I’m Peter Maxx. Join me and all your favorite music stars on August twenty-eighth for the Hot Hollywood Music Awards. Because if it’s not hot, it’s not Hot Hollywood.” “And . . . cut!” The director, a chubby, bearded guy in his forties who waved his hands dramatically with every word, got up from his chair and walked toward Peter, who was standing in front of a green screen. “Can we try it again, Peter? But, this time, give us a big, Peter Maxx smile? That will give it a nice, big punch for the fans.” The director sat down in his chair beside the camera and watched the makeup artist dab Peter’s forehead with some antishine powder. “Can we give him a little more color?” the director asked the makeup girl. “More bronzer. On the cheeks.” Peter rolled his eyes and glared at his dad, who sat next to Abby sipping from a white paper coffee cup watching the video monitor. Bobby flicked his son an enthusiastic thumbs-up. Peter flashed an obnoxiously fake smile back at him.
