Marry the White Boy

Chapter 1

Lillian

Las Vegas—the city of ‘go big or go home.’ 

Many aspiring starlets move to Las Vegas to get a shot at their dreams, and I just so happen to be one of them. 

“Cut!” the director yells.

He runs a hand through his sleek black hair, a clear look of frustration on his face. 

“No, no, no, Diane,” he says as he shakes his head emphatically.

I snap myself out of my role as a dead girl, body half-lying on top of a toilet, and stand to meet the director’s gaze of disapproval. 

I clear my throat awkwardly and mutter, “It’s actually Lillian Sparks, sir.”

He rolls his eyes. “Right. Whatever. Lillian.”

“Did I do something wrong?” I ask, not relishing the feeling of being the center of his ire.

He sighs in frustration. “Could you make yourself look even more… I don’t know… dead?”

Right. Look more fucking dead, Lillian.  

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the guy who’s basically going to sign my paycheck for the month. God knows I need the money. I’m barely making enough to pay rent. 

I’ve been trying my luck in Las Vegas for three years and haven’t managed to land anything worth mentioning. All I’ve gotten are jobs as extras in low budgeted films. The competition is just too steep, and I’m already at the end of my rope.

“Hey, you hear me talking to you?” the director says, obnoxiously snapping his fingers in front of my face.  

With a feeling of resignation, I nod, not wanting to argue about his eccentricities. I move back into position, my body laying limp over the toilet seat, my head bent at an awkward angle, willing my eyes to look ‘dead’ for the damn director. 

“And action!” he yells. 

I swallow back the sigh that’s about to escape from my lips.

Is it always going to be like this? I can’t help but wonder.

Maybe I’m better off moving back to New York to be a waitress. I’m sure Aunt Mary would be grateful for the extra pair of hands in her coffee shop. Besides, Vegas is getting to cost way too much for a broke ass actress such as myself. 

“And that’s a wrap!” the director finally calls. 

I get myself cleaned up, the thought of hanging up my dream of being a big-time actress weighing heavily on my mind. 

“Hey, Diane!” the director shouts. 

I turn my attention back to the sleazebag.

“It’s Lillian,” I correct him again.

“Right. Of course, Lillian,” he smiles, openly leering at my form-fitting outfit with the short skirt. 

His hand rubs against my side, and I try to suppress the disgusted shudder that’s about to make its way down my spine.  

I feel a sudden wave of nausea hit me from his unwelcome touch. 

I know a lot of actresses get opportunities through the unspoken rules of the Hollywood industry, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m a woman of integrity. And I want to get by on sheer talent, not by the size of my rack. 

Besides, one of my board-mates once landed a cameo in a soap opera through those unsavory methods. She came home with bruises all over her body and couldn’t even stand for a week. Whomever she made an agreement with must have been some kind of sadist. 

I promised right there and then to never put myself in that kind of situation. Not if I can help it.

“Thanks,” my voice stammers as I pull away from his touch.

His smile doesn’t waver in the least, “How about I give you the lead in my next movie? All you have to do is show me a bit of a good time.”

I shake my head frantically, “I’m not that kind of woman, sir. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

I walk hurriedly towards the exit, wanting to put as much distance from the sleaze as possible.

“You’ll come crawling back!” I hear him shout.

“Not a chance, asshole,” I mutter.

The ride back to my apartment is silent. My dreams feel like they’re getting further from my grasp. I wipe away the lone tear that rolls down my cheek. 

Las Vegas is feeling more of a mistake with each passing day. 

I turn the key to my old crummy apartment, shutting the door behind my back with a heavy sigh of defeat. 

I pack my clothes inside my luggage, my mind completely made up. I’m going back to New York. I gambled and it didn’t pay off. And I have to accept that. 

Just as I’m drowning in self-pity, my phone rings. My heart clenches when I see Sam’s name on the screen. 

The only reason I held on for so long is Sam. He’s the kindest manager any aspiring starlet could ever ask for. He doesn’t force me to do anything that I don’t want to. He respects me and does his best to get me a lot of jobs. Unfortunately, his efforts, along with mine, just aren’t enough to get me anywhere.

“Hey, Sam. What is it?” I answer.

“Girl, you’re not going to believe it! I’ve got a job for you. A very special one!” he says excitedly. 

It’s probably another job as an extra, but it can’t hurt to hear him out. 

“Really? What’s the job?” I ask.

“I got the info from a friend of a friend of a friend. It sounds totally legit, girl. The project’s pretty hush-hush. So, you got to go to the audition to find out the details.”

I make no effort to hide my skepticism, “Hush-hush? That sounds all sorts of sketchy, Sam.” 

I mean, why all the secrecy if it’s something legit? I don’t want to get entangled with a bad set of people. 

“Trust me. This is the real deal. It’s going to kickstart your career towards stardom!” Sam assures. 

What could it hurt?

“Alright. Give me the address,” I say, giving in. 

Sam cheers through the phone, wishing me all the luck in the world. But at the same time, saying that I won’t be needing it. 

I end the call feeling slightly hopeful.

This is it, Lillian. One last shot at stardom before you put your dreams to rest.