2. Danny
Danny
“They’re calling me meh?”
I dropped my forehead onto the desk and let out a long, muffled groan.
The room was otherwise silent except for the incessant tapping of my sister Paige’s thumbs, and the soft swoosh sounds of her endless text messaging.
Somewhere next door, my costar flushed the toilet.
The sound reverberated through the walls.
It felt oddly fitting. An unspoken commentary on the news I’d received less than a minute ago.
“So, everyone hates me?” I asked.
The room and the zoom call got very quiet.
Even Paige’s tapping paused. Not the response you wanted when you’re asking for reassurance.
I had spent weeks prepping for the rushed audition.
I went on a crash diet and hired a sadistic trainer to get the physique I needed.
I did a deep dive on the lore behind the series.
The constant callbacks. The intrusive questions.
The endless table reads. I thought when the studio called with the news I had the part, I was done with the entire process.
But thanks to some influencer, I was now ‘meh’ and everything had gone to hell.
On the zoom call was my agent, Stella, and my publicist Britta.
Stella’s camera was ill-focused so that you could only see her eyes and the grey roots of her dyed hair.
She got me the job on As The Minutes Tick By and had been my agent ever since.
Stella was seventy-five and way past retirement.
Quick-witted for her age, there was nobody better when it came to salary negotiations and finding roles for me when I had downtime from my show.
However, I’m pretty sure I was her only client at this point in her life.
Stella did what she did best: reassured me. “Don’t worry, Woobie. I’m sure this will pass.”
Britta Klein, on the other hand, with her massive black bob and oversized eyeglasses, wasn’t offering any support. “Daniel, this is a catastrophe,” she snapped in her nasal voice. “I’m trying to get ahead of this, but I’m pretty sure the studio leaked this to test the waters for the convention.”
I frowned, letting out an exasperated noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. “It was Reuben, wasn’t it? That guy is a complete snake.”
Britta scowled. “I wouldn’t be talking trash about one of the studio execs,” she warned.
“Whatever! I thought we had a signed contract!” I complained.
Paige, the one person I could always count on to give me the unvarnished truth, whether I wanted to hear it or not, was sprawled on the couch in her signature outfit: a sleeveless t-shirt and sweatpants.
Her eyes were glued to her phone, in constant communication with everyone involved in production.
She wasn’t just my sister. She was also my personal assistant, a role she had taken on ever since I launched my acting career. Paige was, without question, the only woman in my life who could keep me in check, though her methods often involved humiliation, sarcasm, and punching me very hard.
She paused and glanced up from her phone with an unimpressed expression. “Sure, the contract is signed,” she said, shaking her head, “but they probably have a clause to buy you out for cheap and replace you with someone else, or they’ll do the typical MaxFlick move and kill the series.”
“Oh, yeah, the buyout clause is totally in there,” Stella agreed with a wet cough.
“Doomed. We are simply doomed,” Britta said, shaking her head.
“I mean, what’s the big deal here? Can’t we talk about my credentials? I’m an Emmy award winner!”
“Daytime Emmy,” Paige sharply reminded me, not even looking up from her phone. The tapping continued.
“I went to Juilliard on a full scholarship!”
“You didn’t graduate,” Paige reminded me. Again.
I turned to scowl at her. Paige had no boundaries when it came to my life. Which was fantastic and irritating at the same time. Mostly irritating. “You are not being helpful. Stella? Britta? Can’t the studio do anything?”
Britta shrugged. “I’m working with the studio trying to score someone willing to interview you, but that’s as far as they are going to help us.”
Paige pulled herself away from her phone and smirked. “The boss has a good idea.”
Britta let out a long groan of exasperation. “Don’t tell me we’re still listening to that pipsqueak.”
“Stuff it, Britta,” Stella shot back. “She has good ideas.”
I held up my hand to stop them, looking pointedly at Paige. “What’s she thinking of?”
Paige held up her phone swiping through pictures of various actors in full costumes in their hotel rooms.
“Every year we get pics of celebrities who walk through conventions in full cosplay so they can enjoy the convention without getting mauled by fans. The idea is we get Danny into a Tyrst’an costume, have him walk the floor of the con, and we film it.
We can get people’s reactions to him as a normal cosplayer playing the role.
For a low investment, we can push out pictures of Danny in character and engage with the fanbase. ”
I turned, looking at Britta and Stella. “You have to admit it’s pretty brilliant.”
“I love it!” Stella shrieked gleefully.
“It’s not horrible,” Britta agreed.
“What do we need?” I asked. “Can we get the costume from the studio wardrobe?”
“Not using that,” Paige said, shaking her head, her attention returning to her phone. “We’re doing cosplay. Wardrobe would be too obvious. The boss sent me a list, and I’ve got it on order. It’ll be here by tomorrow.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “You were ordering the costume parts before we even started the meeting, weren’t you?”
“This is why you pay me a mediocre amount of money.” Paige smirked.
“You deserve a raise.”
“Are you actually going to give me a raise?” The doubt in her voice was very apparent.
“No, but you certainly deserve one,” I quipped. “Is that all?”
Paige’s lips curled further. “Would I give you only one solution?”
She was fishing for another compliment, but I wasn't in the mood to give it to her just yet. “Paige. Don’t hold out on me.”
She sighed. “For an actor, it’s weird you don’t like drama. Remember that superhero movie Rian Rheinhold was trying to get made? It got nowhere until that test footage was, and I quote, ‘leaked.’”
“I remember, but we haven’t shot any test footage,” I pointed out.
“And the studio isn’t going to release the audition tapes,” Britta added.
“No, but I’ve arranged for the crew to hang out after hours to shoot you as Tyrst’an in front of a green screen. I also got Alfie to agree to film it, and you know he’ll get a good take with you.”
I blinked in surprise. Getting the crew to stay past normal work hours was just short of miraculous. Not to mention getting my favorite director. Scoring him was an amazing coup. “You got Alfie?”
“I got Alfie.”
“What did you have to promise him?”
She hesitated for a second but then shrugged. “Why do you care? We have Alfie.”
I let out a huge sigh of relief, the tension in my shoulders began to subside. “You are brilliant. And totally deserve a raise.”
Paige’s eyes narrowed at me. “Uh. Huh. And when will that raise come in?”
I smirked back at her. “When I’m shooting Valley of the Red Tyrant.”
Paige rolled her eyes and clasped her hands, pretending to beg. She also used that horrible English accent that always amused me. “Can I get it sooner? Please, sir. My refrigerator is bare and I have no shoes for my orphaned child.”
I let out a small huff of a laugh. “Your refrigerator is full of Eggos and Hot Pockets. Get me the job sooner and we’ll talk.”
“If you two are done, I’d like to get back to saving Danny’s career,” Britta interrupted with an irritated sigh.
I saw Paige open her mouth to say something which I knew wouldn’t be complimentary. I moved in front of her to block the camera.
“Thank you, Britta. I appreciate your work as always,” I replied, giving her a sweet smile. Hopefully she didn’t see Paige flip her off behind my back.
Stella waited a beat after Britta logged off before muttering, “What a bitch.” She then blew us a few kisses. "Goodbye, my loves!" she added, before logging off herself.
“Why do we put up with Britta?” Paige groaned.
“Because when you tried to do my publicity, you punched a reporter,” I reminded her.
She let out a snort of derision. “He had it coming.”
I picked up my phone and read about the ‘meh’ review again. It had been picked up by another network and had gained more traction on social media. I turned to Paige, slightly less stressed than the day had started with. “Do people really hate me that much?”
“Only the ones who don’t know who you really are,” Paige replied, typing furiously on her phone. “Which is mostly everyone. This is the problem with people seeing you as a soap opera villain for your entire career.”
A problem I’d been dealing with for years.
While the regular work was good, I had limited time to perform outside of the show.
I always got a few weeks off to do work on stage or snag a few guest star spots on other shows.
But in the end, I was only known for being Marlin Sinbad.
I knew I shouldn't complain. Most actors don’t get a steady job and could barely make ends meet.
While I was grateful for the work at Minutes, my opportunities and other roles had dried up over the years.
I shook off my thoughts, trying to focus on the next few days. “Ok. We’ll need to get a—”
“I took care of it,” Paige interrupted. “There weren’t many rooms left, so I had to get a suite at the hotel connected to the Mission Verde Convention Center. I’ve already reached out to room service for your dietary needs—”
I let out a long groan. “Do we have to? It’s been weeks of plain chicken, rice, and broccoli.”
Paige didn’t turn away from her phone, tired of my whining. Her eyebrows squished together, her lips pursed. “If you want the role? You have to look the part. Suck it up. Shirtless you look like a cover for a trashy romance novel. Which, by the way, grosses me out. So, stop complaining.”
“Fine,” I sighed. “Whatever. At least I’ll get to skip—”
“Nope! I had Jorge reserve a nearby gym for you.” Paige smirked, knowing I was trying to sneak away from my trainer’s grueling workout sessions. Jorge was a great guy, but he pushed me to a breaking point on a daily basis.
I let out a little huff of air trying to let go of my exasperation. “You’re too good. You don’t let me slack off for a second. This is why I don’t give you a raise.”
“You’re not giving me a raise, because at the end of the season we-”
I knew what was coming at the end of this season and didn’t want to think about it. I held up my hand to stop her.
“We know why,” I said, cutting her off. “What’s the rest of my day like?”
Paige brought up her phone again. “Busier than normal. I had to clear your schedule for the next couple of weeks because of the two conventions coming up. I managed to get the producers to agree to give you the time off, but that means we have to tweak some of the storylines. The writing team is adding scenes with others to make up for your absence, but there are a few we have to do today. So, you got reshoots this afternoon for the amnesia scene with Blair. Then we’ll have some new pages where you’ll face off with Gerard regarding the hostile takeover of Glendale Incorporated.
Followed by the scene where you reveal that Adam is your illegitimate son with Contessa. ”
I could feel the headache starting and pinched the bridge of my nose. “We’re still doing that scene? It’s ridiculous. The man is ten years younger than I am,” I complained. “How is that even possible?”
There was a long pause before Paige responded. I knew I'd done something wrong. I just wasn’t sure what.
“You didn’t read the script notes I left you.” Paige put her phone down with narrowed eyes, scowling at me. “As usual.”
I grimaced. My mouth always got me into trouble. “I did read them,” I protested.
Truthfully? More like ‘lightly skimmed.’
Paige growled, knowing exactly how well I read those notes.
“If you did read them, you would know that Contessa and Marlin had a love affair twenty years ago when he was using the alias of Duncan Feldspar. Who was a completely different actor until Marlin’s brain was transplanted into your body.” Paige continued to glare at me. She was very good at it.
“I was eleven, twenty years ago,” I countered, rolling my eyes. “Contessa is younger than me on the show. It still doesn’t make any sense.”
Paige let out a huff of frustration and threw a couch pillow at my head.
“You’ve been on the show ten years, and Contessa has been on it for six.
We cannot keep having this conversation!
We do not argue with the logic of soap opera plots, Daniel!
This isn’t Mamet at the Atlantic Theater company.
This is a soap opera that uses brain transplants as plot devices!
You’re about to put on leather pants and a wig to swing a sword on a MaxFlick limited series that is doomed for cancellation in another season or two.
You do the work, don’t question the writers or piss off the studio. ”
I bit my tongue. She was right. As usual. I only wished she didn’t take such smug satisfaction from it. “You know a Daytime Emmy is just as legitimate as a Primetime Emmy,” I said, trying to convince my own sister that I had at least some kind of respectability.
“Keep telling yourself that, Danny.” Her attention returned to her phone. “You better get over to makeup and hair before Alfie starts screaming about delaying the re-shoots.”
I turned back to my dressing room mirror, letting out a long sigh as my stomach grumbled. Clearly the scrambled egg whites and tiny piece of cantaloupe did not do the job this morning.
Maybe if anyone wasn’t watching closely, I could grab a Snickers bar between takes.