Brad
“Hold on,” I tell the delivery guy as he strolls through the gates, cradling a plastic bag to his chest. He’s wearing a green cap and jacket, the Organic Express logo plastered all over his clothes, and there’s an anxious expression in his face.
He wasn’t expecting someone to stop him.
“I’m making a delivery for Kayla, the writer for—”
“The Kings,” I finish his sentence for him, stepping right in front of him and flashing him my best actor’s smile.
The moment he realizes that he’s face-to-face with one of The Kings’ main actors, his jaw almost drops to the floor.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters in disbelief, almost dropping the bag he’s holding.
“Whoa, careful,” I tell him, reaching for the bag before it slides off from his arms. “You don’t want to ruin Kayla’s lunch.”
“No, I don’t want to ruin Kayla’s lunch,” he repeats after me, his tone of voice so monotone that I feel like a Jedi master implanting thoughts on unsuspecting citizens.
Sometimes being a famous actor has its perks.
“Actually, why don’t I take care of it for you? I’ll deliver lunch for her,” I continue, now transitioning into my no-really-I’m-a-nice-guy smile.
“Er,” he starts, scratching the side of his head, his eyes never leaving mine. “I’m not supposed to do that. Company’s policy, ya know? I’m supposed to deliver the food to Kayla, not anyone else.
“C’mon, man.” I laugh. “What do ya think I’m gonna do with this? Poison her? She’s my writer. I need her.”
“Yeah, but still,” he continues, shifting his weight from foot to foot. I need to convince him to let me do the delivery—that’s my in with Kayla, and I’m not going to let it go to waste, whatever it takes.
“Seriously,” I start, taking one step toward him and laying one hand on his shoulder. “I’m sure you have a lot of deliveries to make today, and you don’t need to walk across the whole studio lot just to deliver this.” I hold the food bag in front of his face for a second. “I’ve got it covered.”
“I don’t know…” he whispers, taking his cap off and running his tongue between his lips. He looks uncomfortable, torn between doing what some big shot TV star tells him to do and obeying his company policy.
Maybe I can help in his little dilemma.
“Alright, man,” I tell him, stealing the cap off his hands and grabbing the pen he has tucked in his breast pocket. Holding the cap in the same hand I’m holding the food bag, I scribble my name across it and then hand it over.
“Oh, shit,” he whistles, his eyes widening as he looks at my autograph. The kid’s a fan, that much I can tell.
Maybe I can make him even more of a fan.
Reaching inside my back pocket, I grab my wallet and take two one-hundred-dollar bills from the inside. I fold them up and then tuck them inside his breast pocket before he can stop me.
“Just a tip,” I say. “I know you’ve been coming here every day since shooting started, and I want to know we all appreciate your hard work. Take the rest of the day off if you can. Treat your girl to dinner.”
Is this how it feels to fucking bribe someone? Because I feel like Al Capone patting a dirty cop on the head.
Although, yeah, I doubt Al Capone would bother with bribing the delivery guy from Organic Express.
“Thank you,” the delivery kid finally responds, rocking back on his heels and putting his cap on. “I really, really appreciate it!”
I offer him my hand then and give him a firm handshake, my you’re-welcome smile now plastered on my lips. Yeah, I have a lot of different smiles, and they all serve a purpose.
“Well, shit. I pulled it off,” I whisper to myself as I watch the delivery guy turning on his heels and marching back out the studio gates. I stand there, watching him get inside his van and leave while I balance the food bag on one hand.
Taking a deep breath, I turn around and start making my way toward Kayla’s office. I’ve never been there, as the head writer’s usually someone distant from day-to-day production, but now’s the time to get to know Kayla a little better.
My fate hangs in her hands after all.
Three minutes later and I’m standing outside her office, my right hand hovering over the door. I rap my knuckles against it and then perk up my ears as I wait for her reply.
“Come in!” she shouts from the inside, and I reach for the door’s handle immediately. “Just on time. I’m so hungry that I—”
“Yeah?” I chuckle, strolling inside her office and putting down her food bag on top of her desk. I look into her eyes, enjoying the way surprise has made her choke on her words.
She wasn’t expecting to see me here. Why would she?
“When did you get into the food delivery game?” She chuckles softly, tucking a lock of hair over her ear. Even though she sounds upbeat, I notice there are bags under her eyes (ones she has tried to conceal with her makeup), and her forehead is creased.
More than just stressed, she looks overworked.
“I’m a man of many talents.” I laugh, trying to get her mind off whatever’s worrying her. I don’t know why I’m doing this—it has nothing to do with wanting my character to stay alive. It’s just an urge to make her laugh and smile.
“Besides,” I continue, trying to keep my focus, “I might need to keep my options open.”
“Oh, so you’ve heard of it?” she asks me, reaching inside the bag and taking the small carton boxes from the inside.
“Yeah, I’ve heard of it,” I reply, and then I sit on the director’s chair she has next to her desk.
I might stay here a while.