Page 10 of The Pretender

Maverick rolls his eyes but says nothing. Which is good because, the truth is, I don’t need a D.D. or a voice of reason. I’m not self-destructing. Well, not as much, anyway. I’ve done better lately, like since yesterday, when I stole Valentina’s favorite patio chair. Her cute little ass didn’t sit outside last night and munch on ten pounds of popcorn as she gasped and jumped at the worst 90’s horror movies.

I did the neighborhood a solid.

And myself.

Because I really do feel much better knowing we both suffered.

“Sebastian.” Maverick punches my arm.

Shit. Right.

Focus, Bash.

“Why do you want to be my cameraman anyway?” I ask, trying to, somewhat, adult. It lasts for all of a second because I catch movement in my peripheral.Did she close the curtains?

“Goddammit. Sebastian!”

Ugh.Another time, neighbor.

I straighten and smile at Brick like a boss would because that’s what I am when I feel like it. “From your resume, it seems like you’ve done well in the film industry. Being a cameraman for a MyView page can’t be all that fulfilling, considering you’ve been filming a three-year documentary.”

Brick really is talented and well-known around campus. I should be more impressed.Shouldbeing the operative word.

Brick nods and swallows. “Subscription media is on the rise. If I want to pitch to the likes of Netflix and Hulu one day, I’ll need the experience. I thought this job would be the best route.”

Smart.

So far Mr. Potential New Cameraman has aced this interview. At least he did when I was paying attention. He’s given me all the right answers and even spat out a few 'Yo Mama' jokes earlier that made me laugh. Basically, he’s exhibited all the traits I admire in a good cameraman. But since my last one quit, I’m gun-shy to jump at the next person with a shitty sense of humor and a great eye for angles. Brick here, will need to provide me with a little thing called proof.

“He’s the best you’ve seen out of fifty applicants,” Maverick mumbles next to me. “Hire him and let’s move on with our lives.”

I ignore Maverick, and the word “best” that just left his mouth. I already had the best cameraman. This guy in front of me, clutching his expensive fucking Nikon, is merely a wannabe cameraman, not the best I’ve ever seen.

He’s right, though. Brick is the best I’ve seenso far. It’s been months since I lost Tweener, my last cameraman. My ratings are dropping like a drunk mountain biker. I can’t afford to keep filming selfie-style or on a tripod; that’s a rookie move.

My videos are becoming basic, and at this point, I can’t afford to lose any more subscribers or advertisers than I already have. I need the money. Having steady income is the only way out of Georgia and away from a past that haunts me each and every day.

“One last question, Brick.”

What kind of name is Brick anyway?

I suppose a film one. Maybe I should come up with something short like G-Easy or Eminem. Not that I’m a rapper, but maybe that’s the rebranding I need in on social media. I loathe the fact my name coincides with hers. If I get asked one more time, “Where’s Vee?” someone is getting punched. Apparently, my fame was born from her and, obviously, my fame has died with her, which only adds to my warm and sarcastic personality. The one thing I thought I succeeded in, she snatched away from me, reminding me that I’ve yet to really succeed at anything on my own.

Brick sits taller, clearing his throat. “Hit me.” His voice is deep and edgy with a hint of a southern accent. Good—if I never hear a southern Latina accent ever again, it’ll be too soon.

“If I offer you this job—and I’m not saying I am—but if I do…” I draw out the words with a cringe and fight the urge to look out the fucking window. “Would you be able to provide a copy of your birth certificate?”

Brick may think that’s a strange fucking question but so is his name. Dealing with my cynicism comes with the job.

“Uh…” His eyes go left to right in rapid sequence, before finally landing on the pussy-whipped asshole beside me. Maverick—the scary, unhelpful paperweight.

I snap my fingers, drawing Brick’s attention back to the proper asshole. Me. “He’s not the one hiring. I am.”

A muscle in Brick’s throat works as he swallows and averts his eyes to the prerequisite questionnaire I had him fill out a few minutes earlier. I’m nothing if not a thorough employer.

“Let it go, Bash,” Maverick mutters, not looking up from his damn phone. “Your interview questions are escalating with each applicant.” Maverick’s voice is laced with amusement. Almost as if he’s refraining from laughing. “Soon, you’ll be asking them to pull up their shirts, so you can check for wires and nipple hair.” I watch as he grins into his phone, one last time, before I snatch it from his hand and toss it on the sofa out of his reach.

His blinks are slow as he eyes me seriously. “Don’t deflect because you’re uncomfortable. Stop this charade. You don’t need any more drama and rumors floating around about you.”

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