Chapter 1: To Tell A Tale

This meeting was the focus of the next, most important day of my life after completing my Senior Thesis. I was about to meet the group of men who would either accept or destroy me.

“I’m nervous Gregory.” I said to my dear friend as he drove.

“You’ll be fine,” he responded.

This is crazy. This man is bat shit crazy! I kept thinking as we neared the corner of Santa Monica Boulevard and Vermont. The theater we were headed to had been abandoned for eons. The thought of him bringing his associates here for a Pre-Production meeting was un-orthodox, unthought of, pure madness! Most daunting was the thought that he was about to present them to the new director for this movie they were working on. This movie they knew nothing about.

“Why Gregory, why!” I thought repeatedly, strongly questioning this man’s sanity. Yet again, Gregory wasn’t what anyone would call “an everyday Joe Schmoe” in his thought process. “People don’t just bypass ranks this way. I thank you for the chance. I do. But these guys are probably...” “Why do you care so much what people think, Victor?” Gregory asked me, looking straight into my eyes as we stopped for a red light.

“ I...it’s not that I...” I did care, I cared a lot. I hated that I cared but I did.

“Go Gregory,” I said as cars started honking behind us. Not much had changed about these streets since I was a little boy. There were still Latina moms and grandmas selling mangos on the corner, their younger kid helping them cut and bag fruit, preparing them for their eventual fate or traumatizing them into pursuing something grander. The same PayLess, Rite Aid, and even El Gran Burrito still remained. The next generation of rats and hoodlums walked by. Sure, they wore different shoes, different hairstyles, and carried on through different lingo, but they wore the same attitudes as their predecessors nonetheless. How funny, it was like finding a “ needle in a haystack”. While Silver Lake, Echo Park, and even MacArthur Park had gentrified, this area remained nearly untouched throughout the turn of the century. Mind-boggling, really. More mind-boggling was Gregory’s reasoning into buying this theaters. Why this theater out of every abandoned theater, leasing space, or remote location in this city? Why in this area, of all areas?

My brain was beginning to hurt.

We pulled into the parking lot behind the theater, which was new scenery to me because despite the number of times I frequented this theater as a child, I had never seen its parking lot. We could only afford the bus, and taking the bus to watch a double feature, Sunday matinee with my mom and sister was less stressful than this day. On this day, I would be part of the show as opposed to just a mere audience member.

“Where are you?” I texted Max. He was running late....shocker. “Are you serious?” I texted him again a minute later, dumbfounded on how for this one thing, the most important thing in both our lives, he was planning to be late. “Loser,” I thought through momentary anger.

"Don't worry about it, you'll be just fine,” Gregory said to me as we entered through the theater’s doors.

" It's..." I took it all in. The coldness of the room was the first to strike me. It was just as frigid in there as when I was a child. But this time around this frigidness was accompanied by new, unfriendly elements. Mildew, dustiness, and all sorts of foul smells entered my nostrils as I shivered, Deja Vu making its presence as I turned to look at the walls. There were posters of early 2000's movies all over them: Godzilla 2000, The Cell, the rerelease of The Exorcist, The Emperor's New Groove, all this memorabilia from my childhood resurfaced.

“When was the last time someone was in here?” I asked Gregory, as if he actually knew the answer.

“Not in a while apparently,” Gregory responded, making his way to the staircase.

“Have you even been in here before?” I asked, my brain throbbing as I questioned Gregory’s decision1making once again.

“No.” I concluded: Gregory was insane.

I couldn't believe that. How could this man, who invested so much money into buying this used up theater, not have set foot in it before buying it? I could pin Gregory for being many things, but I didn't think impulsive or neurotic would be some of them.

It was a Whole, New World for me as I made my way up the staircase, the burgundy and dark red carpet concealing the dustiness I felt in the air. I knew I was walking to the biggest trial of my life, and I was near pissing myself in the process. That coldness, that coldness just wouldn’t leave me alone as I walked closer and closer to that room: the third door to the left.

‘Where are you? You cannot be late!’ I texted Max. What the fuck was I thinking? Max doesn't deserve a chance. Any! I kept thinking as I bitched to myself about Max's usual tardiness. Him leading me on, taking my efforts for granted, every emotional and mental game he had pulled on me since we met, all of those insults! I was willing to forgive him for them. But if he was late to this…I would be the one slapping him in the face this time around.

“He'll be here. You'll be fine,” Gregory attempted reassuring me. I always wondered if Gregory was a mind-reader throughout our years of friendship, but especially on this day…

“Thank you, Gregory. Thank you for this opportunity.” I felt the need to say that; that I was obligated to thank him. Again. All I could do was thank him again and again.

“Everyone deserves a break,Victor.” Gregory stopped to look back at me as he said this. His sad, green eyes had a light in them I had only seen once before. The night we met.

I would never find the proper way of thanking Gregory, so I settled with repeatedly thanking him. Hopefully he still found my gratitude heartfelt. Yet, Max couldn't do the same for me, to life, as he had finally gotten his big break despite him doing nothing to deserve it aside from existing.

We walked, the narrow hallway reminded me of the one from The Shining. Except that instead of the two, ghastly, twins waiting for me at the end of it, I would encounter a door to a more terrifying apparition.

“I'll be there soon.” Max responded thirteen minutes after my first text. I was so infuri- ated with him that I didn't respond out of fear that I'd tell him to go fuck himself.

Gregory opened the third door to the left. The creakiness that followed sent chills down my spine. I couldn’t help but think that throughout out the ages, this vintage theater must have hosted a few ghosts. The room itself looked rather clean. I guess Gregory must have sent some cleaning service to make it presentable for this day. Or maybe the ghouls I suspected were amongst us took care of this task. There was one large wooden table, just as vintage as the rest of the building that housed it. What called my attention the most was the projector that sat alone on the far left corner of this room, all alone and waiting to be revived. “Take a seat. We’re early,” Gregory advised me to do in his usual, warm voice.

The wooden table probably hated me as I violently tapped my fingers up and down and up and down on its surface. Gregory looked tired. Gregory always looked tired. He sat there, pulling out drafts of his novel from inside his binder. The thought of Gregory slowly fading due to illness cross my mind, and reminded me of Max. Though Max had his condition under control, the fact that he could live a healthy life for the next fifty years at that, slipped from my mind. I could only envision him being in Gregory’s seat one day, succeeding past his laziness, depression; both; whatever you want to call it; falling victim to this taboo monster like so many men before him. With this in mind and resentment aside, I gave Max this one chance because I wanted him to have a fighting chance. Gregory never got a fighting chance.

“Have you taken your medication yet?” That thought always crossed my mind when I was near Gregory and say him at his weakest; but never had the nerve to ask.

“So, your associates. When will they get here?” I asked, partially hoping they’d call Gregory to cancel the whole meeting.

“I scheduled the meeting for twelve thirty” Gregory responded, still skimming through the drafts.

Another fifteen minutes of self inflicted torture. Part of me just wanted to get it over with. I need those men in here now! But most importably, I needed Max to hurry up! If they get here before Max—before the screenwriter—who the “newbie” director had brought aboard, I’d be the laughing stock. I could accept them all laughing at me. All of them poking fun at me? Pfft! I was the king of self-deprecating thoughts! Them not respecting me, not taking my work seriously due to a poor first impression? I had already accepted that. But them not respecting my dear friend, Gregory. That I wouldn’t stand for.

‘Max, answer your phone or get here. You have ten minutes!’ I texted Max. He actually had twelve minutes if we were staying true to the hour, but I was reaching my limit. I needed him there in the now! “I hate voicemail. No one ever listens to their voicemails now for days” Gregory said as I hung up the phone.

“Why is he doing this to me?” I finally voiced my inner turmoil! “Why!” I shouted, drop ping my head again the table. Gregory just looked at me and smiled a she whispered under his breath, “So dramatic…”

‘12:27...12:27:35.....12:28.’ The clock kept ticking and still no sign of Max. On the bright side, those men weren’t there yet either. Maybe they’d be late too. “Yes!!! Maybe...just maybe.” Wishful thinking was beginning to give me a helping hand.

The door slowly opened.

Three men walked in. The first of the bunch was a medium-framed man in his late thirties forties, salt and pepper hair slicked back. This man was attractive for his age: The CEO of Gorilla Production. The second man, perhaps the most intimidating in stature, the second oldest and most attractive: The Supervising Producer. He had a well-trimmed beard, vivid blue eyes, but not like Max’s. These were intense and domineering blues. These eyes called the shots. Then the last, was nothing like the other two. This man was young, maybe slightly younger than me, just slightly. This man had shaggy hair that had probably taken a good portion of the morning to tame. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but there was something about him, an invisible shroud, something ominous : The Line Producer. Then another man entered. The only other familiar face next to Gregory’s. Max, our Screenwriter.

“Just in time.” Gregory said to the men as they all began to take their seats.

My skinniness, shortness, and scrawniness all suddenly became more taxing on my psyche as I took in these men’s appearances. I gave Max the “come sit next to me” look. I had even reserved a seat for him. But no, instead he sat next to the Line Producer. “Traitor!” I thought to myself. He was still trying to get back at me, even to that very day. “We’ll never be even,” I thought as Max pulled out his phone to check my last text message.

“It’s been a while, Mr.Helm,” said the CEO.

“I’ve been busy wrapping up another production. You know how that works,” Gregory answered. I had never seen Gregory lie before.

“I’d like you all to meet Victor Alfaro and Max Hernandez, our director and screenwriter,” Gregory said, jumping quickly into introductions.

“Which is which?” asked the Line Producer in a snarky tone .

“Have you not been receiving my emails, Richie? They say clearly who’s part of the Production team, and all the other, important details.” Gregory responded, shooting down the shaggy-haired man who now had a name: Richie. Richie had no response for Gregory. “Awfully young, Mr. Alfaro,” said the Supervising Producer, the man with the domineering, blue eyes.

“Fresh out of school and on top of his game.” Gregory quickly cut short any possibility for the Supervising Producer to belittle me.

“Victor, this is Murphy Stanley, our Supervising Producer,” Gregory introduced us, finally giving the man with the domineering blues a name.

“Charlie finally found parking,” said Stanley.

“I told him to leave early. He lives right around the block,” Murphy mumbled under his breath.

“Victor and Max, I’m Spencer. Spencer Withorn,” And now the CEO had a name too. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. When Gregory told me how old you are, I was a bit worried that...”

The door opened again.

“I’m so sorry everyone. There was a some sort of wreck by Sunset Junction, right by the intersection of...” As this man excused himself, my heart dropped dead in its tracks and was followed by an abrupt flood in my head…

“I’ll always think of you when I hear that song,” Charlie said to me as we both sat in his car, drunk, listening to The Joker by Steve Miller. “ How did you get these ? They’ve been sold out for weeks!” I said ecstatically as I held tickets to The Dark Knight Rises. “You can spend the night if you want Victor. I’ve never kissed anyone before, you’ll be my first, Victor.I don’t want to have sex, I want to make love...Victor. I don’t know. This is all so new to me. A month ago I was still in the closet, now I have..a boyfriend? He’ll never forget you, Victor. You were his first.” The beginning, the climax, and the aftermath of those weeks with Charlie, they were all coming back. Years after.

Victor, Victor, Victor. The sound of Charlie’s voice lived rent-free inside my head again, even though I hadn’t heard it in years. I had learned to tune it out, along with the sound of every other man’s voice. Charlie made his way past Gregory towards one of the free chairs.

“This is Charlie, Mr. Helm” said Spencer, introducing the last of member of the Production team that needed introducing. “He’ll be our Project Manager.”

“I didn’t know you were planning on having one,” said Gregory, as he started started standing up. No. You can’t leave me! Where are you going? I thought. Gregory couldn’t leave me. One thing was working for a full nine months with Max. Despite our rocky past, I set myself up for that one. I had already mentally braced myself for that weeks ago. But Charlie...I never thought I’d see him again.

Suddenly, I became very self aware. Though my chest was filling up with sweat, a rare occurrence, I made my utmost effort to maintain a straight face. The sweat tried making its big escape through my forehead, but ultimately resolved to just expel through my hands and arm pits. Too bad the same couldn’t be said about my hair, which despite its straightness, probably rivaled the messiness of Richie’s as I took out my frustration on it.

Gregory made his way around the table, setting a draft in front of each member of the production team. As Charlie and I looked at one another, the rest of the men began to look at the work before them. There were a few minutes of complete silence as everyone just skimmed through the novel. Charlie pretended to do the same as the rest, but we’d both look at one another secretively when given the chance. So much was being said from my end through unspoken interaction, but I knew Charlie was quiet. He didn’t know what to say. He never really did.

“Catchy title,” Spencer broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity, I ended my lock on Charlie and turned to look at Max. Shockingly, I saw enthusiasm instead of fear in Max’s face as he read through the work he’d soon adapt. I looked down at the title page. I had read and reread this novel many times, but it wasn’t until now that the irony in its title began to resonate with my life....A Fairy Tale Gone Ugly.