…
Alex dropped Shania off at the glass entrance of her hotel.
Outside, the Los Angeles night was fading, the neon glow of Sunset Boulevard casting long, pale reflections across the pavement.
“Thank you for walking back with me, Alex,” Shania said, stopping near the automatic doors and turning to face him.
Her warm brown eyes held a quiet, open curiosity.
“It’s still early…
do you want to come upstairs for a bit?
We could talk a little more about music.”
The invitation carried the direct, unpretentious warmth typical of the Canadian music circuit.
Alex offered a easy smile.
“I’d like that.
I wouldn’t mind hearing more about the Nashville scene, either.”
They took the elevator up to her suite.
The room was comfortable and understated, with large windows overlooking the dark grid of the city below.
Shania casually gathered her long brown hair into a loose tie, stepping over to the small wet bar in the corner.
“Can I get you something?
I’ve got hotel red wine and bottled water.”
“Water’s fine, thanks.”
Alex sat down on the armchair near the window, his eyes catching the worn hardshell guitar case leaning against the wall.
“Take that everywhere with you?”
“Always,” Shania said, handing him a bottle before settling onto the sofa opposite him.
Her gaze softened as she looked over at the instrument.
“It’s my notebook.
Whenever a line or a chord progression pops into my head, I write it down before it slips away.”
She paused, looking directly at him.
“Hearing you cut Creep in the booth today…
it stayed with me.
That mix of vulnerability and raw frustration felt completely real.”
“There’s a lot of mileage behind that track.”
“I could tell.” Shania leaned forward, a sudden spark of inspiration brightening her expression.
“Alex…
I want to write a song about you.”
Alex raised an eyebrow, surprised.
“About me?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice rising with genuine creative excitement.
“Between hearing you sing and talking with you tonight…
you’ve got a very distinct presence.
Grounded, but restless.
Driven, yet carrying this quiet…
detachment.
Like part of you is always standing outside the room watching everything happen.”
She gestured with her hands, tracing the idea in the air.
“A singer from Manchester trying to find his footing under the Los Angeles lights, carrying that British rock edge while fighting for a spot in this town…
the story writes itself!”
Seeing the pure, unselfish passion in her eyes, Alex found himself genuinely moved.
He hadn’t expected someone he’d just met to catch the subtle friction inside him—the quiet gap created by two lives merging into one.
“That sounds like quite a track,” Alex said softly.
“I’d be honored to be a muse for a writer like you.”
“Then it’s settled!” Shania laughed softly.
“Though I’m going to need more material.
Tell me about the docks in England.
Tell me what you were thinking when you stepped off the bus in West Hollywood.”
They talked for hours.
Alex shared carefully tailored pieces of his background as Alex Shawn, weaving in Levi’s sharp, grounded observations of the industry without breaking character.
Shania listened intently, occasionally picking up her acoustic guitar to hum a tentative melody or test a lyric line against a slow chord progression.
By the time Alex realized how much time had passed and stood up to leave, the sky outside the window was turning a pale, cold grey.
“It’s nearly morning,” Alex said apologetically.
“I’ve kept you up all night.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shania shook her head, her face radiant despite the lack of sleep.
“This is the most productive night I’ve had since I landed in California.
You gave me a dozen ideas.” Follow the newest chapters on g.com.
She walked him to the door, stopping at the threshold.
“Don’t forget,” she reminded him, looking up with a warm smile.
“You owe me a visit in Nashville once I get these tracks cut.
And I’ll be back in LA as soon as the preliminary mix is finished.”
“Count on it,” Alex promised.
“I’m looking forward to hearing the record—especially the one about ‘us.'”
Shania stepped forward and gave him a brief, warm goodbye hug.
“Safe travels back down the hill, Alex.”
Walking out into the crisp morning air, Alex felt a quiet sense of grounding.
His late-night session with Shania hadn’t just been a pleasant diversion; it was a rare moment of genuine artistic connection in a town built on posturing.
Over the following weeks, Shania returned to Tennessee to throw herself into tracking her debut album, while Alex stayed in Los Angeles to push his acting momentum forward.
They kept in touch through late-night phone calls, with Shania humming raw acoustic demos over the line—beautiful, rhythmic melodies with rich imagery.
Meanwhile, the city kept moving.
Alex half-expected Angelina Jolie to make good on her dramatic exit and pop back up in his life, but as he suspected, the rebellious teenager had retreated back into her own circle.
In a city of three million people, an uncredited actor was easily lost in the noise.
He put the encounter out of his mind and focused entirely on the work ahead.
Fina had shopped his studio demo of Creep to several label representatives, but the response was slow.
While Fina was a sharp talent representative at CAA, she was still building her leverage within the music division.
The Coen family name carried weight with film directors, but label executives cared strictly about airplay metrics and proven commercial trends.
It was a sharp reminder of how the town operated: without high-level leverage, every door required a fight.
Alex knew he couldn’t rely on music alone to make his name.
To build real longevity, he needed a major dramatic credit—a project that would force studio executives to treat him as a serious actor rather than just another physical performer doing second-unit work.
He didn’t target the glossy, big-budget studio projects currently in development.
Instead, he set his sights on a project quietly gathering momentum at Warner Bros.—a gritty, revisionist titled Unforgiven, directed by and starring Clint Eastwood.
Eastwood was a living monument of American cinema.
From the Sergio Leone classics to Dirty Harry, his name carried immense authority.
But more importantly, Unforgiven was being pitched as a raw, grounded deconstruction of the Western myth—the exact kind of project that earned critical prestige and Academy attention.
If Alex could land even a featured supporting role in Eastwood’s film, it would completely transform his resume, elevating him from a promising stunt worker to a recognized dramatic actor.
The only question was how a young, working actor and a rising agent could impress a hardened industry legend like Clint Eastwood.
…
-Krazybro