evening the town was completely taken over by the movie people. Every hotel, motel room, spare bedroom, and cabin had been rented out. I found out later that the studio had also secretly fixed up with about twenty families to rent their houses to put up the crew. There were trailers parked across the schoolyard and guys wearing tool belts making stuff everywhere. There were helicopters. Helicopters. It was a total circus. It was great.

  Item three: The press came to town. Loads of them. A plague. Average Joe was a big story, partly because Indie Starr was taking part, but mainly because of the mystery co-star. Rumors were flying around about who it could be and the press were there to see if they could find out ahead of schedule. Grandma Dotty got a scare when she found one of them rummaging around in the trash early one morning…although since Grandma Dotty was still in her nightdress (the one with the holes in it) I’m not sure who got the biggest shock.

  The guy must have been trying to dig up some information on the mystery Average Joe star. I have no clue why he’d think there’d be anything in our trash, but I guess you’ll do anything if you’re desperate enough.

  HOLLYWOOD 101, LESSON o2:

  NEVER UNDERESTIMATE HOW LOW THE PRESS WILL GO TO GET A STORY.

  And Item four: I suddenly became popular. This is how nuts it got: Miller the Killer called up to see if I wanted to hang out. “I’ll get my people to check my diary,” I said.

  I was so Hollywood already.

  IT WAS THE first day of filming. I was in Indie’s trailer.

  I’ll say that again.

  I was in Indie’s trailer while she was getting the final touches to her makeup. Yes, that’s right: me, Rafe Khatchadorian of Hills Village, actually inside the trailer of a real, live Hollywood star!

  And I was going over her lines with her!

  And I was wearing a laminated “Average Joe: Access All Areas” crew pass on a lanyard! I couldn’t stop stroking the shiny plastic. Access All Areas!

  Of course, I tried to act like this was all TOTALLY NORMAL.

  “What are you grinning like that for?” asked Indie. “You look like a chimpanzee with six coffees inside him. And stop stroking that crew pass, will you? You’re making me nervous.”

  Obviously my cunning plan to act all cool and stuff was not working exactly as I’d hoped.

  “Sorry,” I said. I turned the script. (Yep, me, holding a real Hollywood script, in a real Hollywood trailer, with a—)

  “Rafe!” snapped Indie. “You’re drifting off again and you’ve got that big sappy grin. Concentrate!”

  I concentrated. Indie had sent Vic and Phroom out of the trailer earlier so she could work on her lines with me. Vic had seemed okay with that but Phroom had looked daggers at me as she’d left.

  “Broken glass,” she’d hissed at me. “Remember?”

  I was pretty sure me and her were not going to be buddying up anytime soon. I put thoughts of Phroom out of my head and started doing what I was supposed to be doing.

  “Okay,” I said, looking at the script. “So your character stands up and says…?”

  The first scene was going to be one set in the classroom.

  But get this: We were filming the scene in our exact classroom with most of the Hills Village kids roped in as extras. It was weird to the max. For a start, the classroom had been made more…well, classroomy. It looked much more like a classroom than our real classroom ever did. And everyone in the class looked like a version of themselves, only better. They were dressed better and the lighting made everyone look cool. I sort of wished HVMS looked like this all the time.

  There was massive excitement on set. Today was the day we’d all find out exactly who the Big Mystery Star was. He’d been smuggled in early that morning and was in the trailer next to Indie’s. His trailer was just that little bit bigger and just that little bit shinier.

  There was a knock and a Megalith Movies flunky put his head round the door. “On set in five, Miss Starr,” he said and disappeared.

  This was it.

  I collected the script with all Indie’s notes in the margins. The makeup artist (everyone’s an artist in the movies) swiveled Indie’s chair round.

  “Ready?” she said to me.

  I breathed deeply. “Pretty nervous,” I said.

  “You’ll be fine, Spartacus,” said Indie. The makeup artist shook her head. Wasn’t I supposed to be saying stuff like that to Indie? I made an effort to get my “cool” face on and we stepped out of the trailer.

  There was a rumble of excited conversation from the extras as they caught sight of Indie. The crew didn’t flicker. That, I discovered, was how it worked in the movies. Everyone thinks it’s all about the actors, but the crew know it’s all about them. They just carried on fixing lights, checking cameras, and generally doing all kinds of difficult-looking stuff.

  I noticed Jeanne Galletta sitting in the middle of the extras. She waved to me but I didn’t wave back. I was working. I turned to Indie and my laminated “Access All Areas” pass glinted in the lights.

  I made sure Jeanne noticed it.

  “READY, MR. MORDANTSSON?” said the floor manager.

  Knut Mordantsson let out a long sigh. “Izz ze cattle ready for ze slaughterhouse? Izz ze prisoner ready for ze noose?” he said in a voice that sounded like it belonged to someone who slept in a coffin and didn’t like garlic. He looked out gloomily across the classroom of extras and his shoulders sagged.

  “Uh, is that a ‘yes,’ Mr. Mordantsson?”

  Knut Mordantsson nodded slowly. “I am ready azz I will ever be. Let’z get siss nonsense over wiss.”

  I probably should have introduced Knut Mordantsson before but I never had a chance. Knut Mordantsson was the director of Average Joe.

  He was a tall, really old dude (about forty), completely bald, and with a face that looked like it had been hacked out of a chunk of rock—assuming it was a really miserable-looking chunk of rock. He was from Norway, or Finland, or somewhere. Indie told me that Knut Mordantsson would really rather be directing something depressing in black and white with subtitles, instead of this $125 million superhero movie.

  I was terrified of him.

  Like everyone else on the Average Joe set.

  As Knut Mordantsson took his seat just behind the camera, there was a stirring of excitement as the door to the trailer next to Indie’s opened.

  “The big moment,” I whispered to Indie, and she rolled her eyes.

  “I can hardly wait,” she said, and made a point of not looking up from her script.

  A twitchy assistant stepped out of the trailer, closely follo
wed by Indie’s co-star, his face hidden in a hooded sweatshirt and baseball cap and shades. He was holding a cardboard coffee cup. The mystery star took a sip and immediately spat it out.

  “I said almond milk, you idiot!” he screamed in a high-pitched voice and hurled the coffee to the floor. “What are you doing, trying to poison me?”

  He stomped toward the set, pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt, and handed his glasses to a shaking flunky. He took off his cap and ran a hand through a head of thick, gleaming, absolutely perfect hair. “Okay, Knut baby,” he said, high-fiving the director as if the coffee-throwing thing had never happened, “let’s shoot this sucker. Right on!”

  Jeanne Galletta screamed and dropped into a dead faint.

  Average Joe was Trey Kernigan.

  SEEING TREY KERNIGAN in the flesh was a bit of a shock. To say the least.

  Indie caught my eye and shrugged.

  “You could’ve told me it was him,” I hissed in Indie’s ear.

  “And what good would that have done?” said Indie. “You’d just have gone all freaky about it. Kernigan’s just some kid with good teeth and hair.”

  “I guess so,” I said. “And I’m friends with the Indie Starr. I’m practically famous myself.”

  “That’s right,” said Indie, “you are. Now get ready because you’re about to get the full Trey Kernigan experience. Here he comes.”

  Indie winked at me, pasted a convincing fake smile on her face, and turned round just as Trey walked across the set, bumping fists with Vic DeMartelli as he came. Well, I say “walked.” It was more of a slouch and dip, slouch and dip kind of thing. He looked like he was carrying a plate of eggs in his boxers. That’s the only way I can describe it.