In the photos of our lives, are we not all but mere onlookers? And yet, in photos where we happen to be featured unwittingly standing near a celebrity, that word reduces us to far more than just “background.” It reduces us to muted brushstrokes in the broad painting that is Being An Important Celebrity. But who’s to say that, in some alternate realm, these “onlookers” aren’t celebrities themselves? Maybe they’re more of a “star” than any celebrity to the people in their lives or at the local level, making a unique and noticeable difference in their community or some shit. Robert Addison (whose name, yes, did sound a lot like “Robert Pattinson”) was just such a “star” amongst his own kind. That is to say, the “little people” of his hometown. A small “Nowheresville” sort of place just outside of Los Angeles. Yet still close enough to “Hollywood” for Robert to commute there every so often to take on odd jobs.

Naturally, L.A. being what it was, these jobs tended to relate to the film industry. Whether he was acting as an extra or serving as a “seat-filler” (a paid one, mind you…not the kind that did it just for the “privilege” of hobnobbing), there was no appearance too menial or middling for Robert to turn down. Not when the pay was “good enough” (whatever the fuck that means anymore since, to be honest, nothing is really good enough, pay-wise, to merit ever leaving the house—the catch-22 being that you need to leave your house in order to make money so you can keep staying inside of it). Elena, his girlfriend of five years, who refused to become his wife because she said marriage was “retarded,” didn’t mind his day-long departures either. It gave her the chance to have the house to herself. Unlike Robert, she had the luxury of working from home. She was a sculptor, and all she had to do was sell about five expensive-ass sculptures a year to make ends meet. Which was all she was really interested in doing. Anything beyond that seemed superfluous. It’s not like she was trying to save up enough extra cash for diamonds and fur coats or something. Most days, she walked around in the same tube skirt and crop top that read, “Capitalism killed culture.” That’s part of what Robert loved so much about her: that she truly was unmoved by the trappings of materialism. 

But he himself would be lying if he tried to say the same. Because every time he spent the day in L.A., he was seduced by the lifestyle there. The things he saw on-set. The celebrities traipsing around like they owned the world because, in truth, they did. So when a celebrity like Jade Madsen took notice of Robert and insisted that he get a speaking part (which he never did; the director wouldn’t have it) during one of the scenes he was in as “background,” it was easy to become even more glamored by “that life,” always just out of his reach. But with Jade on his side, maybe it wasn’t… Or so he told himself the day she invited him into her trailer and told him she “really liked” his “style.” Sounded like a euphemism if ever he heard one. But he was willing to pretend nothing “unusual” was going on at all, not even when she slipped him an invitation to be her plus one at the Golden Globes. An awards ceremony so exclusive that they didn’t even offer people the role of “seat filler” there. Robert had known this for quite some time now because of his vast knowledge of the “seat filler” scene in general. To be allowed entry into the International Ballroom at the Beverly Hilton during the Golden Globes was a feat truly reserved for the “special.” And now, that’s what Jade had rendered Robert into. A “special” one. Though, more accurately, he was able to delude himself into thinking as much…until the night in question actually arrived. 

Things seemed to be going well, for the most part. Even though he felt like a fish out of water, and that most people probably thought he was Jade’s assistant/minion, rather than her date. Even though, of course, that’s the story they officially told everyone who bothered to ask…because Robert didn’t exactly let Elena in on what he was doing. Told her this was a paid gig for “seat filling” knowing full well she wouldn’t bother to check, and that the only sitting involved would be Jade on his face. That was after the after-after party though. When she was good and drunk enough to do it. To pretend that Robert was the “next hot thing” and not, ultimately, just some hot thing she wanted to fuck. Giving him the ephemeral “legitimacy” of attending the Golden Globes was all she needed to sanction her night of passion with “the help.” But then, like Cinderella, Robert would be restored to his peasant status after the spell of the night was broken. 

And for Robert, the spell’s finiteness was made quite clear the following morning when, splashed all across the pop culture and news websites was a picture of Jade Madsen and Jermaine Reston, the co-star of her film, Social Suicide, that won the Golden Globe for Best Picture. And in the background (as usual), was Robert’s slightly obscured face with the caption, “Jade and Jermaine revel in Golden Globe win as onlooker stands by.” Onlooker. That was worse than his typical description as an “extra.” At least extras can be seen participating in life as opposed to just standing by and observing it passively. Like a mannequin. Or a waxen lackey. That’s how Robert saw himself, and how he knew everyone else would, too. Including Elena, who was so irked by the photo being omnipresent on every single website and social media feed that she actually had a reaction to something for the first time since they’d been together. For the entire period that Robert had lived with her, she had remained perennially stoic. But that image of him in the background practically drooling over Jade was all it took to snap something inside of Elena and make Robert yearn for the days of her icy, impenetrable demeanor. 

When it was all over, Robert was kicked to the curb, told by Elena that perhaps he might be more welcome in Los Angeles, in “Jade’s mansion or something.” Robert knew that whatever had been between him and Jade was over now. She had gotten her orgasm out of him and now he had to fend for himself. He could have stayed in Nowheresville and crashed on someone’s couch, sure. However, he didn’t feel it was good for his mental health to keep living in a place that presently harbored so much of Elena’s rage and resentment toward him. So L.A. it was.

It didn’t take long for him to wind up in the Venice/Santa Monica area with the other bums who knew that, if homelessness had to be “done,” it ought to be done near the beach. And yet, unlike the other men around him who took to drinking in the day and claiming they used to be “famous” (ex-child stars, ex-reality stars, ex-influencers, what have you), all Robert could say was that he used to be an onlooker at the Globes. How’s that for a legacy?