Find a quiet spot, turn the page, and let’s see what this story has been hiding 🌙 ✦ “Hey, what the hell am I doing?” Adrian tapped his knuckles against his own forehead and forced his mind back into line.
“This is not the time.” What now?
Quit?
He hadn’t seen Frederick’s face when he left, but the agent probably wouldn’t be thrilled.
Agents had to eat too.
Walking away, though, didn’t sit right with Adrian.
He didn’t like running.
Background work had started as a way to stay afloat, save a little money, and buy enough breathing room to plan his future, but he hadn’t been terrible at it, had he?
And once he decided to do something, he believed in doing it as well as he possibly could.
He had been solid as a background actor.
After weeks watching sets function from the inside, he was also fairly sure that if someone gave him a real chance, he wouldn’t be worse than half the working actors around him.
So why quit?
Maybe he should wait a little longer.
That was what he thought as he scratched under Puck’s chin.
Frederick hadn’t exactly lied, but he had probably exaggerated.
Crossing every line he had just to chase an opportunity sounded too ugly.
Too much.
It was a neat thought.
Reality corrected him almost immediately.
“It’s a damn shame,” Coleman said during a break, talking the way he always did whenever shooting paused.
“If you’d landed that part, you might’ve blown up overnight.
A lot of stars got their start as teen idols, you know…” Normally Adrian would have given him something back, even if only to keep the conversation alive.
Today, he wasn’t in the mood.
Four days had passed since the audition.
Frederick had already confirmed the result: Target Pictures had chosen Randy Keitel as the male lead in The Big Break.
According to the agent, casting director David Hewes had privately expressed regret.
Adrian didn’t know what to do with that.
But Keitel had probably gone to the party.
He had expected the outcome.
Hearing it still left a bad taste.
“It’s fine,” Adrian said, half to Coleman and half to himself.
“There’ll be other chances.” “Don’t make it sound that easy.” Coleman sighed, then seemed to remember something else worth complaining about.
“Right.
You have a decent agent, so of course you don’t have to care.
Mine, though…
God, if I’d gotten a shot at The Big Break, I know I would’ve landed something.” “Even if it meant blowing a producer?” Adrian asked before he could stop himself.
Coleman barely blinked.
“For a role with actual weight?
I’d get on my knees and smile.” Adrian stared at him, then frowned.
Before he could answer, one of the assistant directors came over.
He was a man in his thirties, about five-eight, with a headset clipped to his belt and the harried posture of someone paid to move people quickly.
“Hey.
The director wants both of you over by the camera.” The director wanted them?
Surprised and confused, Adrian and Coleman followed him over.
Coleman looked suddenly wide awake.
“Adrian?
Coleman?
Good.” The director looked them over without wasting a word.
“Let me see you turn around.
Adrian, you first.” Adrian turned twice in place, then gave him a few simple angles.
Coleman did the same.
The director leaned toward several people beside him and spoke in a low voice.
It only took a few minutes.
To Coleman, it seemed to take forever.
His excitement built until he looked ready to shake apart.
At last, the director straightened.
“All right.
Adrian, it’s you.
We need a tall, straight-backed waiter for a restaurant bit.
He has two lines with the male lead.
I think you fit.
Any problem?” “No, sir.” Adrian had frozen for half a second, but the answer came fast.
“Mr.
Director,” Coleman asked quickly, “what about me?” “Sorry, Coleman.
We’ll keep you in mind next time.” That was it.
Coleman opened his mouth to plead, but the director had already waved over makeup and wardrobe.
The production moved too fast for Adrian to do anything except give Coleman an apologetic look.
The scene was simple.
One of the main couples ate at a restaurant.
The husband, fond of terrible jokes, made a mess of ordering.
The director and writers had apparently decided that a waiter sparring with him for two lines would sharpen the comedy, so they added the beat on the spot.
Because it was last minute and tiny, they picked from the background pool.
Adrian got lucky.
He had two main lines.
First, he rejected the husband’s parade of absurd menu choices.
Then he recommended an even more ridiculous combination, and when the man doubted him, he delivered a small, dry jab.
It wasn’t hard.
He had been a regular background face on Home Improvement for weeks, so he understood the main characters’ rhythm well enough.
The part itself was clean and obvious.
“May I suggest the veal cutlet with grilled lobster,” he said, holding the menu with his spine perfectly straight, chin lifted, voice bright and rapid in the practiced way of a waiter seconds from losing patience, “cream of chicken soup, a cheese-and-mushroom salad, and a side of pepper ice cream?” Then he tilted his head, narrowed his eyes, and gave the ridiculous dish names just enough smug precision to make them funny.
The contrast landed.
When the take ended, the director and one of the writers both called out approval.
“Congratulations,” Coleman said after wrap.
The words were right.
His face wasn’t.
He looked sick with envy and tried to hide it badly.
“Don’t get discouraged,” Adrian said.
“Your chance will come.” Before Coleman could answer, the director came back over.
“Adrian.
We’re adding a few more restaurant scenes.
You did well earlier, so we’re keeping the waiter for now.
Get ready.
Be here early tomorrow.” Adrian froze again.
Then he nodded at once.
“No problem, sir.” The first two-line part had made him happy.
This was something different.
This was real excitement.
What had Frederick said?
That he needed dirty tricks to fight for opportunities?
Apparently not.
He turned toward Coleman, almost without thinking.
To his surprise, Coleman looked calm now.
“Congratulations, Adrian,” the other man said.
“Thanks, Coleman.” Adrian couldn’t help smiling.
“It came out of nowhere.” He clapped Coleman lightly on the arm.
“You’ll get yours too.
I mean it.
You’ve worked too hard for it not to pay off eventually.” That sounded hollow even to him, so he added quickly, “And I know this might sound arrogant, but if they need another speaking part, I’ll recommend you to the producers.” “No need for all that.” Coleman said it like a joke.
“If you can’t do it, I can take over.” Adrian laughed and didn’t take it seriously.
“All right,” Coleman said.
“We’re wrapped.
How about a drink tonight?” “You do remember I’m not twenty-one,” Adrian started.
“Come on.” Coleman waved him off.
“It’s not that hard.
You finally got a role.
You’re not going to celebrate?
Don’t be such an old man.” Adrian thought it over.
“Fine.
After I finish the night work.” “You’re still going to The Faculty set?” Coleman looked genuinely surprised.
“You already have a role, man.
They’ve got a pile of extras.
Nobody’s going to care if we’re there or not.” “I don’t want that production coming after me, even if the odds are small.” Adrian smiled.
“Remember what I told you?
Whatever you do, do it as well as you can.” He believed in keeping his feet on the ground.
A small step forward did not make him a star.
The overtime mattered too.
Overtime paid time and a half, and while his immediate survival problem had eased, he still had almost no savings.
In the old life, going without a cushion had taught him lessons that stayed under the skin.
Whenever he could, he picked up extra work on film shoots.
Television was steadier, especially in 1998, when the big networks still leaned heavily on sitcoms.
Almost any room could be built on a soundstage.
Unless something unusual happened, people clocked in and clocked out on schedule.
That was why background actors on sitcoms tended to stay longer term, changing clothes and makeup from one scene to another.
Film was different.
One production, one schedule, one budget, with location work and reshoots often dragging the hours out.
The Faculty was exactly that kind of job.
The movie had finished principal photography four months earlier, but during postproduction, director Robert Rodriguez decided several shots needed work.
After speaking with the producers, he brought back part of the cast for reshoots.
The problem was that the release date was already set for the end of the year, so the schedule was brutal.
The Faculty was science fiction, more or less: aliens invaded a small town, started with the teachers, and were eventually stopped by a group of high school students using drugs.
It sounded ridiculous.
Audiences loved that kind of thing anyway.
If the director controlled the tone and the actors sold it, people would buy tickets.
Adrian had watched plenty of movies in both lives.
In the old one, they had been a way to kill time.
In this one…
Also a way to kill time, if he was being honest.
Going to the movies was practically a national pastime, not to mention one of the safest date options around.
Unfortunately, most of the films from the old life had blurred together until something strong enough pulled them back.
Titanic, for example, had been impossible to miss once it shook the world the year before.
If he had studied screenwriting in either life, maybe he could have made money selling scripts.
That thought was nice.
It was also useless.
The reshoot itself was simple.
After the heroine had been taken over by aliens, she chased the hero and tried to infect him too, with several football players helping her.
The stage was dressed as night.
A few school buses were parked around the set.
The extras had to wear football uniforms and run back and forth.
Easy money.
At least, that was how it looked.
✦ ✦ ✦ 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.