cracked actor
James Potter’s back is sore. It has been for a few months now, ever since he moved to Los Angeles to pursue his acting career. One lousy role as an extra in a small movie, which hadn’t even hit the theatres, was all it took to convince him to leave his hometown. Now he sits in his stuffy attic apartment that he's subleasing, miles away from home, barely scraping enough money together for bread, let alone rent.
Of course, he saved some money before taking off. He’s adventurous, someone they would call a free spirit, but he isn’t stupid. He also managed to get a side job as a bartender at a bar downtown that James could reach by foot if he wants to. It’s not enough to get by, but James is awfully sure that he can make it as an actor. Why, he can’t say, after all only about 2 percent of actors make a living from their roles. Sure, he scored some jobs; sometimes he would be playing some background character, just going about their day, sometimes he even said a sentence or two but nothing major and at the end of the day, he earned no more than 200 dollars per job.
He can’t even afford a proper bed, he reckons that’s why his back is giving him such a hard time. It’s just his old mattress that he took with him from home, laying on the wood plank floor, a few books stacked next to it. Not that James reads all that much, he just likes the look of them. He would have taken his bedframe with him to L.A., but the apartment isn’t even the size of his old room so it wouldn’t have fit.
James grew up in a beautiful house on the land. He figures the rent there is nothing in comparison to his current location. His childhood homes exterior is light green and wooden, and his porch is painted white and displays a big, old swing that has been in his family for generations. He was never been allowed on it; his mother feared it would break underneath his weight. Inside, the beige walls are filled with pictures. Some drawn, some photographed.
Not to sound conceited but James’ favorite was always the huge picture of him grinning, that his parents hung in the living room, beneath it a display of all the prices he has ever won. He remembers how his father stood behind the camera and made grimaces at him to get him to laugh. To James, the picture represents the unconditional love his parents feel for him.
They never once made their son feel like he couldn’t achieve his dreams, even when James burst in one winter morning to tell them he was going to move out at the ripe age of 20 to make it in Hollywood. Instead, they pulled out old drawings by him, picturing none other than himself on a stage in front a swooning crowd. At least that’s what his parents told him. To James the pictures just looked like scribbles.
Now it is almost summer, and he is 21, on the way to his bar job. He got lucky with that at least. James had no experience whatsoever in mixing drinks when he applied, and at 20 he wasn’t even allowed to serve anyone, but his boss kindly turned a blind eye, due to his staff shortness. James’ coworker Evan was given the task of training James as well as he possibly could, and now, almost half a year later, he’s confident in his abilities and decided that he no longer needs assistance.
Swinging the door open with his right hand, the bell they mounted on top of it tinkling, James is hit with warm, stifling air, fogging up his glasses in an instant. Taking them off and rubbing them on his shirt, he could already make out a certain curly head amongst the few other people sitting at the bar. Pushing past the small pool table, and the round tables that are blocking his way, he makes his way over and behind the counter.
“Finally,” Sirius yawns, his elbow on the table and his head in his hand. “I’ve been waiting ages for you.”
Sirius Black is a rockstar, member of a two-person band, the other being Marlene McKinnon who is usually a constant companion to Sirius. To say that he is well-known would be an understatement. The guy is as famous as he could get, booking gig after gig. Not to mention that his whole family is famous and if they aren’t famous, they are at least filthy rich. James met him solely by accident three months prior, at this very bar, and they immediately got along. Apparently, Sirius had one too many that night, lost Marlene and stumbled across the place, looking for a phone to call himself a cab. Of course, someone recognized him and encouraged him to join in on their drinking, which Sirius did. Obviously.
James, truthfully not knowing who he was at the time, chatted the night away, slipping Sirius a few free waters now and then and accidentally witnessed somebody trying to roofie Sirius. Sirius came in the next day to give his thanks to James for ‘saving his life’ and after conversing with him for at least another hour, sober this time, declared the bar his new favorite. He came in almost everyday that James was working after that – which is six times a week – to keep James company, even if it was only for an hour because duty called.
“Sorry Sirius, can I get you anything as an apology? It’s on the house.” James winks, watching Sirius’s face light up.
“Lemon drop Martini.”
“Coming right up.” James says, turning around and scrambling across the bar to gather the supplies, greeting Evan in the process.
“My new makeup artist is amazing.” Sirius grins, pointing to his near perfect eyeliner, “and he’s so dreamy, you wouldn’t believe it. He’s got these scars all over his body, they’re mad cool and he always comes in with those extravagant makeup looks. I think I’ll take him on the next tour with me.”
James stops to observe the makeup of his friend. It is truly flawless.
“Next tour?” James hums, filling up Sirius’s glass and sliding it over, “Do you have dates already?”
“Nah, Marls needs to sort out her calendar first.”
“I’ll miss our rendezvous when you’re touring the world.” James sighs dramatically, “Promise you’ll call every day?”
Sirius stifles a laugh.
“Fuck off.”
“And here I thought you loved me.” James theatrically puts the back of his hand to his forehead as Sirius reaches over to give him a friendly slap.
In my life by the Beatles, James’ ringtone, interrupts their conversation. Quickly James pulls his phone out of his pocket before Evan could hear – too late.
“Potter, no phone on the job! How many times do I have to say it.” Evans peeved voice calls from the opposite side of the bar.
“Sorry, sorry.” James casts a look at his screen. Emmeline? “I’ll just be a minute.”
Curiously, Sirius leans over the counter to get a look at the callers ID, almost knocking over his drink and catching it just before it could spill all over the bar (and James).
“Who’s Emmeline?” Sirius asks, a hint of playfulness in his voice and extensively wiggling his eyebrows, “Your girlfriend?”
James doesn’t pay attention to Sirius’ bantering, a mixture of glee, relief and excitement bubbling up in his stomach as he disbelievingly stares at his phone.
“My agent.”
With a quick shake of his head and a press of the green button, James puts the phone up to his ear. Sirius can hear a woman’s voice chattering away at the other end, barely letting James get a word in, which is very unusual because most of the time it's James keeping the conversation going, but now he just softly hums after every other sentence or frantically nods even though Emmeline can’t see him. About two minutes in, Sirius can see James’ eyes widen, no longer able to contain his excitement before shouting out a little too loudly.
“Yes, of course! I would love to!”
“Potter!” Evan grumbles warningly, signing for him to put his phone away.
James just nods and turns his back to Evan, whispering his last words before hanging up.
“Thank you, Emmeline. See you soon.”
James slowly lookes up at Sirius, the tiniest hint of glint in his eyes, before grabbing him by the shoulders, grinning widely.
“They want me for a movie! Me! Specifically, me! Emmeline said Alice Longbottom saw me in the background of one of the movies I did, you know Longbottom, like Frank Longbottom, the director. Apparently, I look just like how she envisioned the main character for their new movie to look like. They want me to come in next week for auditions.” James rambles, shaking Sirius back and forth.
“No way!” Sirius screeches, slapping his hand flat on the bar table, “Oi Evan, mix us something up will you. This calls for a celebration.”
--
Regulus Black is lying face down in his king-sized bed, arms stretched over his body, angled so his hands are resting just above his head. He always thought that it was too big for one person, but it was fine, as long as the other rooms in his mansion were filled. That hasn’t been the case in almost a year now and his loneliness and the huge space that he is surrounded by are finally catching up to him. The last person to stay by his side is Kreacher, his assistant, who has been in the family since Regulus could think and is seemingly the one person that his parents truly trusted in their lifetime.
Walburga and Orion were dead for quite some time now and yet Regulus couldn’t bear to get back to his usual routine. The camera flashes. Noisy interviewers. So instead, he stays home, in bed, shutting himself off from the outside world.
The slamming of the front door snaps Regulus back to reality and for the first time today he turns his body towards his door, awaiting Kreacher’s knock.
One, two, three.
The knocks are always the same so Regulus could recognize that it is in fact the old man outside of his door and not intruders, as Kreacher told him one time upon being asked. Not that thieves would knock but Regulus doesn’t question it. He likes his routine.
“Come in.” Regulus calls out weakly, the words getting stuck in his throat. This was the first time he had spoken today, even though it is almost 5 pm. Chugging some old water out of one of the many bottles that are lying next to his bed, some empty some half full, the door opens slowly, slightly squeaking.
“I figured you would want something to eat, Master Regulus.” Kreacher sticks out a plate with a variety of sliced fruit on it and one Avocado bread, placed neatly in the middle.
“I thought I told you to stop calling me Master.” Regulus cracks a small smile, stretching out his arm to grab the plate out of Kreacher’s hand. “Thank you.”
“I should have you know that Barty Crouch called an hour ago.” Kreacher says as he crouches down and begins picking up some of the water bottles. “Maybe you should call him back.”
“Merde.” Regulus mutters. Barty, although one of his longest and tightest friends, is also his agent. Him calling is almost always an indication of some new acting job that he’s trying to encourage Regulus into taking.
“He made sure that I tell you that it was important.” Says Kreacher, just before he steps out and closes the door behind him.
Rubbing his face and eyes to fully wake, Regulus reaches to his left, patting around his desk before getting a hold of his phone. Reluctantly, he scrolls through his various contacts, hesitating for a moment before calling Barty. It only takes two rings before connecting.
“Reggie!” Barty’s voice echoes through the speaker. “Was wondering when you’d finally call me back.”
“You said it was important.”
“Look that was kind of an exaggeration. It’s about this new movie, they want yo- “
Beep. Beep.
Regulus hung up.
Months have passed and Regulus always finds himself in a familiar pattern with Barty. Barty would call and say it was something terribly important but, in the end, it was always about new movie roles. Despite Regulus knowing about Barty’s game, he just couldn’t bring himself to stop calling him back, no matter how annoyed he was. What if it was something important? So, they just continued their little dance, trapped in a vicious circle.
“Kreacher?” Regulus calls through the door. “Can you please come in here?”
The doorknob turns instantly, so Regulus is sure that he heard his and Barty’s conversation.
“Please stop taking calls from Bartemius.” Regulus pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.
“Master Regulus- “
“I told you to stop calling me that.”
“Regulus, if I may, maybe it’s time.” Kreacher’s voice is gentle, like he’s afraid that Regulus would break any given moment. “It has been a year. You might benefit from going outside and having something to do.”
Regulus’ head shoots up to meet Kreacher’s eyes.
“No.” The word comes out harsher than intended and Regulus feels a wave of guilt wash over him in an instant. “I’m sorry. I just don’t think I’m ready.”
“You might never be ready if you don’t try it.”
Regulus just stares in silence, biting down on his lip until he feels the metallic taste of blood on his tongue. Sighing loudly, he reaches for his phone once again.
Two missed calls from Barty Crouch.
“Fine.” Taking a mango cube from the untouched plate in front of him, Regulus pops it into his mouth before sliding his finger over his cracked screen protector to call Barty back. “But I’m not committing to this yet.”
It rings two times. Again.
“Regulus?”
“When’s the audition?”