The Big Time

Standard Disclaimer:

You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...you know the rest.

This story may NOT be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use.

This work is complete fiction; celebs don't act like this in real life…probably.

Any copyrighted names, works, or whatever are products of their respective owners.

Constructive criticism is welcome and wanted. Please send any thoughts you may have.

(I know I told all the people who gave me feedback that this was coming out before 2002 was out. I'm sorry about the delay.)

Chapter 3: The Audition

11:00 am. Wednesday, May 28. Suite 9035. Hilton Hotel. Los Angeles, California.

There was a quiet knock on Michael's door. Michael was standing at the window whispering words to himself frantically, ignoring the knock. The person outside the door knocked loudly and Michael rushed over and opened the door.

"Morning Michael," said Simon.

"Oh, hi," said Michael.

"So, are you ready to go over these papers?" asked Simon.

"Um, yeah, sure," said Michael distractedly.

Simon set his briefcase on the table and clicked it open. He pulled out contract an inch thick and a pen. "Okay, Mr. Torbin. All you have to do is initial here, here, and here, sign here, here and here, and you'll be my newest client."

Michael eyed the contract. "Don't I have to read that first?"

"Well, it's a pretty standard contract. Same as you would get from any other agency."

"Like I know what a standard contract looks like. Gimme the gist of it."

"It's a two year contract, you can pull out after the first year if you're not satisfied, and the agency gets the industry standard of 12%. There's a lot of legal mumbo jumbo in there, but if you want to go over all of it, we do have the time." Simon scrutinized Michael. "Although you look a bit wired right now. Have you slept?"

"No, not a wink. I'm usually never this worried about anything," said Michael.

"You should see the ritual that Meryl Streep goes through before she even gets out of bed. You just have to learn how to relax."

"Once I do or don't get this part, then I'll relax. And how do you know what Meryl Streep's morning routine is?"

Simon picked up the contract and put it back in his briefcase. "Listen, do whatever you need to do in order to prepare for the audition. We'll deal with the contract later, okay?" Michael nodded. "And remember to take a shower." Simon left the room as Michael began going over his lines again.

4:13 pm. Wednesday, May 28. Paramount Studios. Hollywood, California.

"NEXT!" shouted a voice from the seats in front of the stage.

"Hey, you. You're up next, let's go," said a portly PA holding a clipboard.

Michael rubbed his eyes and took a deep breath; he was riding on coffee and adrenaline. Michael hadn't eaten since he had lunch with Jennifer Aniston yesterday afternoon. He had read through every letter of every line, had his part memorized as well as the other parts. He tried doing his lines a hundred different ways, trying to find just the right method to doing it. Then he did them all over again in front of the bathroom mirror.

Michael followed the PA up the stairs and onto the stage. The man pointed to where Michael was supposed to stand, and then walked off. Kirsten was already onstage, looking bored. She had done this scene with dozens of guys already, and was checking her watch after each one. Her mood immediately changed when she saw Michael take his place. He looked awfully nervous to her, and she smiled reassuringly at him.

"Okay, this is Michelle Torbin, trying out for the same part that the rest of these guys have been trying out for," said a man sitting in the seats, probably a producer.

"Michael, sir, my name is Michael," said Michael.

"What?" said the man.

Michael cleared his throat and said a little louder, "Michael, my name is Michael Torbin, not Michelle."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever kid, we'll mark that down."

"Okay, you know which scene we're doing?" said the woman sitting next to the man. Michael nodded. "Good, whenever you're ready Michael."

Michael cracked his knuckles.

***

Torbin estate. Bethesda, Maryland.

Sharon was relaxing in the TV room with a glass of Romanée Conti, idly watching the stock ticker on CNN. John was standing in the back corner of the room holding a silver tray. Pleased with her stocks performance for the day, Sharon gulped down the last of her wine and put it down on the side table. John sighed and immediately stepped forward and placed the glass and coaster on the tray.

"Madam, this wine is meant to be savored, relished," said John.

"At fifteen hundred dollars a bottle John, I'll drink it however I please," retorted Sharon. "By the way, where exactly is my son? I need to talk to him."

"I don't know, madam. Perhaps you should ask the master of the house?"

"You ask him, and then come back and tell me. I'm too tired to deal with him tonight."

"Of course, madam." John left the room.

Joseph was in the kitchen holding a bottle of Tylenol. He flicked the top off and poured some pills onto the counter top. He pulled the door of the stainless steel refrigerator open and took out a bottle of water as John entered the room. Joseph popped half a dozen pills in his mouth and downed all of them with one big swig of water.

"Sir, you really should take better care of yourself," said John.

"There are a lot of things that people should do. Is there any food left?" asked Joseph, rubbing his temples.

"Yes sir, in the oven sir," said John. "Madam wishes to know the whereabouts of your son Michael."

"Why doesn't she just ask me herself?" When John didn't answer, Joseph slammed his bottle down on the counter, splashing water everywhere. "Where is she?!"

"In the television room, sir," said John. Joseph stormed out of the room while John began wiping up the spilt water.

Joseph entered the TV room. "You think you're too good to talk to me?"

Sharon sighed. "Thank you very much John," she said to herself.

"Hey! Look at me when you talk." Sharon began flipping channels. Joseph walked over and stood directly between his wife and the television. "You wanna know where Mike is? Ask me."

Sharon looked up. "Where is Mike?" she asked.

"He's in LA," said Joseph with a bit of satisfaction in his voice.

"How drunk are you? Where is he, really?"

"He is in LA," said Joseph, gritting his teeth.

When she realized that Joseph was quite sober and not lying, she clicked the television off and stood up off the couch. "Why the hell is he in LA?"

"To become a movie star, how the fuck should I know? I also let him take along five thousand dollars to keep him company."

"You let him run off to LA with five thousand of MY dollars?!"

"Yep," said Joseph, turning his back to his wife. "Don't worry, I'm sure he'll pay ME back MY five thousand dollars once he returns." Joseph left the room feeling a little bit better than when he walked in.

Sharon threw the controller against the wall. It shattered into tiny pieces. She slammed her fist on the intercom. "John, I want you to find out where my son is. RIGHT NOW!"

4:24 pm. Paramount Studios. Hollywood, California.

Michael walked off the stage shaking his head to the sounds of half stifled laughter.

"Are we done here?" asked Kirsten, still giggling.

"Yes, that was the last one," said the woman in the seats before she started whispering with the people next to her. Kirsten headed offstage and caught up with Michael, who had his hands on his hips and was staring up at the ceiling.

"Well that was one of the stupidest things I've ever said," said Michael, his back to Kirsten. "You told me that they wouldn't laugh me off the stage."

"I didn't know you were going to say 'bulging dick' instead of 'bulging disk.' They'll probably think it was intentional."

Michael turned towards her. "Pleeeaaase. I think the worst-acting-ever torch has been passed. Madonna doesn't have shit on me."

"You weren't bad at all, Mike, really. Besides, Madonna embarrassed herself on the national stage, not the little stage in the Paramount Studios lot."

"Maybe, except YOU were on my little stage."

"Mike, do you really think that your acting ability will have any impact on my feelings about you?" She turned him around by his shoulder and crossed her arms around his neck. "How shallow do you think I am?"

"Ahem," interrupted a voice before Michael could reply. Michael and Kirsten both looked over and saw Simon. "Ok you two lovebirds, let's just hold off on the PDA's shall we?" He cast a stern look at Kirsten who let go of Michael reluctantly.

"Hello Simon," said Kirsten. Michael nodded at Simon.

"How did it go? Well, I hope?" asked Simon.

"Sure, if you leave out the laughing part," said Michael.

Simon looked at Kirsten. "I think he did fine," said Kirsten.

"Okay, I'm going to go talk to the casting director, put in a good word," said Simon. Michael watched Simon leave the backstage area.

"I still can't figure him out," said Michael.

"Aren't there any gay people in Chicago? Or Maryland?"

"Well, yeah I kinda figured that he plays for the other team, but I don't understand why he's got so much confidence in me," said Michael. "And does he have a problem with you being in a relationship? What about Ledger?"

"I think he might just be looking out for my career. You know, like I'm not attached to anyone?"

"Well, he knows this stuff better than I do," said Michael. Simon returned backstage.

"They're going to let us know by morning," said Simon.

"That fast?" asked Kirsten.

"Tight schedule," said Simon matter-of-factly. "So, Mr. Torbin, when would be a good time for you and I to discuss the contract?"

"Not tonight, I'm exhausted. I think I'll just head back to my motel and get some sleep," said Michael.

"You're not going back to Motel 6. The room at the Hilton will be available for the duration of your stay in LA."

"Wait Simon, that room has got to one of the most expensive rooms in that entire hotel. I feel guilty enough for mooching just the one night."

"It's not mooching, Michael, if I offer. Just consider it as gentle persuasion to join Shooting Stars." Simon pulled out a Palm Tungsten T out of his coat pocket and scrolled through his appointment schedule. "Well, I can squeeze you in between Katie Holmes and Natalie Portman."

"Wouldn't mind that," said Michael.

"Neither would I," said Kirsten. Michael chuckled and shook his head.

"Moving on," said Simon with a sigh. "10:30 am, ok? I'll send a driver tomorrow morning, so be ready by 10:00."

"No problem," said Michael. Simon shook Michael's hand and left.

"So what are your plans for tonight?" asked Kirsten.

Michael scoffed. "What plans? You're the only friend I have in this town."

"Good, then you can join me for dinner," said Kirsten with a mischievous smile.

"Okay, what'd you have in mind?" asked Michael, suspicion in his voice.

"It's a surprise," said Kirsten.

"I knew you were going to say that. I hope that whatever place you have in mind serves large portions 'cause I am starving."

"Oh, I guarantee that you won't be able to clean off your plate," said Kirsten. She thought a moment. "In fact, no one ever has."

"Love a challenge," said Michael.

***

Torbin estate. Bethesda, Maryland.

Sharon was pacing back and forth, furrowing her brow. She was fuming after Joseph told her that he gave Michael five thousand dollars and let him go to Los Angeles. But she wasn't about to let her husband get away with such insolence.

"I've found your son's flight madam, but his whereabouts are still unknown," said John after he walked back into the room.

"When?"

John looked at a piece of stationery he held in his hand. "He departed from Bethesda International at 5:45 pm on May 26, two days ago. He arrived in Los Angeles at just before midnight on the same day. That is the only record of him that I have been able to track down."

"That's it? No credit card or ATM charges?"

"Madam, you never allowed Michael to have a credit card or an ATM account."

"Fine, then he must be staying in some hotel or motel. Find out which one, he has to leave a name."

"Yes, madam," said John. He folded the paper and put it in his pocket. Then he turned and walked away. Joseph met him in the hallway.

"John, if you find him, don't tell her where he is. I want to let her stew in her juices for awhile," ordered Joseph.

"As you wish sir." Joseph walked past John and headed towards his den. "Sir, would you like to know where he is if I find him?" Joseph shut the door to his den quietly without answering.

5:13 pm. Dunst household. Los Angeles, California.

Michael looked out the passenger side window towards a two story, sky blue home. "This isn't the kind of surprise I was expecting."

"If you expected it, it wouldn't be a surprise," said Kirsten as she twisted the key in the ignition and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"As a guy, I would have greatly appreciated advance warning about this kind of thing," said Michael.

"Twenty minutes is sort of an advanced warning," said Kirsten with a smile. Michael sighed. "Don't be a baby. Come on."

Michael could not understand why Kirsten would put him in a situation like this. She looked comfortable about it, but it was not like these were his parents she was meeting for the first time. He was going to meet her parents as if he were the boyfriend. Obviously, Kirsten considered him a boyfriend, but this was still way too early by Michael's count. He made a mental note to sit her down and clarify exactly what kind of relationship they had. Michael was just too damned confused.

He got out of the car and walked up the driveway with Kirsten. Her keys jingled as she unlocked the front door and opened it. Michael wiped his feet thoroughly before entering. A tiny dog ran up to them yapping excitedly.

"Hi Beauty!" cooed Kirsten. "How's my little girl?"

Michael stared down at the excited furball. "What kind of dog is that?"

"Yorkshire Terrier," answered Kirsten.

"Does it have a face?"

"Of course SHE does. You have a face, don't you Beauty? The cutest little face in the world!" said Kirsten. "She's not like X, though."

"Definitely," replied Michael.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kirsten shot back.

Michael quickly looked around. "Oh look, you have cats too," exclaimed Michael. Then with a bit less enthusiasm, "Lots of cats." Three cats sat on the stairs in front of Michael and Kirsten. One was black all over except for its belly, another was brown and white, while the last was uniformly white.

"That's Felix, Zorro, and Cat," said Kirsten as she pointed to each one in turn.

"You named your cat, Cat?" asked Michael.

"Hi Kiki!" said a short squat woman coming down the front stairs. Michael looked up and straightened out his posture as the cats bounded out of the way.

"Hi Mom!" replied Kirsten as they hugged each other.

"Ooh, who is this?" asked Kirsten's mother.

"This is Michael Torbin. I met him in Chicago a few weeks back. He just auditioned for 'Chicago Style Romance.'"

Michael extended his hand and Kirsten's mother shook it. "It's very nice to meet you Mrs. Dunst." Felix began rubbing his side against Michael's left ankle while Zorro rubbed up against the right. Michael gently tried shaking them off but they wouldn't leave.

"Nice to meet you too. And please, call me Inez," said Kirsten's mother.

"Of course, um, Inez," responded Michael as the cats began meowing.

"Christian!" shouted Inez. "Come down here and meet your sister's new friend."

A tall, lanky teenage kid with brown hair appeared at the top of the stairs. He swaggered down the stairs and shook Michael's hand. "How you doin'?"

"Fine. I'm fine. How are you?" asked Michael as the cats suddenly began hissing at each other.

The three Dunst family members looked down at Michael's feet. Michael did his best not to kick the cats out of the way. Either cat was poking its head out from behind Michael's leg and baring its teeth.

"Felix! Zorro! Get off of Michael right now!" ordered Kirsten. When neither cat complied, Kirsten scooped up Zorro while her mother grabbed Felix. "They're never like this," assured Kirsten.

"Bad kitty!" said Inez. She handed the cat to Christian and told him to take it upstairs. A ding emanated from somewhere in the back of the home. "Dinner is ready everyone. Kirsten, can you help me set the table?"

"Sure mom, smells great!" said Kirsten.

"I thought that was the cat pee," whispered Michael into Kirsten's ear.

She whispered back, "Remember when I said that no one has ever finished a plate?" Then in a louder tone of voice she said, "Make yourself at home, okay?" Kirsten went off to help her mother set the table.

Michael entered the large living room. There was a large fireplace on the largest wall. Gift cards lined the mantle. An antique upright piano was facing the windows. Numerous photographs of Kirsten and her brother through the years were framed on top of the piano. Michael noticed that there weren't any pictures of either of Kirsten's parents. A three piece leather furniture set was the centerpiece of the room, surrounding an austere glass table.

Beauty followed Michael around as he examined the living room. She was totally silent as she tried to evaluate the stranger in her home. After completing her sniffing, Beauty came to a quick decision. Michael scrunched his eyebrows as he felt a warmth spread around his socks.

"Jesus!" exclaimed Michael as he spun around, nearly kicking Beauty in the head.

"BEAUTY!" shouted Kirsten. "BAD BAD DOG!" Beauty stopped peeing and began whining, ashamed at disappointing her master. Kirsten grabbed the dog and locked it in one of the bedrooms. Christian had come back down after hearing the commotion and couldn't help himself from laughing. His mother stood next to him, horrified at Beauty's reaction. Michael's face was bright red.

"Chris, get our guest some socks and a pair of pants to wear," said Inez. Chris kept laughing as he headed up the stairs.

"Geez, I'm really sorry about that," said Michael.

"Sorry about what? She peed on you," replied Inez. "You better take your pants off."

"Ex-ex-excuse me?" asked Michael.

"So they can be washed. You don't wanna smell like dog pee all night do you?"

"You don't have to wash my clothes. I don't want to be a hassle," said Michael as Kirsten reentered the room.

"Well, I'm not washing your clothes. Kiki is."

"I am?" questioned Kirsten.

"Yes, that is your dog that you are supposed to take care of," said Inez. "I'll finish setting the table."

"Oh. Well, I don't have a problem with that then. Mind if I get myself cleaned up a bit?" asked Michael as Christian came back down with a pair of socks and a pair of jeans.

"I'll show him to the bathroom," said Kirsten, taking the clothes from Christian. She and Michael headed to the second floor and into the rather spacious bathroom. "That was so weird. She's been housebroken for years. I wonder what came over her."

Michael emptied his pockets, then removed his pants, shoes and socks. He sat on the edge of the bathtub, turned the water on and washed his feet and ankles off. Kirsten handed him a towel before she left with his dirty clothes. A few minutes later Michael came back down the stairs sporting jeans that were three inches too long for him.

The four of them sat down at the table, Michael and Kirsten on one side, Christian and Inez on the other. Michael examined the slightly burnt pot roast sitting in the middle of the table. It looked like a shrunken tree log. There were bowls of steamed green beans and corn on the table as well. Inez sliced up generous portions for everyone. Michael took a bite of the pot roast. Suddenly, his mouth became the Mojave Desert. He sipped down some water but the meat just seemed to soak it all up. Michael was able to choke the piece down without looking like a total ass, but he decided against eating the pot roast and stuck to the vegetables.