Chapter 3: 3. Green as a Sprout

Keith

After several hours of watching the audition tapes, my head is pounding, but that’s what I get for being an executive co-producer, right? Involvement. I asked for it, too. So here I sit in a meeting room, involved, clenching my jaw, which only makes my neck stiffer and the headache worse.

At least sacrificing my afternoon brought some results because we’ve already selected the candidates for the Yellow and Green Paladin. Now only the Blue one, followed by the one I’ve been invested in the most. Time moves so slowly it oozes, but we finally hit Shiro’s tape, and I watch it as mesmerized as the first time I laid eyes on him. The guy possesses a natural ability to inhabit a character, plus most actors try really hard to achieve his chiseled good looks by using expensive surgery and personal trainers.

“I mean, he’s a bit green,” Ben says. He’s the main producer, so his word is law. If he doesn’t like you, you’re out. End of story.

“Yeah, so green he’s a fucking sprout. Do you want to hire a complete newbie who won’t know a boom from a lav?” says Mike. “You’ll hightail out of here, and I’ll be stuck directing the kid.”

“Not a kid,” Romelle says. “He’s twenty-six, and yes, he’s new, but he’s got charisma. And an actual military background, which could lend the show authenticity, not to mention you could employ him as a consultant. Plus, you know, the queer thing. Those are major rep points nowadays.” Cynical but spot on, as always. She noticed the guy in the hallway, where he apparently only kept his friend company, and dragged him in to audition. It sounds ridiculous, like one of the Hollywood stories that become urban legends repeated in clickbait articles over and over until you grow sick of them. Usually, I’d scoff and sweep such an outlandish idea under the table. Acting is more than just looking like a wet dream. There’s craft involved, a method to the madness. My scrawny ass has to believe that because if that’s not the case, I’m fucked. 

So yeah, when Romelle brought Shiro in, I bristled at her for wasting our time, but once he started talking, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. And not only because of the larger-than-life superhero thing. Yeah, he was handsome… and by handsome, I mean scorching hot. The hottest guy I’ve ever seen, by a wide margin, not that I can say that out loud since I’m supposedly straight. This is Hollywood, though, so hot guys are a dime a dozen times two, but Shiro exuded that special something, something real we all responded to.

Real is a rare quality here, in the land of glitter and lies, and I’m sure it’ll wash off fast if he gets hired, but right now, he’s the next big thing. How nobody has snagged him to model or act, I have no idea. Oh, right, until recently, he served at the Navy base in San Diego. A safe bet they don’t allow prowling agents in there. After Shiro left the audition, Romelle worked her magic and pulled an entire profile on him, which I’m not sure was entirely legal, but it brought results, so I kept my mouth shut.

Lieutenant Takashi Shirogane, an honorable medical discharge from the military following an undisclosed (probably classified) accident. Twenty-six, currently unemployed. Tall, muscular, handsome, with a jaw that could break someone’s fist. Or heart. The profile doesn’t mention the last part; that’s just my personal observation.

The unique shock of white hair gives him an appearance of a comic book hero, especially coupled with the scars. A very prominent one runs across his nose and cheeks, but I spotted several more peeking out from the V-cut of his T-shirt, tempting me to trace them with my tongue.

No. Just no. There’s going to be zero licking of a potential co-star. A male co-star, for crying out loud. And if I have my way, he’ll change from potential into actual faster than this business forgets a forty-year-old actress. For once, I have a say in a project, and I say I want to work with someone so freaking earnest. I don’t connect easily with people, but the chemistry with Shiro was instantaneous, searing, and it would transfer well on screen, which is my leading and only concern. Not the way he looked at me, slate-colored eyes all intense and focused, like I was his entire universe. God, even the memory is making me shiver.

Forcibly, I push the image of the eyes framed with lashes so thick they look painted on out of my mind and wind back to the selection process. It’s all about getting the best people for the show so it’s a huge fucking success, and I can retire before the Hollywood scene runs me ragged. 

“We should give Shirogane the part. Yeah, he’s green, so what? He can sign up for acting lessons, or I can even teach him. Whatever. He has the looks, and he has the star quality. Plus, it might be good to cast someone nice instead of the usual set of assholes.”

“Counting yourself among those, Keith?” Ben asks, but the question has no teeth, not with me investing a lot of money into the show. Voltron is a passion project, with the original comic books being the only bright memory from my crappy childhood spent bouncing between foster homes.

“Nah. I’m an unusual asshole. Still, I want Shiro for the part.”

“He’s a complete non-entity, though. We could have an A-lister instead. How about that dude with the beard, you know which one? He played the Norse god in Protector of Midgard,” Ben says.

“He’s in Australia,” says Romelle.

“What?” 

“His wife had a baby. He took a break to spend time with his family. Plus, Ben, love, you couldn’t afford him, not even if you sold both your kidneys on the black market.”

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That’s true. A-listers are expensive, while Shiro, inexperienced as he is, won’t be. I spot an opening and go for the jugular.

“Hiring someone famous will cost a ton of money, while hiring Shiro will cost peanuts. We can invest what we save into CGI instead. And if you’re so concerned with the ‘buzz,’ just spread the story about his humble beginnings, about being randomly picked up during an audition. That shit’s gold. People will eat that up unless our marketing department is fucking useless?” I ask. The meeting has been going on for a while, and my head is launching loud protests, throbbing from being around too many people for so long, the pain making me even grouchier than usual. Usually, it takes a bigger crowd to trigger the headache, but the audition process has drained me, and the sensory overload threatens to overwhelm me.

“There might be something there.” Mike taps his cheek with a pen, but he doesn’t notice he’s using the wrong side, smearing blue marks all over his face. Romelle does and takes the pen away with an apologetic smile. Thank god for Romelle. Without her, we’d be running around like headless chickens, which is a scary thought, considering she’s not a part of our team. As usual for casting directors, she’s an outside hire, working for an agency the network employs.

“A regular Joe that tagged along with his friend to an audition and left a movie star,” she says, eyes dreamy.

“There’s nothing regular about him,” I snap. Romelle’s brows shoot up so high they disappear into her hairline, and she pats my shoulder. I power through, even though strangers touching me is on the list of things that should be outlawed.

“I agree,” she says. “You know I wanted him for Ryou since I spotted him crouching in the chair in front of the audition room, all hunky and broody. The question is, will he accept? He didn’t seem all that excited.”

“Make him,” I say. Ben and Mike exchange surprised looks.

“Are you deciding for everyone now, Keith?” Mike asks mildly.

“Does anyone have a better suggestion for the part? Have we seen anyone, fucking anyone, who’d come close to the idea we have for Ryou except for Shiro? Come on, let’s hear your suggestions. None? Then yes, I’m deciding.”

“Hold your horses, Keith,” Ben says, and his eyes flick between the screen frozen on a picture of Shiro with a crooked smile on his face and the printed info about him lying on the desk. “I’ll agree he’s close to how we imagine Ryou, and he pulled off a decent job at the audition, but I’m not hiring a complete unknown without at least bringing him in for a callback.”

“Fine. Whatever makes this move along.” 

“A callback is a given,” Mike says. “We have to do it for the entire group, anyway. So if we don’t like what he shows us then, we’ll just send him packing. Guess this works as a compromise. I still want to invite the other guy, Sven something, as well, though.”

“The character is supposed to be Japanese.”

“We can always change that.”

“Fine,” I grit out. “Ben?”

“Okay, sounds reasonable.” He gives a brief nod. As a lead, I’ll be a part of the decision process. I’ll get to see Shiro again, and the wretched blood pump in my chest leaps almost painfully at the idea. What’s up with that?

Ben makes a note and adds Shiro’s file to the other people we’re inviting back. Romelle’s furtive thumbs-up teases a smile to unfurl on my lips. Thankfully, Ben doesn’t notice; already busy playing another tape. 

“Moving on. Who do we like for the Blue Paladin?”

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