A glint of sun cut between the slats and caught Amanda in the eye. Woken by Vincenzo’s operatic snoring, she sat up and smoothed her dress. Vincenzo, unsurprisingly a blanket hog, had the covers pulled all around him. He’d been far drunker than she, quite blotto actually when they’d first met, and she wondered if she should wake him.
She picked up her phone, opened that app and checked yesterday’s big post. There he was – Bret Tuck. Instantly, she was back in her childhood bedroom, the movie theatre with friends as a teenager, just back a few people behind the barricade between people like her and the red carpet. If she’d gotten there half an hour early, she could’ve gotten a selfie.
Vincenzo’s snoring popped and he startled himself awake. He sat up, glanced around manically, then fell back to bed.
Surely, he wouldn’t mind if she took a peek at the balcony. Maybe even had a cigarette off it. After all, last night he wouldn’t shut up about his room and how much she’d like it. For both of them, it’d been the perfect end to two amazing, and very different days. She stood up went to the balcony door that was gently tapping the frame.
It took her a minute, but she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“What’d you say? We need a fourth to split it,” Tomas her flatmate’s friend’s boyfriend explained.
Amanda was doing a semester in London. Her fellow Yank and flatmate Laura had a cousin who had a friend who “was a fellow cinephile” Laura just had to meet. Sofia and her boyfriend met them for drinks before a movie, and about a month later, mentioned that they were planning on attending a film festival on the continent.
“Well, an island. Of the continent, not the city. Our friends were planning to join, but they had to back out because of work, and we’re looking for someone to split the accommodation,” Tomas said.
Amanda still hadn’t seen much of Europe between classes, which were harder than she expected, and the partying, which went harder than she’d anticipated. This was killing two birds with one stone, and even the late August heat – drenching everything with sweat – couldn’t damper the wonder as they caught the public water taxi to the canal-strewn neighbourhood to their (relatively) cheap rental, which was muggy and musty and seemingly always under attack by mosquitos.
The next day the four of them grabbed a coffee and a public water taxi and made their way to the makeshift plaza where the festival was held every year.
“Oh my god, who is that?” Amanda asked as they walked past the red carpet on their way to some arty indie.
“I’m not sure. I think a Spanish film is having its premier, so it’s probably not be anyone we know,” Tomas shrugged. “The day after tomorrow’s the crazy day.”
Amanda couldn’t see the actual red carpet, except on the huge screens posted above like billboards that showed the action. The carpet walkway was cordoned off and surrounded by paparazzi and press lined against the barrier. On the other side of the barrier were the fans mobbing and crowding on tip toes with phones aloft desperately snapping. Most of them looked young, barely old enough to drink, even in Italy. People loitering on the stretch with the main red carpet tended to fall into two camps: those camping out and dressed for the long haul and those who were immaculately dressed as if they were celebrities.
“What’s happening the day after tomorrow?” Sofia asked.
“Bret Tuck and George Pitner’s new movie is premiering, so they’ll be here.”
“I didn’t know Bret Tuck was going to be here. He’s gorgeous,” Amanda said.
“Yeah, apparently the film’s shit,” Tomas said, “but the festival needs star power.” He pulled out his phone. “Oof, we’ve gotta hoof it if we’re going to get to the showing on time.”
It was during the next day that Amanda started thinking of the logistics.
“How early do you think I’d have to get there to get a picture of Bret Tuck?” she asked Tomas.
“Hmmm…I’m not sure. I’m not really a celebrity person. Maybe an hour?”
The premier of Bret Tuck’s new movie would be in the middle of their nightly double bill.
A woman who looked like a model in impeccable makeup and a glittering, revealing dress walked by.
“What’s with all the fancy dress people walking around?” Amanda said misusing the Britishism. “Are they famous?”
Yet another young woman, probably not even in her twenties, swung past. A pack of similar girls, aspiring to the glitz but lacking the grace then passed.
“I think people just do that here,” Sofia said. “I guess it’s something to do if you’re a local. Maybe they’re trying to get noticed. Or meet a movie star. Some of them are probably publicists and influencers.”
The next day, she went to the afternoon screening then excused herself.
“Good luck,” Tomas said.
“We’re let you know how the movies are,” Sofia added.
She left the plaza, went to a café near the main drag, and then went into the bathroom and changed into the sexiest dress she’d brought, a tasteful, summery cocktail dress, did her makeup, and put her hair up. She’d planned on a nerdy, beachy holiday – great for the socials but maybe not up to snuff when all of the locals looked like models.
She got their fifteen minutes before the premier began and was able to jostle her way through. She keyed up her phone, set the filter, and hovered her finger over the record button. Evening was approaching, but the sun hadn’t yet set, and a stale heat was still lingering. She was grateful for the sea breeze wafting over. Then cars starting pulling up, and the crowd gasped cautiously in unison. Car doors opened to nothing but polite applause. Then the crowd roared. Record.
It was him. His hair was long. The magnificence of his genes was on full display in a fitted tux that screamed elegance. He turned to the crowd behind the barricade, smiled, and waved. The crowd went wild, but Amanda kept steady while smiling broadly. He went to the barricade and started taking selfies with the people closest. Amanda beamed. A publicist came up to him, touched his arm, and motioned inside. He took one last selfie, waved goodbye, and went inside.
She was planning on joining her friends at the theatre, but the movie would still be playing. She composed her caption and hit post on the video. The sun was setting. She went to the lounge sponsored by the aperitivo maker and ordered a drink at the bar. When she’d finished, there was still time to kill, so she ordered another.
“Quale film è qui per promuovere?” Vincenzo asked sidling up to her.
Bret Tuck shirtless, right there, three balconies away. Sure, she’d been closer last night, but not with a view this unobstructed. His bottoms were slung low, sweetly plain, with the V of his torso partially visible. She squeaked, but he didn’t look over.
Then what happened shocked her. He reached his hand to his face, extended his index finger, stuck it into his nose, and started ferreting around. Amanda didn’t know why, but she put down the pack of cigarettes and took out her phone. She tried to move quickly but quietly, but he was clearly in no rush. She snapped one with it in there. Just as soon as she had, he pulled his finger out and stared at a medium-sized booger. Amanda saw the minor clump of green and gave it features. Perhaps it had a hair on it. Maybe flecks of brown or puss yellow. Bret scraped his finger on the balcony then went back into the room. Amanda waited for several minutes then had a cigarette, hoping the smell would lure him outside. Alas, he was gone.
She went back in. Vincenzo was stirring awake.
“Ah, still here,” he said rubbing his eyes. “Take my number. If you want.”
Once she was in the hall, she three doors over. She quietly walked down. The door was ajar. She glimpsed into it. She briefly thought…but no. No mad dash.
“Ha bisogno di qualcosa, signorina? Qual è la sua stanza?” a voice thundered from the down the hall. It looked a maid. She was practically shouting. “Se c'è un problema, me lo dica!”
Maybe she could tell Amanda wasn’t a guest. Besides, it was a windy day. The thing probably wouldn’t be there anymore.
By the time she got back to her group, her post was doing a fair bit of business, at least for her circles.
“That’s so cool,” Laura said. “I can’t believe you got to party with the publicists! Did you see anyone famous?”
At first, Amanda said nothing about the booger. “He kept pointing people out, but I don’t think I knew them. I think he thought I was in the biz.”
“That’s crazy. Today’s gonna be boring compared to that,” Tomas said.
She took a shower and, since the water pressure was off, brought her hair brush for good measure. Drying off and applying her skin cream, she looked at the booger photo. She didn’t think he’d want it out there, and she wasn’t that kind of person. Revelling in someone’s private moment for their own attention. So, she simply atted him.
“@brettuckofficial, can you get in touch? got something you want!”
As soon as she sent it, she unsent it. He must get messages like this all the time. Besides, he probably has a team she’d have to go through. She went back to his account and hit the message button.
“Hi Team Bret. I think I have something you’d be interested in…”
She deleted the last sentence. What did she actually want here? She thought for a minute.
“Hi Team Bret. Just wanted you to know I happened to snap this cute photo…”
She paused.
“…obvi I’d never post...”
The knives came out.
“…but maybe if Bret’s still around, we could do a quick photo.”
After the first movie, she checked her messages and found nothing. Someone had seen the message, that much was clear.
“Hey Team Bret. I get if Bret’s not around anymore, but maybe he could just send me a personal dm.”
Seen instantly. No response.
She went into the next movie. After fifteen minutes, she opened her bag, squeezed her phone, and looked for any notification. A light hovered over her. The usher was shining a light to shame her. They really don’t fuck around here, she thought. She sat back and watched the rest of the movie. Focusing on something else for the first time that day, she lost herself.
Once the movie was over, they convened outside.
“I thought it was amazing,” Sofia said. “The woman who played the mother was great.”
“Yeah,” Tomas said. “The whole thing caught me by surprise. Did you like it?”
“Yeah, it was really good,” Laura said. “Panda?”
“I thought it was really good,” Amanda said. She paused. “It was just so real.”
“It’s not a documentary,” Tomas said.
“No, I know, yeah,” Amanda said. She reached for her phone.
It was only after the last movie when they were heading home and there’d still been no response, that Amanda had an idea.
In the morning, she DMed Bump Daily. The response came after the group’s first cappuccino.
“Hi TeamBret,” she typed. “Got an offer. No hard feelings.”
Once it went live on Bump Daily, she posted her own version and took questions from the caption throughout the day.
“@katwheel yeah he did finish. wiped it on the wall”.
“omg this is [link]”.
Amanda was taken to what seemed to be an Italian or European version of eBay. Once it came through the translator, she realized what it was, or supposed to be. She instantly thought of the maid who’d scared her out of the hall.
After they got out of the first movie, she checked her phone. It had sold for €5,000.
She checked again during the early dinner before the evening double bill. It looked like the booger had made it to eBay.
During the break between the two movies, she saw that it was now going for upwards of $7,500.
By the end of the second movie, as they were queuing for the water taxi back to their accommodation, a George Pitner booger had found its way to the bidders.
“Fresh from Toronto! Still slimy!” the description read.
The next morning, a cease-and-desist order had stopped the Pitner sale, but a new one (“super crusty”) was now on the market. While Tomas and Sofia would stay on for a couple more days, this was Laura and Amanda’s last day.
As they sat down for their last dinner together, Amanda felt compelled to speak.
“Let me pay for this one,” she said.
“You really don’t have to do that,” Sofia said.
“No, I want to,” she said.
“Really, it’s okay,” Tomas said.
“No, please,” she scolded. The three stirred in discomfort. She saw them exchanging shifty looks. “I…I can explain.”
“Hmmm…” Tomas began after she’d explained where her dinner money came from. “I kinda wish you explained when we weren’t thinking of food. But that is hilarious.”
“Dinner’s on you,” Sofia said.
Laura was rapt on her phone. “Have you checked MarketMarket?” she asked Amanda finally.
“No. Why?”
Laura held out her phone and saw a slew of celebrity-alleged boogers, eye crust, and lip skin on sale.
“Do you think any of it’s real?”
“Check out this one!” Sofia said handing her phone over.
Kis Kimiyian, super influencer, was now hawking her nose fruit in neon-tinged vials.
“What a mad world,” Tomas said laughing.
The double bill was a strange one. The first one, a highly anticipated work by an auteur, hit them all differently. Amanda and Sofia thought it was okay – good themes, sumptuously thought – Laura thought it was disappointing, and Tomas thought it was outright bad. The second one, by a local filmmaker none had heard of, was beautiful and good, but also patient, static, slow.
On the ride home, Amanda sat in the outside area of the public water taxi and watched the island fade from view. She thought she could espy the hotel where it all went down, but she couldn’t be sure. As they sped through the canal, she saw a rustic looking building with a party in full swing on the roof, with a projector and strobe and only the outlines of impossibly beautiful people swaying in clothes that were impossibly elegant and soft. A private, smaller taxi sped by, and her boat splashed into its tiny wake. A glop of water plopped up and splashed her. She felt the salt on her face wriggle into her pores.
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