He wags one of his thick, hot-dog fingers at the mountain of papers piled high on my lap, but all I can do is stare at them with a growing sense of bewilderment.
“What’s the hesitation? You’ve done this a million times already. Nick, I need these signed before we get home. The shoot’s already been delayed because of you—we can’t afford to waste any more time.”
I gaze down at the papers, then back at him. “The shoot?”
“Have you been drinking?” He slides to the end of his seat and sticks his face close to mine, his nostrils twitching as he sniffs for fumes.
“I don’t think so,” I say, wondering if someone slipped me something without my knowing. Maybe that’s why I’m stuck in this bizarre otherworld? Maybe Plum’s candle let off some kind of hallucinogenic fumes? If I wake up ten hours from now, begging for coffee and aspirin like I once saw Holly do, then I’ll know that I’m on to something. But for now I’m as confused as Ezer.
“You don’t think so.” He shakes his head again, like it’s some kind of inside joke only he understands. “Mojo, Nick. The correct answer is always Mojo. You’re being paid a pile of money to endorse that brand—don’t you forget it.”
“Listen,” I say, setting the papers aside. “As much as I dreamed of a moment like this, now that it’s happening, I’m not all that comfortable. I think there’s been some kind of mistake. Even if this is a dream, it’s starting to feel really weird.”
Ezer rubs his eyes with his knuckles in a way that looks really painful, then sighs long and deep, as though I require the kind of patience he just doesn’t own.
“I mean, I clearly heard Josh vote for me and all, but the last time we spoke, you specifically said I didn’t have it. You know, that thing, that indefinable thing that makes someone a star. You told me to do myself a favor and find another dream. You said there was nothing wrong with knowing my limits. You said—”
“That right?” He lifts his head and looks at me with eyeballs turned red and spidery around the whites. “I said all of that. To you?”
I nod. It’s the one thing I know to be true.
“Okay, Nick.” He rubs a meaty hand across his face, his fat gold watch practically winking at me. “Here’s the thing. I’m tired. It’s been a long day—a long day of waiting for you, I might add. But if you’re feeling insecure and need a little pep talk, just say so. Stop playing games about imaginary conversations that never took place, deal?” He crosses his legs and runs his tongue along a set of teeth so white and straight they look like they fell out of a box of Chiclets. “Here goes.” He clears his throat like he’s preparing to give a very long monologue. “Nick Dashaway, you are an immensely talented performer. From the first moment I saw you, I knew you were destined to be a star. Sure, you were rough around the edges, but it was nothing a little coaching couldn’t fix. Turns out, I was right, and because of it, you are now the biggest teen star in the world. Your endorsements alone have made you a millionaire many times over, females from eight to eighty think you’re adorable, and your reality show, Dashaway Home, enjoys worldwide syndication. In fact, it’s so successful we’re about to begin shooting the Twelve Days of Dashaway Christmas Countdown edition, which we’re all very excited about. Apparently more excited than you, since we were all on time for the shoot.” He takes a deep breath. “That enough? We good here? You feeling pumped enough to do some actual work?”
I stare out the window, taking in a seemingly never-ending stream of mansions, sunshine, palm trees, and a big green-and-white sign that reads TINSEL HILLS, POPULATION 34,000. Though just as we’re about to pass, I swear I see the number change to 34,001.
I’m caught in a dream.
There’s no other way to explain it.
“Now, if you can please get it together long enough to sign these papers, I’d be forever grateful. We got a show to produce, and we’re way behind schedule.”
I thumb through the thick wad and try to make sense of what I’m reading. But the print is so tiny, and every single page is written in a language that only lawyers can translate.
This may be a dream, but I’m still not sure I’m willing to sign something legally binding.
“Shouldn’t my parents take a look at this first? You know, just to make sure it’s okay?”
From the look on Ezer’s face, it’s pretty much the comment that just might flip his switch.
His features scrunch. His hands grip his knees so tightly it looks like his knuckles are about to burst through his skin. “Your parents? Real funny, Nick. I hope you’re enjoying yourself, because trust me, I’m not. Your parents work for you. They’re employees of the show. They kept getting in the way, so we had you emancipated. I’m the one who guides you now. So come on, let’s get to it already. We’re almost home, and the cameras are waiting. Where’s that fancy pen I gave you?”
Fancy pen?