Find a quiet spot, turn the page, and let’s see what this story has been hiding 🌙 ✦ Adrian hadn’t brought up the office to discuss the agency pecking order.
He had asked because he wanted to test Frederick.
After all, they had spoken only twice.
Adrian wanted to know what kind of man was sitting in front of him.
“I’ll have one soon enough.” Frederick shrugged.
“I’ve been doing this for seven or eight years, and I came over from ICM with several of the founders.
A private office is only a matter of time.” He pointed to the chair in front of the desk, then leaned back against the edge of it.
“Have a seat.” ‘Smooth.
Quick on his feet.
Not exactly thrilled with where he is, though?’ That was Adrian’s first read.
Frederick seemed to know exactly why he had asked, but the answer came easily, almost casually.
Only the edge in his tone gave anything away, and Adrian trusted his own eye for those things.
“You made a smart choice, Mr.
Vale…” “Adrian.” “All right, Adrian.
Choosing Endeavor was the right move.
We’re not ICM, CAA, or WMA.
We’re younger, hungrier, and a lot more willing to fight for people before everyone else sees their value.” In only a few sentences, with just enough hand movement to sell the point, Frederick painted Endeavor as an ambitious, up-and-coming agency.
Agents really did know how to talk.
“We’ve only met a couple of times,” he continued, “but I think you have real potential.
What you did in that bank was hard to miss.
Put simply, acting is about transmitting the emotion the script and director need the audience to feel.
That’s why I wanted to ask: have you acted before?” “If middle school and high school theater counts, then yes.
A little.” Frederick’s interest visibly cooled, so Adrian added quickly, “I went to Frentas Junior High and Fitzmacon High in San Francisco from seventh through twelfth grade.
Both schools had strong theater programs.
Last year, Fitzmacon’s modern-dress Romeo and Juliet took second place at the International Thespian Festival at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln.
I played Tybalt.” Whatever else Adrian was, he had spent more than twenty years living as someone else.
That gave him a talent for performance.
He knew better than most what it felt like to become another person completely.
He had done plenty of other things in school: clubs, guitar in a band, some lead vocals, basketball as a guard.
But theater had always been where he was best.
That finally earned a nod from Frederick.
“That’s good.
Very good.
Then…” He stopped.
“Wait.
Last year?” His eyes widened as the math caught up with him.
“Meaning…” “I turned eighteen in April,” Adrian said with a shrug.
Frederick’s mouth stayed open for half a second before he lifted both hands and laughed.
“All right.
I can skip the question about acting classes, then.
God, you’re only eighteen?
I thought you had to be at least twenty-five.” “Maybe I look mature for my age?” “I don’t know.” The agent studied him for several seconds.
“It might be the way you carry yourself.
But your face should play well on camera.” “Oh?” That got Adrian’s attention.
“A camera reads people from every angle,” Frederick said.
“Someone can look incredible from one side and flat from another.
We call people who hold up well from most angles photogenic.” “And I do?” “That’s my instinct.
We’ll know for sure once we get you in front of a lens.
But your look has something.
You don’t have Tom Cruise’s pretty-boy appeal, and you’re not everyman-warm like Tom Hanks.
Yours is sharper, especially around the eyes.” “Wow.
With comparisons like that, I should probably say I’m honored.” Adrian said it half-joking, but he couldn’t help the small spark of pride underneath.
In this life, he wasn’t classically perfect, but his features had character.
His irises were so dark they looked almost black, and their intensity tended to draw attention.
They had helped him more than once.
“All right, enough of that.” Frederick smiled and pulled several forms from a folder on his desk.
He slid them over.
“We’ve covered the basics.
Now I need you to fill these out as completely as you can.
The more I know, the better I can match you with roles.
You should also find a professional photographer and get headshots done.
Black-and-white and color.” Then he took out a few more pages.
“This is the contract.
New-client agreements are fairly standard, but if you have questions, take it to a lawyer.
My personal advice?
If you have time, read books on acting, or take a short workshop.
Start working toward union eligibility too.
Once you qualify, we’ll decide whether joining makes financial sense.
SAG will probably matter first, given the kind of work you’re pursuing.” He paused, then asked, “Do you have a cell phone?” “No.
Just a pager.” Adrian tapped his hip.
“Then I have one hard requirement.
When I page you, call back immediately.
In this business, a chance can disappear in minutes.” “Understood.
But before we get that far…” Adrian rubbed the back of his head, looking faintly embarrassed.
“I have a question.
Headshots, lawyers, acting classes, union dues if I ever qualify…
those all cost money, right?” “Of course.” Frederick looked puzzled.
“Right.
The thing is, I’m currently hovering somewhere near bankruptcy.” Adrian tried to say it with as much dignity as possible.
* * * On the Universal backlot, a crew was getting ready to shoot.
Except for the director and the principal actors, everyone seemed to be moving at once.
Assistant directors waved their arms and barked instructions like traffic cops at the end of a long shift.
“Hey, you two over there.
Yes, you.
Go help move those prop boxes and folding chairs.
We start shooting in ten minutes!” “On it,” one of the two young men under the lights called back at once.
He tugged the other by the sleeve.
“We just finished sorting props,” the second muttered.
“We sat down for, what, five minutes?
Extras have rights too, you know.” “You said it yourself.
We’re extras.” The first clapped him on the shoulder.
“This is what extras do.
You’ll get used to it.” “Meaning you already have, Coleman?” Adrian sighed as he asked.
“Getting used to it is how you get a chance.” Coleman Vincent shrugged.
“I want to be a real actor.
Lines.
Camera time.
Not just background.” “You will be, man.” Adrian gave him a small smile.
“Before that, though, we should probably move this stuff.” They laughed and got to work.
After confessing to Frederick that he was basically broke, Adrian Vale had become a background actor.
In plain English: human scenery.
“Everybody over here.
In front of me.” At the director’s call, most of the cast and crew gathered into a loose circle around him.
“I know we’ve had this conversation for weeks,” the director began.
“Some days, it probably feels like every day.
Some of you are sick of hearing it.
I’m going to say it anyway.
This is a good show, and we’re a team.
Everyone here needs to bring a professional attitude, even if you’re only background…” He was in his forties.
Whether he was any good, Adrian couldn’t say.
His apartment didn’t have a television, and he had no desire to sit in a bar just to watch a show he barely appeared in.
Still, the man had directed five or six episodes in a row, which probably meant he knew what he was doing.
He just loved motivational speeches.
As he himself admitted, sometimes they happened every day.
Adrian always stayed at the outside edge of the group.
Coleman, who was three years older and the closest thing Adrian had to a friend on this set, liked to push toward the front.
According to Coleman, he had been in Hollywood for more than two years.
Most of that time had been extra work.
His biggest dream was simple: land a role with real lines, get noticed, and turn that into the next chance.
Adrian encouraged him.
If the old life had left him any inheritance beyond that unreliable sense of the future, it was grit.
He knew how to keep going because quitting had never been useful.
Once he decided to do something, he pushed as far as he could, through whatever obstacle or humiliation stood in his way.
Unless he had truly given everything, he refused to stop.
That stubbornness had carried him through the life he had once lived.
It was also why he had ended up with a six-hundred-dollar check during the worst stretch of his current one.
Before going to Frederick, he had spent a week doing temporary work at a grocery store.
The owner was a Vietnam veteran with a mouth like a garbage disposal.
He cursed constantly.
Because Adrian came from San Francisco, the man decided “fairy” was his name for the week.
The old bastard apparently hated gay men that much.
Several of the young people who started with Adrian quit halfway through.
You couldn’t exactly fight the old man.
He was a veteran, and when one guy tried to teach him a lesson after walking off the job, the owner put him on the floor with one hand.
Sue him for assault?
Please.
Who had the time or money for that?
Adrian had almost quit too.
At lunch one day, he even considered flipping a coin to decide whether to keep going.
In the end, that stubborn streak refused to let him walk away.
The old man paid him six hundred dollars at the end of the week.
His explanation was that everyone else had run off, so there was no one else to pay.
Fine.
The man’s mouth was foul, but underneath it, he wasn’t the worst person in the world.
Adrian tended to respect people who respected endurance.
Six hundred dollars, however, was still a cup of water thrown at a house fire.
He had underestimated the difficulty of surviving alone in an unfamiliar city, and the old life offered less practical help than he had hoped.
Four months in, despite working hard, he was still in bad shape.
His will hadn’t wavered.
His stomach, rent, and bills were less philosophical.
So he went back to Frederick and took more background work.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it suited his immediate needs.
It was steady.
The pay was decent.
The schedule left him enough downtime to think about what came next.
And at the moment, thinking was exactly what he needed.
✦ ✦ ✦ 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.