Evelyn has always been blind. Since birth, the girl has struggled through endless challenges that left her gripped in the clutches of social and personal upheaval. With the trials of sightlessness and the inability to connect with others, Evelyn grew up in a hard life, but was not without the support of her family and the few friends she had. As she grew in grace and beauty, she held the key of genuine goodness and love close to her heart as well as her faith in God and continued to prosper despite her affliction. She has friends to surround her and the city she knows and loves, and it seems that nothing, not even knowing she will never see the faces of loved ones or the glow of the sunset, can bring her down. Brackston is very different. Growing up in a hard life, he fled Atlanta at a young age and found his way west to the sunny state of California. At sixteen, he found his way and struggled through city life in order to attain the peace and security he always wanted, but never had. A Hollywood agent came for auditions and after stunning the judges with his superior skill, Brackston Banks became a household name as the years passed and his career flourished under Hollywoo'd nurturing. The fruits of resentment never left him, however, and deep in his broken heart festers wounds beyond counting that poisons and tortures him with each passing day. Two lives will cross unlikely paths, and together they will see life in a new, colorful light. Brackston Banks; Hollywood Heartthrob If you don't make eye contact, they won't notice you. It was the motto he'd lived by since a less-than-formal induction to the beast that Hollywood was, the clawing creature that stole every inch of a person's being and molded them in to public icons, torn to shreds by critics and haters, thrown on a pedestal for all to ruthlessly examine. The fame was something he could live without--dealing with people was never Brackston's strong suit and the "I can't see them, they can't see me" mantra was burned into his daily outings. But the fortune was what made everything worth it. Having a bank account the size of Russia with all the luxury he could swallow was what filled the hole in his heart, what brought the consuming dread of reality to a temporary heel within a shattered mind. At least, that was the lie he told himself. And he would believe it until the day he died. "Coffee, black," he told the barista at the counter of a local Starbucks, pushing his sunglasses further up his nose to remain incognito. "And a caramel mocha for the lady." "You know me too well." The woman at his side, his agent and a rather pesky person if honesty prevailed, folded her arms across her chest and looked around to the semi-busy coffeehouse with a look of disdain. "Not too many people here. Should be fine for a talk. I still don't know why you wanted to meet in public, I hate people. You know that." "I had shit to do in the city. Couldn't be bothered to go back home." He swiped his credit card and accepted the drinks, while his agent found a table and sat herself near it. "Does it really matter? You don't care about my personal life." "Not in the slightest," she chuckled, the short black curls bouncing with her laugh. "Unless it concerns your public image, which is the topic of today's lecture." "Ugh, Christ." He slumped in the chair across from his agent, a woman by the name of Genna and his best friend since his college days. A look of distaste for a conversation that had yet to start was etched on his dark face. "Not this again. I'm fine, people like me enough." "Not enough. You're kind of a jerk." "So? As long as I stay out of legal trouble I'll still have fans, and directors keep coming to me for work. Shouldn't make a single difference what I do off-camera." "But it does." The woman sighed. "Listen, Brackston. Do you want to be type-cast like Liam Neeson and Vin Diesel? No? Then listen up. You need a bit of a personality adjustment." She folded her hands on the table and met her client dead in the eyes. "I don't care if you actually give a damn about whatever you do, but you have to do something. Your popularity rates are dropping faster than Obama's. The most popular actors out there are real stand-up guys, guys that do things in the community or take a stand on political issues, guys who have the skill you have on-screen but with everything that you lack off of it. They tweet pictures of cancer kids instead of the hundreds of pairs of shoes they have in their closet." "Hey! I like my shoes." "That's not the point." She groaned. "You need to do some public service." "This, coming from you?" Brackston laughed outright. "I'm not gonna adopt some kid from Africa or build a school in Mexico. I have better things to do with my time." "That may be true, but anything will help. Rescue a puppy and take stupid selfies with it. Help a fat old lady across the street. Pay off everyone's layaways at Toys-R-Us or Walmart, I don't care. Anything will help at this point. Just tell me what you did, and don't lie about it because I'll know, and I'll make sure it gets to the media pronto." "Is it really that bad?" Brackston leaned back in his chair, a frown on his face. "I hate all that. I just want to act and get paid and for people to leave me the fuck alone." "It's nice to want things. You could have been a doctor or a hitchhiker or a male stripper, but you chose this." "I would have been a damn good stripper. Maybe I chose the wrong job." "Maybe," Genna chuckled in reply.