Tequila filled the room with an almost oppressive presence. Pills litter the black carpet which to the frozen Ryan looks like stars in the night sky.
He can barely see his small studio apartment that he loathes. His bright blue eyes are the color of the bottle.
All his life amounted to a slew of failures: a frequent athlete who was often injured, a D-list actor who never got a nod from the gatekeepers, and—most grievous of all—a bad son to a mother who would travel from heaven to hell to be with him. And the truth of his death, that he would be another statistic of drug overdose in L.A, stood naked before him and his was moral being was erased.
What's the phrase? Life and death are two sides of the same coin. Fuck you.
A flash of clarity hits him, and for a moment, the opioid haze clears, making him doubt if he's ever thought anything truer—my life would be worth a penny.
The cold floor reminds him of when, as a child, he would hide anywhere in Malcolm's house—a small, suburban hole-in-the-wall place in New York. The hours were long and the silence louder in that timeless, godforsaken place.
His manager told him that it was deal of a lifetime; he would escape the underbelly of Los Angeles that employed dreamers and bootlickers.
'It was supposed to be my big break, it had a 100 million budget and an experienced director.'
He raised his right arm as far as he could to ceiling above and in his last moments he thought of his flimsy agent, his actor friends who constantly look down on him, and the phone call he received weeks ago.
_________
The Los Angeles sun hits him and he realizes that his body feels different.
'What the hell?'
He is at his backyard in his old apartment that he shared with some 'friends'. His body does not feel hazy, dizzy, or numb at all. He is at the prime of his life.
Suddenly, he gets a call from his agent after seeing a text from Ricky checking in on him.
"I have been calling you for ten minutes kid. I got you an audition for something that you can get. Listen, it's small budget but a great cast and a learning opportunity."
"Okay. what's the title?"
"Margin Call by J.C Chandor. Kevin Spacey, Stanley Tucci, and Demi Moore signed on. 1PM at 6900 Santa Monica Blvd. I text you the information. I gotta go"
Ryan puts down his phone and looks at the hordes of people going about their day. His attractive appearance gets him a few stares but he pays them no mind. He is not going to waste this chance but the reality of the situation catches him.
The air was humid and sweltering but his body still felt cold from that small studio apartment. All of his adult life he has been running away from the hand of poverty or failure but now he felt like he was running towards something. Although, doubt seeped into his being and thought:
Why me? I was just a nameless actor that you can pick anywhere in this city. l was supposed to die in that cold room: forgotten and rejected.
He goes back to his crumby apartment to prepare for the role: a young, ambitious analyst in Wall Street. He at least has some things in common.
All day, Ryan did odd things to prepare or at least get in the headspace of an analyst: he went to Wall Street forums on reddit, took a free financial course on Khan Academy, watched pieces of the documentary The Ascent Of Money, and looked at profiles of junior analyst at firms like Goldman Sachs on LinkedIn.
He had a trouble sleeping and took a Valium but all night he saw the outline of his popcorn ceiling.