#03 Star Talent Brokerage

Ben finally tracked down the place called Star Talent Brokerage, a new company that had apparently just opened its doors.

He figured it was worth a shot.

Not look for an agent? What a joke.

People thought it was easy to get a part-time gig on a film crew—like you could just walk onto a set and start handing out coffees.

Not in Hollywood. Not without connections.

His last crew job had only happened because Kate—for all her yelling—had pulled some strings. Without an agent backing him, even being an extra was like trying to win the lottery.

Ben didn't waste time overthinking. He pulled on his only clean button-up, stuffed his short film DVD in his bag (just in case), and grabbed the first cab he could find.

The city blurred past. Buses groaned. Sunlight bounced off chrome and glass. Half an hour later, he stepped out in front of a low, slightly weathered three-story building.

A fresh sign hung above the entrance—barely level, the paint still smelling new. STAR TALENT BROKERAGE in bold white letters against a navy-blue backdrop.

Ben stared up at it for a moment, squinting.

The place looked... modest. Slightly rough around the edges. Like a high school building that had gone corporate.

But it wasn't sketchy. Not some fly-by-night hustle running out of a mailbox.

At the very least, it wasn't fake.

That's something.

He adjusted his jacket and took a slow breath. 'Alright, let's see if someone in this city still takes chances on nobodies.'

Then Ben walked up the steps, pushed open the glass door, and stepped inside.

The interior of Star Talent Brokerage didn't exactly scream professional. The front area was half-furnished, papers were stacked in slightly chaotic towers, and there wasn't a receptionist in sight. A couple of metal chairs lined the wall like an afterthought. The place smelled faintly of fresh paint and printer toner.

Ben took a cautious step forward. Is this even open?

Just then, he heard footsteps descending from the staircase to his right.

A young woman came into view—maybe early twenties, with a sweet but sharp look in her eyes. She had that Southern California brightness, casual but put-together. Her ponytail bounced slightly as she descended, holding a folder in one hand and a phone in the other.

She paused at the sight of him. "You are...?"

Ben straightened a little. "Hi. Ben Gosling. I'm a graduate of USC's film department. I'm looking for work—on a film crew. Just something to help get my feet back on the ground. Learn the ropes a bit."

He hesitated, then added, almost nervously, "Also, we don't know each other. Just to be clear."

The woman raised a brow, her eyes flicking over him. "USC, huh?"

He gave a sheepish nod. For a second, she seemed curious. The USC Film School had weight in Hollywood—it wasn't unheard of, but it still meant something.

But then her expression shifted. A spark of recognition flickered in her eyes.

"Ben Gosling…" she repeated slowly, then her voice rose, "Wait—Ben Gosling?"

Her face lit up with that Oh my God, I just figured it out kind of look.

"You're that guy. The one who was handing out his experimental short film on the Forrest Gump set!"

Ben winced inwardly. Great. Word really does travel faster than light in this town.

He forced a tight smile. "That was... a misunderstanding."

"A misunderstanding?" she repeated, clearly amused. "You showed up to Tom Hanks' set—Tom Hanks, mind you—and tried to hustle your short film to his assistant director."

Ben raised his hands in surrender. "Look, I get it. It wasn't my best idea. I've already learned my lesson."

She crossed her arms, clearly enjoying herself now. "What were you expecting? That Zemeckis would just turn around and hand you a directing job?"

Ben laughed softly. "Honestly? Maybe. I was stupid. That much is clear now."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, still assessing. "So you're not here to pitch another camera-shot short?"

"God, no," Ben said, his tone almost too sincere. "I've burned that bridge, stomped on it, and tossed it in the ocean. I'm just looking for a job now. Any job. Even if it's craft services."

He didn't add how badly he needed the money. Or how much he missed just being on set.

She studied him for a moment longer, then her expression softened just a touch.

"Well… this is definitely the most interesting walk-in we've had since we opened," she said dryly.

Ben let out a breath. "So… you're not going to call security?"

She grinned. "Not yet."

Ben chuckled, then offered his hand. "Ben, again. Just trying not to completely screw things up this time."

She shook his hand, her grip surprisingly firm.

"Amanda," she said. "Amanda Newhouse. I handle the front desk here—and a few other things. Junior partner."

Ben paused, recognizing the name almost instantly. "Wait... Newhouse? Like the media Newhouse?"

She gave a half-smile, clearly used to the question. "Yeah. My mom's side. I guess I'm the rebellious one—ended up at a startup talent brokerage instead of some glossy media empire."

Ben blinked. "And you're... on reception duty?"

Amanda laughed. "You think this place can afford layers? I pick up the phone, I get coffee, I scout talent, I handle submissions, and sometimes I even yell at the copier."

He couldn't help but grin. "Respect."

"Don't go soft on me," she said playfully, then crossed her arms. "Alright, Mr. USC. So you're sure you're not here to shove an experimental short film down someone's throat this time?"

Ben raised both hands. "Absolutely not. Lesson learned. No more guerrilla pitches. I just want to find a crew job, pay my rent, and maybe rebuild a bit of trust in the process."

Amanda studied him for a moment. "Well, we're small. But we're growing. I can flag your name. No promises."

"That's already more than I expected," Ben said, genuinely grateful.

"Talk to Helen if she's in a good mood. She likes people who know how to hustle—but not the desperate kind."

Ben nodded. "Got it. Thank you, Amanda."

She arched a brow. "Don't thank me yet. She bites."

"Besides, I hope Helen won't accept your big trouble." After speaking, Amanda turned and walked outside.

Big trouble! How fitting!

Ben nodded with a wry smile, and walked to the third floor.

Although Amanda didn't speak very nicely, it also made him unable to refute.

Letting an unstable factor into the crew is a big trouble no matter who it is.

Especially someone like him—tainted by rumors, laughed out of circles, and still clinging to an experimental short film like it was a golden ticket.

But what choice did he have?

This was the only door that hadn't slammed shut in his face.

And doors—no matter how cracked, creaky, or questionable—were still worth knocking on.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and kept climbing.