"Today you're going to get it. You're going to get the Oscar, you hear me, champ?" - I said, adjusting my tie in front of the mirror.
The mirror reflected a man of mature years, smoothly entering old age. The memorable face of an aging man with a broken nose still bore traces of faded beauty. Deep-set blue eyes peered out from under overhanging eyebrows, and bangs fell across his face. I ran my hand through my gray hair, adjusting my hairstyle, and the man in the reflection repeated my movements.
... When did I get so old?
Okay, today is not the day to be depressed. My path to this award was too long and thorny, I endured the cruelty of prison, overcame the stigma of being a criminal, and then a great director who hated me put obstacles in the way of my career. And yet, despite everything, here I am. Years of trying, a sea of tears shed, and countless hours of work on my acting skills have brought the desired result. It's a pity that it's so late, at fifty-two, to start life sadly. But hey, Morgan Freeman also burst onto the big screen late, just like Gandalf!
"We'll make it," I said, flashing my professional actor's smile at my reflection. "I've always overcome difficulties."
"Mr. Stone," a voice came from behind the dressing room door, - "The limousine is here."
Nodding to myself one last time, I turned around and walked decisively toward my destiny. As I got into the limousine, I indulged in memories from my past. The years of my turbulent and tragic life flashed before my eyes.
Now everyone knows or has at least heard of the actor Alex Stone, but it wasn't always so. There was a time when he was not yet Alex Stone, when everyone at the orphanage knew him as Alexander Stone, or simply the Braggant. He never found out why his parents had abandoned him; that information was kept secret. Later, when fame came to him decades later, none of his mysterious parents ever showed up, recognizing their abandoned son in the star. Perhaps these unknown parents simply did not live to see him become famous? Or did they really not care about him that much?
I was a troubled child, to say the least. Nowadays, there are many clever words and diagnoses, and every teenager is aware of ADHD and hyperactivity, but in my youth, no one had heard of such things, and I was simply considered crazy. Alex the Braggant was a crazy, uncontrollable kid from an orphanage.
I was a handsome child and later grew into a handsome, tall, and intelligent young man. Unfortunately, I should have been more careful. Alas, at seventeen, I thought I was immortal and believed I could break the world on my knee. Maybe the IQ test I took at the orphanage was wrong and I wasn't that smart after all, ha-ha? Otherwise, I wouldn't have gotten myself into such a mess.
Steal a car, seriously, Alex?! Even after all these years, I was furious with myself for that stupidity.
I had that one crazy intention, a dream to go to Hollywood and become an actor. Sitting in my room at the orphanage in the evenings as a child, I would close my eyes and imagine myself as a movie star. How I would get money and buy my own place, and no one would be able to break in at night and beat me up, or worse. How I would become someone important, not just a nobody, a boy from an orphanage, and no one would be able to hurt me. My dreams featured beautiful women and my own gym. Yes, in my teenage imagination, a successful actor has his own gym. I probably got that idea from Schwarzenegger.
Of course, I had no idea about acting or the industry itself, beyond what I had read in books or seen on TV. Obviously, I didn't learn anything remotely close to the truth from those sources. To be honest, at that time, I didn't even have a plan beyond "Yay, I'm going to break into Hollywood, baby!". In any case, I decided to rush to Hollywood as soon as I could legally escape from the orphanage. On the day I turned eighteen, I decided to steal a car and chase after my dream.
I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I drank a few cans of beer, smoked my last cheap cigarettes, and went to 'work'. My God, I stole a cop's civilian car! What kind of loser am I?! Criminals have been doing this for years and remain undetected, but Alex Stone managed to ACCIDENTLY steal the police chief's car. Well, that's it.
I was speeding down the highway in Hollywood in this fancy Chevrolet Cavalier, pressing the pedal to the floor and laughing happily. Reaching for the radio, I tuned in to the right station and Queen started playing. Turning the volume up to the max, I leaned back in my seat, confidently steering along the highway. Rummaging through the glove compartment, I was delighted to find a crumpled pack of cigarettes.
"Yo-hoo, baby!" - I exclaimed.
Deftly picking up one of the cigarettes from the pack with my teeth, I lit it with my Zippo lighter, which I had taken in a fight a year ago at the shelter from a short but very fierce Italian guy. At that very moment, someone's open-top Lamborghini pulled up alongside me on the road.
Two gorgeous girls smiled at me with white teeth from the snow-white car. My God, they had curly white hair, cool black sunglasses, and bright red lipstick on their lips! In my entire life, I had never personally met such beauties, except on the old TV at the orphanage.
I cheekily grinned at the beautiful women driving past me in their car, playing with my eyebrows. Oh, how handsome I was then, like James Dean in his prime! The blondes giggled, and I winked at them. They laughed in response. How unnaturally beautiful they were! I still remember their smiles. A minute later, sirens sounded behind me. As luck would have it, the Queen song had also finished playing.
I slammed my foot on the gas pedal and sped away, leaving the chase and a cloud of dust behind me. My dream was so close, and I couldn't give it up when it was so close!...
They grabbed me, pulled me out of the car, punched me hard in the ribs several times, and then threw me face down on the ground right in front of the Hollywood sign. I never made it there that time...
Then there was a quick trial. The fat judge with a luxurious red mustache looked disapprovingly at the stupid teenager who had run away from the orphanage on his eighteenth birthday only to steal the police chief's car. After that, the judge quickly sentenced me to eight years in prison. With a bang of his gavel, he decided my fate. And so Alexander Stone went to prison, becoming a convict.
I don't think I've ever been as scared as I was then. After that, something inside me broke forever, and a kind of hardness arose in my chest that had been hidden there before. In essence, despite the difficulties of the shelter, I was a good teenager.
Until prison.
After that, I acquired the very aura of a "bad guy" that made my name, allowing me to be cast as bad guys in movies.
On my first night in prison, I couldn't sleep. What awaits a handsome 18-year-old guy in prison? Of course, I understood everything. The only thing that saved me was that I was naturally tall and didn't look like an easy target. Nevertheless, I knew that they would definitely test me. And that's exactly what happened. On my second day in prison, I got into a brutal fight. An old bald convict decided to grope my ass, and I beat him up until the guards arrived and pulled us apart. I didn't pay attention to the fact that he was hitting me hard in the face in return; at that moment, I was only thinking about knocking him to the ground. And to send a message to everyone else that I wasn't easy prey and that it wasn't worth messing with me.
After that fight, I spent a long time in the prison hospital until the broken bone in my arm healed. That bald pervert also broke my beautiful nose and knocked out one of my teeth, but at the time, I didn't care much. After I was discharged from the hospital, no one tried to mess with me anymore; I earned their silent respect. Or maybe with my broken nose, I wasn't as attractive to perverts anymore, ha-ha-ha? Black humor is definitely one of the many traits I picked up in prison.
My days in prison were long and boring. Not knowing what to do with myself, being a hyperactive person with undiagnosed ADHD, I quickly started to go crazy. So I began to find any kind of activity to keep myself busy.
I started going to the prison gym regularly, and even though I didn't have any experience with bodybuilding at first, I watched the buff inmates and tried to copy them. Gradually, my skinny frame started to fill out with a strong muscle structure. I pushed the weights to the limit, to the point of tears, until I couldn't do another set.
With my muscles aching, I would go and read books. I read the entire meager prison library in a short time. With the greed of a drunkard who has gotten his hands on alcohol, I devoured knowledge. Shakespeare, Dostoevsky, Aristotle, the poems of Arthur Rimbaud, Burroughs — I read everything. Later, I tried my hand at writing, but nothing truly talented came out of it. Apparently, I had no talent for literature.
However, I discovered that I had a talent for playing the guitar. As part of their rehabilitation, inmates were allowed to learn to play musical instruments. As it turned out, I had a talent for music and was quite adept at strumming the strings with my long, musical fingers. At the same time, I also mastered other musical instruments quite well. Unfortunately, I didn't have a natural singing voice, so I sang little and rarely, limiting myself to learning melodies.
I didn't have any acting skills either, to be honest, but I dug my heels in and practiced like crazy. In the entire history of this place, there has never been a more insanely motivated prisoner than me, performing in the prison theater. And my persistence eventually paid off. I wasn't outstanding at the time, not even close, but I could be considered a promising novice actor.
In prison, I foolishly got several tattoos, but at least I had the sense not to get them on my face or hands. Therefore, my skull and gun tattoos on my chest and back did not greatly harm my film career in the future, although they did cause problems. Why was I so impulsive in my youth?
I also managed to learn Spanish well in prison, which should come as no surprise, since there were many people from Latin America in prison. Later on, this skill did not help me much in my work, but it was useful for meeting different people. Besides, I just liked studying and I liked Spanish.
The fact that this later benefited me was a pleasant bonus. Later in life, I managed to learn Italian reasonably well, thanks to the fact that Spanish and Italian have common roots, which made the process easier. Besides, it's hard not to learn a language when your wife speaks it. But I'm getting ahead of myself in my memories.
Initially, I prepared myself to serve a full eight years in prison, from bell to bell, and my serious fight on the first day did not add to my optimism. All the more joyful and unexpected was the decision of the state authorities to release me early after serving half of my sentence. And after a little more than four years in prison, I was released on parole. I was twenty-two years old, an ordinary orphan who later became a criminal, with no education or skills. Usually, such a start in life determines a person's fate, and I was on a straight path to becoming a professional criminal and then going to prison. And that's how it would have been, if not for the dream in my heart to conquer Hollywood!
Even if I was going to die, I didn't care, I was ready to try. And that's how it all began. My career in Hollywood...
… or rather, no.
When I finally made it to my first audition just a month after arriving in Hollywood, I was dealt another cruel blow by fate. During the audition, the director, a fat guy in a Hawaiian shirt, nodded at me and said I was right for the part. I was overjoyed!
The director smiled at me and... put his fat hand on my fly, squeezing it tightly. Then he winked at me and licked his lips.
I swear, I don't even remember how I punched him right in the eye! At that moment, I wasn't thinking about anything, not about the possibility that this would violate my probation and I would go back to prison, not about my career, I wasn't thinking about anything except punching the asshole. And I did it.
If you're looking for a silver lining in this story, here it is: that pervert didn't report me to the police - not out of kindness, of course, but because he didn't want to draw public attention to the situation and ruin his reputation. Besides, the bastard didn't know I was on probation and could easily go to prison, which saved me. It saved me from prison, but not from problems. This director did everything in his power to end my career in Hollywood.
After crying all night, something I hadn't done since my childhood in the orphanage when I realized I wouldn't be adopted, I decided to keep fighting. And I settled in Hollywood. In the years that followed, I worked the dirtiest and hardest jobs in Hollywood so that I could afford a room in a dormitory in a bad neighborhood and enough money for food, while trying to get auditions.
Because of the producer's revenge, no one wanted to hire me, but I was stubborn as a mule and tried very hard. So, at first, I got a job as an extra in a third-rate movie that flopped. Then again, and again. I made some acquaintances, gained a reputation as a reliable person, and so they started hiring me regularly as an extra. The pay was pennies, so I couldn't quit my job and live solely from acting.
While playing in the crowd, I didn't give up trying to make it in my career. And then, at the age of twenty-eight, after four years of living in Hollywood, I got my third-rate role in a low-budget film that no one noticed. It may seem funny to many people, but at that moment, there was no one happier in the world than Alexander Stone. By that time, everyone was already calling me just Alex Stone, or Alex. I didn't mind.
No one noticed my role, which was not surprising, but thanks to it, I was able to get a second one. And then another, and another. And now, I constantly play supporting roles. Then I got a supporting role in a film that unexpectedly became popular and a box office hit. It was the break I had been waiting for. I was finally noticed. I started playing supporting roles in good films, trying to give my best performance and improve my acting skills, even if my role in the film was insignificant. Thanks to this, at the age of thirty-three, I was able to quit my job at the parking lot and finally start living modestly on an actor's salary.
One day, I was offered a leading role in a third-rate film, and I accepted without hesitation. And so began my rise to fame. Unfortunately, it was slow. By the age of forty, I was already playing leading roles in good films. Alas, a hard life and years in prison had greatly weakened my initially good natural abilities, and my youth had been wasted, so I had no chance of becoming a star for young people or a sex symbol for girls. My roles mainly revolved around tough gangsters, villains, or tragic police officers. In other words, Tough Guys. I'm not complaining, these are not bad characters, but it's difficult to break into the top ranks of actors with them.
I was lucky that times changed and people became interested in watching bad guys, and directors began to add depth to them. Then I was finally able to become a Hollywood star. And so, at the age of fifty-one, I played the lead role in a big movie, giving myself entirely to my character. I was ready to die on set, but to give my best performance. And I succeeded, because I was nominated for an Oscar for my play. I was one of the favorites for the Oscar, and I was determined to fight for the win. I deserved it more than anyone else in this town!
Because of my difficult and mostly very poor life, I was never able to settle down as a family man. There were girls in my life, many of whom were attracted to a strong, tall bad boy, but apart from sex, nothing about me could interest them. What future could I offer them, working in a parking lot and playing third-rate roles in bad movies? Once, out of stupidity, I got married, which I soon regretted. The girl, a sultry black-haired Italian who swore she would love me until death, ran off with a young successful actor who lured her with a flick of his finger.
Of course, after playing with the silly girl for six months, he dumped her for a new lover. My ex-wife even had the audacity to try to come back to me after her betrayal, but when she saw that I had taken out my gun and was demonstratively loading it, she ran away screaming like a mad duck. This memory warmed my heart for a long time.
The actor who stole my wife died a couple of years later from a drug overdose. When I heard the news on TV, I sat on the roof that day and stared at the starry sky for a long time, thinking about the vicissitudes of fate. How is it that some people rise so high, have everything life has to offer, but don't appreciate it and rush toward their certain doom? I couldn't understand it. Despite the hard shell of cynicism that had grown around my heart, deep down I remained a sentimental and vulnerable person, hiding it from everyone. I opened my soul to my wife, but she betrayed me, and I could never bring myself to trust anyone again...
"Mr. Stone, we'll be there in ten minutes," - said the driver's voice, distracting me from my bitter nostalgic memories.
The images of the past that flashed through my mind dissipated like mist. The past will remain in the past; ahead of me lies only the well-deserved success that I fought tooth and nail for, achieving it through sweat and tears. Tonight is the night!
*BANG*
A blow of monstrous force dented the limousine door on my side, hammering my body to the right. At first, there was a sharp, unbearably intense pain, and only then did I begin to hear noise. For some reason, the sound reached only my right ear; I couldn't hear anything on my left side.
I was no stranger to injuries, so I immediately realized that this was bad. Very bad. I didn't have the strength to rage against cruel fate, against my cursed destiny. All my thoughts were occupied by PAIN. My cheek felt the sharp shards of glass piercing my skin. My mouth was filled with thick, hot blood, my blood. An uninvited thought quickly popped into my head: now, with my disfigured face and crippled body, I would no longer be able to act in movies. I was so scared of this, more than death itself, that I quietly began to cry.
Strangers were milling around me, their frightened faces flashing somewhere in the distance, but I didn't notice them. I was only getting worse.
"I'm going to die," - the terrible thought flashed through my mind.
Alex Stone will never make it to his Oscar nomination, which he has been working toward his entire life with blood, sweat, and tears. He will never be able to play another role.
Cursing my cruel fate, I kept losing consciousness and then coming back, barely noticing the change in my surroundings. It seemed like they had put me somewhere and were transporting me. Maybe they gave me some kind of injection, but I didn't feel any better, quite the opposite. With every passing second, life was draining out of my body, worn down by time and hardship. I cried, cursed, and prayed at the same time, begging God or the universe to give me a chance. Just give me a chance. My story simply cannot end like this. This cannot be my ending.
I refuse!
Someone grabbed my hand. I couldn't see this person, couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman, but I was grateful to this unknown paramedic. Dying while someone is holding your hand isn't so scary.
Episodes from my life began to reappear in my fevered consciousness. I remembered the taste of the apple pie they fed us at the orphanage, even though I thought I had forgotten it forever.
That apple pie was really quite good.
Finally, my consciousness drifted away into eternal emptiness.
It.
Was.
THE END...
Or was it?
I opened my eyes wide, not understanding where I was. I raised my head sharply and hit the back of my head on something. With dazed eyes, I looked around, not understanding what was happening.
"Where am I?" - I asked in a weak and seemingly unfamiliar voice, rubbing the back of my head with one hand and holding on to something that looked like a steering wheel with the other.
"Watch the road, you idiot!" - someone shouted angrily nearby, bringing me to my senses.
Looking around, I realized that I was sitting behind the wheel of a Chevrolet Cavalier, pressing the gas pedal, speeding down the highway toward Hollywood. Queen was playing loudly, I had a lit cigarette clenched between my teeth, and for some reason, I was alive.
What the hell just happened?!