My Hollywood Life Is Not That Easy!

Vincent had a Screen Actors Guild membership, which meant he could audition for certain roles, but that didn't mean much when you were a nobody.

Guilds like SAG provided actors with legal protections, ensured fair pay, and granted access to union jobs, but those jobs were fiercely competitive.

Hundreds of actors fought for a single role, and without an agent, Vincent was just another face in the crowd.

Modeling was a different beast. Unlike acting, where unions enforced strict rules, modeling was a free-for-all.

Big agencies like Ford Models or Elite controlled the industry, but independent photographers, local boutiques, and small magazines didn't care about paperwork.

They just needed a face that sold.

And Vincent had that face.

A sharp jawline, striking eyes, otherworldly platinum blonde hair, and a lean yet muscular build that made clothes hang just right.

But looks weren't everything. He was inexperienced, an outsider, and worst of all, an orphan with no connections. No agency backing him.

No manager pushing his name. Just pure ambition and the weight of an empty wallet.

As for plagiarizing scripts from the movies and anime he had watched in his past life?

It wasn't as easy as it sounded. Rewriting a film word for word was impossible. He remembered bits and pieces of countless plots, but none well enough to recreate from scratch.

Anime was clearer in his mind, but without a skilled scriptwriter, even that was out of reach.

And besides, his typewriter was broken beyond repair.

The old man at the repair shop had delivered the final verdict: dead on arrival.

That meant one thing, his life was fucked, and he needed a job. As soon as possible. As fast as he could.

Rent was $500 a month. He hadn't paid in three months.

Add the extra $20 he'd promised, and the total climbed to a staggering $1,560. A number that might as well have been a million.

No time to waste.

Vincent was up before dawn, took a quick shower, and pulled on his best clothes.

They were old but well-washed, neatly pressed. His shoes had no laces, but he tightened them anyway.

Then, it was time to hunt.

The morning sun was already brutal when Vincent stepped outside, locking the door behind him.

Koreatown was alive, street vendors shouting, delivery trucks rumbling, businesspeople rushing to grab their morning coffee.

Vincent considered stopping for a cup but quickly dismissed the thought. He couldn't afford it. Every dollar counted.

Instead, he headed for a newspaper stand and bought three papers.

The racks were filled with headlines, Newday Business Magazine. Los Angeles Times. Daily Updates.

He flipped through a copy of the Los Angeles Times, scanning for anything useful. Corporate job listings. Investment articles. Market trends.

Nothing for a broke actor.

Then—

A small section in the classifieds.

Classified Ads – Los Angeles Times

[1. Casting Call – Local Commercial

WANTED: Male actors, 18-25, for an upcoming commercial shoot.

No experience required, but confidence and charisma are a must!

Perfect opportunity for aspiring actors looking to build their portfolios.

Paid role.

Auditions: Saturday, 10 AM – 4 PM, Westwood Studios, 2218 Wilshire Blvd.

Contact: (213) 555-XXXX]

[ 2. Independent Brand Seeking Models

LOOKING FOR FRESH FACES!

New streetwear and casual fashion brand is seeking male models, ages 18-30, for a photoshoot. No prior modeling experience needed, just a strong presence and good attitude.

Compensation: $150 per session + free clothing.

Shoot location: Downtown LA.

Interested? Call (310) 555-XXXX or visit Trey & Co. Apparel, 845 Main St.]

[3. Print Ad Model for Local Department Store

MODEL NEEDED!

Ever wanted to be in a magazine? Macy's Downtown LA is hiring male models for an upcoming print campaign. Flexible hours, great pay! Ideal for actors or students looking for part-time work.

Must be 5'10" or taller.

Rate: $100 per session.

Apply in person: Macy's HQ, 500 S. Flower St., 2nd Floor. Ask for Ms. Daniels.]

Vincent exhaled, running a hand through his hair.

Three opportunities.

Three chances to make something happen.

But as he glanced around, he realized he wasn't the only one reading the classifieds. Others were scanning the same ads, their expressions filled with the same desperation.

Without wasting another second, he folded the newspaper under his arm and quickened his pace toward the nearest bus stop.

Time was running out.

One Hour Later

Vincent squeezed his way off the crowded bus, stepping onto the pavement outside Westwood Studios. The place was packed.

He had expected competition, but the sheer volume of people crammed into the waiting room made his stomach tighten.

They're drinking coffee. Guess they're not as broke as me.

At the front desk, he checked in, received a sticky note with his audition number—#33—and found an open seat between a guy flipping through a script and another muttering lines under his breath.

It was a dairy product ad.

Vincent sat back. The nerves settled in quickly.

These guys came prepared.

Vincent? No script. No coach. No agent. Just himself.

Every few minutes, an assistant stepped out, called a name, and another hopeful vanished behind the audition room doors. Some walked out with a spring in their step, but most returned hollow-eyed, their dreams crushed before they even reached the parking lot.

When they finally called his number, Vincent's throat was dry.

Inside, the casting team sat behind a long table, barely looking up as he entered. A cameraman adjusted the focus. The director, a thin, tired man with graying hair, waved a dismissive hand.

"Slate."

Vincent cleared his throat. "Vincent Valentine. Age eighteen. No representation."

The casting director, whose biggest achievement was making a few local commercials, barely reacted.

"Alright, show us some energy. You're a young guy talking about how great this product is. Smile, be natural, and sell it to us."

Vincent nodded, took a breath, and started reading from the card they handed him.

"Wow, I never knew—"

"Next."

Vincent blinked.

The director was already motioning to the assistant for the next actor.

That was it?

"Uh, I can try—"

"Thanks for coming in."

Before he could process what had happened, the assistant ushered him out.

By the time he stepped into the hallway, another guy had already taken his place.

'So..They've already chosen someone. This audition is just a formality.'

Vincent let out a breath and checked the classified ads in the newspaper.

Half an Hour Later

Another destination.

Downtown LA had a way of making you feel small.

Trey & Co. Apparel was in a run-down building that smelled of damp wood and cigarette smoke. Inside, a makeshift studio had been set up—plain white backdrops, camera lights, and a handful of guys posing while a photographer snapped away.

Vincent spotted the person in charge, a tall, thin man in his late 30s, dressed in all black, cigarette dangling from his lips.

Sharp eyes darted toward him. "You here for the shoot?"

Vincent nodded.

"Height?"

"Six-three."

The man exhaled smoke, scanning him up and down.

"Good bone structure. Hair's interesting. Go stand with the others."

Vincent joined the small group.

Five other guys. All young. All hungry.

The photographer kept working, barely acknowledging them. Vincent watched the others take their turns—some stiff, others effortless, as if they were born for this.

Finally, it was his turn.

"Alright," the photographer muttered, adjusting his lens. "Let's see what you got."

Vincent followed instructions. Angle left. Chin up. Relax.

Just as he started getting into a rhythm, the photographer sighed and lowered the camera.

"Eh. Not what we're looking for."

Vincent blinked. "I can try another—"

"Sorry, kid. We're full."

Before he could argue, the photographer turned away. Another model, taller and more confident-looking, was already stepping in.

Rejected. Again.

Outside, Vincent clenched his jacket, his jaw tightening. Two auditions, two rejections. And both times, he hadn't even been given a real shot.

It stung.

'Damn it...Maybe I was being narcissistic, thinking I am good enough for this. I've only ever been an extra. What made me think I could land a commercial? And modeling? That was even worse.'

But he still had one last chance.

The problem? He had no bus fare left.

The only money in his pocket was meant for food.

If he wanted to make it to his final audition, he'd have to walk.

With a resigned sigh, Vincent started moving.

Two Hours Later

By the time Vincent arrived at his next destination, it was already 3 p.m. The brutal LA sun had drained what little energy he had left. His feet ached, his shirt clung to his back, and every step felt heavier than the last.

But at least he made it.

There were still two hours left.

Vincent stood outside the office of Macy's Magazine, staring at the modest sign taped to the glass door.

It wasn't a towering publishing house in downtown LA. No grand lobby, no sleek reception desk.

Just a cramped second-floor office in a half-empty commercial building.

I hope they haven't picked someone already.

But right now, that didn't matter. What mattered was getting the job.

He stepped inside.

The waiting area was small, lined with a few plastic chairs.

Five or six other guys were already there, flipping through old magazines or scrolling through their pagers like they weren't all competing for the same gig.

"Excuse me, Miss."

Behind the desk sat a woman in her mid-thirties, typing on an old IBM computer.

She had tired eyes, but the moment Vincent spoke, she looked up.

"You here for the casting?"

"Yeah."

"Name?"

"Vincent Valentine."

She paused, her gaze dragging over his face.

"Vincent, Vincent… sounds nice."

Then, she traced his body from head to toe. Her lips parted slightly. Then, she licked them.

Something flashed in her eyes, something that had nothing to do with professionalism.

"Vincent, my name is Jenna Storm."

"Yeah, I've read that."

Jenna was a lonely woman in her forties, long divorced, long unsatisfied. The reason she was a receptionist here was because she liked seeing young blood, fresh and delicious.

She typed his name in slowly, fingers tapping deliberately, before resting her chin on her palm.

"You've got a nice voice."

Vincent said nothing.

"Jenna, stop this! It's the third time you've done this. Are you trying to scare all the auditionees?"

A woman in a black office outfit shouted.

"Hmph." Jenna snorted at her.

Nonetheless, her gaze was different for Vincent. She smirked. "Take a seat."

He did. He was feeling uneasy for some reason.

Vincent sat, stretching his long legs in the cramped space.

The guys next to him looked polished, sharp cheekbones, styled hair, some even carrying mini portfolios with headshots.

But compared to them, Vincent didn't think they were all that impressive.

Finally, a good sign.

Minutes stretched into an hour.

One by one, the other models were called in.

Some left quickly. Others waited.

When his turn finally came, his stomach tightened, but his face remained unreadable.

Inside the Casting Room

A young woman greeted him as he entered.

She looked to be in her early thirties, dressed in an effortless mix of professional and casual, high-waisted slacks, a simple white blouse, and a scarf loosely tied around her neck.

Her brown hair was pulled back into a loose bun, though a few strands had escaped, framing her face.

Curves in all the right places. Enough to make you look twice.

But unlike most casting directors, Ms. Daniels didn't have the usual detached, scrutinizing aura. She smiled, warmly and genuinely, like she actually wanted him to be here.

"Vincent, right?"

He nodded. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am."

She chuckled.

"Ma'am? That makes me sound old. I'm Ms. Daniels. Creative Director for the magazine. Well… one of them."

She laughed softly, as if letting him in on an inside joke.

"Alright, let's see what we're working with. Stand over there."

As he moved to the backdrop, she tilted her head.

"Your hair… it's a nice color. Did you dye it?"

"No. Born with it."

"Well, that's a blessing." She smiled. "Alright, let's get started."

Her assistant adjusted the lights. Ms. Daniels scanned his face, her gaze thoughtful but not harsh.

"You're tall."

"Six-three."

"Damn. You should be in Paris, not here."

Vincent didn't respond. Compliments didn't pay rent.

She circled him, checking his angles.

"You ever modeled before?"

"No."

"Acting?"

"A little."

"That helps. Models who can act? Always better for print." She stepped back, lifting her camera. "Alright, let's get a few test shots."

Click. Click. Click.

"Relax your shoulders."

Click.

"Chin up."

Click.

Vincent adjusted as told, falling into the rhythm.

Ms. Daniels didn't sigh. Didn't wave him off like the last two places.

She kept shooting.

After a few minutes, she lowered the camera, nodding.

"You've got something."

Vincent waited.

She flipped through the images on a small preview screen, her expression thoughtful.

Then she turned to her assistant. "What do you think?"

The assistant, a woman in a Macy's Magazine sweatshirt, leaned in.

"He looks different. And actually… handsome. His face can sell."

"Yeah," Ms. Daniels murmured. Then she looked at Vincent. "Okay, listen. We're not exactly GQ, alright? We're new. First issue launched last month. That means we can't offer much—"

"How much?"

She sighed, almost apologetic.

"$75 a session. Two sessions."

$150.

Not enough to cover rent. But enough to survive a few more days.

Still, Vincent hesitated.

"Am I really selected?"

Ms. Daniels blinked, then smirked.

"Obviously. Kelly, tell the others the audition's over."

The assistant nodded and left the room.

Vincent just stared, almost not believing it.

His silence was misunderstood.

Ms. Daniels raised an eyebrow.

"Look, I get it. It's not a big check. But you do this shoot, and you've got tear sheets. That's real magazine work. Gets you in doors."

Vincent extended a hand.

"I'm in."

Ms. Daniels smiled as she shook it.

"Good. Shoot's this Friday. Don't be late."

Then, almost as an afterthought, she added, "By the way, you can call me Cassandra. My name's Cassandra Daniels."

Vincent nodded.

As he stepped out of the office, he caught the receptionist blinking at him before blowing a flying kiss.

But he didn't care and made his way out.

And so, the boy, recognized for the first time in his life, felt happiness stir within him, like a lotus blooming in the mud of darkness.

But the boy who could dream had not forgotten that an empty wallet was a weight no dream could lift.

The advance payment was only $50. Enough to eat for a few days.

But his rent?

$1,560.

"Damn it. I have to ask those bastards for help… and might have to do a few odd jobs. Not again, God."

Once more, his eyes roamed the classifieds, scanning ink and paper as if searching for fate itself.

Hope, once a dying ember, caught fire once again.

"Cassandra Daniels, I'm looking forward to working with you, boss."

---

( End Of The Chapter )