Aim High, Never Rest

I’d spent the past week or so in exile, with shooting for Varsity Vampire taking up the majority of my time. As the days rolled by and I was falling more into the role itself, I also became more accustomed to the hectic work schedule and not getting home until after the sun had already set. The stress that accompanied those long hours on set was only exacerbated by the fact that I never got to see my friends. It felt like the time I’d spent trying to develop the few friendships I had in LA was all in vain because now I never had the time to do anything.

I had decided to take Logan’s advice and be a little more open to the idea of being with Dak, since we already spent so much time together during filming, so it would be awkward if I tried to avoid his advances. Even though I still didn’t see him in that way, I had to admit it was nice having someone that shared my schedule. We’d been going out for lunch and occasionally dinner together when shooting ran over, and as I got to know him a little better, I realized that he wasn’t this suave, arrogant guy that I had originally pegged him to be. Though his reputation had a way of preceding him, he wasn’t a terrible person. Maybe erring on a little too self-confident at times, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Despite my initial phase of being completely starstruck, Dak was a surprisingly easy person to talk to, probably because he understood the demands that came along with being a young star. It was reassuring to know that, even though he was very successful, it hadn’t gone to his head. Even though I consider myself to be a fairly levelheaded person, there’s always that fear at the back of my mind that being thrust into fame would alter me somehow for the worse.

To add to everything else that made up this chaos that was quickly becoming my life, I was practically drowning in schoolwork that I couldn’t keep up with. Each day of class that I missed for work only added to the stack of papers that teetered on the corner of my desk, a constant reminder of how badly I was falling behind.

But, as always, I tried not to think about the negative. On the bright side, my weekend off from the movie was going to be spent shooting for Drake’s newest music video, and though I was burnt out, excitement still coursed through my veins, and it was difficult for me to steady my fingers as they drummed against the leather armchair. This shoot was taking place on a much smaller lot along the edge of the predominantly film-driven section of the city. It was a nice change from the bustling, frenzied set of Varsity Vampires.

As I waited to meet with Drake’s publicist, I absentmindedly checked my phone. I had spoken with the agent that Logan had recommended, but she had yet to call me back to confirm a time for us to meet. It was slightly mindboggling, the idea that I might soon have an agent. I, who still felt like just another nobody from a small town in upstate South Carolina, would actually have an agent. A part of me still resisted the change, I didn’t want to become one of those Hollywood types constantly surrounded by an entourage and unable to do anything for themselves, but on the other end of the spectrum, I didn’t want to be dumb about the decisions I was making in regards to my career.

Things were definitely beginning to shift for me career-wise since I’d gotten the lead in this major film. Recently, I’d been receiving screenplays in the mail, each accompanied by a brief letter from the writer explaining the piece and reasons why I should consider “joining the project.” It was all too overwhelming for me to process, so the scripts sat in another messy pile on my desk until I could fit in the time to read through them all. It was one of the reasons I had made the decision to seriously look into hiring an agent; I needed someone with experience in the field to guide me through all of this madness.

The click of high heels against the tile caught my attention, causing me to gaze up towards the stylishly dressed woman as she approached me.

“Kandi Jenkins?” she asked with a slight hesitation, extending her hand towards me.

I nodded as I stood up, leaning forward to return her handshake. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“Hi Kandi, I’m Natasha Reed. We spoke briefly on the phone last week. It’s nice to finally get a chance to meet you in person.” She flashed me a winning smile, revealing two rows of perfectly white teeth.

“Oh, it’s nice to finally meet you as well,” I replied, my smile a little less wide and dazzling as hers. “I’ve been really looking forward to doing this ever since I got the news. I have to admit, I’m a huge fan of your client’s work.”

“The feeling is mutual,” she responded politely as she tucked a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Since we read over your interview in Pop Tiger, everyone involved thought it would be a good idea to get you on board. You’re a fresh face, plus you already have a growing fan base, so this is a good move for both you and Mr. Graham as far as exposure goes.”

I nodded along, keeping my shock silenced. It was hard to believe that I had fans; I didn’t feel like I’d done anything to earn fans, let alone enough fans to help promote a successful rapper such as Drake.

“You’re not the usual,” she paused for a moment, trying to find the correct wording, “type of girl that we’d call in to do this sort of video, and we all think that’s a good thing. As always, Mr. Graham’s looking to stretch the envelope, particularly with his new album, so you’re a perfect choice for this role.”

After a few final words of encouragement, Natasha passed me over to the head of the makeup department, a sassy young woman who introduced herself to me only as “Envy” before ushering me off to makeup and wardrobe to work her magic, filling me in on the overall look of the video as she wound a curling iron through my tangled bed-head.

Apparently, the concept of this video was split into two parts, with one scene taking place in a nightclub while the other was set in more of an apartment-type atmosphere. Envy and her team of stylists were prepping me for the more laid-back apartment scene, and, to my surprise, it took more time than I ever would’ve imagined to make someone appear both presentable for the camera and like they’d been chilling around the house all day at the same time.

After seeing the finished product, I couldn’t help but secretly wish that I looked this good when I was really chilling in my sweatpants at home.

As the woman over wardrobe introduced me to the director of the video, it was hard to deny how intimidating it all was for me. My expression always had a way of giving my feelings away, and the director immediately began trying to compensate by being nothing but warm and encouraging towards me. I appreciated his kindness. There were so few people that I’d come into contact with in the industry that truly seemed genuine in their words and actions, and the warmth that resided in the man’s light green eyes restored my faith in the business.

As if the haywire nerves I’d experienced meeting the director weren’t bad enough, they only paled in comparison when I met the man of the hour himself, a gentle smile tugging at his lips as he strolled over to where we were gathered.

There was something undesirable in his walk, the way each step seemed to exude this subtle confidence. It wasn’t exactly cockiness or an exaggerated swagger, it was more a sense of fulfillment, like he was completely at peace with being the person that he was, and I was a little envious of his lack of insecurity.

Even when he was sporting just a t-shirt and a pair of basketball shorts, he had that certain presence about him, that intoxicating magnetism that only certain people radiate. There was power in the set of his jaw, depth in his stare.

“Hey.” His greeting was casual as he stood at the edge of the circle, eyes glancing briefly at each person in the group.

For the second time in my life, I was utterly speechless.

My lips seem to fumble as I tried to regain my composure, but all I could muster up was a simple “hi” in return. I shook his outstretched hand, his grip surprisingly loose around my own.

The two of us exchanged small talk as he showed me around the first set and explained his idea for the video to me, and with each word he said, I gained a little more respect for him as an artist. It was easy to see, with the enthusiastic way he described his work, that he wasn’t in this solely for the money. He didn’t want to be just another rapper, he had a story to tell, and in a way, I was flattered to be part of that story.

It took longer to film a four-and-a-half minute long music video than I ever could’ve imagined. Though it was another long day, there was a certain sense of accomplishment that came along with having finished something. It wasn’t like the never-ending stretch of scheduling that I had been experiencing with the movie, and honestly, I had a blast doing the video. Even though my lack of video girl experience slowed down the filming more than a couple times, everyone was incredibly patient with me, readily giving out directions on how I should move, what expression I should be showing. It was incredibly difficult, trying to act in silence. Without words, it was much harder to portray the emotions that my character was supposed to be experiencing, and each of my facial expressions and gestures had to be exaggerated in order to compensate.

As I left the lot, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. I hadn’t gotten a chance to see the finished product, and the director said it would be about a month before the video was set to air on MTV2, so the suspense was killing me.

Just as I got situated in my car, seatbelt snug over my chest and a soft ballad drifting from the radio, my phone rang in my purse, and I immediately dug through its contents in search of the bright screen.

“Hello,” I answered breathlessly, reaching to turn the radio off.

“Hi, Miss Jenkins. This is Dana Sharp. I’m just calling to see if you would be free to meet Monday at one. I’m terribly sorry it’s taken so long for me to return your call.”

Though I had yet to meet the woman in the flesh, there was something in her tone, something about the way her words sounded so rehearsed, with no feeling behind them whatsoever, that made me wonder if I should look elsewhere. But my need for an agent trumped any intuition I may have had regarding Dana Sharp, so I politely agreed to the time, wishing her a nice weekend as I started the engine.