Red Carpet Black

Chapter One

Taking inventory at Provisions was killing Orson Beck one box at a time.

There’d been a certain entertainment value when he’d first started working at the high-end grocery store, watching well-coifed wives wandering the aisles on their safaris for organic, cruelty-free, gluten-free, and perspective-free fuckery, from chia seeds to guakalemole.

Orson hated the guy or gal who’d thought this up, and double hated them if they were also the person who brought the abomination to market. He also hated every customer willing to pay for perfectly good guac to get ruined by kale. Orson hated kale, and everything it touched. Especially — he could rant about this one for hours — ice cream, which had several flavors destroyed by the bitter, chewy vegetable over in Aisle 9.

Inventory would have been the devil’s work regardless, but Orson found it an order of magnitude even more demoralizing, handling ice cream that cost more per pint than what he made each hour, and almond butter that ran twice that. Watching the wealthy, well-put-together people piling their carts with overpriced sundries because, for them, cash wasn’t too different from Kleenex, was like watching beautiful people dancing all over his dreams. It was a wonder that the checkout lines weren’t all ‘ten items or less’ because who could afford to get more than that in a single go?

The people in this fucking town, that’s who.

Orson used to find it inspiring. It’s why he’d picked this job. He’d seen a flyer in the coffee shop across the street, the Hill of Beans, advertising the job opening in the grocery store. It felt like a guiding light at the time. He’d waited with a pounding heart for the red light to turn green, knowing that he’d get the job and that somehow that would lead to him being in the right place at the right time and becoming the next big Hollywood success story, the kind that everyone loved to read about. He had been dreaming of living forever.

But that was stupid, and he was an idiot for thinking it.

Now Orson was dying, box by box, because every day shoved him further away from the life he had always believed would eventually find him, despite the terrible odds. Fresh prospects showed up in the city every day. That’s how it had been for a century, and how it would be forever. Hollywood held the promise of unlimited everything. Fame, fortune, and an eventual refuge from failure. After you made it.

But how many people would? Once Orson had been certain he’d be one of the lucky few to ooze through the cracks. Saw it as a reality waiting to happen. But that reality had turned to a fantasy, and now it was settling into a lie. Soon his son would know exactly how big a loser he was.

At least work was a reprieve from Alexis. That was the only thing making his day tolerable. He didn’t have to ignore her calls when he was legitimately at work.

Orson shook his head as he finished inventory on the hand-milled, gluten-free soap. Then he turned and--oh shit, there was Bobby Winchester.

Bobby was smiling, but Orson already wanted to be anywhere else. He’d had nothing against Bobby five minutes ago, but right now he hated the guy. Sauntering up with his little hand basket. How could he afford to shop here? They were in the same acting class. Or at least they used to be, until Orson stopped going to that one. These days, it was over his budget by a little more than a hundred percent of its price.

What up, brother? Bobby said, reaching out for a high-five.

Orson returned it, smiling wide. Hey man, what are you doing? He glanced in Bobby’s basket and saw a six-pack of Flying Dog K9 Cruiser, some of that twenty-four dollar almond butter — what the actual fuck? — and a nineteen dollar box of sustainably sourced condoms. He nodded approvingly. Looks like a party.

Bobby laughed. So how have things been going?

This was the part where Orson either made a bunch of shit up or admitted defeat.

He shrugged, then gestured around the store. Living the dream. You?

Orson didn’t want to know. Okay, not true. He was dying to. A twenty dollar box of condoms? His neighbor Lacy charged less than that for a blow job. Not that Orson had ever partaken, but Lacy used her mouth for a lot of things, including talking about all the things she used her mouth for.

Great, actually. Bobby’s smile looked genuinely bashful. Fucking actors. I got it.

Got what?

Orson had heard that he was up for playing Cobain in the biopic, but he couldn’t see him in that role. At all.

Bobby leaned forward, and in a decibel more than a whisper, said, "It. A ticket to the Onyx List."

Fuck him, of course he did.

Wow! Orson said. That’s amazing.

Yeah. Bobby nodded, grinning ear to ear. I still can’t believe it.

Neither could Orson. Except that he could. This shit always happened to him.

Every. Fucking. Year.

It came in the mail yesterday.

Orson already knew, but he asked anyway. What did it look like?

He forced himself to smile his way through Bobby’s description. Every actor who’d made it in told the same story, because even though the Onyx List had only been around for a few years now, it was already the stuff of legends.

Orson worked hard to forget about the invitations. Until now, he’d been doing a decent enough job of keeping those thoughts in the black. But now here they were again, turning him green. They always came out in November, just before the year’s Oscar bait hit theaters, when the city was feeling especially fancy. It had to happen to someone he knew sooner or later. Might as well be Bobby.

That’s really fucking cool, man, Orson said, and he really did mean it, even though it hurt.

It’s not like anything is guaranteed, Bobby said, self-effacing.

But it’s a helluva head start.

And it was. Not everyone who made it onto the Onyx List became instant Hollywood royalty, but it had been a shortcut for so many. It was the most important invitation in the most important city in the most important country in the world. Orson would die to trade places with Bobby Winchester.

Any idea why they picked you? All respect, man. We shared a class. I know what you can do. But this town …

I don’t really know, honestly. I was up for the lead in Cobain, but even I thought I was wrong for the part. He slapped Orson on the shoulder. Dude, I’ve seen you too. Hopefully whoever makes the List has seen what you can do.

"F the ‘90s was a while ago. I’m not sure anyone even remembers that show."

A long silence, because they both knew he was right.

Bobby broke it. How is Alexis?

Orson opened his mouth to explain that failure, but before he could, the universe intervened.

It made sense, in a town built around stories, where the biggest rule was putting show over tell, that Alexis was marching right toward them, dragging his son behind her.

Chapter Two

After a machine gun greeting and Bobby’s retreat, Alexis was immediately in his face.

I’ve asked you a million times not to just show up with Connor while I’m working. Orson looked at his son with apologetic eyes, not wanting him to think that any of this was his fault.

"Ohh, a million times? Is that right? Because I’ve really come down here a million times, and you’ve had to tell me every one of them. I’m that stupid. Three times, Orson. That’s how many times I’ve showed up here. And all of them were only because you did what you’re still doing, ignoring my calls. You know how much that pisses me off."

To be fair, everything pisses you off.

I don’t like being ignored.

I’m working.

You weren’t working during any of the times I called you in the morning.

I already know what you want.

Oh, and what’s that, Orson? What do I want?

Why was she making him do this?

Especially here?

Orson leaned in, then in a low voice he said, Because you want this month’s child support.

But Alexis couldn’t pass up the chance to trample on his dignity. She half-yelled, Because I want you to pay your child support?

Stop it, he growled.

You’re the one who wouldn’t answer my calls. This is your fault.

Isn’t everything? Orson looked down at Connor, who stood there mute, observing their quarrel in silence, like always. Do we have to do this now? Or here?

Maybe next time you’ll answer my calls.

Yes, Alexis. Next time I promise to answer your calls. Your many, many calls. Now can you please go so I can get back to work and we can talk about this later?

Orson had already surrendered. She didn’t have to beat him down. But Alexis was all riled up. I just hope you appreciate how lucky we are that our son has a model example at home, and that that can give him the right impression of what a father should be.

He rolled his eyes. Orson would rather get caught beating off in public than to hear another word about Alexis’ magical fiancé, Tyler Crane. He’d landed a role on a show about a hipster grocery store — Greens — which was almost exactly like Provisions. And Tyler’s character was a fucking clerk, just like Orson had been when he started working here. The irony was as unbelievable as it was infuriating. The man who mocked his existence in front of millions of viewers was also raising Orson’s son and fucking his ex-wife.

I am so very lucky, Orson said to Alexis. And to Connor, Sorry about this, buddy.

Don’t do that.

Do what? Orson asked.

You know what. Apologizing to him, like this is my fault.

Orson controlled his breathing, careful not to yell. You’re the one who put him in the Prius and came over here.

We’re not in the Prius, Alexis announced, glowing. Tyler wanted a new Tesla, so we’re in his old one.

I can totally see how my late child support is an emergency.

"It doesn’t have to be an emergency, Orson. It’s your responsibility. So just be a man and take care of it. Tyler has a job and he’s well-compensated, but it isn’t his job to provide for our kid."

Orson was boiling. It wasn’t that Tyler had so many of the things that he would give anything to get, it was that the asshole didn’t deserve them. Tyler was one of those guys who was just talented enough, just good looking enough, and just lucky enough to stumble into one fortunate circumstance after another.

Orson worked hard for everything. Even if Alexis thought his dream was dead, he definitely didn’t. He’d been working fewer hours to attend some of the more affordable acting classes, and to show up for auditions as often as he could. He wasn’t about to tell Alexis that because she’d see it as an excuse at best and pathetic at worst.

He looked at Alexis, not wanting to fight. He needed to get her out of Provisions before Lester came over and chastised him for taking personal time on the company dollar.

You’re right. I’m sorry. Things are really tight right now, and—

Why are they tight? Your place is a piece of shit and you don’t even drive.

"Can you please not curse around him?"

We’ve had this conversation. It’s dishonest. He already knows all the words, and that we use them.

Goddammit, Alexis.

Orson gave her his most charming smile. He reached out and touched her shoulder. Then in his best gentleman’s voice, he said, I’ll take care of this as soon as I can. I promise.

He wondered how many eyes were on him. It felt like hundreds.

He couldn’t have hated this more, but still he gave Alexis a smile that was really for Connor. Bobby was at the edge of his peripheral vision, pretending not to watch the show. Lester was watching and waiting.

Orson fixed her with his best smile and held it. We good?

We’re good. She finally smiled back. I’m not trying to be a bitch. But you can’t ignore my calls. We had a deal.

We had a deal.

She might as well get it as a tattoo. That’s what she always told him, We had a deal, whether that deal was explicit or not. It was her way of making the rules, of designing an argument that couldn’t be won. Orson wasn’t the piece of shit that she thought he was. She spent too much of her life pissed that he didn’t turn out to be who she’d imagined he would one day be. And now she was stuck with his kid. Who she — and the courts — would only allow him to see every other weekend. Orson felt like his son’s favorite stranger. They always had fun, but they were sort of starting over each and every time.

You’re right. We had a deal. Orson held two fingers in front of him. Scout’s Honor, I’ll have it to you soon. Okay?

Okay.

They hugged it out because that was how they always did it. Then Connor began to tell Orson about what had happened on the last episode of Crazy Town, because Dr. Nanobot had taken control of the entire Voltrosphere and now all the sharks were in trouble. It all came out in the space of a cough. Orson had to cut him off before he started the next sentence because Lester was marching over.

I can’t wait to see you on Saturday! He kissed Connor on his head.

His wife and son were seven steps away when Lester began to berate him. We’ve talked about this, Orson.

Lester would be lucky if he was only seen as a loser. The guy was twenty-five, two years younger than Orson, and he acted like managing a Provisions was his life’s dream. It was ridiculous. So was he.

But Orson still nodded and smiled as his boss gave him the Personal Time Lecture.

If someone from the Onyx List had been peeking around the endcap to watch Orson right now, they’d have to hand him an invitation. He got more use out of his acting classes at work than he did in auditions.

You’re right, Orson said. We haven’t just talked about it, we’ve talked about it four times. You shouldn’t have to remind me that I can’t put personal time on the company dollar. I didn’t know that Alexis was going to come by like that, and I didn’t invite her, so I didn’t have time to clock out. Since of course I would have, if she’d given me a chance.

Lester’s shoulders relaxed. It’s fine. Just tell her she can’t do that.

Yeah, that'll work. I’ll tell her again.

Lester left him alone after Orson made extra nice by agreeing to take Krystal’s register shift so she could pick up her sick kid from school.

This was all his fault, Orson thought as he logged into the register. He could have finished college. He should have finished. Orson had no excuse.

College should have been the best years of his life. He worked his ass off to get there, with the help of his supportive parents. But his confidence took a massive blow just three weeks in. For the first time in his life, Orson wasn’t chosen to be the lead, and he’d lost the role to Aaron Roberson, who wasn’t nearly as good an actor.

His teachers clearly didn’t know shit. That’s why they were clinging to the tails of their failed careers, rather than walking the red carpets. College was an artificial environment filled with bullshit hoops to jump through.

Orson had gone from being a big fish in a small pond, to a little fish in an ocean of talent. And so, like an asshole, he dropped out of college. His parents were devastated, and his brother Samuel was pissed.

You’ve always been selfish, but until now it was never your defining personality trait.

Ever since he’d said that, Orson and Samuel only spoke when they had to, each one waiting for the other to apologize.

Now he had to hear his parents’ disappointment every time they talked. A hum as they spoke then a ringing in his ears after they hung up. The conversations were always the same. Them mentioning all the job offerings closer to home, asking about Connor over and over, each time with a mention that they didn’t get to see him nearly enough, reminding him on repeat that they shouldn’t have to come all the way out to that California hellhole just to see our grandchild.

But Orson couldn’t go home yet. He wasn’t ready to give up. He would continue to work hard, both at his day job and at his dream in the meantime. But his customers weren’t making it easy.

At the tail end of what felt like a relentless parade of entitlement and lunacy, things slowed down enough that he could close down his register after just three more customers.

The first was a woman who added items to the belt one by one, looking at the price of each item as she did and giving Orson detailed commentary on what she thought about the price. All of them she deemed very expensive, in a varied number of ways. The second to last customer tried to quick change him.

Oh, wait, the man said, as though he were perfectly scattered. But Orson knew a performance when he saw one. I didn’t mean to give you that ten. I had a five. Can I just get my ten back and give you this five?

Sorry, sir. You just gave me a single.

No, that’s not possible. Just open the drawer, hand me the ten I accidentally gave you, then you can have the five.

Orson gave the man a look: Come on, man, what do you want me to do?

Oh never mind. I have a twenty. Just give me two tens and a five for the twenty and we’ll be even.

Orson did what he always did, thinking of Connor instead of tearing off his apron and quitting.

But the last customer in line nearly pushed him over the edge, threatening to call the police after Orson refused to allow him to return a bag of apples that clearly wasn’t from Provisions.

How did things turn out like this?

Orson Beck was supposed to be somebody, but the world seemed determined to prove that he was a nobody.

Chapter Three

Orson walked the few miles home rather than pay for a FASTr.

Alexis, Connor, his career.

What the fuck was he doing?

Orson was living with leftovers. Stuck in the unfortunate shambles of what was not all that long ago a promising life.

By the time he ascended the steps to his building, Orson felt like a bucket of nothing and hoped he wouldn’t run into any of his friends on the way to his sixth-floor apartment.

The Brick was a six-story behemoth and the street’s tallest building when it was brand new in 1921. Now the shithole was a borderline crack den, cowering in the shadows of the newer buildings everywhere around it. Most were taller, and every one immeasurably better. The boiler was broken more often than not; the elevator was a rickety coffin that worked approximately twenty percent of the time; and a healthy share of dealers, drifters, and prostitutes of both sexes wandered the hallways.

The plaque on the front read The Regency, but everyone called it the Brick. Rent was cheap, and even better, the place was close to auditions and work.

Orson went inside and opened his mailbox while making small talk with Angus, the thousand-year-old man who claimed to have been living here in the Brick since 1942, when the place apparently wasn’t a dump.

He looked at Orson and said, You know that right now, at this very second, is the oldest I’ve ever been?

Angus had a few dozen such questions and answers in constant rotation. His favorite was, So, how are you this fine afternoon?, but this one was in the old man’s top five for sure.

Me too, Orson said, stuffing a small stack of bills and bullshit into his backpack.

Are you thirty yet?

Not yet.

You will be.

I’m definitely planning on it.

Orson wondered what random thing Angus might say. There would be something for sure.

It’s true. Looking eighty is great if you’re a hundred. Angus winked.

Orson thought he looked twice that, at least. He had asked the old man his age many times. So far Angus had admitted to being over a century, seventy-four, eighty-nine, and ninety-three. Orson planned to change his bet in the pool.

Mostly, Angus just needed someone to talk to. So Orson always talked to him for as long as he could handle it, which was usually around five minutes. But every minute after that stretched to four or five times its natural length. Orson figured that he had made it deep into minute six by the time he excused himself.

There’s juice in the icebox if you’re thirsty, Angus called out behind him.

As if Orson was his grandkid, coming home from school and wanting a snack.

He eyed the elevator, but he still hadn’t burned off all his post-shift annoyance. Stairs it is.

Six flights later, he rounded the corner, smiling at the sight of his two closest friends. Sure, the Brick was a shithole, but when it came to neighbors, Orson had really lucked out.

Come to join the party? Ellis called.

Been waiting all day. Orson dropped his backpack on the landing floor and nodded at Jess. His heart skipped a beat because that first one was always lost on her.

Living on the top floor gave them a needed reprieve from the summer heat in an old beat-to-hell building that seemed to sweat from its pores. But now that it was November they were hanging out on the landing just because.

Worst customer? Ellis prompted.

A born reporter. Ellis lived behind his keyboard and was addicted to questions.

Orson thought about it then told them about his last customer of the day.

How do you know the apples weren’t from Provisions? Jess asked.

Because they looked like they came from his backyard. Or someone’s backyard. Or some crappy bodega. But they didn’t come from Provisions. Our apples look like props. God couldn’t even have blamed Eve for wanting to eat one of ours.

And he threatened you with the cops. Ellis laughed. I love it.

How much longer do you think you’ll stick it out there? Jess asked.

Orson wondered the same thing at the beginning, middle, and end of every shift.

I don’t know. Half the time I’m working, I’m sure that I’m minutes from telling Lester to fuck off. But the rest of me is scared that I’ll end up working there forever.

Ellis shook his head. No way you’re there at the end of this year.

I’m with Ellis, Jess added. You hate that place too much. You’ll find something else that doesn’t kill you inside, or at least kills you less. Just because you don’t have a dream job doesn’t mean it has to be a nightmare.

It’s not a nightmare, Orson said, now feeling guilty for all his complaining. First-world problems, right? But I’m not ready to give up on the dream.

Ellis stood there with a half-smile. He didn’t have to say a word for Orson to know what he was thinking.

You think I should just quit Provisions now and get on with it.

Ellis shrugged. You do you, man. But you gave the game a fair shake. It didn’t pan out. Stop working yourself sick. No way you would be working at Provisions if you weren’t waiting around for the real gig. Maybe look for something you love instead of waking up every day to do something you hate.

They’d had this conversation before. Ellis was one of the best humans Orson knew, but his perspective was skewed on a few things. First of all, the guy didn’t have a reasonable outlook on work. He spent all day writing his blog and doing God knows what else online and seemed to make enough doing it to buy coffee and beer.

Second, Ellis hated Hollywood.

But he was the person that Orson had come to count on the most, always willing to help in a pinch with Connor when Orson couldn’t switch shifts. So Orson took his gentle discouragement as the sentiment of a friend watching out for him.

Orson looked to Jess, wanting to hear what she would say, even though he knew that too. Right now she looked like her skin had just shrunk and she desperately wanted out of it.

He’s not wrong, she said.

Then there was quiet among them. They would need a change of topic now that this one had stalled. Orson was too deep in his dream to release it, and there was baggage between Ellis and Jess around all of this stuff. They rarely opened it in front of him.

In Hollywood terms, their friendship was ancient. They’d known each other in high school, back when they both lived in Skokie, Illinois. Orson and Jess had never discussed it directly because it was apparently part of her past that she wanted to leave behind her forever, but she had been through the Hollywood ringer, not too long after first setting foot on Sunset. She’d been on a highly promoted show on a major network that lasted exactly half a season. During the lead-up to the fall release and through the first few episodes, the town was whispering that Jess Lindley might be the next big thing.

But then her party girl ways got the best of her and ripped the dream away.

Orson wished he’d paid better attention when the story was happening in real time, but he only vaguely remembered the tabloid attention. He’d been recovering from his own fall from grace.

He wondered what that would be like, to look the end of your dream in the eye. Jess would never get a second chance because in this town that was the only thing harder to get than a first chance.

Even though he didn’t want to believe it, Orson knew he was nearing the edge of his own surrender. It grew harder by the day to maintain his faith. He wasn’t a child, but he had one to raise. He owed Connor more than he had managed to give him so far.

Orson asked Jess what he had never dared before. So, you wouldn’t ever want to go back to acting, no matter what?

Jess looked distant and uncomfortable, her eyes widening as her lips thinned. She finally said, It was an adventure, and I’m glad I had it. But no, I would never want to go through that ever again.

Sorry, he said, wanting to reach out and touch her but lacking the courage.

Don’t worry about it. Jess smiled. I wonder sometimes what would have happened if I’d never left USC freshman year to work on the show. But that’s all behind me now. I love my job and …

She didn’t have to finish. They all knew the end of that sentence.

And I’m clean.

Ellis had told Orson that quitting coke had been the hardest thing Jess had ever done.

Orson respected that. But at the same time, he couldn’t help thinking, I wouldn’t make that mistake.

I wouldn’t let success ruin me.

If someone would just give me a chance, I’ll show everyone who Orson Beck really is.

So are we gonna hang out here all night, or do you wanna go inside? Ellis nodded toward his apartment, the door slightly ajar. I’ve got some Green Unicorn.

Tempting. Ellis was a weed snob and refused to buy his herb from any of the local dispensaries, no matter their ratings on Yelp. He bought everything off the dark web, farm-direct. The best that Orson had ever smoked, and Green Unicorn was his favorite among them. According to Ellis, the strain was several generations old and could be dated all the way back to Humboldt in the early ‘70s, when the marijuana revolution was just beginning.

Normally a bowl made the bullshit better. But right now, looking at Jess, knowing how much he wanted her and feeling how much she probably wanted him, Orson knew that would be a mistake.

There had been something floating between them for a while. There wasn’t a girl in the world that he could