Ignore/Planning Posts from Forever Ago/Sometimes I forget to crosspost
Just b/c I'm paranoid and don't want them to get lost. Here I shall do a double planning post in case DW decides to fail. You've probably heard me ramble on about these two ridic things the past few months.
This isn’t a fairy tale. At least not the kind taught in schools, with the animal transformations, dark forests and evil witches. Apple trees don’t grow on ships and ice palaces don’t seem so isolated when hurling through space. There are no glass slippers, or prince charmings, or white horses. There are bar fights, bloody wounds, foul language, and great quests. The bad guys aren’t always so evil and the good guys aren’t always so innocent. It’s a tale, to be certain, but not the kind little kids dream about living.
This isn’t a love story, either. Not in the usual way. The stakes are higher here, misunderstandings don’t end in grand gestures so much as shoot-outs. There are no deathbed confessions, just grief, and no young kid from the wrong side is going to find a happy ending selling their body for a few credits to a Corporation businessman. It’s a story, there’s some fucking and feelings, but no one talks about love.
The Academics out in Ivy City like to talk, debate, spend billions of money credits blowing smoke out of their asses about how the world came to this. Not like their version of the truth matters, they’re paid to make it sound like the Corporation was the savior of some scary black hole of the future. They’re not paid to mention the corruption, the frame-up jobs, the fact that they burned the land, the people, and then the sky. Corporation is a business and it knew what it had to do to keep that bottom line. Some people profited, a lot of people suffered, but most ended up nice and tidy in the middle. Plenty of new planets and colonies with fresh air, fresh land, and plenty of space for them to stick their head in the sand.
The history books don’t mention the losses, the failures, the numbers of the dead and gone. That wouldn’t be good for business and the company party-line.
Jay De L’Eau once lived in Ivy City, among the wealthy class, groomed to be the next heir to a business fortune. His mother used her intuition to build their wealth, his father went by their business contacts, and somehow they’d wound up with a contract for a new colony and a chance to be one of the new sets of pioneers.
88888888888
He’d never planned on Hoosier. This new life, full of dark deals and back alleys, it wasn’t supposed to account for any sort of affection. Hoosier couldn’t care less about Jay’s plans, he’d found something amusing or entertaining here, and he’d made it damn clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“Don’t you need to take a job?”
“Well, Just Jay,” Hoosier mumbled around his cigarette, “75% of my crew is out of commission so I can’t take any job off planet right now. Unless you’re going to pull me some local snatch-and-grab out of that magic crime computer of yours, I don’t have anywhere to be but here.”
“Jesus,” Jay muttered, “what the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Besides pull a weapon on me?” Hoosier asked.
“Down here that’s just standard operation procedure.”
“A man likes to think he can be trusted,” Hoosier said.
**********
Jay could so be like their fence. Or contact. Or hacker. A behind the scenes guy, like Gibson, but with more worldly contacts.
Jay was raised wealthy, but his family lost their money on a gamble for re-settling a new colony. They were really set-up and framed by some government corp, which is why Jay took the fence job. He can't get his family's money or reputation back, but he can take back bits and pieces from the fuckers who ruined his family's name.
***
Hoosier is normally a ghost. He lets other people do the talking, take the fall, pick up the pay days, get the money cleaned, do the networking. But after that last job outside of Aurora, the one where Leckie got stunned, Runner broke three ribs and Chuckler was still puking his guts up, Hoosier had to go meet the contact. They couldn't send Gibson, kid can't lie worth a rat's ass and he was better at triage anyway. So Hoosier cleaned up, pulled a hat down far over the still healing scratched on his face and went out into the city.
He'd expected the contact to look like all the other black market dealers from the colonies, all shifty eyes and shady smiles, not looking like they belonged in some academy trying for the next government office seat. Hoosier almost scoffed at having to deal with someone who was clearly not meant for this side of life.
At least until he sat down, heard the soft whirr of a pulse gun and looked up to meet Jay's cold eyes and dark smile.
"You're not the Captain of the Vera. Who the hell are you?"
Runner Conley was aptly named for his job as a Hollywood Personal Assistant. It was a job that came with impossible hours, demands, and no real sense of vacation, but provided perks with all-access passes, insider knowledge, and client loyalty. Runner came to Hollywood as a high school graduate with no job prospects and a friend’s couch to sleep on. He ended the year with a steady job, a more than decent salary, and his own room in a shitty apartment. Life had only gone up since.
Even if it meant he his current client felt more like a babysitting job than an actual profession. Lew Juergens was Hollywood’s Next Big Thing. He’d already been in a whole slew of Independent Dramas and had a massive stock piling of Film Festival and Independent Spirit Awards. He’d finally made the jump to Hollywood and everyone was after him. Runner couldn’t remember the last time a job kept him this busy.
“Yes, Ms. Riggi, I promise to show Lew the script,” Runner said while he fumbled for the keys to Lew’s apartment. He tried not to sigh in the phone while Lena went on a pointed rant about how rare Lew’s opportunities were. “I know Clint Eastwood doesn’t demand every new actor in his film and I know Lew will consider it an honor, but I can’t say anything to him while I’m tied up on the phone with you.”
“Don’t make me end you,” Lena threatened before hanging up.
Runner shook his head before pocketing his phone and making his away inside.
And there was Hollywood’s Golden Boy, one of People’s Sexiest Men Alive, passed out on the couch with an X-Box controller in his hand and cheese doodles stains on his shirt.
Runner didn’t even bother to fight the smile on his face, his moment of indulgence, before waking up Prince Charming.
**********
Eddie Jones looked up from his morning coffee when a copy of Variety was slapped down in front of him.
“Something you wanted to ask?” he murmured, meeting the amused eyes of his partner.
Andy Haldane slapped him on the back of the head. “You could of told me you were auditioning for the part of Grayson Powers,” he said, before stealing a slice of Eddie’s bacon.
“I didn’t want to fuck with your directorial vision.” Eddie said. He looked over the headline.
HBO signs up Eddie Jones and Carwood Lipton for “Holler”
“It will be an honor to work with Lipton; this is his first project in, what, ten years?”
“Outside of voice acting, yeah,” Andy said.
Eddie nudged Andy’s foot. “You okay with directing me again?”
Andy shrugged. “The last time ended pretty well, I think.”
“You got your shiny Oscar,” Eddie agreed.
“I meant you, jackass,” Andy said.
Eddie took a long sip of his coffee before making an honest response. It was always a delicate situation, walking onto a set when everyone knew the director and an actor were sleeping together. It could bring out all sorts of complaints about favoritism, but Andy’s reputation was good enough to crush all those worries. If anything, he would be tougher on Eddie, especially now that Eddie was no longer a rookie actor, half-terrified of the camera. He doubted he’d get any more special tutorials about being comfortable while acting.
“What are you smirking about?” Andy asked.
“Thinking back to the pre-production of Maguires when you took all that time out for me.”
Andy glared at him. “I told you, it was all totally innocent. I was doing a favor for Haney and his newest protégé.”
Eddie batted his eyelashes. “And do all your favors involve one-on-one photo shoots and filming.”
“I’m starting to regret helping your career advancement,” Andy muttered. He pulled out his phone and fired off a message. “Mike’s already found us a place to bed down. He said the local population is a bit more accepting.”
Eddie sniffed. “Tell Wynn that his talent requires nothing but Egyptian Cotton Linen and Evian Water for bathing.”
“I’m impressed, you almost kept a straight face while saying that,” Andy said.
Eddie flipped through the magazine. “How did they get Carwood Lipton to resurface?” he asked.
Andy shrugged. “You’d have to ask Popeye Wynn. He’s the show’s creator.”
***************
“Why do I have to do this?” Lew asked, sitting in the make-up chair.
“Because the public finds your over pronounced brow ridge attractive,” Runner said.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to prey on my insecurities.”
“You woke me up at 3 AM to buy you nachos.”
“Hoosier got me drunk, I couldn’t drive,” Lew argued.
“I’m sure Hoosier only got you drunk,” Runner muttered. He really did like Hoosier Smith, he was a hell of a friend, but he was a bad influence when Lew had a morning interview with Matt Lauer the next day. Hoosier always worked the afternoon show tapings, but Lew was still new enough for the early shows. Runner was honestly counting the days until Lew reached Late and Tonight Show status.
“Hoosier makes New York fun,” Lew said.
“New York makes New York fun,” Runner bitched. He gave the make-up artist a nod of acceptance, while they both dusted off Lew’s stylish new sweater. Lena ordered a shopping trip. Which really meant Runner had to go all over the city yesterdays with Lew measurements while Lew conducted radio interviews.
Press junkets, a required part of the business but murder on a PA’s nerves.
“Tell me I look pretty,” Lew said, smiling wide.
Runner sent off a text message to Walt, confirming Lew’s MTV appearance. “You’re pretty,” he promised.
“Do you think Matt Lauer will make me cry?” Lew asked.
“He’s not Barbara Walters,” Runner said, “besides, you have The View tomorrow.”
Lew nodded and reached a hand into Runner’s jacket, pulling out a pack of Mentos.
“You could ask,” Runner said.
“I’m the hands-on type,” Lew said as he shredded the packaging.
“I’ve noticed,” Runner said, holding out his hand for one of the candies.
“You love me,” Lew stated with absolute certainty, like he always did.
“I love my paycheck,” Runner said. He noticed one of the assistants motioning for them. “It’s almost time. Are you ready?”
Lew nodded and stood up, towering over Runner. “Hey,” he said, “are you going to get a chance to see your parents while we’re here?”
Runner shook his head. “Buffalo isn’t exactly around the corner.”
“We should make time to them,” Lew said.
“We?” Runner asked.
Lew just smiled wide before heading out to the stage and the applauding crowd.
********
Carwood Lipton was a child star, former, as he agent liked to remind him. He had a slew of successful roles until he hit puberty. The awkward stage of youth, where he was no longer cute or precocious, ended the Hollywood dream early. Lipton went back to West Virginia, settled into a normal life, went to college, taught for a few years before settling into carpentry. He still acted in bit parts, as favor to old friends who needed someone with a soothing voice and a calm demeanor.
He’d avoided Hollywood for the most part, but when Popeye Wynn came to him with a leading role that was tailor made, he couldn’t say no. The part was perfect for him, and while it wasn’t a stretch to play someone from West Virginia, Carwood never grew up in a Holler or around the backwoods drug culture.
“What can you tell me about the other lead?” he asked Popeye.
“Hillbilly,” Popeye said with a smile, “that’s what Eddie gets called. He was a country singer, in the band Red Lion, he played the banjo.”
“Was his first role as a musician?”
“He played the young lover of a Chicago crime boss, actually,” Popeye said, “his first acting role outside of anything in music videos. Pretty much all won all his nominations. It was Nixon’s last good film, you remember, Maguires?”
Carwood nodded. He remembered watching the film once he heard Andrew Haldane would be his director for the pilot. Haldane’s films had a realism to them, a gritty quality, partially brought on by Special Effects, but largely due to his Director’s Eye. He forced his actors to dig down deep, pull out some real emotion. And he didn’t put up with antics or bullshit. How Lewis Nixon, with all his well-documented alcohol problems managed to survive that shoot was a miracle.
“I can’t believe HBO’s already signed off on this, we haven’t shot anything yet.”
“They did an original pilot with the script and Haldane’s directing and crew. It was always going to be recast, but now we have the okay and the funds to shoot here. Haldane and I both want a certain level of authenticity. And I couldn’t do a show here without you in it,” Popeye said, slapping Carwood on the arm.
“What did you have to promise them for this gamble,” Carwood said.
“They wanted you, Lip,” Popeye said.
“And?” Carwood asked.
“And yeah, we had to get Ron Speirs contracted for an episode or two.”
“The action star?” Carwood asked, confused, “why would they want him?”
Popeye shrugged. “Man knows his way around weaponry and requested a role once your name got attached. I think he’ll fit in the role of a federal officer, but I have no plans for him to be long term.”
“At least not for now,” Carwood said.
Popeye nodded and stood up. He walked around Carwood’s porch, staring out over the property as the sun set. Crickets were already chirping loud, the frogs joining them in song.
“I’m sorry about ruining your quiet life,” Popeye said.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else but your or Shifty,” Carwood said. He joined Popeye at the railing. “I assume Shifty’s going to be on set too.”
“Couldn’t keep him off it if I tried,” Popeye admitted. Shifty Wynn (POWERS) was a gun expert and made a living as a weaponry expert. He was heavily in demand for action-film loving Hollywood, and with his military background he was a valued technical advisor. If Popeye had his way, Shifty would be a lead actor, but Shifty never was one for the spotlight and there was definite wisdom to that.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Carwood said.
Popeye let out a deep breath. “That’s all I needed to hear, Lip.”
************
In the great plans for his life Eddie Jones never banked on becoming an actor. He never performed in school plays, he didn’t have a Bachelor of Fine Arts or Dramatic Arts, or anything. His degree from a technical college and his career was working on construction sites when not playing with his band, Red Lion. Granted, he never planned for the band to get far as well, but they happened to catch the eye of an exec he was trying to bring bluegrass back in style. He still played with Red Lion, was there for small tour stretches and played on the studio albums, but it was easier for them to take on a different banjo player for tours than wait until Eddie had the time.
Those boys and gals were some of the best in the world, never begrudged Eddie his success. In fact Kitty Grogan, their lead singer, was the one who encourage him to take the acting role Elmo Haney offered. Kitty never could help but meddle in everything and the worst part of it was that she was right 99% of the time. He owed most of what he had now to Kitty, and he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ever repay that favor.
All these thoughts were keeping Eddie up and he couldn’t get a damned bit of sleep. Eddie just couldn’t get settled tonight and that needed to stop, or else he’d be absolute shit during the table read tomorrow. He didn’t want to meet his new co-stars and producers looking like death and hung-over. Andy wasn’t even here to distract him; he was out with his assistant director, production manager, main lightning technician and cinematographer, going over the filming locations and taking stock footage and test shots. He should have gone with them, but he was the jackass who decided he needed some peace and quiet to sleep before the big cast and crew meeting.
Eddie paced around their rented cottage, the floorboards creaking under his feet. The cottage did smell like furniture polish and burning firewood, but there was still a lived-in feel. It just didn’t feel like home and Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of being a stranger in someone else’s home. It was hard to sleep when you felt like an outsider.
He finally settled down in the room Andy claimed for his office. The chair already held the hint of his cologne. Eddie pushed about the various papers on the desk, unearthing one of the Holler scripts that Andy had marked up. He flipped through it, smiling at the barely legible scrawls ant the notations marking, Eddie will never do that and If he does that, I will kill him. It was always good to know that if nothing else, the director had his back.
*******************
“You should just become his manager,” Skip Muck said, fussing with his hair in the make-up trailer’s mirrors.
“I’m sure Lena would have words about that,” Runner said. He liked being a Personal Assistant, it didn’t have the weight of decision that came with being a manager. And he sure as hell never wanted to be a talent agent. All of those shitty scripts to read through. He gladly left that job to Lucy, Lew’s agent.
“Lena would probably pay you to get Lew off her hands for good,” Skip said. He settled down in one of the chairs and started to root through a candy bin. “If all else fails, Don would take you back in a heartbeat.”
Runner smiled at that. He missed working from Don Malarkey at times. It was easy, really, Malark never caused too many problems outside of some drunken brawls. When he, Skip, and Alex Penkala came to L.A. to take their three-man stage show to a tv sitcom set, Runner was there with them, assisting all three along the way. Those were good times, easier times, and for all that bullshit that came with television, it was still more stable than going from film set to film set. Runner would be a liar if he said he didn’t miss being able to have a mostly set schedule, but Stone himself was the one who moved Runner to more high profile clients and with that came a far more itinerant lifestyle.
“Don never needed an assistant to begin with, he knows how to take care of himself,” Runner said.
“What about me, I could use an assistant,” Skip said.
“I try not to work with people I’ve slept with,” Runner said.
“Even if I promised not to let you take advantage of me again?” Skip asked.
Runner laughed. “Even then,” he said, “especially when I’d have to spend all my time trying not to lock you and Penky in a room together.”
“I try not to sleep with people I work with,” Skip said.
“Unrequited love is okay though?” Runner asked.
Skip raised a brow in answer.
“Touché,” Runner conceded.
“You could be Penk’s assistant,” Skip said.
Runner leaned against one of the cabinets and laughed. “You never stop trying, Skip. Penk really doesn’t need an assistant, neither do you or Don, but Juergens? I wake up before sunrise each morning and work out his schedule with Lena and Lucy. He’s in constant demands for interviews; radio, film, print, you name it. He has famous directors calling him with role offers. Not their assistants, not their casting directors, but their very selves. It’s insane, I’ve never seen anything like it, outside of Basilone.”
“Talk about your action movie hero,” Skip said, “if he doesn’t have a movie out during Memorial Day Weekend, it’s like it doesn’t even count.”
Runner nodded in agreement. “So I have to work with Lew, and the team, to keep him from having a nervous breakdown or realizing just how jam-packed his schedule is.”
“How can he not know?” Skip asked.
“He’s easily distracted by ice cream and comic books.”
“So is my five-year-old nephew, but he still demands nap time,” Skip said.
“Hollywood breeds Peter Pan Syndrome,” Runner said.
Jackson, one of the production assistants, popped his head into the trailer. “We need you on set, Skip.”
Skip nodded. “I’ll be there in five.”
Jackson waved his hand and slipped out, already taking to someone on his headset.
“That’s your cue,” Runner said.
“Funny,” Skip replied before getting out of the chair and stretching. “You going to stay around for a bit? Join us at Craft Services for a fancy lunch served on paper plates.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Runner said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had lunch with all three of you.”
“You need to make more of an effort to have some semblance of a life outside of work,” Skip said.
“Thank you, Dr. Muck.”
“Anytime,” Skip said as he headed out the door.
*************
**Colbert is a critic who constantly tears apart Leckie and Webster's scripts. Leckie writes massive scripts he thinks are works of art, Webster rips them up into useable dialogue for shitty B-movies.
This isn’t a fairy tale. At least not the kind taught in schools, with the animal transformations, dark forests and evil witches. Apple trees don’t grow on ships and ice palaces don’t seem so isolated when hurling through space. There are no glass slippers, or prince charmings, or white horses. There are bar fights, bloody wounds, foul language, and great quests. The bad guys aren’t always so evil and the good guys aren’t always so innocent. It’s a tale, to be certain, but not the kind little kids dream about living.
This isn’t a love story, either. Not in the usual way. The stakes are higher here, misunderstandings don’t end in grand gestures so much as shoot-outs. There are no deathbed confessions, just grief, and no young kid from the wrong side is going to find a happy ending selling their body for a few credits to a Corporation businessman. It’s a story, there’s some fucking and feelings, but no one talks about love.
The Academics out in Ivy City like to talk, debate, spend billions of money credits blowing smoke out of their asses about how the world came to this. Not like their version of the truth matters, they’re paid to make it sound like the Corporation was the savior of some scary black hole of the future. They’re not paid to mention the corruption, the frame-up jobs, the fact that they burned the land, the people, and then the sky. Corporation is a business and it knew what it had to do to keep that bottom line. Some people profited, a lot of people suffered, but most ended up nice and tidy in the middle. Plenty of new planets and colonies with fresh air, fresh land, and plenty of space for them to stick their head in the sand.
The history books don’t mention the losses, the failures, the numbers of the dead and gone. That wouldn’t be good for business and the company party-line.
Jay De L’Eau once lived in Ivy City, among the wealthy class, groomed to be the next heir to a business fortune. His mother used her intuition to build their wealth, his father went by their business contacts, and somehow they’d wound up with a contract for a new colony and a chance to be one of the new sets of pioneers.
88888888888
He’d never planned on Hoosier. This new life, full of dark deals and back alleys, it wasn’t supposed to account for any sort of affection. Hoosier couldn’t care less about Jay’s plans, he’d found something amusing or entertaining here, and he’d made it damn clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.
“Don’t you need to take a job?”
“Well, Just Jay,” Hoosier mumbled around his cigarette, “75% of my crew is out of commission so I can’t take any job off planet right now. Unless you’re going to pull me some local snatch-and-grab out of that magic crime computer of yours, I don’t have anywhere to be but here.”
“Jesus,” Jay muttered, “what the hell did I ever do to you?”
“Besides pull a weapon on me?” Hoosier asked.
“Down here that’s just standard operation procedure.”
“A man likes to think he can be trusted,” Hoosier said.
**********
Jay could so be like their fence. Or contact. Or hacker. A behind the scenes guy, like Gibson, but with more worldly contacts.
Jay was raised wealthy, but his family lost their money on a gamble for re-settling a new colony. They were really set-up and framed by some government corp, which is why Jay took the fence job. He can't get his family's money or reputation back, but he can take back bits and pieces from the fuckers who ruined his family's name.
***
Hoosier is normally a ghost. He lets other people do the talking, take the fall, pick up the pay days, get the money cleaned, do the networking. But after that last job outside of Aurora, the one where Leckie got stunned, Runner broke three ribs and Chuckler was still puking his guts up, Hoosier had to go meet the contact. They couldn't send Gibson, kid can't lie worth a rat's ass and he was better at triage anyway. So Hoosier cleaned up, pulled a hat down far over the still healing scratched on his face and went out into the city.
He'd expected the contact to look like all the other black market dealers from the colonies, all shifty eyes and shady smiles, not looking like they belonged in some academy trying for the next government office seat. Hoosier almost scoffed at having to deal with someone who was clearly not meant for this side of life.
At least until he sat down, heard the soft whirr of a pulse gun and looked up to meet Jay's cold eyes and dark smile.
"You're not the Captain of the Vera. Who the hell are you?"
Runner Conley was aptly named for his job as a Hollywood Personal Assistant. It was a job that came with impossible hours, demands, and no real sense of vacation, but provided perks with all-access passes, insider knowledge, and client loyalty. Runner came to Hollywood as a high school graduate with no job prospects and a friend’s couch to sleep on. He ended the year with a steady job, a more than decent salary, and his own room in a shitty apartment. Life had only gone up since.
Even if it meant he his current client felt more like a babysitting job than an actual profession. Lew Juergens was Hollywood’s Next Big Thing. He’d already been in a whole slew of Independent Dramas and had a massive stock piling of Film Festival and Independent Spirit Awards. He’d finally made the jump to Hollywood and everyone was after him. Runner couldn’t remember the last time a job kept him this busy.
“Yes, Ms. Riggi, I promise to show Lew the script,” Runner said while he fumbled for the keys to Lew’s apartment. He tried not to sigh in the phone while Lena went on a pointed rant about how rare Lew’s opportunities were. “I know Clint Eastwood doesn’t demand every new actor in his film and I know Lew will consider it an honor, but I can’t say anything to him while I’m tied up on the phone with you.”
“Don’t make me end you,” Lena threatened before hanging up.
Runner shook his head before pocketing his phone and making his away inside.
And there was Hollywood’s Golden Boy, one of People’s Sexiest Men Alive, passed out on the couch with an X-Box controller in his hand and cheese doodles stains on his shirt.
Runner didn’t even bother to fight the smile on his face, his moment of indulgence, before waking up Prince Charming.
**********
Eddie Jones looked up from his morning coffee when a copy of Variety was slapped down in front of him.
“Something you wanted to ask?” he murmured, meeting the amused eyes of his partner.
Andy Haldane slapped him on the back of the head. “You could of told me you were auditioning for the part of Grayson Powers,” he said, before stealing a slice of Eddie’s bacon.
“I didn’t want to fuck with your directorial vision.” Eddie said. He looked over the headline.
HBO signs up Eddie Jones and Carwood Lipton for “Holler”
“It will be an honor to work with Lipton; this is his first project in, what, ten years?”
“Outside of voice acting, yeah,” Andy said.
Eddie nudged Andy’s foot. “You okay with directing me again?”
Andy shrugged. “The last time ended pretty well, I think.”
“You got your shiny Oscar,” Eddie agreed.
“I meant you, jackass,” Andy said.
Eddie took a long sip of his coffee before making an honest response. It was always a delicate situation, walking onto a set when everyone knew the director and an actor were sleeping together. It could bring out all sorts of complaints about favoritism, but Andy’s reputation was good enough to crush all those worries. If anything, he would be tougher on Eddie, especially now that Eddie was no longer a rookie actor, half-terrified of the camera. He doubted he’d get any more special tutorials about being comfortable while acting.
“What are you smirking about?” Andy asked.
“Thinking back to the pre-production of Maguires when you took all that time out for me.”
Andy glared at him. “I told you, it was all totally innocent. I was doing a favor for Haney and his newest protégé.”
Eddie batted his eyelashes. “And do all your favors involve one-on-one photo shoots and filming.”
“I’m starting to regret helping your career advancement,” Andy muttered. He pulled out his phone and fired off a message. “Mike’s already found us a place to bed down. He said the local population is a bit more accepting.”
Eddie sniffed. “Tell Wynn that his talent requires nothing but Egyptian Cotton Linen and Evian Water for bathing.”
“I’m impressed, you almost kept a straight face while saying that,” Andy said.
Eddie flipped through the magazine. “How did they get Carwood Lipton to resurface?” he asked.
Andy shrugged. “You’d have to ask Popeye Wynn. He’s the show’s creator.”
***************
“Why do I have to do this?” Lew asked, sitting in the make-up chair.
“Because the public finds your over pronounced brow ridge attractive,” Runner said.
“I don’t think you’re supposed to prey on my insecurities.”
“You woke me up at 3 AM to buy you nachos.”
“Hoosier got me drunk, I couldn’t drive,” Lew argued.
“I’m sure Hoosier only got you drunk,” Runner muttered. He really did like Hoosier Smith, he was a hell of a friend, but he was a bad influence when Lew had a morning interview with Matt Lauer the next day. Hoosier always worked the afternoon show tapings, but Lew was still new enough for the early shows. Runner was honestly counting the days until Lew reached Late and Tonight Show status.
“Hoosier makes New York fun,” Lew said.
“New York makes New York fun,” Runner bitched. He gave the make-up artist a nod of acceptance, while they both dusted off Lew’s stylish new sweater. Lena ordered a shopping trip. Which really meant Runner had to go all over the city yesterdays with Lew measurements while Lew conducted radio interviews.
Press junkets, a required part of the business but murder on a PA’s nerves.
“Tell me I look pretty,” Lew said, smiling wide.
Runner sent off a text message to Walt, confirming Lew’s MTV appearance. “You’re pretty,” he promised.
“Do you think Matt Lauer will make me cry?” Lew asked.
“He’s not Barbara Walters,” Runner said, “besides, you have The View tomorrow.”
Lew nodded and reached a hand into Runner’s jacket, pulling out a pack of Mentos.
“You could ask,” Runner said.
“I’m the hands-on type,” Lew said as he shredded the packaging.
“I’ve noticed,” Runner said, holding out his hand for one of the candies.
“You love me,” Lew stated with absolute certainty, like he always did.
“I love my paycheck,” Runner said. He noticed one of the assistants motioning for them. “It’s almost time. Are you ready?”
Lew nodded and stood up, towering over Runner. “Hey,” he said, “are you going to get a chance to see your parents while we’re here?”
Runner shook his head. “Buffalo isn’t exactly around the corner.”
“We should make time to them,” Lew said.
“We?” Runner asked.
Lew just smiled wide before heading out to the stage and the applauding crowd.
********
Carwood Lipton was a child star, former, as he agent liked to remind him. He had a slew of successful roles until he hit puberty. The awkward stage of youth, where he was no longer cute or precocious, ended the Hollywood dream early. Lipton went back to West Virginia, settled into a normal life, went to college, taught for a few years before settling into carpentry. He still acted in bit parts, as favor to old friends who needed someone with a soothing voice and a calm demeanor.
He’d avoided Hollywood for the most part, but when Popeye Wynn came to him with a leading role that was tailor made, he couldn’t say no. The part was perfect for him, and while it wasn’t a stretch to play someone from West Virginia, Carwood never grew up in a Holler or around the backwoods drug culture.
“What can you tell me about the other lead?” he asked Popeye.
“Hillbilly,” Popeye said with a smile, “that’s what Eddie gets called. He was a country singer, in the band Red Lion, he played the banjo.”
“Was his first role as a musician?”
“He played the young lover of a Chicago crime boss, actually,” Popeye said, “his first acting role outside of anything in music videos. Pretty much all won all his nominations. It was Nixon’s last good film, you remember, Maguires?”
Carwood nodded. He remembered watching the film once he heard Andrew Haldane would be his director for the pilot. Haldane’s films had a realism to them, a gritty quality, partially brought on by Special Effects, but largely due to his Director’s Eye. He forced his actors to dig down deep, pull out some real emotion. And he didn’t put up with antics or bullshit. How Lewis Nixon, with all his well-documented alcohol problems managed to survive that shoot was a miracle.
“I can’t believe HBO’s already signed off on this, we haven’t shot anything yet.”
“They did an original pilot with the script and Haldane’s directing and crew. It was always going to be recast, but now we have the okay and the funds to shoot here. Haldane and I both want a certain level of authenticity. And I couldn’t do a show here without you in it,” Popeye said, slapping Carwood on the arm.
“What did you have to promise them for this gamble,” Carwood said.
“They wanted you, Lip,” Popeye said.
“And?” Carwood asked.
“And yeah, we had to get Ron Speirs contracted for an episode or two.”
“The action star?” Carwood asked, confused, “why would they want him?”
Popeye shrugged. “Man knows his way around weaponry and requested a role once your name got attached. I think he’ll fit in the role of a federal officer, but I have no plans for him to be long term.”
“At least not for now,” Carwood said.
Popeye nodded and stood up. He walked around Carwood’s porch, staring out over the property as the sun set. Crickets were already chirping loud, the frogs joining them in song.
“I’m sorry about ruining your quiet life,” Popeye said.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else but your or Shifty,” Carwood said. He joined Popeye at the railing. “I assume Shifty’s going to be on set too.”
“Couldn’t keep him off it if I tried,” Popeye admitted. Shifty Wynn (POWERS) was a gun expert and made a living as a weaponry expert. He was heavily in demand for action-film loving Hollywood, and with his military background he was a valued technical advisor. If Popeye had his way, Shifty would be a lead actor, but Shifty never was one for the spotlight and there was definite wisdom to that.
“I have a good feeling about this,” Carwood said.
Popeye let out a deep breath. “That’s all I needed to hear, Lip.”
************
In the great plans for his life Eddie Jones never banked on becoming an actor. He never performed in school plays, he didn’t have a Bachelor of Fine Arts or Dramatic Arts, or anything. His degree from a technical college and his career was working on construction sites when not playing with his band, Red Lion. Granted, he never planned for the band to get far as well, but they happened to catch the eye of an exec he was trying to bring bluegrass back in style. He still played with Red Lion, was there for small tour stretches and played on the studio albums, but it was easier for them to take on a different banjo player for tours than wait until Eddie had the time.
Those boys and gals were some of the best in the world, never begrudged Eddie his success. In fact Kitty Grogan, their lead singer, was the one who encourage him to take the acting role Elmo Haney offered. Kitty never could help but meddle in everything and the worst part of it was that she was right 99% of the time. He owed most of what he had now to Kitty, and he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ever repay that favor.
All these thoughts were keeping Eddie up and he couldn’t get a damned bit of sleep. Eddie just couldn’t get settled tonight and that needed to stop, or else he’d be absolute shit during the table read tomorrow. He didn’t want to meet his new co-stars and producers looking like death and hung-over. Andy wasn’t even here to distract him; he was out with his assistant director, production manager, main lightning technician and cinematographer, going over the filming locations and taking stock footage and test shots. He should have gone with them, but he was the jackass who decided he needed some peace and quiet to sleep before the big cast and crew meeting.
Eddie paced around their rented cottage, the floorboards creaking under his feet. The cottage did smell like furniture polish and burning firewood, but there was still a lived-in feel. It just didn’t feel like home and Eddie couldn’t shake the feeling of being a stranger in someone else’s home. It was hard to sleep when you felt like an outsider.
He finally settled down in the room Andy claimed for his office. The chair already held the hint of his cologne. Eddie pushed about the various papers on the desk, unearthing one of the Holler scripts that Andy had marked up. He flipped through it, smiling at the barely legible scrawls ant the notations marking, Eddie will never do that and If he does that, I will kill him. It was always good to know that if nothing else, the director had his back.
*******************
“You should just become his manager,” Skip Muck said, fussing with his hair in the make-up trailer’s mirrors.
“I’m sure Lena would have words about that,” Runner said. He liked being a Personal Assistant, it didn’t have the weight of decision that came with being a manager. And he sure as hell never wanted to be a talent agent. All of those shitty scripts to read through. He gladly left that job to Lucy, Lew’s agent.
“Lena would probably pay you to get Lew off her hands for good,” Skip said. He settled down in one of the chairs and started to root through a candy bin. “If all else fails, Don would take you back in a heartbeat.”
Runner smiled at that. He missed working from Don Malarkey at times. It was easy, really, Malark never caused too many problems outside of some drunken brawls. When he, Skip, and Alex Penkala came to L.A. to take their three-man stage show to a tv sitcom set, Runner was there with them, assisting all three along the way. Those were good times, easier times, and for all that bullshit that came with television, it was still more stable than going from film set to film set. Runner would be a liar if he said he didn’t miss being able to have a mostly set schedule, but Stone himself was the one who moved Runner to more high profile clients and with that came a far more itinerant lifestyle.
“Don never needed an assistant to begin with, he knows how to take care of himself,” Runner said.
“What about me, I could use an assistant,” Skip said.
“I try not to work with people I’ve slept with,” Runner said.
“Even if I promised not to let you take advantage of me again?” Skip asked.
Runner laughed. “Even then,” he said, “especially when I’d have to spend all my time trying not to lock you and Penky in a room together.”
“I try not to sleep with people I work with,” Skip said.
“Unrequited love is okay though?” Runner asked.
Skip raised a brow in answer.
“Touché,” Runner conceded.
“You could be Penk’s assistant,” Skip said.
Runner leaned against one of the cabinets and laughed. “You never stop trying, Skip. Penk really doesn’t need an assistant, neither do you or Don, but Juergens? I wake up before sunrise each morning and work out his schedule with Lena and Lucy. He’s in constant demands for interviews; radio, film, print, you name it. He has famous directors calling him with role offers. Not their assistants, not their casting directors, but their very selves. It’s insane, I’ve never seen anything like it, outside of Basilone.”
“Talk about your action movie hero,” Skip said, “if he doesn’t have a movie out during Memorial Day Weekend, it’s like it doesn’t even count.”
Runner nodded in agreement. “So I have to work with Lew, and the team, to keep him from having a nervous breakdown or realizing just how jam-packed his schedule is.”
“How can he not know?” Skip asked.
“He’s easily distracted by ice cream and comic books.”
“So is my five-year-old nephew, but he still demands nap time,” Skip said.
“Hollywood breeds Peter Pan Syndrome,” Runner said.
Jackson, one of the production assistants, popped his head into the trailer. “We need you on set, Skip.”
Skip nodded. “I’ll be there in five.”
Jackson waved his hand and slipped out, already taking to someone on his headset.
“That’s your cue,” Runner said.
“Funny,” Skip replied before getting out of the chair and stretching. “You going to stay around for a bit? Join us at Craft Services for a fancy lunch served on paper plates.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Runner said, “it’s been a long time since I’ve had lunch with all three of you.”
“You need to make more of an effort to have some semblance of a life outside of work,” Skip said.
“Thank you, Dr. Muck.”
“Anytime,” Skip said as he headed out the door.
*************
**Colbert is a critic who constantly tears apart Leckie and Webster's scripts. Leckie writes massive scripts he thinks are works of art, Webster rips them up into useable dialogue for shitty B-movies.