Hollowood, 1952.

Oona Sherman stepped off of the rickety old bus, the one which she'd been traveling on for four whole days. They'd only stopped a few times to grab food and to use the bathroom, but she didn't mind too much. Traveling from Tennessee to California was exhilarating, if a tad bit exhausting, but she knew this is what she wanted to do. She had no life in the South. Here, she had the opportunity of a lifetime.

Oona was a friendly-looking young woman, her black, wavy hair styled into a bob that had once held the glamour of the likes of Louise Brooks. Now, it was just messy and needed a good cut. She was fair skinned and short statured, slightly slender, and wearing a purple and white sleeveless polka dot dress with a white Peter Pan collar. Black Mary Jane shoes adorned her feet, making her look positively innocent and cute. Way too cute for a cutthroat town like Hollowood, and she knew that.

But she has always wanted to be an actress, and so she chased her dream.

She carried her briefcase in one hand, filled with money, the remnants of some snacks, and the few outfits she decided to bring along. In the other hand was a flier that read:

AUDITIONS

SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 16 16:00

LOOKING FOR FEMALE, AGED 25-30

BENTON TARANTELLA PRODUCTIONS

Oona had found the flier outside of a gas station near the city, where they had stopped for a final bathroom break, just an hour or so prior.

Benton Tarantella. Hmm. Oona had definitely heard of him before, but she couldn't remember what the context was, what films or productions he had done, or if he was a reputable director or not.

But, it just so happened that today was February 16, and 4 o'clock was in less than an hour.

Nothing could go too wrong, right?

--

The warehouse where the auditions were being held was tiny.

Oona made her way into the building, which wasn't exactly the most luxurious, clean establishment she'd be in. There were just about 6 other girls there, all looking as freshly Hollowood as Oona. They sat in silence outside a room, the door simply adorned with a camera-shaped plaque that said BENTON TARANTELLA. ERROL VAN VOLKHEIM.

Oona looked at all of her fellow starlet's faces. One girl had a full face of makeup on, looking into a powderpuff mirror as she reapplied her lipstick. Another had no makeup on and was furiously applying it before the audition. Half of the other girls looked nervous, half of the other girls looked confident. And then there was Oona, who had just arrived in the city, unprepared but ready to take some risks.

Just then, the door opened, and all the girls looked up frantically.

A man appeared at the door, his face plastered in a nonchalant smile, flashing a missing tooth and the occasional golden one. His hair was styled in a reddish brown, curly mess on top of his head, his eyes half-lidded and tired looking. His long chin was accentuated by a small, styled beard. He wore a dusty green blazer that was covering a brown, cashmere sweater, with a white beaded necklace around his neck. His skinny legs were covered by green corduroy pencil pants, and he wore sandals on his feet.

"Velcome, ladies..." said the man, his voice as lackadaisical as his looks and with the affect of a German accent, "My name is Errol Van Volkheim...you can call me Errol."

Oona looked towards the other women. They intently stared at the man, some smiling with genuine interest. Was he a director too...?

Van Volkheim smiled and flashed a peace sign. "Benton's ready for the auditions, but first, ve're going in order of those ladies who already let us know they vere coming."

Oona gulped. She would probably be last, and they'd probably have decided on an actress before then. Oh well, she thought, it's a least worth a shot...

Van Volkheim called the first name, the woman who was applying lipstick earlier.

She disappeared into the room, and after what seemed like mere minutes, she emerged again, her face red with anger.

"He said I was too pretty."

She was fuming as she stormed away.

Volkheim called another name.

In she went, out she came.

"Said my voice was too rich-sounding...", her Trans-Atlantic accent sadly stated.

Yet another girl went in and shortly came out.

"Not homely enough."

Again.

"Too cultured."

Oona was starting to doubt that Tarantella would be pleased with anyone at this point.

Volkheim, who was waiting outside the room for the next actress to be dismissed, leaned against the wall, whistling.

Oona cleared her throat.

"Mr. Van Volkheim..." she started, twirling a finger through one of her wavy strands, "What exactly is the role this audition is for?"

Van Volkheim turned her way and smiled.

"Country bumpkin, ingenue, in over her head." His smile didn't waver, though she could tell he was being somewhat teasing. "You're next."

And just like that, another actress came out of the room, crying, and leaving Oona Sherman to be the last contender.

She couldn't help but feel nervous, though she tried her best to appear brave, confident. She had no idea what Benton Tarantella was like, what he looked like, none of it. She slowly entered the room, which was much, MUCH nicer than the building that housed it. It was painted a deep purple shade, with golden frames strewn about its walls, and its carpeting was a shag rug that was a pale yellow in tone. To the right was a maroon, velvet couch; to the left was an upright terrarium with what seemed to be a tarantula housed within it.

In the middle of the room was a mahogany desk, with a golden throne-like chair behind it.

And sitting at that desk was Benton Tarantella.

"Come in, come in..." he slowly demanded, his hands crossed beneath his long chin.

He was somewhat eccentric in appearance. Oona immediately noticed his hair, which was wavy and flipped out at his ears. It was largely a deep burgundy color, with a shock of greying locks at his widow's peak. Contrasting with his hair was his olive-toned skin, which was slightly pale from the winter, Oona guessed. His face wasn't exactly gorgeous, but it did make Oona think he looked cool: High cheek bones, long chin, short, yet defined nose, and his eyes were asymmetrical in shape: One was big and wide open, the other was squinted and half-closed.

He wore a dark teal suit, with a black sweater underneath. His pant legs were slightly hiked up from how he was sitting cross-legged, revealing to Oona his knit striped socks and grey dress shoes. To top off his outfit, he wore a long, pink scarf, complete with yellow polka dots.

Oona was too busy focusing on his appearance to realize he was talking to her again.

"I said, what's your name?" he repeated, his eyebrows furrowed into an annoyed expression.

She snapped out of her trance and quickly answered. "Oona. Oona Sherman."

Benton sat back in his chair, his eyebrows now raised in a quizzical look. He held a pencil in his right hand, tapping the eraser against his lips softly as he thought.

"Hmm. And what brings you here, Miss Sherman?" Tarantella stared at her, waiting on an answer. Oona swallowed.

"Uh...to be honest, I'm new in town and just wanted to...uh...try it out?"

A chuckled erupted from the other side of the door. Van Volkheim was laughing. Oona felt her face turn bright red. She couldn't believe she could be so daft.

Benton didn't move, however, not even to smirk.

"Where are you from?"

"Tennessee," she replied.

Benton leaned forward, his hands clasped under his chin again. "Well, Miss Sherman, let's do a reading and I'll see if you're right for the part."

He reached into his desk drawer, pulling out a sample script for Oona, and the actual script for himself.

"Begin." he commanded.

--

"Congratulations...!" said Errol Van Volkheim, who shook Oona's hand as she exited the door. "I knew you'd be the one to get the part." He was smiling, probably earnestly for the first time she'd seen him. "Like I said, he needed a country girl, and what better actress than someone from the actual sticks?"

Oona brushed off the somewhat backhanded compliment and grinned back.

"By the vay, I'm Benton's assistant director," continued Volkheim, "and his writer. He's a lousy writer, don't let him tell you othervise."

Tarantella appeared in the door frame, his arms crossed and his lips formed into a very, VERY small smile.

"Come back tomorrow, 8 A.M. sharp, Miss Sherman," he said as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "And get plenty of rest. You're going to need it."

Oona smiled at him. "Thank you again, Mr. Tarantella!" She leaned forward to shake his hand.

"Please, call me Benton," he replied.

As the young woman excitedly left the warehouse and ventured into the dark night, Volkheim nudged Benton with his elbow.

"She's cute," he grinned. Benton shot him a look of annoyance, and then smirked.

"Yeah, I guess."

Van Volkheim continued. "I can't believe she doesn't realize ve're considered the vorst directors in Hollowood, though." He laughed. "God help her."

--

Oona showed up to her new apartment, just a few blocks from the warehouse in which the auditions took place. It wasn't exactly nice, but it wasn't too shabby, either. Her favourite thing was looking out of her bedroom window and seeing the neon city lights.

She readied herself for bed, studying the script which Tarantella had given her. She wanted to be the best actress she could be for him, and prove that she was leading lady material.

Still though, she wondered why she had never heard of him, or Van Volkheim, before.

As she laid down and closed her eyes, she could envision her name on the theater billboards around the city. She smiled as she drifted off to sleep, with Benton's face being the last thing she saw in her thoughts.

--

Van Volkheim was already fast asleep on the couch. Benton, however, couldn't sleep.

"Here you go, girl," he whispered to his pet tarantula, Nina, who he was feeding crickets to. He replaced the top of the terrarium and looked around the dimly lit room.

He and his creative partner, Van Volkheim, had lived together for years as roommates, and had called this "studio" their home for the past few months. Volkheim always slept on the couch (which Benton had graciously given up to him) and Benton himself made a nest of blankets and pillows to sleep on underneath his desk.

It was certainly cheaper than the high lifestyle most directors lived. Not like they could afford anything more.

Benton sighed. He still got funding from studios, but only the worst. He was considered a "B-movie" director, along with Volkheim, and their movies were considered low brow and trashy. He argued with himself that his artistic vision was just too advanced for most studios, who put out drivel about romances and predictable mysteries. His films were about subjects most filmgoers considered to be taboo, like monsters and gore and the occasional adult subject, though with his latest picture, he decided to stick to conventional themes.

His latest film was about a country girl who finds romance in a town that wants to eat her up alive, only the ending was going to be happy and optimistic, unlike most of his works. He chuckled when he realized Oona Sherman was pretty much perfect for the part, and she wasn't even TRYING.

Benton set up his "bed" and laid down on the shag rug, turning the light off with a long, slender arm. He set his alarm clock for six in the morning, just so he had enough time to get ready and clean up the studio before Oona realized he was living there.

He had come to Hollowood to chase his own dream. He had loved shooting with cameras since he was a small child. He made makeshift films with figures and plush dolls, which had led to a lifelong obsession with filmmaking and directing. It was bittersweet, though, as the success he had envisioned for himself never exactly came.

He was glad he had Errol to keep him company in this lonely town. Like Oona, he'd left everything behind in Kansas, where his family had moved to from Italy many years ago. They had come to America for opportunity, which Benton could admire. Unfortunately though, America was a little more harsh than he ever could have imagined.

Benton Tarantella was a hack, there was no doubt about it. But maybe this latest picture could change all of that.

Benton thought of the fresh-faced Oona, who by Hollywood standards still wasn't exactly young. But she would be perfect for this role, and maybe Benton's ticket to success.

Sleep came upon him fast, and soon it was morning.

--

A/N: I don't write often, but wanted to chronicle my OC Oona's story in a fanfic format. This is simultaneously an origin story for Benton and my self-gratifying way of getting my self insert lore out. Please don't be too harsh, I do this purely for fun and am not looking for serious critique!