Hollywood Days with Hayes Read online

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  PART ONE

  Girl Meets Boy

  CHAPTER ONE

  THE MOVIE SET PULSED WITH ENERGY. Production assistants darted here and there, organizing the soundstage. Crew members set up microphones and rigged lights, figuring out angles and shadows. Props people carted in books, sports posters, and odds and ends for the scene: a typical sixteen-year-old boy’s bedroom.

  “Hey, dude! Careful with those bowls!” Hayes Grier shouted as someone walked by, balancing a stack of dirty dishes.

  The props guy stopped in his tracks. He tensed, looking over at Hayes sitting comfortably off to the side, legs stretched out in front of him, in his director’s chair. Then Hayes grinned, a hey-bro, just-messing-with-you smile. The guy relaxed.

  The next second, Hayes jumped up, took some of the bowls, and helped arrange them on the floor next to the rumpled bed. It was only seven a.m., but Hayes had been on set since six, and he was itching to get moving. Besides, he felt bad; he’d probably scared the guy, calling over like he was the director or something.

  “Quit fooling around, Hayes.” T. J. Meyers, the real director, strode over, checking his watch. “The reporter from Hollywood This Week will be here any second.”

  TJ was only thirty years old, young for a director—especially for a big-budget movie like The Midnight Hawk, a film from World Famous Studios, slated to be next summer’s blockbuster. At sixteen, Hayes, the movie’s star, was even younger. It was a huge responsibility, Hayes knew. A lot was riding on this, for him and for TJ.

  Hayes Grier was already famous. He’d been a social media star for years. Vine, YouTube, he felt like he’d put himself out there time and again goofing around with his brother Nash and a big circle of friends … competing on Dancing with the Stars. But this movie … make that, MOVIE!… was something else altogether.

  How would it change his life? Already it seemed the whole world knew Hayes Grier, and everyone was quick to post a comment.

  On his eyes: “Piercing blue.” “So deep, you could get lost in them.” “He’s gotta wear contacts to get them that shade.” (Way off-base, Hayes wanted to tell those fans!)

  On his straight brown hair: “Love it when it’s swept to the side and a little long!”

  On his silly antics: “Will he ever win one of those crazy challenges he does with friends? They should try eating crackers and whistling at the same time!”

  How would people react to his first movie—and his first starring role? Hayes still couldn’t believe it. What could be cooler than this? It didn’t even seem real.

  “Hayes!” TJ called impatiently, and he was certainly real. Maybe a little too real, Hayes thought. The guy was intense!

  TJ motioned for Hayes to follow him to the corner, where three chairs had been set up for the interview. Hayes hurried over just as a woman was led over by TJ’s assistant, Liza, a cameraman trailing behind.

  “Hello.” The woman turned to Hayes, smiling. “I’m Alison Portnoy.”

  She looked familiar, in that “I’m on TV, but you probably can’t figure out from where” kind of way. Hayes couldn’t guess her age. She could have been anywhere from twenty to fifty, with wavy blond hair, a perky nose, and a nondescript but expensive-looking sleeveless white dress. She waved over her cameraman. “And this is Alex.”

  “Hi, Alex,” Hayes said.

  “Alison!” TJ said at the same time, reaching across Hayes to shake the reporter’s hand. “Great to see you! Please take a seat.”

  The three settled into chairs. “If it’s all right, I’ll talk to the two of you, then take a walk around the set with Alex. I like to have off-the-cuff conversations, nothing rehearsed. So we’re ready to go whenever you give the okay.”

  For Hayes, recording everyday kind of talk was natural, so he nodded. Then he realized Alison wasn’t actually asking him; she was asking TJ, who was, of course, the boss.

  “It’s fine.” TJ swept his arm to take in the set. “You realize this is the first day of shooting, though? Things may be a little chaotic.”

  “Of course.” Alison nodded at Alex to begin filming. “I’m just thrilled to be the first to see what’s going on here. We’ll splice in my introduction later to save time. Alex?”

  Alex gave her a thumbs-up, and Alison turned on a smile. “Now I’ll start with you, TJ. Just a few questions before I go on to Hayes, so you can leave and take care of business.”

  “I am busy,” TJ agreed.

  “You’ve already won an Academy Award for your first film, A Lighter Shade. That was a small, independent movie with a shoestring budget. How do you think you’ll handle working with almost half a million dollars? And special effects? And a small army of cast and crew members?”

  TJ puffed out his chest a bit. “I think I’ll handle it just fine, Alison. Shade was my baby from start to finish. This will be, too, but it will actually be easier—I just have to surround myself with intelligent people who get my concepts and ideas and don’t need their hands held. Then delegate, delegate, delegate.”

  “Right,” said Alison. She turned to Hayes.

  “And of course,” TJ went on blithely, “The Midnight Hawk will be a huge hit. I personally went over every word in the script, but I can still change anything on the fly, if I feel it’s for the good of the movie. And—”

  “Speaking of the script,” Alison interrupted, “Hayes, why don’t you tell us about your character?”

  “Sure,” said Hayes easily. “I play the title character—Hawk, named after the famous physicist Stephen Hawking, who studies the universe and seems to have so many answers! My movie dad is a scientist, too, and he idolizes him. Hawk doesn’t know this yet, but he was really found as a baby under mysterious circumstances—in the middle of a large empty field within a perfect circle of scorched grass.”

  “Hmmm,” Alison put in. “Interesting. A hawk is a beautiful, graceful creature. You fit the description perfectly.”

  “Um.” Hayes blushed. He wanted to talk about the role, not his looks.

  “Yes, that was a nice bit of casting,” TJ added before Hayes could say a word. “I put a lot of thought into finding the right actor. I was looking for a fresh face. Someone without a lot of acting experience; someone I could mold into my own vision. Hayes didn’t mention that Hawk turns out to be an alien, left behind when his spacecraft left the field, hence the scorched ground and ashes. That was actually my little addition, the character’s name and movie title.”

  “Right.” Alison nodded, a little curtly. “How do you feel about carrying a movie?” she asked Hayes. “It is your very first movie role, after all.”

  “He’s excited to be working with me,” TJ answered quickly.

  “Hayes?” Alison shifted in her seat to face him directly.

  “Well, I am excited to work with TJ, of course. I’m excited to have this opportunity. My fans have been so supportive. I want to show them another side of m
e, outside social media. A serious side, taking on a role that requires real talent. I don’t want to let them down.”

  He paused. “And the people here have been amazing, too. I mean, it’s all been incredible … the crew, the sets, the script … I still can’t believe I’m part of this.”

  Alison nodded encouragingly. “You seem almost humbled by this experience, Hayes.”

  “That’s it!” Hayes sat up straight. “I—”

  “We,” TJ corrected. “We all feel humbled to work on this project. It’s an opportunity for all of us. This movie will be a box office smash. And when I’m done, I can—I mean we can—go on to any project we choose. You do know I’m getting a producer credit as well? It’s a tall order, being behind the camera, but also being in charge of every aspect of a major production…”

  TJ kept talking and Hayes nodded along, smiling. Doing press was part of the deal, he understood, and he’d do everything he could to be professional about the whole thing, even if TJ was running off at the mouth. Besides, he loved A Lighter Shade. Clearly, TJ knew what he was doing. He glanced at the bedroom set, finished and ready for filming, the bowls right where he’d left them. He was ready, too.

  * * *

  Fifteen miles from World Famous Studios, in Venice, California, a bedroom door opened slowly. Violet Reeves burrowed deeper under the soft fluffy blanket. “Five more minutes, Mom,” she pleaded sleepily. “Just five more minutes, then I’ll get up for school.”

  Violet tensed, ready for her mom to pull off the blanket, like she did most mornings. Instead, there was silence. Hmmm, she thought, drifting off again. Maybe I dreamed that someone opened the door. She sniffed the air. Like I’m dreaming this funny smell.

  Bit by bit, the smell grew stronger. It reminded Violet of burning leaves. She snuggled into the pillow, remembering fall days when she was little and her dad would rake leaves into a pile, then light a match and … Burning leaves? She sat bolt upright. This was no dream. Was there a fire?

  “Relax, honey.”

  “Uncle Forrest? What’s going on?” Violet rubbed her eyes, trying to get herself together. She wasn’t home with her parents in upstate New York. She was in California, spending the summer with her uncle and cousin, Mia.

  “It’s the first day of the month, my ritual Smudge Day,” Uncle Forrest explained.

  “Smudge,” Violet repeated, falling back on the pillow.

  “I’m cleansing the house of all negativity using this smudge wand, and your room is first on my list.”

  Her uncle held up some sort of stick, and Violet peered closer. The stick was really a bunch of white leaves twisted together, held in place by a bright red string. Smoke billowed from one end, filling the air with a not-unpleasant scent.

  “White sage.” Uncle Forrest steadied a large seashell under the wand to catch falling ashes. He stepped closer to show Violet. “Uh-oh,” he said as the smoke swelled. “The thicker the smoke, the greater the negativity.”

  He waved the wand back and forth over Violet’s bed. She watched him warily, hoping he wouldn’t set the blanket on fire.

  “This will restore balance and freshness. Begone, bad vibes,” he cried. “Begone!”

  Violet was used to her uncle’s New Age philosophies and his spiritual take on the world, not to mention the way he dressed. Right now he was wearing a tie-dyed shirt and overalls, his graying hair tied back in a ponytail.

  He and her mom had grown up in Chicago, but they’d moved in opposite directions—Uncle Forrest to the West Coast, her mom to the East and a law career in a small town. Still, they had their similarities: Violet’s mom leaned toward granola and locally sourced food, with an almost superstitious view of life. She chose Violet’s name to make sure her eyes stayed the same violet shade she was born with, and they did. So Violet figured maybe there was something to this mystical take on things.

  Thinking of her mom, Violet smiled and stretched happily, luxuriating in the knowledge there’d be no school, and no rude blanket-pulling.

  It still seemed unbelievable to her. But here she was, living in this amazing place, just steps away from Venice Beach and the Pacific Ocean. She’d visited before, of course. She loved Venice—the walk streets, pedestrian-only walkways tucked behind homes and businesses; the famed boardwalk with its colorful murals, street performers, and vendors. Even better, her cousin, Mia, the same age as Violet—sixteen—was really and truly her BFF. All year long they texted, Snapchatted, and talked, and now they’d be living together for weeks and weeks. How lucky could one person be?

  Yes, she was lucky, but Violet had worked hard to get here, too. For as long as she could remember, Violet loved movies. She loved everything about them, from opening credits to closing credits. She loved them all—from thrillers to musicals. From dramas to boy-meets-girl movies, where the story always followed the same formula: Boy meets girl. Boy almost gets girl but something happens, driving them apart. Then, finally, boy gets girl and a happy ending.

  Like that would ever happen in real life, Violet told herself.

  But out of all the genres, Violet had a special weakness for movies about making movies, because that’s what she wanted to do: make movies, or more specifically, write them. She wanted to create characters that would come alive on-screen, and see her story ideas play out like real life.

  That spring, she’d entered a writing competition. It wasn’t her first, not by a long shot. This time, though, she’d spent weeks on the idea, then weeks on the first draft, and weeks on the second, polishing dialogue, tinkering with stage directions. And she’d won! The prize: an internship on a Hollywood movie set. Unbelievable!

  “And now for the daily Earth Blessing.” Uncle Forrest interrupted her thoughts. Unlike the smudging, this was totally expected. Almost every morning, Uncle Forrest had Violet repeat his own, personally created blessing: a phrase he came up with, designed to bring guidance and happiness. And Violet was totally up for a little guidance and happiness.

  “Today,” he intoned.

  “Today,” Violet repeated.

  “I express my gratitude to the planet.”

  “I express my gratitude to the planet.”

  “I breathe in all of nature and breathe out my thanks.”

  “Same.”

  “Violet,” Uncle Forrest said sternly.

  “Okay, okay.” So much for moving things along. “I breathe in all of nature and breathe out my thanks.”

  Violet took a moment to feel at peace, then asked, “What time is it, Uncle Forrest?”

  “Time?” He looked at her quizzically. “You know I don’t keep track of that. Time is an artificial constraint of the mind.”

  As he lectured, Violet reached for her phone on the nightstand. “Eight o’clock!” she screeched.

  “Eight o’clock, three o’clock, or midnight. It’s all meaningless. Time does not really exist,” Uncle Forrest went on in soothing tones.

  “I bet it exists to T. J. Meyers!” Violet exclaimed. TJ was her new boss. She didn’t know him very well, but she guessed he would not be happy if she was late on her very first day of work.

  Hurriedly, Violet grabbed some clothes, dressed in the bathroom, and then bounded downstairs, almost tripping down the floating staircase, its glass steps seemingly suspended in midair. At the bottom, she paused only long enough to pull her long reddish-brown curls into a ponytail.

  In the kitchen, Violet saw Mia sitting at the table. As usual, Mia’s head was bent over a sketchbook, her short blond hair falling into her eyes.

  Mia still wore her robe, a Japanese kimono with long billowing sleeves that swept the page when she moved the pencil. She wasn’t quite like her dad. But she was definitely a free spirit, dressing in an offbeat but somehow chic way that Violet couldn’t imagine pulling off.

  Violet glanced down at her own slim dark jeans and formfitting white button-down blouse. Not exactly cutting-edge, she knew. But she was going to her first real job and didn’t want to go overboard either way; t
oo out there, or too casual.

  Violet was really late now, but she couldn’t resist peeking over Mia’s shoulder.

  On the page, Mia was drawing a loose-fitting minidress, with a deep V-neck and a flared bottom.

  “Violet!” Mia exclaimed. “You’re still here? I thought you would have left before I woke up.”

  “I know, I know!” Violet grabbed a glass. “I’m always so punctual. If I’m on time, I think I’m late! But I overslept.”

  “Dad’s nightly drum circle must have kept you up last night.” Mia pushed the orange juice container closer to Violet. Violet poured quickly, her hand trembling with nerves and excitement. The juice splashed the table, narrowly missing her white shirt.

  “Oh God,” she said, wiping up the mess. “That’s right! I was up half the night with that banging and chanting. What were they chanting for? It sounded like they were saying, ‘Pest control! Pest control!’”

  Mia laughed. “It was ‘rent control.’ They want to heal themselves—and the community—with affordable housing. It’s actually a good idea. It’s hard to live around here if you’re not a millionaire.” She eyed Violet sympathetically as she banged around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinets, trying to find something to eat.

  “Maybe Uncle Forrest should have chanted for some cereal,” Violet mumbled. “Oh, you know I don’t mean that!” She swirled around to face Mia. “You guys have been nothing but nice to me!”

  “It’s okay, Violet. You’re so frazzled right now, you probably don’t even know what you’re saying. Listen, I’ll drive you to work. In fact,” Mia said, standing up and closing her sketchbook, “I’ll start the car while you grab something to eat for the ride.”

  She took a few steps, came back for her sketchbook, then hurried outside, the car keys swinging in her hand.

  “Aha!” Violet said, opening the small cabinet above the refrigerator. “A muffin!” She read the label. Gluten free matcha muffin. Wasn’t that made from green tea?

  She had no idea how it would taste. But it would have to do.