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Video Star
Chapter 1

Every day was exactly the same. Janove would wake up, glaring at his alarm clock. He’d hit it until it quieted, than get ready for work. Dressed he would stand outside, waiting for the bus in the pouring rain. It seemed to always be raining. The bus would take him to work and he would sit in front of his shiny black computer in his cubicle in the shiny black building, staring at the glowing screen. Than back in the rain, back on the bus, back home.
But Thursdays were different. Every week Janove would not take the bus home. Instead he would take the bus to a small rundown theater, its neon sign blinking like a whore, it’s brown wood exterior making it stand out from the shiny black buildings of the city. They showed all sorts of films, black and white, silent, talkies, colored, everything.
Janove himself stood out from the crowd just like the theater. He was attractive in the way that a girl would shake her hips as she walked past and glance at him through their heavy eyelashes and then forget about him in five minutes. His hair was a little too long, his eyes a little to brown. A bit thin but still fit, a bit pale but still healthy. He also wore suits from the century before. While everyone else was wearing their boring grey suits with the strap hiding the knot in their ties and the fitting that ignored body shape, Janove would wear a dark blue suit with a thin lapel and a bright red tie.

Janove leaned back against the wall of the bus. He wished he could look out the window and watch the city as they went by, but buses hadn’t had windows in years. So he just sat there, watching the people around him, his hand in his pocket, rubbing a black coin. A smile came on his face. It was the best day of the week.
He walked in through the heavy wooden door. All doors were automatic these days except for these at the theater. Janove relished the feeling of the hard wood as he pushed into the building, feeling his muscles actually work for once. Sandra, the cute blond behind the counter and daughter of the theater owner, smiled at Janove and waved. He waved back, a big smile on his face, and headed over to her.
“Hey, Jo.” She said, sweetly, she handed him the ticket. She wiped her hands on her waist, popping her pelvis forward.
“Hello, Sandra. How’s business?” He asked, his voice smooth, even if it was a little bit higher than average. He handed her the black coin in his pocket. She looked at it and turned to the cash register, digging for his change.
She handed him three small black coins, “Oh, you know, nonexistent.”
Janove smiled at her and turned on the heel of his old fashioned oxfords.
The theater itself was dark and Janove sat in the exact center. He was alone in the small theater, but he didn’t mind. Made it so the film was more personal. The room glowed eerily as “Singing in the Rain” flashed onto the old screen. As the actors danced and sang and swanned about, Janove’s eyes widened. A goofy grin showed on his face as he observed a happier life, a real life.
Upon entering the shiny black apartment building, Janove yawned, his arms outstretched. He always slept very well, but he was still exhausted. As he came out of the stretch and entered the elevator, he began to whistle. “Good Morning” kept playing through his head, but he didn’t know the words.
He flashed his card at the door to his apartment and strolled in the now unlocked steel door. He peels off his blazer, finally dry from the wait for the bus. He does a little dance as he hangs it, poorly. It falls off the hanger when he walks away. As he walks towards his bedroom, he loosens his tie, hitting the high note in the song. He unbuttons his shirt and untucks it as he turns into the bedroom. He drops the shirt and tie on the floor, still smiling. Flopping onto the bed, he pulls at his long black socks. They stretch and as they come off, snap at his face. He switches from whistling to humming as he’s better at that. He takes off his dark blue slacks and rolls over onto the cold hard bed, in nothing more than a tight white tank top and his dark red boxers. A small bit of black hair curls over the collar of the shirt, not as sexily as it sounds.
There’s a window in the room, the only one. He stares out of it from his bed, listening to the rain hammer down on the metal building. It seemed to never stop raining. He watches and sighs and under his breath sings, horribly and out of tune, “I’m singing. Just singing in the rain.”
Janove was exhausted the next day. He had slept well, not too hot, not too cold. He rested his face on one hand, scrunching the flesh on his cheek with his palm. He typed on his computer lazily with one finger. Bags hang under his eyes like purple bruises and he can’t help but yawn every few minutes, always followed by a sip of his coffee.
His ears perked as he heard footsteps heading towards him. He took his secondary hand down from his face and started typing faster and more precisely. Mr. Johnson watched him, standing in the back of the cubicle, coffee in hand.
Mr. Johnson was an overweight, disgusting man, who always wore hideous ties with pictures of places he’s never been and has probably never heard of. He was overweight, balding, middle aged. He leaned back on the wall of the cubicle and slurped some hot, burnt coffee loudly. Janove kept typing, know that the slurp was meant to draw his attention.
Seeing that he was being ignored, he cleared his throat. Janove rolls his eyes and sighs impatiently, turning in his swivel chair, “Yes, Mr. Johnson?”
Mr. Johnson looked unhappy as he glanced at Janove’s computer screen from where he stood “Janove Ringer, you've been working for our firm for 4 years now, and…”
Janove interrupted, quietly, “5, sir.”
Mr. Johnson ignores him, “I trust you to know our policies. Lately, you've been a bit reluctant of our rules. Coming in late, soaking wet, goofing off on your computer, not being a team player.”
Janove points over his shoulder at his computer, defensively, “It’s a business report, sir.”
Mr. Johnson keeps going, “I want you to be a great role model. We have a group of interns joining us tomorrow and they're going to need as much help as they can get.” He bends forward, bringing his face extremely close to Janove’s. Janove backs away, uncomfortable in the proximity. “Could you do that? For me?”
Janove gulps, “Y-yes, sir. No problem, sir.”
Mr. Johnson stood, a smug look on his face. He slurps his coffee, “Good, good.” He turns and starts to walk away, but stops as he remembers something. “Oh and one more thing, can you get a new suit. That thing is much too old.”
Janove turns back to his computer, clicking the keys loudly with his fingernails, hating his boss.