Barry
The sun has yet to rise over Joshua Tree, but Pioneer Town is bright as day.
It’s my first day on set.
Lights illuminate the ramshackle bar where—in about an hour—I will shoot my first scene for Billy’s Back.
I had wanted to take this moment in all by myself, but the director, Mitch Michaels—the Golden Globe winner who has directed
the likes of George Clooney, Brad Pitt, Nicole Kidman and Reese Witherspoon—sees me and waves me over from his chair.
“You ready?” he asks.
“Damn straight!”
This ironic turn of phrase does not hit home with macho Mitch.
“You better be! My ass is riding on this! You know Billy Bob Thornton wanted this role.”
Mitch is subtly trying to intimidate me. I know because it’s happened to me on way too many sets to count. I know what guys
like Mitch want to hear because I’ve used my own macho daddy act to direct the actions of more men than this director ever
will.
“Billy Bob wears blood,” I say. “I drink it for breakfast.”
Mitch roars with laughter. “See you in an hour!”
I walk toward my trailer and stop cold.
Barry Goggins ?
My name is centered on the door next to a huge gold star.
After forty years, I’m finally a fucking star!
I cannot help myself: I grab my cell and snap a selfie standing in front of it.
I type a caption so casual and so cool that you’d think I’d been shooting major motion pictures my entire life instead of
commercials for local carpet companies.
First day on set! Barry’s Back #BillysBack!
I open the door.
This is not like the trailers from my youth, double-wides on concrete blocks with screen doors banging in the wind. This is
like a room at the Four Seasons: a beautifully furnished living room, completely decked out kitchen, bedroom in the back.
I run my hand over the lush fabric on the couch and am so taken by its luxe that I do not realize a young woman is sitting
in it.
“Hi, I’m Ainsley, your makeup artist.” She stands. If she stepped out of her hoodie and into a gown, Ainsley could walk the
red carpet without a stitch of makeup like Pamela Anderson. “I’m so sorry for sitting on your couch. It won’t happen again.”
I extend my hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Ainsley. And you can sit on my couch anytime.”
I smile, and her face brightens.
“My last gig out here was for a car commercial,” I say. “I was paid in fast food.”
She giggles and covers her mouth with her hand. “Sorry for laughing.”
“I’m sorry for having done it. The things you’ll do to make it in show business.” There’s a knock on the door.
“Yes?” I call.
A young man enters carrying a tray.
“Hi, I’m Zed. I have your oat milk latte with extra foam, a protein smoothie and steel-cut oats with fresh fruit,” he says,
setting the tray on the counter in the kitchen. “Your refrigerator is filled with ionized water and Oikos Triple Zero yogurt.
Let me know if you need anything else or have any questions.”
“Just one.”
Zed stops, curly hair bobbing into his long lashes. Zed is every bit as pretty as Ainsley.
I gesture at the tray. “What is all this?”
Zed looks at me like I’m crazy.
“Um, it’s part of your contract.”
“Ah.” I nod.
Stu Matthews. My agent is more thrilled than me that I’m back in the game. He’s going to squeeze every yogurt he can out of Paramount.
“Thank you,” I say.
Zed leaves. Ainsley looks at me and says, “Show business, right?”
I smile—too nervous to eat—but grab my smoothie and coffee, and take a seat at the makeup table that has been set up opposite
the couch. Ainsley’s equipment is spread out before her. She goes right to work.
“So, how did you get the part?” she asks excitedly. “Everyone says it’s a great role. I heard Billy Bob was going to get it.”
Hollywood is worse than high school: Rumors fly down hallways, while pretty girls and bad boys get all the attention.
Ainsley applies a liquid foundation to her fingers and taps it onto my face. It is a perfect match to my skin tone, and I
see Barry Goggins fade away before my very eyes.
“It’s complicated,” I say.
“Story of my life,” Ainsley says.
I tell her about my career, being cut from The Golden Girls—which she had never heard of before—and how Kyle was my first boyfriend in LA.
“We reconnected recently,” I say, “and he thought I would be perfect for the role. He introduced me to Mitch, and . . .” I
hesitate “. . . it just happened rather quickly after that.”
Ainsley stops and pulls her hands away from my face. She scrutinizes her work in the mirror. I expect judgment.
“That’s the stuff of Hollywood dreams,” she says, starry-eyed. “It’s who you know in this town, not what you know.”
There could be no bigger understatement.
I nod, close my eyes and run lines in my head as Ainsley works on my face.
“You are a very lucky man,” she adds. “And a very lucky actor.”
Ainsley says this with great sincerity, although the line strikes me as pure sarcasm.
She does not know the complete backstory of the main character like I do. It is as complicated as my character of Levi.
“It’s who you know in this town.”
Which is why I’m sitting here right now after forty years of banging my head against a wall.
My character, Levi, is a rarity in film, especially a blockbuster sequel like this, in which fans just want to see Billy and
Loretta kill all the bad guys and say their favorite line: “We is blood relatives.”
That is the fate for Levi in this movie: He, too, will die at the hands of his sister. I will be one and done in this franchise,
but reborn again in Hollywood. Stu is already fielding calls and receiving scripts before I’ve even uttered a line on set.
The power of the trades.
As I run lines in my head, the parallels blur between my movie character and the real Kyle: We may seem charming and heroic
on screen, but are we good or bad?
Hell, I still don’t even know which one I am yet, but—if I were to read my recent receipts—I’d say my finger is leaning heavily
on the needle toward bad.
There’s another knock on the door. I open my eyes as the door opens.
Zed pops his head in and announces, “You’re on in fifteen.”
I stare at my reflection. Ainsley has arranged a short gray hairpiece over my too-dark locks, softened my harsh eye lift with
makeup and transformed this older gay man into a ruggedly handsome Harrison Ford lookalike.
“You are a magician,” I say.
“Thank you.” She beams. “But it’s all you.”
Ainsley places her hands on my shoulders.
“Just look.” She points at my reflection. “Your entire demeanor has changed, as if you’re carrying the weight of the world
on your shoulders. I can see why they chose you.”
If you only knew.
“It’s just an honor to see an underdog finally come out on top,” she says.
She removes the paper apron from around my neck. I head to the bedroom and change into the Western garb that Levi will be
wearing. When I step out, Ainsley claps.
“Hello, Levi!” she exclaims.
Another knock on the door.
“They’re ready for you now, Mr. Goggins,” Zed says this time. “A stylist will be on set to tweak your costume.”
I take a deep breath.
“Knock ’em dead!” Ainsley says.
As I head down the dusty street toward the bar, I see in the near distance a scurrying mass of people—crew, actors, extras—move
in sync like an army of ants.
For the first time, my heart races.
As I get closer, I see a line in the dust—just like the one I made a few days ago here with Kyle—that someone has drawn with
the heel of a boot. It is long and deep, almost daring me to cross it. Dust billows in the wind, and I notice in the haze
just how clean my new jeans are.
“There he is!” Mitch yells. “First scene. How you feelin’?”
I cross the line.
“Great,” I lie.
Mitch stands up from his chair, says something to the cinematographer and hands his script to an assistant. He walks up to
me until we are nose to nose. Mitch stares into my eyes.
“I asked,” he screams in my face, “how the fuck are you feelin’?”
His breath is all coffee and hypermasculinity.
“Let’s do this!” I yell, giving him what he wants.
The crew applauds my crazy act.
Mitch puts his hand on my shoulder.
“This scene sets up the entire fuckin’ movie, man. Your character is the reason for this sequel. You, man! You!”
Mitch slaps me on the back.
“I want you to walk into the Ozarks bar that Billy and Loretta own like you’re a stray fuckin’ dog that found its way home
after being lost in the woods for years,” he says, outlining the scene. “You are broken but you found the strength to crawl
back to your family. Loretta will take your order, and when you say ‘Missouri Mule,’ she’ll look up, immediately knowing it’s
Levi because he was the only man she ever knew who drank that. As her face changes from disbelief to confusion to concern
for her and Billy’s safety, you will launch into your big speech. As you do, Loretta will slowly dissolve into tears, the
camera will close in on her eyes, and there will be a flashback of her remembering when you stopped a bear from attacking
her as a girl by being the toughest, most badass brother anyone could ever have. She’ll walk around the bar and embrace you,
and when you two finally hug—bam!—I’ll circle the camera from her face to yours, where a tiny smile will cross your lips, and the audience won’t know if it’s
because you’re happy to see her or if you’re planning your revenge. Got it?”
“More than you will ever know,” I say. “This is the role I was meant to play because I want revenge on all those who doubted
me.”
“Fuck yeah!” Mitch yells. “Let’s roll. Places, everyone!”
A camera wheels into the bar, and when the saloon doors open, I see what I believe is a fire burning in the back: It is Ida
Red reprising her role as Loretta, laughing, drying a beer glass with a towel.
She looks up and sees me. Ida nods and shoots me a wink.
The camera moves toward the bar and then turns to face the doors. As the doors continue to swing, I see Kyle standing at a
table off to the side, talking to some extras, his perfect thighs encased in skintight jeans and a flannel shirt open to show