Find a quiet spot, turn the page, and let’s see what this story has been hiding 🌙 ✦ The audition was almost over.
The room was not large.
Seven people sat in three rows, but only the four in front looked fully engaged.
The three in the back were distracted enough to suggest what everyone already suspected.
“So it’s this one, this one, and…
this one?” In the open space at the front, Adrian held up imaginary garments and smiled toward the camera.
His eyebrows lifted slightly.
He blinked once, then again, as if badly hoping the customer would buy, while keeping his spine just straight enough to pretend he was not desperate.
“I love the white chiffon dress,” a man off-camera read from the script, speaking too fast and too high as he attempted a woman’s voice.
“And the dark patterned blouse is nice too, but my favorite is the scarlet dress.
Maybe we should find somewhere to talk, and you can explain the finer points to me?” “Mm…
hm?” Adrian froze for half a second.
His eyes widened.
His neck pushed forward, but he tried desperately to maintain his salesman’s dignity.
The contradiction made him look ridiculous in exactly the right way.
A small laugh came from the back.
One of the people in front turned, displeased.
A female staffer who had been checking her phone hurriedly put it away.
“All right.
That’s enough.” The man in charge clapped his hands.
Adrian stopped at once.
Outwardly, he looked calm.
Inside, unease tightened through him.
He had been happy when he heard the laugh, then immediately realized it might not have meant anything.
The room went quiet.
The man who had called the audition to a stop had a receding hairline and round glasses.
He did not speak right away.
He seemed to be thinking, which made Adrian even more nervous.
He stood there anyway, straight and composed.
One advantage of being reborn was that after something that impossible had happened to you, almost everything else could be faced.
Even something that might decide your future.
“One question, Adrian.” The man’s eyes were sharp behind the lenses.
“Do you think that little move helps the joke land?” “I don’t know, sir.” Adrian paused only two seconds before answering.
“I’m new.
I’ve performed before, but not in a way that gives me much authority here.
What I can do is try to understand the director’s intention and express it in my own way.” The man raised his brows, then stood.
“Frankly, parts of your performance are still green.
You were nervous at first, and the clothing pitch got a little stiff in the middle.
But…” He let the pause hang for a moment.
“The role of Marco Moretti is yours.” “Ha.
How was my judgment, David?” Eric Reese, who had clearly been waiting with no patience at all, laughed at once.
“Fine, you win,” David Crane said helplessly.
“You found a strong newcomer.” Then he looked back at Adrian.
“Bring your agent in.
Once we settle everything, we’ll sign today.
You can start with the show tomorrow.” “Ah?” Adrian could not hide his surprise.
“I’ve been having a headache over this role for a while,” Crane explained.
“Young, Italian, some acting ability, and a clean-cut enough fit for the role.
Either I didn’t like the actors or the actors didn’t like the terms.
I was close to cutting it and rewriting the story.
Then Eric recommended you last night.
We have to move fast, or we won’t make next week’s airdate.” “Yes, Mr.
Crane.
My agent is outside.” Adrian clenched a fist once, quietly, at his side.
“Careful, David,” Reese said, his mood visibly improved.
“His agent isn’t easy.” “Is that right?” Crane raised an eyebrow and gestured for Adrian to bring Frederick in.
When the agent entered, surprise crossed Crane’s face.
“Frederick?” “How are you, David?” Frederick put on the polished smile that belonged to agents everywhere.
“It looks like you’re very happy with my guy.
So let’s talk price.” “You did well, Adrian.
Very well.” Outside, Eric Reese clapped him on the shoulder, his voice carrying a hint of feeling.
“Thank you, Mr.
Reese.” “Call me Eric.” Reese let out a breath and looked as if he wanted to say more.
In the end, he only patted Adrian’s shoulder again.
“Do good work.” “Whatever happens, I’m grateful to you, Reese…
Eric.” Adrian stayed calm.
“You earned it.” Reese laughed, then saw Frederick come out of the office.
He said goodbye and left.
Frederick handed Adrian a copy of the paperwork.
“All done.
Contract looks fine.
They’ve signed.
After you run it past a lawyer and sign your name, the role is completely yours.
The fee is still three thousand dollars, but this time it’s two episodes.
Since you’re new, you get paid after the work is finished.” The speaking role also meant union paperwork and, potentially, SAG eligibility.
Frederick told him not to celebrate that part yet, but it mattered.
Then he began advising him.
“Don’t worry too much.
The six leads are good people.
You’ll get along with them.
But don’t confuse them with their characters.
Jennifer Aniston isn’t Rachel.
Lisa Kudrow isn’t Phoebe.
Courteney Cox isn’t Monica.
David Schwimmer isn’t actually Ross.
Matt LeBlanc is decent and much smarter than Joey.
As for Matthew Perry…” Frederick paused and frowned.
“Perry is a good guy too.
Not as insecure as Chandler.
But he’s had a rough time, so his mood can be uneven.
Be professional.
Don’t stare, don’t gossip, and don’t repeat anything you think you saw.” “Fred.” Adrian cut in gently.
“I can take care of myself.” “Stay humble, right?” “Exactly.” Frederick nodded hard.
“You’ve taken a solid first step.
Make the next one just as steady.” Only then did he seem to realize he was rambling.
He stopped himself.
“All right.
I’ll shut up.
Go prepare.
And be happy, Adrian.
This is the most popular sitcom in America.” “I know.
Thanks, Fred.” Adrian smiled, slapped palms with him, and headed for the parking lot.
Only after he drove onto the road did his breathing begin to quicken.
The feeling spread slowly through his body, disbelief turning into heat.
He had it.
He really had it.
His first official role.
And not just anywhere.
On Friends, the hottest show in the country.
The window was rolled all the way down.
The Ford was not going fast, but the wind on the Ventura Freeway tore through the cabin.
His hands trembled on the steering wheel.
His teeth pressed together until they clicked.
“Hey, man,” Adrian said to the version of himself in the rearview mirror, half mocking and half breathless.
“Your reaction time is terrible.” The next second, he burst out laughing.
He slapped the wheel hard, and the laughter became a shout.
“Ohhh!” The old Ford raced into the sunlight, carrying his joy down the freeway.
Hollywood had its old giants: MGM, Paramount, Columbia, United Artists, Warner Bros., Universal, and 20th Century Fox.
United Artists had later been absorbed into MGM, while Disney, rebuilt into a major studio under Michael Eisner, had taken its place in the conversation.
They were called the majors for a reason.
They had been born near the beginning of the American film industry and had survived decades of storms.
By now most had either become media conglomerates or been bought by them.
Film, television, variety, distribution, libraries, backlots, soundstages – they had hands everywhere.
A financial crisis that could kill a smaller company usually only made a major studio sweat.
MGM had been rumored to be dying for years and was still standing in Hollywood, even if it looked a little strained.
That was why so many of the stages scattered around Hollywood and Burbank belonged to the majors.
Smaller companies had facilities too, but nothing as complete or as extensive.
And now Adrian was inside Warner Bros.
Stage 24.
The Central Perk set took up the most important part of the stage’s working area.
Nearby were two hallway sets with different looks, along with the equipment, lights, monitors, cables, and crew that made a sitcom look effortless on television.
Compared with a film set, the space felt packed, but the operation moved with practiced flexibility.
Central Perk was the best example.
The coffeehouse set had to function from the inside and the outside.
Because sitcoms relied on fixed sets and multi-camera coverage, a careless camera angle could reveal too much.
Long shots were rare.
Most of the rhythm came from editing, timing, and performance.
The art department had designed clever movable pieces.
The coffeehouse set was open on one side for the cameras, with movable walls and exterior pieces ready when the scene required them.
If a taxi had to appear in full, a prop car could be brought in.
If only the front half mattered, the crew rolled in a cut-down front end and made the illusion work.
Creative and cheap.
Adrian had seen similar tricks on Everybody Loves Raymond and Home Improvement.
Back then, they had interested him only as clever pieces of production.
They had not belonged to him.
Now he was here as a contracted actor.
He was no longer part of the scenery.
Everything looked different.
‘Focus.’ He went over the script again and tightened his fist once.
He understood why Reese had recommended him to David Crane.
That did not matter.
Whatever the reason, this chance was real.
He would hold on to it.
✦ ✦ ✦ Ready for more?
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheBacklot Thank you for reading.
I hope this chapter drew you further into the story.
Stick around, because there’s still a lot waiting just ahead.