lust for life {l.s.}

part 1

Summer of 1960

The clock has just ticked past the 3pm mark, and Harry has discovered that if he squints just so, he can see a little green button nestled in the shag rug, all the way across the conference room. He wonders which very important person might have left it there, or maybe unknowingly dropped it? He hopes they aren't missing it terribly.

Ever the picture of every starstruck, wide-eyed ingenue, he twiddles his thumbs and bites his lip nervously, squinting even harder until the sharp image of the green button blurs into an out-of-focus blob. He reimagines it to be a piece of candy – maybe a green chiclet that he would snap between his teeth, savoring the crack of the crisp candy shell, before it turned into chewy bubblegum.

"Harry, are you listening?" His agent, Jeff, snaps at him from across the table, glaring daggers.

Harry instantly flushes a strawberry red, harshly tugging his lower lip between his teeth in an embarrassing display of self-inflicted punishment. He knows he can't afford to be caught daydreaming again, but the sneer that has etched its way onto Jeff's face makes it clear that he has thoroughly failed.

"I'm sorry about him," Jeff laughs out a laugh as fake as plastic trees, his face seeking out immediate validation from the figure who sits at the head of the table. "You know how airheaded these starlets tend to be. We're working on it."

If there's anyone Harry despises more than Jeff, it's the plump man sitting in the neon-orange, plush swivel chair, at the other end of the table. Christopher Barkley might spearhead the Creative Artists Agency, one of the biggest talent agencies in all of Hollywood, but his personality resembles a leering devil that is begging for untainted souls.

Both men gaze calculatingly at Harry, and he allows himself just a millisecond to squirm uncomfortably, before he's taking a deep breath. He adopts the carefully crafted and neutral look that took so long to perfect, despite his heart wailing in protest at him subjecting it to such belittlement. His mind is quick to shut down that particular temper tantrum.

"C'mon Harry, suck it up. This is what you've always dreamed of, and you're so close," he reminds himself silently. "What's a few more meaningless insults if it means you can land this next role and finally have the life you've always wanted?"

His pep talk works momentarily, but the insults don't feel so meaningless anymore. His battered and bruised heart feels like it's constructed of rusty tin and every condescending, degrading word thrown at it is a series of pennies, each of them landing with a sickening plunk, and denting him slowly but surely. Meanwhile, Jeff earns his laugh from Christopher, although there is no trace of amusement to be found.

"He is a bit of a fry, isn't he?" He sneers at Jeff, who smirks back knowingly in agreement. "You sure know how to pick them, Jeffrey. The last thing CAA needs is another talent with his head in the clouds all the time."

Harry lowers his head at the words, gaze fixated on his gold sparkly boots, the glitter blurring into a display of hazy bokeh lights as tears start to form at his waterline. Inwardly he curses himself for being so sensitive, rapidly blinking to flush the salty water out of his eyes before either of the men can catch on.

He had been so excited, wanted to look the very best for probably the most important meeting of his life, and suddenly all the care that he'd put into his outfit seemed to escape the scene, leaving behind only his broken pride and hopeless naivety.

To have an opportunity to work with Martin Scorsese, was a dream come true and had Harry squealing in his motel room when he'd first heard the news. While he's been in sitcoms and a few lower-budget movies here and there, he knows the prestige of this upcoming film will have the potential to pioneer his big break. He had figured this demeaning conversation would be a cheap price to pay when he inevitably gets his own star on Hollywood's Walk of Fame.

"...he's definitely got the face for a starlet alright. Maybe even the acting chops too, but that remains to be seen. He's only eighteen, practically still a kid," Harry tunes back in as Jeff spits out more verbal poison like he's not even in the room. "And he's completely clueless. Barely even understands the opportunity that's being handed to him right on a silver platter. He should be grateful for us."

The thing is, Harry is not clueless at all. Eager to prove his worth and led by blind faith, sure. But he's not clueless. This means everything to him. It will mean everything to his parents and older sister, who are still stuck living in some podunk town in Northern California. It will especially mean everything to his best friend, Niall, who has tirelessly defended Harry's fashion choices and flamboyant persona at a school that was all too quick to judge. If Harry could just get past his own ego and need for validation, he might just quit this whole thing before it even lifts off the ground. He doesn't need to be relentlessly put down.

But, no. This isn't just for him. It's for everyone that he's ever cared about. Everyone who's supported him, no matter the backlash, who's stuck out their neck for him and made sure that he would have the opportunity to be sitting right here in this room. He'd be a shitty human to pass this up, especially right when it's all lined up for him.

So he straightens up, pasting on his most charming, albeit hollow, smile on his face. The one that only enforces Jeff's belief that he only has two brain cells. He bats his eyelashes at Christopher, suppressing a grimace as the other man's gaze immediately snaps up to meet his face.

"Thank you so very much for this opportunity, Mr. Barkley. I promise you I won't waste it," he all but simpers, cringing even more at the syrupy tone that drips slowly from his reluctant lips.

As two identical sneers burn holes through his head, and a thick stack of papers is pushed towards him with a heavy Montblanc fountain pen on top, Harry can't help but feel like he's been chosen as bait for two apex predators at feeding time. Taking great care to scrawl out his elegant signature, the one he's practiced countless times in his childhood bedroom, he almost wants to shed a tear for life as he knows it. Regardless of what Jeff thinks, he's smart enough to realize that this is the biggest turning point in his life.

"Things are going to speed from here," Jeff remarks, in perhaps the kindest tone Harry has ever heard him use. Maybe because he has just signed his whole life away to these men. "I hope you can handle it, kid."

✦✧✦✧