Behind the Scene

Clark

Have you ever worked a job you hated?

I do. Well, there are aspects of my profession that get me out of bed; being behind the scenes, reading scripts from incredible screenwriters, arguing movie contracts until it goes my way.

Some of my clients' best moments brought me to tears, whether it was watching their 50th take or sitting in the theaters on a Tuesday morning, popcorn and soda in hand. Honestly, I can't even picture a different job other than this.

Actually, right now I can.

I stand in a lavish condo in an undisclosed neighborhood in Los Angeles, and in front of me are two sleeping people in a plush bed. The room is minimalist with different light hues of blue and brown. One is a beautiful woman sprawled across the bed, the only thing she is wearing is a large t-shirt with a man's face on it. That man's face is the man curled up next to her, faced away and clearly having a nightmare. His back muscles twitch as his eyebrows furrow deeper, most of his face hidden by his arms.

I would be uncomfortable if this wasn't common. God, I can't believe this is my routine.

Me. In this specific condo. Bright and early. With a spray bottle in one hand and an anxious upset stomach from being late. Late because of this man.

"I am glad you are having a nightmare," I smile.

As quickly as I can, I spray the man's face as many times as possible.

The man jumps up and tries to block his face.

"Wakey wakey, Lancey." I say.

The woman awakes from the movement, her eyes have a look of horror when she sees me.

"Lance, what is this man doing in your room?" The woman screams.

Lance covers his ears from her screams. Then, when she wouldn't stop screaming, he turns towards her and presses a finger on her lips, "Gwen, meet Clark Burns, he's my manager."

Lance glances at me, who is anxiously tapping my watch to imply we are late.

"That does not answer my question." She contorts back.

I open my tan tote and hand her paperwork, "Please sign this for me, a poor manager who's trying to corral Lance Taylor."

Lance Taylor is currently my only talent, not because I can't handle a heavy workload but because Lance needs all of my attention. Lance is what was "in" for modeling gigs and acting roles. The perfect storm of confidence and talent. He is on the cover of magazines for wild adventures but known to blow people away on set. He just needs to get on set in a timely manner which is my job to make happen. Frankly, I'm not telling the whole story but we're running late so I don't care.

Lance smirks, "Love it when you use my full name; makes me feel special."

"A special pain in my ass," I snap but remember to smile back when I look at Gwen. It is easy to smile at Gwen, striking blonde hair and vibrant blue eyes and a pearly white smile. She is like most of the women that end up in this bed; beautiful and fun. I wonder if she needs an agency or wants to take a swing at modeling.

I make a mental note to ask her later.

Gwen skims the first page, "I am really going to sign an NDA for a fling?"

Lance places his hand on his chest and frowns deeply, "A fling? Don't I mean more to you?"

Gwen stares into Lance's eyes.

Lance cracks a grin and then they both laugh.

"Clark, I hate to break it to you, but I doubt this NDA covers the last year of fun." Gwen flashes a fake pity smile.

"Do it for a poor manager who's just doing his job?" I mockingly beg.

Gwen ruffles Lance's black hair and gently pushes him away from her before she gestures for a pen which I hand to her immediately. Gwen wraps her finger around one of her long blonde curls while she reads. Lance tries to slip back to sleep but I threaten to spray him again.

He always tries to go back to bed.

Lance stands up and is eye level with me. He grabs my wrist and pulls me in. We are practically nose to nose. For a second, looking into his dark eyes feels like I have fallen into a black hole but I stand my ground.

Lance rips the spray bottle out of my hand, "Your brother was more fun."

I scoff, "Yeah, I bet going on a bender and ending up in Baja was really fun with him."

Gwen's eyes go wide but she keeps reading, "Yeah, I wouldn't want your job, let me just sign my soul away to Burns LLC and keep my mouth shut."

"We only ask for a part of our talent's soul, don't worry."

Gwen glances up at me, it is clear she is holding in a chuckle.

Lance turns and slowly crawls onto the bed towards Gwen. He gently tilts her head up and gingerly presses his lips onto her neck. Gwen's lips stretch into a grin as she finishes signing while he kisses her.

I can't help but watch the back of Lance's muscles move and once I feel my face turn hot, I quickly shift away. I am the last line of defense for Lance's bullshit against the family business– Burns LLC, my family's talent management agency that has held strong since the Golden Age of Hollywood. My mother, Mrs. Grace Burns, personally requested that I take over managing Lance after Lance kept sleeping with the female managers and convincing the men that his lifestyle was worth their paycheck.

I am starting to wonder if this paycheck is worth the stress.

I open the doors to the walk-in closet, the lights automatically brighten to display an errand of designer clothes, and neatly organized shoes and watches. I thank whatever higher power made Lance, at the very least, tidy. I don't want to think about picking up after Lance on top of everything else.

Lance is now out of the bed, he stretches as he follows me towards the closet, "I make them money and they sent mommy's little helper."

Gwen sets the signed NDA on the nightstand, "That's a cute nickname. Shocked they haven't fired you, Lance."

I comb through Lance's closet to a simple outfit, jeans and a t-shirt, "Every meeting I try to convince the team we should."

Lance waves the comment off, "We are about to enter a new decade, a new me– 2010 doesn't know what's coming."

I don't need to look when I throw the jeans and shirt over my shoulder, Lance catches them with ease. We have a routine. What has felt like years of hell but actually a few months. At least two to four times a week, I get to his place, wake his ass up and push him along to get ready.

A month ago, I started tossing the clothes because I am not interested in looking at a half naked Lance for more than I need to, which is sadly often.

Gwen leans in, "And what is coming?"

I press my finger to my frown. Lance does the same but with a smile.

Lance strips off his pajama pants to change.

I look up and away. Jesus, he loves to show off his body.

Gwen flirts, "So when is your manager going to put on a show?"

A rush of red hot waves floods my cheeks. I slam the closet doors shut with Lance and me inside. The girls usually don't flirt with me. Most people don't flirt with me, my constant frown and general "don't talk to me" demeanor keep most away.

Lance whispers, "You know, you'd get some if you flirted back."

I throw a beanie at Lance's face, "What's her number?"

Lance's eyes widen with childish glee but then he looks bored, "No, she's not interested in joining the agency, she's a dentist practitioner."

Damnit.