I’m Not Becoming Spider-Man - Chapter 37: M-Mysterio? (Patreon)

“YOU'RE FIRED, QUENTINA!”

That furious shout ended the career, at least on this set, of a special-effects artist who considered herself second to none. She was ordered to pack her things and get out.

“Fine! I'm leaving! Like I need this lousy job!”

Quentina Beck gritted her teeth, picked up her box, and stormed away.

Hollywood was the dream destination of countless people. In a fast-changing, roaring age, it seemed like a golden island promising endless opportunity.

Fame and money were there for the taking, or so everyone believed. People rushed toward it with the feverish determination of gold prospectors.

Yet the industry only welcomed those who swung their pickaxes the hardest and possessed the finest skills.

Quentina Beck was an unknown special-effects artist who nevertheless considered herself a prodigy.

For now, she was still an ordinary employee earning her living by producing effects for films. And she was genuinely good at it. Her work stood out enough that colleagues expected her to be promoted eventually.

For a young woman who had been working for only a few years, that was an enormous vote of confidence. She was certain greater achievements awaited her.

There was just one problem. Quentina wasn't content to remain behind the camera, however brilliant her effects might be.

Once a film came out, audiences remembered the leading man and woman. Nobody spared a thought for the person who had created the spectacular explosions.

Quentina wanted more. She wanted fame.

She wanted to appear on the big screen herself, surrounded by flowers and applause. Unfortunately, reality wasn't nearly so accommodating.

Without acting training, she simply lacked the talent to make it as a performer.

Her auditions were disastrous. Directors complained that she had too many ideas of her own. An actor on set was supposed to follow directions, not improvise whatever came into her head.

Was she supposed to spend the rest of her life buried in other people's terrible productions?

Quentina decided to take matters into her own hands.

She edited herself into the finished footage. By then she had enough access and minor authority to pull it off. Surely no one would care if an extra passerby appeared in the background.

And so, several times, Quentina managed to put herself on the silver screen, albeit as a random face in the street.

But those appearances only made her hungrier. During another round of edits, she finally went too far. She had inserted herself so prominently that an internal review caught the tampering. Her addition disrupted the composition and even interfered with the leading actor's scenes.

She was summoned and warned. This was a major production with a famous star and an equally famous director. One more stunt like that, and she'd be thrown off the set.

Quentina behaved herself for several months, until she got involved in the next movie and tried the same trick again.

This time, too, she was caught.

She was talented, certainly, but her position was replaceable. If there was one thing Hollywood had in abundance, it was skilled people.

So they fired her.

She had to leave with her belongings that very day. The more she thought about it, the angrier she became. And the angrier she became, the more... well, the angrier she became.

“Hmph! Let's see how they cope without me!”

Instead of looking for another job, Quentina stayed home and waited for news that the production had collapsed in her absence. She wanted the satisfaction of being the indispensable genius everyone begged to return.

Every day she watched her phone, expecting that desperate message.

The message never came. Her rent became overdue, and eventually she was evicted.

She had to find another place to live. Without a proper address, she couldn't receive letters, and without receiving correspondence, finding another job would be even harder.

But she didn't have a job. And without steady income, how was she supposed to pay rent?

What landlord would take her?

She searched endlessly and sent application after application. None of them led anywhere.

Her savings dwindled until she was sleeping inside her car in parking lots. Even parking came with fees. Life only seemed to get more difficult.

Maybe she ought to take a regular job for a while.

Or swallow her pride and ask her old coworkers to help her get her position back?

No! Absolutely not. That would be humiliating. She would never bow her head to them.

“Maybe... I could find freelance effects work.” With that thought, Quentina tried approaching film crews around Hollywood on her own.

She was turned away again and again. Apparently word of her misconduct had spread throughout the industry, leaving her effectively blacklisted. Other employers refused to consider her because she couldn't provide a valid address, or because the address she gave was false. Some listings seemed to exist only to pad recruitment statistics.

As for hourly jobs that didn't require an address, Quentina stubbornly refused to lower herself to those.

“All I did was make a tiny change! Damn it! Damn it!”

Fuming, she pulled on her coat, bought something to eat, and headed back to the parking lot. When she arrived, her car was gone.

She hadn't paid the parking charge.

Not that she had known there was one, or where she was meant to pay it. The whole setup felt like some dreadful hidden trap.

Now she owed the back payments and a towing fee. Yes, the parking lot had called the tow truck, and she was the one expected to pay.

There were a few fines on top of that. Compared with everything else, the fines were almost the least of her worries.

Money she'd saved through months of work was disappearing before her eyes.

Maybe she really should look for manual labor...

Completely defeated, Quentina crouched by the roadside with a bag of ready-made food in her hand. She looked like a helpless little mole.

“Uh, listen, I don't mind you sitting here, but you're making it a little difficult for me to get inside.”

The voice made her look up. A boy stood over her carrying a bag of groceries. It was Peter.

Quentina rose hurriedly and realized she had been squatting directly in front of an apartment building's entrance.

“Oh, sorry. I thought nobody was here.” She looked embarrassed. “I saw a sign saying there was a place for rent, but there wasn't a phone number...”

Peter and Harley had indeed put a rental notice on the entrance. You could see it from the street, but it wasn't visible from other approaches. Harley wasn't particularly enthusiastic about renting rooms out in the first place.

Peter, however, believed occupied rooms were better for the building. An empty house tended to deteriorate.

“Ah, you're right. Give me a moment.” Peter unlocked the entrance and went upstairs. A little later he returned with a bottle of juice and handed it to her. “Okay, so you're interested in renting a room here?”

“Um... I suppose?” The location was excellent, and the apartment building looked well maintained. The rent couldn't possibly be cheap. She would have been able to afford it when she still had a job. Now, though...

“Well, fill in this form first. Come upstairs. We're having a party, if you don't mind. You can join us for something to eat.”

“Of course.” Quentina nodded. The boy seemed remarkably easy to talk to. He looked so young. Perhaps he was the landlord's son?

If things didn't work out, she might even have to resort to less straightforward methods.

A boy of his age shouldn't be too difficult to manipulate, should he?

She was practically at the end of her rope.

Clutching the application, she followed him upstairs, anxiously watching his back.

As they reached the upper floor, she heard a chorus of cheerful young voices.

“To our new home!” Several people were raising glasses of juice in celebration while rock music played on the television, filling the apartment with energy.

“Hey, Gwen, didn't you and the others buy instruments?” Harley asked. “Why don't you put on a little performance?”