Chapter Four: Meet Cute

Rain poured down from the heavens as I pulled up to a crowded studio set. That was odd enough for Southern California. I parked my Vespa under an awning and unlatched the entire FECC. It would remain waterproof despite the downpour.

As an independent contractor, I wasn’t technically authorized to be here. That didn’t mean that gig workers didn’t show up on-set every now and again. That one HBO show accidentally got a coffee delivery on-screen in a shot one time. Screenshots were all over the internet for a week or two before everyone moved on to the next viral joke.

“Uh. Got a delivery for a ‘Miyu’ here?” I told the first security guard-looking fellow who approached.

Miyu was a fake name these deliveries were put under. A common celebrity tactic. Otherwise, I would have been followed in here by a dozen paparazzi.

Are they really filming out here in the middle of a deluge? I wondered as I wandered about, half-blind from the rain. That security guard should have led me to my destination! How rude.

A rough façade of a New York City townhome awaited. Was this a set?

“Huh. Glad someone still makes use of physical sets,” I said offhandedly as I checked my phone once again, wary of the deadline and fearing that I may have misread the address.

“I know, right?” came a surprise voice from an open window far above.

I strained my neck looking upwards.

A striking beauty awaited, really just a profile of a head backlit and obscured by the rain. It was a closer look than what I’d gotten during that first delivery back at the mansion.

“I’ll be right down,” she said, then disappeared into the window.

The light remained on. I went up to the ‘door’ of the set and waited. This had better be a working door, or this is going to be extremely embarrassing.

Sure enough, the door opened. There stood Yuki☆. The J-pop star was dressed in positively jarring, ratty attire: an ill-fitting, sporty top and jeans rife with holes.

The rain failed to penetrate the brownstone facade. Behind Yuki, there was an unfurnished endoskeleton of plaster and wood. She must have taken a ladder to climb down from that window. Never would have guessed it was bare bones from the inside. Ah, the magic of Hollywood.

“Uh, yeah, we have a delivery for Y—ahem, Miyu?”

Wouldn’t do to let slip that I knew her secret identity. It was kind of obvious she was an actress based on context and all.

Yuki’s face scrunched up in confusion, a moment’s delay as she processed the fake name.

“Ah, that must be the name Janae set the order up under.” Yuki giggled. “I’ll take it. Everything should be on the card, yeah?”

I nodded. The pop-star fluttered about, hands wanting to reach out and grab the order. It became apparent she seldom handled this end of a transaction.

“Here you go.” I held the double bento-box out in much the same way that the flight attendants always handed these packages to me.

Yuki graciously accepted.

Subtly, I checked my phone-mounted timer. I was only late by eight minutes! The bento was still warm. If Miss Yuki here was working on-set, it was likely she hadn’t even noticed.

“Janae has the app. I’ll make sure my associate gives you a big tip,” the starlet promised.

Bag, secured! I nodded graciously. Where was Janae anyway?

Before I could make my leave, the rain cut out. Rather, the sprinklers spraying the set with the illusion of rain died down. In an instant, that dry SoCal spring environment reestablished itself.

“And, cut!” Came a booming voice from behind a bevy of cameras.

Was I being filmed this whole time?

Yuki pouted. “Director-San. Did you really just film this random delivery driver?”

The director’s name was Sam? Sandy?Who knew Yuki was on first name basis with a Hollywood director already?

A skinny, snooty-looking fifty-something year old sat in a chair behind a bevy of cameras pointed at the set from every which angle.

“We need it for some B-roll footage,” Director Sam said into one of those big acoustic cone-looking things, just like in the, well, movies. “I’ll have an intern pay him in coupons for IN-N-Out before he leaves.”

Mmmmm. I shrugged. “I'll never turn down In-N-Out.”

Yuki giggled. She shooed me off towards a break table, handily located beneath an awning and well away from the prying eyes of the cameras.

“Hey, Miss Star, where’s your bodyguard?” The director asked as I left the set to check out the provided pile of donuts.

“Janae? ‘Securing the perimeter’ she said. Spied a drone trying to sneak a peek over the fence.”

Wow. Who knew a starlet’s bodyguard was well-versed in anti-air? I wondered if Yuki’s neighborhood had to deal with rogue camera-laden drones all the time.

An overworked-looking intern sorted out the ‘payment’ for my unknowing stint as an extra. I doubted they’d actually use the conversation, but if they did maybe I could finesse it into a voice credit?

Just I was about to head back to the Vespa, I sensed someone running up from behind.

“Wait, mister delivery driver!”

A J-pop sensation ran up to me as my back was turned. That seldom happened in my day-to-day life. I wheeled around, fearing that the order had left something out.

“You were pretty fast,” Yuki said.

I noticed that her accent was, while obviously there, pretty solid. Perfectly legible, downright fluent. Surely this wasn’t her first time in America.

“May we have your contact number?” Yuki asked. “Next time we have an international order, we’ll have you do it.”

I smiled. “There should be a button you can press on the app.”

It wouldn’t do to let the J-pop princess know that I had an elaborate filter and alert system letting me know when she ordered cross-continental takeout.

Yuki smiled and nodded. “I’ll have Janae do so. Be on the lookout. You’ll get first dibs.”

Just as this innocuous interaction was about to end, the rainmakers sputtered to life once more. I was already soaked from my previous delivery in the rain. Yuki, though, had previously been high and dry. Her street-smart stage costume was strictly soaked.

“It’s okay,” the director assured us. “Next scene takes place outdoors in the rain anyway. Get to your position, Nijima-San.”

With a polite bow, the actress ran off to a neighboring set.

Yuki…Nijima? I now had a full name to go with the face and contact info. Yuki N and Janae C, J-pop sensation and elite bodyguard extraordinaries. Wonder what the C stood for?

With a fast food gift card (and therefore supper) secure in my hands, I made my leave from the studio backlot. The dry California air quickly evaporated the false rain from my clothes, and I made my way to the nearest In-N-Out.