Page 47 of Hollywood, Ending

“Wait, is that the entire fucking joke?”

“That’s the joke.”

“That’s not a joke,” Ellen said. “It’s a shitty morality play. Kai, welcome. Todd is ruining our evening with his humor.”

Studio Todd waved the criticism away with one hand and took a drink of his beer with the other. The waiter brought me a glass of white wine I hadn’t ordered.

“Kai, no shit you are incredible in the movie,” Todd said.

“Thanks.” The pianist playing behind Todd finished a song, and I applauded quietly but no one else did. “I really appreciate your support.”

“Well, it’s a special film,” he said. “You don’t get ’em that often. You gotta make a lot of Alvin and the Chipmunks to get an Andy Warhol Never Gets Old. Or I did, anyway. You hit a grand slam in your first at bat.”

“I’m not much for baseball,” Lon said, “but I like that metaphor. So you’re going to get behind it then.”

“We’re all the way behind it,” Todd said. “We’re going to spend twice as much promoting the movie as you spent making it.”

“Only because we made it for fourteen,” Natalie piped in. “With the most bankable star in Hollywood.”

Kathryn showed up then and hugged her way around the table, ending with me. “Kai,” she said, “Brian called me today and told me you’re taking him on a journey from Garon to Gavinth.”

“He loves a journey,” I said.

“He does. X to Y, and Y to Z. But you’ll adore him. Really. And honestly, it’s perfect synergy, because it’s great for our movie to have you and Junie in his movie. And by the time you’re done making that, I’ll steal you back to be in whatever I do next. We’ll just trade you back and forth for the rest of our careers. I love it. I am so thrilled for you. Of course, you’ll have to win them over in the room, but you will. You will. There’s never been anyone quite like you.” Kathryn grabbed a glass of wine and raised it. “Here’s to Andy Warhol and Gods of Andromeda and the mighty future of our young actors.”

Everyone toasted, and then Natalie said, “Why are we toasting a movie that Lon and I aren’t making?”

“Because Kai’s reading for the lead,” Kathryn said.

Studio Todd looked at me and said, “I like you for it, kid.”

“Thanks,” I said.

Todd motioned to the omnipresent waiter for another.

“He shouldn’t do it,” Lon said to Ellen.

“Who shouldn’t what what, Lon?”

“Kai shouldn’t take that Brian Arawas movie.”

“Fuck off. Of course he should.”

Lon took a sip of his drink.

“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked after a minute.

Lon leaned forward, his elbows on the tiny table. “It used to be. There used to be a saying in town: But can he hold a gun? You’d see somebody in something, and they’d look good. Handsome. Good actor. Natural. Big talent. And the execs would say, But can he hold a gun? Because the weird thing about Hollywood is that for all its liberal hippie kombucha peacenikking, you can’t get far if you can’t hold a gun. Think about every big actor. Tom Cruise—great at holding a gun. Arguably his biggest talent. Denzel Washington—what a fucking gun holder. Paul Giamatti? Great actor. Really. Brilliant. Can’t hold a gun, though. Just doesn’t look right. The, uh, fucking Twilight guy. Rob Pattinson. What an actor. Can’t hold a gun.”

“Lon,” Ellen said.

“There’s no guns in Gods of Andromeda,” I said. “It’s all swords and spells.”

“It’s a saying. There’s a certain kind of person who just looks all wrong with a gun, or a sword, or a magic wand, or whatever the fuck. You’re a good actor. But you try to play some barrel-chested sword-toting swashbuckler, you’re fucked. You can’t hold a gun.”

“Lon,” Ellen said again. “No career mentorship after eight p.m. Also you just want him for your next project.”

“I do have a script you’d be perfect for,” Lon said, “but that’s not it. The kid’s going to the graveyard where all the other dumb twenty-year-old fucks go if he takes that movie. We all know forty of ’em who aren’t working anymore.”