Record Me Saying I Miss You

Chapter 1: Introduction to Stardom

Tessie pulled her car up to the building and the two of us stared up in awe.

"Holy shit, Hazel. You've got to be fucking kidding me," Tessie said, her eyes glued on the shiny glass sheets covering thick steel pillars that supported the enormous building. The metallic glimmer of the glass reflected the rest of LA, the gorgeous city and it's skyscrapers.  

"What do you expect? The movie is an Ink Productions film," I said, sliding the thick strap of my canvas messenger bag onto my shoulder. 

"I just can't believe you got the fucking lead for an Ink Productions movie. Like, you don't realize how big of a deal it is. You better not get really famous and forget about me," Tessie said, her lips in a puppy dog pout. I rolled my eyes and pushed the door of her car open. Sunbeams cast their heavy warmth onto the top of my head and I felt that if I stayed a little longer under direct California sunlight, my brain would bake. 

"I don't know... fame or friends?" With my head tilted and scrunching my lips to the side, I tapped my chin teasingly. Naturally, who'd want to lose your friends to fame? People who actually do that are complete bullshit. There must be a lot of complete bullshits out there. 

"Shut up, you know you love me," she said. I got out of the car after saying bye and giving many hugs to Tessie and pushed through the door into the amazing building. Women clad in black and white and men in fitted suits were behind the two counters at opposite sides of the room. In the middle of the elegant lobby was a modernized white and steel chandelier with LED lights instead of candles. Under it was a waiting area with gray couches. Walls were white with several paintings with a vibrant burst of color that reminded me ink blot tests. I felt out of place compared to the professional setting.

I made my way up to the front desk, a tall marble counter top with gorgeous computers and equally gorgeous people standing behind it. A lady with pale blonde hair tightly coiled into a bun glared at me from above her computer. 

"How may I help you, miss? Do you have an appointment?" Despite her evident displeasure, she maintained a professional tone. 

"I'm Hazel Harrow. I have an appointment with Carl Weaver," I pulled out my ID and letter of invitation. The woman clicked around in her computer, typed something in, and then reviewed my information. She told me to sign my name to confirm my arrival and appointment. 

"I'll have an assistant bring you up to Carl's office," the woman said, taking one last pointed glare at my pathetic attempt at dressing professionally. It was no pencil skirt and tight white blouse but I thought I cleaned up alright. 

She spoke into a sleek looking walkie-talkie and almost immediately, a man walked over. He silently led me around the corner to a hallway of elevators and he escorted me up to the thirteenth floor. We walked down the long hallway, turned a corner, and the man knocked on a door with a golden tab on it reading "Carl Weaver". 

After a few seconds, the polished wooden door opened and Carl's famous head popped out. His eyes widened at the sight of me and he quickly invited me in. 

"Hazel! Good to finally see you again. You won't believe how terribly excited I was," Carl said, pulling out a chair for me to sit in, "Take a seat, sweetheart. I need to find you our script." Carl hurried to a file cabinet and looked through the first drawer. 

Carl, being the wacky and eccentrically amazing director he is, had an office space that reflected his unique mind. Piles of papers were stacked high on his desk and posters with character concept art were scattered on the floor. Towers upon towers of file cabinets and shelves decorated the walls. I felt Carl's creativity overwhelm me like an infectious virus merely by being in this room.