Kiss me under the Hollywood sign

Chapter 11

I tapped my finger rhythmically on the cool glass surface of the tablet, staring pensively at the schedule before me. A tangled thicket of meetings, appearances, and responsibilities stretched endlessly across the calendar, threatening to suffocate me under its weight.

As I steadied myself against the oncoming dizziness, a notification suddenly popped up, its bold sans-serif font demanding attention. "Fan Mail Management," it declared resolutely. 

Curiosity piqued, I gave in and tapped the notification. The screen exploded with a virtual mountain range of emails, handwritten letters, and bizarre packages—all addressed to none other than Daniel Hunter himself.

I felt a wave of sympathy for Stevo, Daniel's poor long-suffering manager. Wading through this digital deluge on the regular must have been a truly herculean task. Just the mental image of it was exhausting.

Steeling myself, I began scrolling through the sea of adoration. Messages ranged from sweetly heartfelt ("Dear Mr. Hunter, your performance in 'Starlight Savior' reminded me there are still good people in the world. Thank you for giving me hope!") to vaguely unsettling ("Daniel, my uncaged love burns only for you. I know in my soul we were meant to be together forever and ever...").

As I scrolled past a series of haiku extolling Daniel's impressively arched brows, I couldn't help but mutter "This is insane." Just imagining telling Sarah about it gave me a little chuckle. I could just hear her snort with laughter and say "Dude gets poems about his eyebrows? Now that's dedication."

I tapped away at the tablet, scrolling through fan letters at lightning speed. Greetings from Gifu, sonnets about stubble, it was all a blur. But one message caught my eye - a short note from a teenage girl in Nebraska.

"Dear Daniel, I know you get lots of letters but I had to write. School's been hard since Dad deployed. When I watch your movies it's like escaping to a place where good always wins. Thanks for bringing light to dark times."

But soon the task at hand sobered me up again. According to instructions, it wasn't just about sorting—I was to craft clever replies to fans "in Daniel's unique voice and style." Whatever that meant.

I set to work, keeping the tone light yet sincere. "Dear Amanda, thanks for sharing your story. Though I can't ease your troubles directly, I'm glad my work provides escape. Dark times don't last, but with courage and community, light finds a way. Wishing you peace and brighter days ahead."

Daniel scanned the letter. "oooh ... touching".

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "The intention was earnest comfort ".

Daniel scanned the responses, lips slowly curling into an impressed smile. "Not bad at all. You've definitely got a way with words. I'd say you've got the role of unofficial biographer down rather well already."

One fan asked Daniel what shampoo he uses "to get that sun-kissed surfboy look, even in landlocked LA." Another wanted to know the secret to his "panty-dropping grin."

It amazed me how invested some people got in the private lives of celebrities they'd never meet. I wondered if they'd be so interested if they knew the real Daniel.

There was certainly more to him than his good looks and charm on screen. But I suppose that's the nature of fame - it allows fans to project their fantasies onto larger-than-life icons, regardless of reality.

Navigating this online admiration wasn't always easy though. Scrolling further, I noticed an uptick in mean-spirited tweets starting to emerge. One user called Daniel "arrogant" and "washed up," citing his recent string of box office flops. Another accused him of being a "Hollywood elite out of touch with real people."