Listen to The Impersonators by Julie Mee

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This title is narrated with virtual voice, computer-generated narration for audiobooks.

The Impersonators by Julie Mee 1 Testing 1, 2 This is Stuart Bosman, filmmaker extraordinaire on the streets of Hollywood.

Half of Stuart's freckled face flashed across the screen of the camera hanging around his neck. He looked down in to the lens. Pleased, he flipped it over to see the viewfinder's display screen. It filmed his feet as he walked. The action was live. He checked his watch. Oh geez! Picking up his pace, he adjusted the strap to let the equipment hang loosely from his neck. The lens faced forward in front of him, capturing the world from his torso. Day one. It's quarter to four. Now approaching the star of my documentary. Stuart told his recording device. Melinda Waters.

Ahead, the whole Hollywood strip came into view. On the streets were famous people's handprints dried in cement, their names typed in glitzy, bronze lettering painted on red stars that covered the sidewalks. Giant, gold dragon statues raised their frozen heads in front of an old performance theatre. Their rock-hard bodies towered over the street. Countless tourists and important celebrities had walked under those dragons' watchful eyes. Crowds gathered to celebrate B-list celebrities and famous actors. They were recognized for acting in films and movies, for their memorable costumes and characters, for their lasting resonance with their audiences, and for their ability to stay cool in the never-ending march of new things.

The crowds of tourists here ebbed and flowed as a river of people. Every accent and language mingled together while people posed with fingers shaped in peace signs or hearts, photographing their sightings of movie magic. There, in the numerous photo opportunities of special things, lived and breathed a very special breed of people. The army of costumed copycats that came close but would never measure up to the real Hollywood, the Impersonators.

Here, where the real famous left their marks, the fake famous made their money.

The streets were full of them. It was an unspoken agreement between tourists and showmen. Everyone knew what they were getting. Not quite the real thing, but a close reproduction. It was a not-so-secret wink between artist and audience to pretend they were interacting in a way that was next to impossible. A picture, a smile, even a date with the stars. There were supposed super-heroes, copied cartoon characters, and toys brought to life. There were faux celebrities, fictitious somebodies, and prominent people from alternate times. The road was teeming with them, the nobodies dressed up as somebodies, cashing in on the notorieties of other people's lives. Every day was Halloween here, and dress up was big business.

The costumed characters gathered in the tourists' reach. They showed off and waved. Anything to lure visitors into their wingspans to pose for a picture for a haggled on price. Stuart checked his camera. Still running. Good to go. It was time to get what he came for. Melinda Waters.

He kept marching. Under the dragons, where the street was thick with fake moustaches and buttoned on capes, Melinda would never be found. She lived down the street, near the jewellery store and the cupcake bakery, beside the water fountain, almost a full block away. There she stood, day by day, with her other friends and characters, Jimmy Joplin, Mighty Muse, Thwackman, and an unidentifiable guy in a purple ball. Stewart had no idea who he was supposed to be. Her small group kept themselves separate from the mob. On first glance, standing so far from the busiest part of the celebrity sidewalk seemed foolish, but Stewart knew it was strategy. And today, he was going to film them. Stewart looked both ways and crossed the street half a block in front of them. Want to take a picture? Thwackman's low voice asked. The character fell into step with the boy.

Stewart shook his head. This Thwackman didn't sound like the real Thwackman. He didn't really look like him either, Stewart thought to himself. The real Thwackman, multi-movie deal Thwackman, star of his own comic book series and action figure line, had a red neoprene suit that hugged his muscles in all the right places. The real Thwackman was svelte like a swimmer with wide shoulders and a thin waist and hips, and all his power came from the forearms of his suit. Like a boxer working a speedball, the real Thwackman's arms spun at unbelievable speeds, knocking out anyone in their way with a singular thwack. His arms were so impressive he didn't even need a shield.

Covered in Teflon, the sleeves blocked both bullets and knives.