I had two assistants standing by, and they smirked and looked away with amusement. I’d just finished the pita wrap one of them brought me. They’d already fixed my lipstick and checked my teeth.
“I’m not hungry, but thanks.”
“Hey, man. I’m hungry. You wanna bringmea sandwich?” A big guy with a wide smile and curly black hair leaned against the dividing ropes and grinned at Justin. That was the other thing about New Yorkers. They were not impressed by celebrities. These were my kind of people. I hope we chose a lot of them.
“Prove you’re the talent, and maybe I will.” Justin lifted his chin in challenge, before turning his back on him and focusing on me. He leaned in, resting his hand on the wall above my shoulder. “Half the reason I agreed to this show was so I’d get some time with you. My nephew is obsessed with Strength Warriors, and… let me just say, it’s become the favorite thirty minutes of my day too.” He released a slow smile, watching for a response from me.
I would not thank him for being my number-one fan. Gross. And since I couldn’t shove him away either, I settled for engaging with the heckler. I darted around Justin and gripped the rope divider. As soon as I knew the cameras were trained on us I asked, “What kind of sandwich would you like, big guy?”
The dude opened his arms wide, breaking out into a huge smile. “Are you serious? I’ve been standing in this line for five hours, and before that, I sat outside in a lawn chair for six. I would take any sandwich offered. Okay, unless it’s imitation crab. I don’t eat that.”
“One non-imitation crab sandwich coming up.” The cameras followed me the entire way over to the catering table where I made a big production of putting together a turkey sandwich and wrapping it in foil. Stanley, the director, was going to love this, which made it an even better excuse to ditch my clingy costar.
When I returned with the sandwich for my new friend, Justin was nowhere in sight. Perfect.
I kept an eye on sandwich guy as the auditions started back up and made sure to come in with him for his turn. Justin recognized him and let out a sigh, mumbling something to himself.
“Justin, old friend. I’m here to prove I have talent.”
“She gave him a sandwich,” Justin said to Doug, as if that explained the familiarity.
Doug glanced at me, and the warmth in his eyes said I’d have to share the whole story later. I couldn’t wait.
Doug looked down at his notes. “Alright, quit talking to Justin. He doesn’t like it. What’s your name?”
“Oscar Perez.”
“Are you ready to perform your scene, Oscar?”
“So ready.”
Victoria motioned for them to bring in the guy in the chicken suit. Stanley, who was proving to be a reality TV genius, had already worked up a big ‘who is the guy in the chicken suit’ promo that fans were going to love.
To Oscar’s credit, he didn’t even blink. “Hey, chicken man. Are you my costar?”
The guy in the chicken suit nodded.
“Okay, let’s do this.” Oscar took a moment to center himself before his shoulders dropped, and he took the chicken by the feathery arm. “Little brother, they caught us on the store cameras. Pops is gonna kill me for taking you along. You were the one who was supposed to go to college, get out of this dump.”
The guy in the chicken suit hung his head. “That’s only if someone identifies us. I ain’t got no record.”
Oscar leaned in. “But I do. It won’t take them long to connect us.”
They went back and forth, feeding off each other, and suddenly I could see the botched heist, chicken brother and Oscar running from the cops. They made me nervous for them, they were that good.
“I’m so glad I made you a sandwich,” I said, clapping when he was done.
Doug’s eyebrows raised. “Oscar, you thawed Frostina. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before.”
“Frostina’s my girl,” Oscar said, pointing at me.
I put a hand to my heart. “That was really good, Oscar.”
Doug made a gagging noise. “Stop fangirling all over him, Willa. Let’s see if he can sing.”
“We haven’t voted yet,” Justin pointed out sulkily.
“It won’t matter if you vote no,” Victoria said, slapping the table with her jingling bracelets. “I vote yes. Sing for us, young man. Sing to me.”
Victoria had a knack for knowing when she wasn’t commanding enough camera time. She came around the table and wrapped an arm around Oscar’s waist, looking up at him with expectant, flirty eyes.
Stanley had assured us he’d edit out any instances where she did this to anyone who looked like they might be under twenty-five. Oscar was probably closer to thirty, maybe thirty-five. There was a good chance all this would make it through editing.
Oscar swayed the two of them back and forth while “Close to You,” by The Carpenter’s, started to play. With his smooth tenor voice, Oscar took us back to a seventies classic, refreshing something originally done by the iconic Karen Carpenter. It was magical. This was it. Oscar was coming with us to Hollywood.
