Fan-Girl

By Joe Harrison

Ryan Xavier was said to be the next big thing in entertainment. Until one night, after a bad set on stage at a Chicago-based comedy club, he allegedly staggered home drunk to the house he had rented for the weekend and blew his head off with a shotgun. With no eye witnesses to the account, both police and major media outlets are quick to rule the whole thing a suicide and move on to the next story. Only Ashley Greene, Ryan's capable but socially reclusive super-fan is convinced that there's a more sinister explanation behind what happened to him that night. And so armed with an irrationally obsessive conviction --as well as a number of other useful skillsets-- she sets off to discover a truth that might not exist by relying on allies she can't really trust, to defeat an invisible enemy that maybe isn't that invisible after all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Joe Harrison
• Release date: Oct 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223999997

Joe Harrison

Joe Harrison is an actor, filmmaker, and award-winning screenwriter. The Unpaid Internship is his debut novel.

Book preview

Chapter One

The house lights dimmed. Applause erupted from the several hundred people sitting at tables situated around the base of an empty wooden stage. Its volume increased as a spotlight engaged, illuminating a mic stand and wooden stool situated in front of a large, circular neon of the words, The Lark Lounge built onto the brick wall at the back of the room. A few seconds passed and a hefty, Hispanic man in his thirties with a brown beard unevenly covering the lower half of his face stepped forward. How’s it going? he said enthusiastically to no one in particular. More applause followed as a few got up from their chairs. Wow! Muchos gracias! Thank you so much, sit down, sit down, my feet hurt just looking at you. There were a few snickers as they obliged his request. Thank you for that. I needed that shit, I, uh, I’ve had a tough week. My uncle actually just got deported. A few amongst them groaned. Yeah, it was sad ... But I had to do it. Laughter. He ate my leftovers. The laughter built along with the muffled accompaniment of people ordering drinks from passing servers. You think I got this fat by letting that shit slide? he asked, rubbing his pot belly. Think again! He paused briefly to massage his beard. Nah, I’m playing, I appreciate you laughing though. This is crazy, most of you don’t know this, but this is actually my first time getting on stage, he paused as several clusters in the audience applauded, today. Another wave of laughter. That’s not as impressive, but it is honest. I am super happy to be here, I love standup comedy, almost as much as I love white women. A lady in the front row snorted as he slowly scratched at his stomach over his shirt. White women are great ... they’re so crazy. One time I went to the gas station, and right as I was rolling up to an empty pump, this white lady came up to my window and said, he cleared his throat and started doing a stereotypical impression of a white woman pretending to chew gum while she was twirling a hand loosely through her hair, ’Uhm, so the clerk inside said that the pump I was going to use isn’t working,’ he pointed an index finger lazily off to one side as he added, ’so I’m just going to use this one.’ A high-pitched cackle erupted from the back of the room above the sounds of raucous laughter as he sat back on the stool and pretended to hold a steering wheel out in front of him. As his head turned to look over his left shoulder at this imaginary woman, a dumbfounded expression fell over his face, whereupon he stopped motionless for another moment while the laughter intensified. Uh, okay? But I’m ... right here? He switched back to his white lady impression, still pretending to chew gum. ’Yeah, but, like, the clerk said that pump doesn’t work cause it’s like broken or whatever, so I’m just going to use this one.’ He switched back to pretending to hold a steering wheel as he slowly glanced down either side of the stool and then met the imaginary woman’s gaze once more. "But I’m right here? He switched back to his white lady impression, his eyes narrowing as he pretended to look at himself driving the car. ’If you move, I’ll give you a piece of gum.’ He switched back to holding the steering wheel, taking a moment to contemplate in stunned silence before responding: Okay. Seconds later, he pretended to spit the gum into his own mouth at which point the sound of someone falling from a chair could be heard as he put the mic back on its stand. My name is Lupe Hernandez, that was my time, thank you so much for listening to my standup comedy. Are you guys ready for your headliner? They cheered approvingly. Alright then please, help me welcome to the stage, the platinum-selling artist, who at twenty-five, has already finished three sold-out arena tours, starred in five blockbuster movies, a limited TV show, for which he has earned an Emmy, a Grammy, and an Oscar! Ryan Xavier, everybody!" A standing ovation erupted in the showroom as a disheveled blonde of a Caucasian stepped out on stage in a crinkled suit with sunglasses over his eyes and a lowball drink glass in his hand. Lupe offered him a fist bump, which he ignored, choosing instead to drink down the last of the glass before setting it down on the stool and picking up the mic. He stood there, saying nothing while the applause died down, and continued to do so for some time after it had. Several of them laughed as he sat down on the stool, knocking the glass over onto the stage and shattering it in the process. He stayed there unmoving with his lips pinched together by a finger and thumb.

It wasn’t until someone in the audience cut through the quiet with a cough that he started speaking: How about another round of applause for Lupe, huh? he asked lazily in somewhat of a Northern Midwest accent. Let’s hear it for him. Several people started clapping before he abruptly cut them off: "Lupe’s great. He’s definitely misinterpreted what it means to be a huge star, but I’m sure he’ll figure it out at some point. He’s only been doing comedy fifteen years. Never booked so much as a guest spot on a light night show. There were a few awkward laughs as he took off his sunglasses. I should probably lose these, right? There’s nothing relatable about a pair of six-thousand-dollar shades. One of the stool’s legs splintered as he got up and dropped them onto a table in the front row. Here you go, bud, you won’t find those on the merch stand. Okay! What do you say we get this comedy train a-rolling, huh? Everyone ready to heal their soul with the magic of laughter? he added, slurring his words. Let’s see here ... why don’t we start with some crowd work? Nobody said anything as he pointed at someone in the first row. You. We’ll start with you because wow, you’re ugly. There were several uncomfortable chuckles. No, seriously, you should be embarrassed. I mean, how do you even leave the house like that? Don’t you have any shame? ... It wasn’t a rhetorical question I genuinely want an answer ... Tell you what, while you think of how to respond, I’ll go over here to talk to this guy, he said, pointing to the opposite end of the room. Why? Because you’re obviously wearing a toupee. Honestly, if you’re so insecure that you don’t want people knowing you’re bald, at least do yourself a favor and buy a wig that’s the same color as the rest of your hair, Mouth-Breather. Who’s next? Irritation built with every word he uttered, Let’s do you. What’s your name? ... Speak up I can’t hear you.

I don’t want to be a part of the show, came a woman’s faceless response.

Ryan frowned. You don’t want to be part of the show?

No!

Now what kind of world would it be if we only ever got what we wanted? We all have to put with some shit every now and then. Take me for example, I didn’t want have to get up here tonight and look at your overbite for an hour and a half but here we are. A collective onslaught of boos and jeers followed as an assortment of plates, bottles, and clumps of food were launched at him. Oh, now you’re all turning on me? he asked as he ducked out of the way of an incoming cheeseburger. You think I need this? I came here tonight for you! You’re the ones who’ll lose out if I decide to walk off— Before he could finish, he was hit in the side of the head with a bottle and dropped the microphone. Standing hunched over, clutching the side of his head, he then brought his hand away from the wound and inspected the blood on his fingers. With evident menace, he stared at the crowd before ducking out the way of another plate, and turning to run.

She paused the video as he stepped out of frame.

She was sat in bed in the back of a converted VW van, the curtains over the windows. A single light source emanated out from the laptop perched on her pillow, casting a blue glow over the cramped cabin cluttered by dishes, laundry, and remnants of a broken trash bag. The woman herself looked pale, the whites of her eyes enormous as she stared at the monitor through a mop of greasy brown hair held back behind a loose-fitting hoodie embroidered with the words, We’ll See If It Works across the center. With the slightest hesitation, she clicked the mouse pad and minimized out of the video’s full window to reveal that it was entitled, Ryan Xavier’s Last Show. Glancing to the right, she spotted another one currently live streaming in her recommended bar with the title, The Death of Ryan Xavier: Everything We Know So Far. Fighting back tears, she clicked on it and an Asian-American news anchor sat at a desk in a broadcast studio immediately started reading from a teleprompter: ... keeping you up to date on the death of Ryan Xavier. The world-renowned entertainer was found dead early this morning in rented accommodations in Chicago, following a disappointing night on stage at the Lark Lounge comedy club, a local venue that had been scheduled to host Xavier for the entirety of the upcoming weekend before a fatal gunshot wound to the head ended his life in the early hours of yesterday morning. While there’s been no confirmation at this time, sources at the scene tell us police are beginning to suspect the wounds were self-inflicted, raising the heartbreaking possibility that Xavier may have taken his own— She shut the monitor, her eyes darting back and forth as she leaned forward and rested her hands against her chin. Following a long beat of inaction, she jolted out of bed and stumbled over to the door to step out into the early morning sunrise of a cliffside campsite overlooking the Rocky Mountains. Despite the view, she walked around with her head down as she set her hand against the ash of the fire pit before gathering up all the various camping tools, free weights, and punching bags strewn about and tossing them into the van. Her window was already rolled down by the time she pulled up to the security gate at the campsite’s entrance where an elderly woman in a park ranger’s uniform hobbled out of the guard box to greet her with a warm, friendly smile.

Wonderful weather we’re having, isn’t it? the ranger asked, joyfully. Without so much as a nod, the woman handed over an Illinois-issued driver’s license equipped with a photo of a more well-rested version of herself and the following information: Name: Ashley Greene. Sex: Female. Age: 24. Height: 5’4. Weight: 158 lbs. Hair: Brown. Eyes: Brown. Date Of Birth: September 9th, 1998. Organ Donor? No. Oh, hang on, the ranger managed as she hobbled back over to the guard box, leaving the woman in a reluctant idle and struggling to ignore the sound of the ranger mumbling to herself as she shuffled about inside the box before eventually re-emerging with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose. Still mumbling to herself, she brought the ID up in front of her to read it until she was satisfied whereupon she flipped it over and started studying the back. After she’d flipped it back around to study the front once more, she offered back over to the woman, Ashley Greene, whose fingers had been frantically tapping the steering wheel for the last few minutes. Where to next? she asked, oblivious to her own rate of motion.

East, Ashley muttered as she snatched the ID out of her hands.

Will you be needing any directions this morning, dear?

No, thank you, I know what I’m after.

Isn’t that nice, the ranger smiled as she wandered over and pressed a button perched outside the guard box, prompting the gate covering the path to slowly rise out of the way. Well, have a safe journey and I hope that you get out to enjoy some of this wonderful weather today. Ashley responded with a leaded foot, only just missing the last of the gate as she peeled out onto the dirt road, the van’s tires kicking dust up into the air. The gate was already several hundred feet behind her when she picked up a cigarette packet off the passenger seat and drew one out with her teeth before picking up the lighter on the dashboard. Once, twice, three times she tried to spark it before giving up and throwing both it and the cigarette over her shoulder in frustration. As the last of the sun rose from behind the highest mountain peaks to cast light in through the front window, she lifted out a pair of black sunglasses from the drink compartment and put them on over her grimace.

Chapter Two

The Chicago skyline blended smoothly into the overcast of the morning as the van raced along the highway toward it. As the high-rises started to loom overhead, she pressed the navigate button on the GPS system already pulled up on her smartphone and a robotic voice started to speak: "Starting directions to Northalsted. In a quarter mile, turn right." She drove past a few of the city’s more celebrated landmarks with visible indifference as it led her through the congested streets until she arrived at the bridge connecting US Highway 31 with either side of the riverways that ran through the city. Immediately, her breath quickened, her throat dried, and her hands tightened on the steering wheel so much that her knuckles turned white. Trembling, sweat trickling down her forehead, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the van started to cross the ridged roadway. The cabin shook as she did her best to keep her eyes open while she slowly filtered her breathing through her nose. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. Reaching the other side, the road smoothed out, the cabin stopped shaking, and by the time she was driving past Navy Pier, a calm disposition had returned. Arrived, the GPS declared as she pulled up onto a lavish residential street a short while later. Upper-middle-class homes peered out through gaps in the healthy trees that shaded the smooth concrete of the street. A crowd of anxious onlookers were gathered on the sidewalk in front of a well-maintained, three-story, whitewood-paneled property. A lack of parking spaces mandated Ashley drive up another two blocks before she could part ways with the van, resulting in a return trek to the property aligning with that of a sedan, which