‘The makeup director wanted me to have a more street look,’ Evan said, and waited to see what they would say.
The kid just frowned as if Evan were crazy – and then the woman said, ‘Let’s go to the back of the store.’
‘Actually, there’ll be a phone call coming in for you here in a minute. We should just wait right here.’ Evan put a bright, fake smile on his face.
‘Excuse me?’ The woman was running the show now, not the kid.
‘Here’s the deal,’ Evan said. ‘I’m a scout for a new reality show, it’s called Tough Streets. HBO next fall. We put people who don’t have any street smarts in neighborhoods where they’ve never been before. Picture soccer moms and suburban dads trying to cope in the Fifth Ward. Whoever can accomplish a set list of goals, well, they move on in the competition. The grand prize is a million bucks.’
The woman stared at Evan, but the boy said, ‘I got an idea for a show. You put my ass in River Oaks, let me live in luxury, and film that all the livelong day.’
‘Shut up. You buying or not?’ the woman said.
‘Did you bring the ammo?’ Evan asked.
‘Yeah.’
‘I’m buying. But we’re test-driving this as one of our challenges. I just wanted to see how easy it was to buy ammo on the street. While taping.’ He raised the camcorder, with its lens cap off and recording lights aglow, out of the duffel. ‘Smile.’
‘No, no, no!’ the woman said, and she shielded her face with her fingers.
‘Wait. Wait.’ Evan switched off the camcorder. ‘I’m not getting you in trouble. I just had to test the challenge. Ma’am, you’re an original. You’re what we’re looking for on Tough Streets.’
‘Me. On TV.’ But she brought her hands down from her face.
He held up one hand as though framing her face. ‘I think you’d be great. But you don’t have to be on TV if you don’t want to be.’
‘Big Gin, gonna be a star.’ The kid laughed.
Big Gin froze. ‘What bullshit is this?’
Evan held up his hands. ‘No bullshit. The contestants all have street guides as partners in the game, because you and I know that they won’t have a chance without them. Dumbass people from suburbia.’
‘Like you,’ Big Gin said.
‘Yes, like me. You’re beyond telegenic. The strength in your face. The confidence of your walk, your talk. Of course the street guide shares half the prize money -’
‘A half million. You bullshitting me,’ Big Gin said.
‘- unless you have a record,’ Evan finished his sentence. ‘We could not hire anyone with a record. The lawyers are just asses about that.’
‘Buying ammo would get you a record,’ Big Gin said.
‘Well, the contestants wouldn’t truly be buying real ammunition. Just blanks. The lawyers are asses about that, too.’
‘She ain’t never been convicted,’ the kid said.
‘Shut up.’ Big Gin looked at Evan in a way he’d seen in film-deal meetings: a player who’s wondering if she’s the one being played.
‘This is bull,’ the kid said. ‘You got two hundred bucks for the ammo, or not, ’cause we ain’t staying if you don’t.’
‘Shut up,’ Big Gin said to him.
‘Um, I cannot give you two hundred bucks,’ Evan said. ‘That would mean we’ve conducted an illegal transaction, and we couldn’t hire you then for the show, Ms…’
‘Ginosha,’ she said.
‘Don’t be telling him your name,’ the kid said. ‘He don’t have the money, let’s go.’ Evan had a leftover card in his wallet from a screening and cocktail party he’d been at last week in Houston. One was from a producer with a Los Angeles production company called Urban Works, a guy named Eric Lawson. He handed Big Gin the card. ‘So sorry. Meant to give this to you earlier.’
‘Goddamn,’ she said. ‘You for real.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Where’s your camera crew? Why just you?’
‘Because this is guerrilla TV. We don’t bring camera crews out here when we’re scouting for talent and locations. It would not be reality TV then, would it?’
Big Gin studied the business card, as though it held a doorway to a long-held desire.
‘So who’s calling on the phone?’ she said.
‘One of the talent scouts,’ Evan said. ‘He’ll pretend to be the suburban contestant you have to help. But I want to film you from back over here, near this side of the lot. Just talk off the top of your head, show me how you can improvise. I’ve got a mike built into the phone already, but I want a distance shot of you. Here, young man, I’m sorry, what’s your name?’
‘Raymond.’ The boy examined the business card but with a critical glare.
‘You come over here and stand by me, out of the shot.’
Raymond frowned but not at the business card. ‘Why can’t I be in the shot?’
‘It’s my shot,’ Big Gin said.
‘Well, Raymond, frankly, you didn’t act interested,’ Evan said. ‘You didn’t think I was legit.’
‘Sure he did,’ Big Gin said. ‘That’s just the way he talks. He’s cool now, he’s not disrespecting.’
‘Raymond, you know, we have to win over the young audience as well,’ Evan said. ‘Our target demographic includes teenage girls.’
Raymond, holding the bag with the ammunition, tented his cheek with his tongue, gave Evan another frown, but went and stood by the phone, calculated a pose, stood his best side.
‘Excellent. But I don’t like the bag being in your shot. You look like you’re shopping.’ Evan took five steps back.
Big Gin picked up the bag of ammo clips, brought them over to Evan, put them at his feet. ‘We ought to be compensated for our time if you ain’t buying.’
‘Oh, absolutely. Of course this is basically your private audition, and you didn’t have to stand in line, and’ – he put the camcorder up to his eye – ‘I go down to the community center, I got folks lining up around the lot to try out.’
Big Gin gave him a look in the lens. ‘What do I do?’
‘Let your natural personality shine through.’ Evan was fifteen paces from them now, worried about the boy, whose suspicions had not flagged for one moment. The duffel and the bag of ammo sat between Evan’s feet. The stolen cell phone lay wedged in his back pocket.
‘Act natural. Don’t look at me.’ Evan reached behind him, pressed the dial button of his pocketed phone. It was already keyed to the pay phone’s number.
One ring. ‘Look at the pay phone, let it ring three times, let me get the film rolling.’ But Evan was the one rolling, grabbing the duffel and the ammo, running backward toward his truck. Two rings. Raymond still stared at the phone, but Big Gin couldn’t resist the lure of the camera’s eye. She spun as Evan jumped into the truck. He’d left the key in the ignition. He wrenched the car into reverse, saw Big Gin shout and run after him. He tore out into the street, into a hail of horns of oncoming traffic.
Raymond, now sold on the idea of TV stardom, answered the phone. ‘Is this part of the audition?’ he asked.
‘I’ve taped you dealing for a week,’ Evan lied into the phone. ‘You show up at that phone again, I give the cops the tape.’ In the rearview mirror Big Gin stormed out into traffic, shooting him the finger, winded in a short run.
‘That’s illegal!’ Raymond hollered. ‘You nothing but a chump-ass thief.’
‘Complain to the cops. Thanks for the ammo. We’ve made a fair trade, I’ll be quiet and I’ll keep your bullets.’
Raymond’s reply got cut off when Evan thumbed off the phone. Evan floored the accelerator in case Big Gin
