Limelight || A Shourtney Story

.01 the role of a lifetime (shayne)

"Shayne! Shayne!" an overzealous man called out, waving his DSLR in one hand. His energy rose tenfold as he recognized the figure in front of him.

With a brief sigh, the sandy-haired actor continued to walk, picking up the pace with each stride. "Hi," he greeted monotonously. Shayne offered a tight-lipped smile.

The dry heat of the Los Angeles summer was brutal, but the air was thick with excitement as more photographers and reporters recognized the up-and-coming man. A flurry of enthusiastic paparazzi grew quickly, and the hum of inquisitive statements rose to a dull roar. Several flashes of light clouded his vision, so bright that he had to shield his eyes with his hand.

"What are you filming next?"

"Who are you dating?"

"Are you still in a fight with Damien?"

He was used to this sort of unwanted attention, but that last question struck a nerve. Shayne paused for a moment to find the condescending asker. A bald man with a crooked smile caught his eye, snapping another photo as he recognized Shayne's discomfort.

"Did you really sleep with Damien's girl?" he pressured, grinning.

In another world, Shayne would have stepped in and thrown a solid punch to the man's face. Right in the jawline. He'd lose a few teeth, but nothing substantial. Just enough to get him to shut the hell up. But his agent already had a few choice words about the last time he punched someone... so this one was better left alone.

Shayne turned back to his path forward. Only a few more yards until he made it inside...

The giant concrete building towered two or three stories high, painted a summery yellow. A giant black "6" was painted on the side, while metal doors beckoned him to come in. Giant loading-trucks stood to one side, while a pair of painted golf carts whizzed past the crowd. The cloudless blue sky seemed picture-perfect. In the distance, a woman yelled "Action!" over a megaphone.

"Show's over," a burly brunette muttered gruffly, shooing the crowd of reporters and photographers away. The tall, intimidating figure loomed above him, thick beard concealing any sense of his expression.

Shayne breathed a sigh of relief. Trust the only guy he knew at Padilla Studios to keep him safe.

"Thanks, Garrett," he grinned. "Still haven't gotten used to the whole paparazzi thing."

"No worries, kid. You keep signing onto these big movie deals, you'll get used to 'em real quick," he chuckled, sunglasses concealing the twinkle in his eyes. Garrett always had a soft spot for Shayne, though he tried his best to cover it up. Shayne was just a kid when he started acting, and Garrett had practically seen him grow up on set. Garrett always believed the best of Shayne, even though the tabloids usually thought otherwise.

Garrett directed him, "You looking for the auditions? The room is the second door on the left. Good luck."

Shayne smiled gratefully, pushing his way through the metal doors. They slammed behind him with an uncomfortable screech.

The linoleum flooring of the hallway didn't seem like a Hollywood hotspot, with tattered movie posters framed on the walls. But Shayne knew better than to judge a book by its cover. In each of the frames were tiny signatures from the stars themselves - Hepburn from Breakfast at Tiffany's, Travolta from Pulp Fiction, and even Cooper from American Sniper. This studio, specifically, was owned by the number one production company in LA. All the big directors and actors had worked here - from DiCaprio to Tarantino.

Shayne was damn lucky to even set foot here. Sure, So Random! was a good start. But hell if he could get to the next level and break out of comedy. He wanted to make art. Real art, the kind that impacted people.