Finalist in the 24th Annual Lambda Literary Awards
Film student Micah Malone learns the hard way that when life sucks, you can't just yell, "Cut! Let's do another take!" His grades are a box office bomb. His friends create more drama than a soap opera. And his love life needs a laugh track.
While there's no script to dictate what happens next, can Micah find the direction he needs? Life, after all, is no film school project. But it is great source material. The only source material. Let the cameras roll. Micah's quirky story has begun filming.
“I’m totally bombing this semester,” I said putting my head on Paulie R’s shoulder.
“Come work with me. You don’t need to pursue higher education. None of those Hollywood moguls have degrees.”
“The writers of Gilligan’s Island sure didn’t have any higher education,” Stan said.
Stan and I don’t see eye-to-eye on Gilligan’s Island. It’s one of my guilty pleasures. He loathes it.
We were Happy Hour-ing at the Madison Pub.
Wednesdays they have a dart tourney. Paul B. is big into darts, so we hang out to support him. Truth is; the rest of us get so busy talking we forget Paulie’s even playing darts.
Stan leaned into me. “Don’t look now, but Danny Boy is here.”
Danny and I hadn’t seen each other since the St. Patrick’s Day “event.” My throat tightened and my stomach started doing flips.
“Danny!” Paulie R. shouted. Of course, he hadn’t witnessed any of the goings-on at the party, since he hadn’t been there, though I’m sure Paulie B. must have filled him in. Roommates have their own special code and their own share-the-gossip routine. Kind of like married couples. Only they listen to each other.
“Hey guys,” Danny said in his studly, subdued way.
“Special tonight on vodka and orange juice,” Paulie R. said, winking.
I jabbed him with my elbow. “Paulie!” I whisper-yelled.
Danny shook his head. “Not for this guy.” Then he looked at my drink. “Micah?”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “It’s Campari and orange.”
“God, how can you even drink the OJ?”
Up to this point, Danny had hardly made eye contact. And he was keeping more distance from us than he normally would. My stomach was sinking fast, but then he leaned over and tousled my hair. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Gonna go order something not orange.”
“He likes you,” Stan whisper-teased.
“What’s the status with you two?” Trish did not whisper.
“You mean, Paul wasn’t kidding that you and Danny were, Christ ... I thought he was putting me on,” Paulie R. said. “Wooooooo!”
“Okay, everyone,” I said. “Can we just watch the dart game?”
“What the fuck for?” Trish said. “I’d rather watch grass grow. It’s faster.”
“I’m going to refill,” Paulie R. said. “Need anything?”
“No, thanks,” Stan said.
“Maybe another Campari and orange? I screwed up my paper today. I’m stressed.” I started to hand Paulie some money, but he patted my hand.
“I’ll go with,” Trish said.
After they disappeared, Stan put his chin on my shoulder. “The Danny thing.”
“Stan! Please…”
“I’m just looking out for you, Micah. If he felt guilty or sick about what happened at the party, he wouldn’t have played with your hair like that.”
“I’m not his type.”
Stan shrugged. “I just don’t want to see you miss an opportunity. And I want to live vicariously through you. I hope when you guys start dating, I can come over with my camera sometime and --”
I elbowed Stan in the gut. Hard.
