The Chameleon Effect Read Online Joe Arden

Categories Genre: Romance Tags Authors:
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Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 67333 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 269(@250wpm)___ 224(@300wpm)
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Lights. Camera. Action…
I’ve got everything it takes to make it in Tinseltown: confidence, charisma, and a killer chin. Now all I need is a chance. But Los Angeles is full of hot, young hunks, and talent might not be enough to separate me from the cookie-cutter crowd.
Well, you know what they say: fake it till you make it. So I devise a wild scheme to get noticed. Pretend I’m someone I’m not—goodbye Will O’Connell of Cincinnati and hello Liam O’Connell of Dublin.
‘Liam’ and his talent with accents is enough to get myfoot in the door, but I never anticipated meeting the woman who has me more worried about keeping my foot out of my mouth.
Enter Raven Locke, the dark-haired bombshell who puts the ‘tude in tattooed. On set, she’s the costumer tasked with fitting my pants, but all I can think about is how to get into hers. As my — I mean, Liam’s — budding career begins to heat up, so do our feelings. While Raven pursues her passion for fashion; I chase her heart.
Our picture-perfect screenplay seems sure to send us riding off onto Sunset Boulevard…
Until Raven finds out that Comedy and Tragedy aren’t the only masks I’m wearing. Our romance might be destined for the cutting room floor, unless I can salvage our story with a plot twist she won’t see coming.

FULL BOOK START HERE:

Fitter Happier, Radiohead

Come Undone, Duran Duran

Undone - The Sweater Song, Weezer

Going to California, Led Zeppelin

The Waiting, Tom Petty

Midnight In A Perfect World, DJ Shadow

Blackbird, The Beatles

40 Oz. To Freedom, Sublime

You Know I’m No Good, Amy Winehouse

One, Harry Nilsson

Crash Into Me, Dave Matthews Band

Que Sera, Wax Tailor

Tear in my Heart, Twenty One Pilots

Let Me Back In, Rilo Kiley

Tiny Dancer, Elton John

Most people think LA is this fake, plastic town. But I don’t. I think it’s one of the most honest places in the world. I mean, are Los Angelinos superficial and fixated on body image? Yeah. Do they spend all day long obsessing over calories and workout trends? Sure. Are there more juice bars than McDonald’s in this town? Probably, I don’t know. I haven’t counted. But you know what? The people here—they’re upfront about it. Everyone may be trying to look like something they’re not, to be someone they’re not: fitter, happier, more productive… But no one pretends that’s NOT what’s going on. Los Angeles is a city of dreamers. No one here, no matter how old, has given up. Everyone here still believes in something. Some of them still believe in everything.

Plenty of people think it’s a cliché that every barista has a screenplay. They find it ridiculous that every bouncer hopes to be the next Vin Diesel. I think it’s beautiful. A city full of unapologetic storytellers. The place where people come to fearlessly invent fantastical worlds. Aspirers ceaselessly creating brave heroes and happy endings. Not because they aren’t aware of all the ugly life can throw at a person, but rather because they choose to be positive in the face of it all.

Plus, the food here is really good. But I digress.

Why am I talking about all this? Because I’m one of those dreamers, one of this city’s storytellers. But in the process of dreaming my dreams and living my story, I got lost in the clouds. I was spinning enough yarn to keep me warm all winter, but then I met her, and everything changed. One plunge into her soft brown eyes; one knee-wobbling smile from her full lips; one innocent conversation and my dreams were re-written. Instantly.

Meeting her felt like one strong tug on my heart, and just like that first pulled thread on an old sweater, I began to come undone.

“Whenever you’re ready, Mr. O’Connell,” the casting director drones from behind the cold stare of the camera lens. I take a deep breath as I assess the couch full of poker faces staring back at me, focus my attention on the red record light just to the left of the camera lens, picture a real person staring back, and start the scene. This is my third callback for a TV guest star in as many weeks. Another chance for that big break. One step away from turning the title of ‘aspiring actor’ into the elusive one of ‘working actor’.

“I thought I told you not to come around here anymore.” I dive into the opening beat of the scene, lines memorized, confidence high.

“I’ve tried to get over you, Johnny, but you’re under my skin,” The casting assistant drones from a chair off to the side. His flat delivery is only slightly more distracting than his low baritone.

“I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, Isabella, we’re through.”

“But Johnny, I need you and I know you still need me,” he continues in his monotone.

I remain focused on that blinking red dot and fire my final line to the room. “If I still needed you, then I wouldn’t have gotten rid of this.” In a controlled but fierce movement, I pull at my sleeve cuff to reveal an arm that has never had a tattoo on it, but for the purposes of this scene, an arm that used to have a tattoo on it.


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