The Beautiful Truth

// 134

"Charlie," I said with a sweet smile as I walked into my favorite bar on Claremont, slightly less than twenty-four hours later. "Charlie Stafford. How are you?"

Charlie gave me a confused look, but set about pouring me a Sierra Nevada from the tap anyway. "Sawyer. You're back from LA. How did it go?"

I pressed my lips together and tried to repress my ever-growing smile. Yes, he would be perfect. My sweet Charlie would be absolutely perfect.

"Tell me something, Charlie," I began, ignoring his small talk for the moment. "What are you doing for two weeks in July?"

"Wh—"

"Have you ever acted before?" I skipped ahead.

The look on Charlie's face was nothing short of suspicious. "Uh, actually, I used to do plays every now and then, but it's been a few y—"

That was all I needed to hear. This wouldn't be nearly as hard a sell as I'd thought. "Read this," I pulled the well-worn original copy of my screenplay out of the bag I was carrying and tossed it onto the bar in front of him.

"Wh—woah, what? Sawyer..."

"Read this line, right here," I ignored his protest and pointed to an underlined section of dialog. "Please. I just have to know."

Charlie glanced at the script, then read it to himself several times. "Are you sure?"

I've never been able to find a way to love you that makes sense. I mean, look at what I've done. Look at what I've become. I told myself a long time ago that I should just give up. It would have been the logical thing to do. But I failed at that, too. Miserably.

It was from a voiceover section of the film. It was in a letter from Grant to Madison. Charlie cleared his throat, and I closed my eyes.

"I've never been able to find a way to love you..."

I was right. Charlie was my Grant. "Charlie," I interrupted him right then and there, smiling with my eyes still closed. "You wanna be in a movie?"

He took so long to respond that I opened my eyes again. He was standing in front of me, script in one hand, limp bar rag in the other, staring at me wide-eyed.

"Please?" I added apprehensively.

Charlie shook his head and smiled, gently placing my script back on the bar in front of me. He laughed lightly and moved to continue wiping down the already immaculate countertop. "I'm sorry, Sawyer, for a second there I thought you asked me if I wanted to be in your movie."

"I did," I reminded him. "You're my Grant."

He scoffed, albeit a little nervously. "Isn't that the lead?"

"Well, yeah, Charlie," I said. "Why'd you think I gave you that line to read?"

More staring.

"I mean it. I want you to be my Grant!" I exclaimed. "I got the idea last night and now that I've seen you and heard you read that line, I'm not going to be able to let it go and find somebody else, so come on. You ruined me."

Charlie was blushing. "You're serious?"

"Charlie!" I all but yelled. "I am serious as fuck. Besides, look at yourself in the mirror back there," I nodded toward the shelves of liquor and the massive mirror flanked by their two TV's. "You're hot. You're movie-star hot. Please let me make you a movie star."

Finally Charlie laughed. "Movie-star hot, huh?"

My turn to blush. I had been emboldened by my decision and let my mouth give me away. "Yeah, everybody knows I think you're hot. Even Barton Black."

My stomach clenched up a little, hearing my voice say that name, but I ignored it.

Charlie smirked. "I...I don't know what to say."

"Say you'll do it," I pleaded.

"You're serious," he decided. "You're really serious, aren't you?"

"I am," I repeated. "Like I said, we film here in Berkeley for two weeks in July. Got a couple of table reads and screen tests in the weeks leading up to filming that we'll need you down in LA for, but the studio will pay for all of that, so..."

Charlie leaned over and grabbed on to the edge of the counter. "Sawyer, I...I mean, yeah, I'd love to do it. I've got about a thousand questions, but fuck it, man. I'm down."

"Victor-eeeee!" I exclaimed, raising my arms over my head in a 'vee.'

Charlie grinned and flushed and turned his head in disbelief and mild embarrassment and all I could see was how that would have been my dad's exact reaction. Holy lord, they'd have to meet. I shook my head, smiling at my success.

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and quickly snapped a picture of Charlie, still smirking at me, and set about texting it to Julian and the casting agent.

Charlie. I simply captioned the photo.

Not two minutes later, after Charlie moved to serve another mid-day drinker, I got two responses.

Oh totally. Let's do this, SF!

Julian had taken to using my initials in texts.

If it works for you two, it works for me. Send me his agent's info. I'm on it.

From the casting agent. Andrea, I'd finally remembered. I laughed, and waited for her to lose her mind after I informed her that Charlie was a bartender with no agent or manager or 'people' whatsoever.

"Charlie Stafford, Hadley Catalano, and Jordan Hollandsworth," I said aloud. "Jesus, you all sound like soap opera characters."

Charlie, who had been only passively paying attention to me since agreeing to be made a movie star, suddenly snapped his head back in my direction.

"I'm sorry. Jordan Hollandsworth?" he asked. "And Hadley Catalano? But most importantly, Jordan Hollandsworth?"

I laughed. "Yes... Good or bad?"

"I can't—I can't be in a movie with Jordan Hollandsworth."

I recoiled. "What? You know her?"

"No!" Charlie exclaimed. "But she is like, the hottest woman alive! How do I talk to her?"

I laughed harder this time. "Charlie. Movie-star hot. Movie. Star. Hot." I drilled my finger into the counter to emphasize the last three words.

He rolled his eyes and laughed with me. "You're really serious," he said again, and I wondered if he was repeating himself in order to convince himself. "What have I gotten myself into?"