"Lackluster performance…is it time for Hollywood to stop casting Eddie Gluskin, as a leading man…no longer a box office draw…more like box office poison…"

Eddie didn't need to read anymore. The words were a slap, but his face remained a calm mask. He pushed the magazine back across the desk

"I don't bother myself with reading the filth that passes for 'news' in the tabloids," said Eddie, staring hard across the table.

"Maybe you should start," said Jeremy Blaire, leaning back in his leather executive chair. Cold blue eyes stared, no doubt already calculating. "Where do you see yourself going in the future—with our Studio, Eddie?"

"I've enjoyed working with Murkoff for over a decade," said Eddie, his face a mask of indifference. "It's through working with the studio, and talented directors, that I have headlined so many blockbuster movies, and earned awards. I feel that, in the future, we can continue to work together, to continue my growth as an actor, and also to bring in revenue…"

"That's a nice little speech, but you're ignoring the last five years, Ed," said Jeremy. His chair squeaked as he shifted, leaning forward with his elbows on his large, mahogany desk. "You're ignoring the three disasters that failed to recoup even half their operating budget. You're not addressing the steady decline in audience numbers, and the growing amount of people writing articles like that one." Jeremy tapped ominously on the open periodical.

The magazine remained open on the desk, showing a picture of Eddie in his most frequent role, dressed in cheesy space armor with a computer generated spacescape behind him and a plastic-looking women clinging to his arm. The article was unflattering; the half-star out of five was insulting. Eddie made a mental note of the author's name. Upshur.

"According to my contract, I act where you send me, Jer," said Eddie, hunching forward in his chair. 'The script was asinine, I questioned the writer's' intellect. I can only assume it was written by a drunk frat boy who'd only heard of space from a Star Wars movie. The story was trite, my co-star a complete moron, barely able to make it through a scene. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to act an emotional scene in front of a green screen in a warehouse?"

"It's your job, Ed…"

"That type of acting isn't my forte, and I was upfront about that in the initial meetings. But, despite all these obstacles, I'm still damn proud of the performance I managed to give. I'm only an actor, I can't be responsible for every little thing required to ensure these films are a success."

Eddie pushed his fingers back through his hair, though not a single black strand was out of place in his undercut. He glared at the magazine.

"Yes, you're always quick to pass the blame," said Jeremy.

"When it's warranted," growled Eddie, his bright blue eyes, glinting dangerously.

"Yes, and it's always warranted, according to you, Ed," said Jeremy, chuckling. "You should probably turn the page. Since you haven't read it, you aren't even aware of the other half of the problem."

Eddie's eyes narrowed as he scooted to the edge of his seat. He used one finger to flip over the glossy magazine page. It was only through years of training as an actor, and his desensitization to tabloid filth, that Eddie was able to school his reaction.

Why Can't Eddie Gluskin Settle Down?

The page was a collage of pictures depicting Eddie with every leading lady from the past decade on his arm. There were blurry, candid shots of him being removed from different events and bars over the years. And his unflattering mug shots.

"Everyone knows my past," said Eddie, shrugging. "Since when is my personal life a problem?"

"Since it started to affect your work, and the way the audience views you," said Jeremy. He gave a long sigh, slumping into his chair, again. "There's only one year left on your contract. Now, I've got a couple of projects on my desk, and it'd be easy to cast you as the father, or the police chief, or some other bit parts, just to see this contract to the end, before we part ways."

Eddie frowned. No use hiding his feelings—he was upset. According to his current contract, he couldn't work with another studio for over a year. If he spent that time working on nothing, after so many box office flops, he would never work in the industry again.

No. Eddie couldn't afford to think that way.

"What's the other option?" asked Eddie.

A slow smile spread on Jeremy's face, and continued to grow into something unsettling. Jeremy opened the top drawer on his desk and pulled out a bound stack of papers that could only be a script. He pushed it across the desk, shoving the magazine out of the way as he did. Eddie glanced down at the cover page.

Mainstream. The writers were no one Eddie recognized. He pulled the script toward himself, frowning.

"What's it about?" asked Eddie, slowly opening to the first page.

"Stop right there," said Jeremy, pushing his chair back, before standing up. He gave a lazy, cat-like stretch, as though he wore comfy work-out clothes, rather than a black designer suit. "Take that home," said Jeremy, gesturing toward the script.

Eddie dropped the front page back, letting the script close. He made no further move to take the papers.

"I know you, Ed," said Jeremy, grinning. "If I tell you what it's about, you'll say 'no,' but I really believe, with you in this picture, it could be big. Huge. This script could bring back your career. This could win you that Oscar. This," Jeremy slapped his hand on the desk, "is what you need. So go home, read the entire thing, and I'm calling you first thing in the morning."

Eddie stared, unconvinced.

Jeremy slapped the desk, again. "Read it."

Eddie watched the sunset from the backseat of his limousine. The script lay in the seat, next to him, calling his name. Mainstream. Eddie had no idea what to expect, as he stared down at the document. It would be a bother to read the entire script that night, but it was work. Helen would understand.

In a matter of seconds, Eddie's phone was dialing the number.

"Eddie!" squealed an adorably squeaky voice. "I'm just finishing up at the gym. I'm gonna shower here, and head over to pick you up. How'd the meeting go with Jeremy?"

"I'm afraid I have to cancel our plans tonight, darling," said Eddie, shifting the phone to his other ear. "It's work, you understand? Jeremy is forcing me to read a script tonight."

"Boo! It can wait, you're Eddie fucking Gluskin, you don't have to jump just because some upjumped studio executive hands you a script. This is a huge event for my friend's new athletic clothing line! You promised you'd show up! It's part of the reason the shop got so much press!"

"I'll send your friend my personal regrets," said Eddie, sitting back in the fake leather seat. "Truly, my hands are tied."

"This is the second time this month you've canceled on me, Eddie," said Helen. The pout was evident, even from the distance.

"I'm awfully sorry, darling, I truly wish I could make it," lied Eddie. "In reality, the idea of going to the party made him feel tired, rather than excited. Hollywood parties were all the same. Eddie had been going to them since he was a child. They were only exhausting.

"I'll see you when I get home tonight, then?" asked Helen.

"Of course, darling," said Eddie. "Have a great night."

"You too! Read that script! I hope it's a good one. See you soon! Muah!"

Eddie lowered the phone and brought two fingers up to his temples.

"We're almost there, Mr. Gluskin," came the driver's voice from over the speaker. Eddie had to stretch out to reach the switch that brought down the partition between himself and the front seat.

"David, have you heard of Flirty Girl Athletics?" asked Eddie.

"No, sir, I'm afraid I haven't," said David. He wore his usual uniform-nondescript black suit, black tie, and white shirt. "Why do you ask?"

"I haven't heard of it, either, but I was supposed to go to some event for it, and I won't be able to make it now," said Eddie. "I have an extra ticket if you want to go?"

"No, thanks, I'm neither a girl, nor athletic," said David.

"There'll be plenty of Hollywood starlets there," said Eddie.

"I'm actually still dating Julia," said David. Eddie could see him glance up in the rearview, and give a goofy grin. "We just celebrated our four month anniversary."

"That's something people celebrate?" asked Eddie. Shit. How long had he been living with Helen? Four months? Longer? Did their entire time shooting Shallow Tides count toward that time?

"Some do," said David. "Anyways, thanks for the offer. How'd the meeting go?"

"Shitty," said Eddie, leaning forward to open the small cabinet in the back of the limousine. He pulled out a bottle of his favorite scotch and took one of the highball glasses. "Still getting nothing but terrible press about that damn abortion of a movie they forced me to do."

"Hey, Julia and I loved it! There was so much action! I liked the special effects."

"You're literally the only one in America, David," said Eddie. The clink of the bottle's edge hitting the glass rang through the cabin, followed by the splash of liquid. Eddie replaced the bottle, and sat back, sloshing the liquid. "I'd like to see these critics try to act out a serious scene about a dying…space mongoose…or whatever the hell that thing was supposed to be."

"Merky was our favorite," said David. Eddie visibly cringed before taking a huge swig from his glass. The burn helped chase away some of his irritation. He couldn't drink too much, though, or he'd never get the script finished that night.

"I appreciate the encouragement," said Eddie. He brought the glass up for another drink when the vibration in the seat beside him demanded his attention. Eddie placed the glass down and answered his phone.

"What the fuck is this I'm hearing about you getting a script from Jeremy?"

"It just happened, not even an hour ago, Andrew, calm down," said Eddie, sighing. He reached for the switch to replace the partition. "I was going to read it over, then discuss it with you. If it's a bad script, I won't even consider it. I'm tired of acting out the pure shit Jeremy suggests."

"As your agent, I should be the one that Jeremy's dealing with, me, not you! That's not how this industry works," said Andrew. Eddie had to hold his phone slightly away from his ear.

"It's always been different with us, Andrew," said Eddie, his voice flat. "You're replaceable. Don't ever forget that. And your share is the same, no matter who finds the script."

"I'm coming over, I wanna see this script…"

"No, I'm reading it at home, tonight, alone," said Eddie. "I already had to cancel on Helen tonight, I don't want to waste more time on this than necessary." He felt the limousine come to a complete stop. A quick glance revealed Eddie's Bel Aire home out the tinted window. "I just pulled up to my house, I'm going to read tonight. We can discuss it again in the morning."

"I should read it, before you," said Andrew.

"I'll tell Jeremy of your concerns," said Eddie, sighing. "Have a good night, Andrew."

"Hey, reporters are wanting to do more interviews, a few are even agreeing to allow you to approve the questions before hand…"

"Not interested," said Eddie. "Goodnight."

David opened the door and held it while Eddie exited the car. The front of the mansion was tan stone with a huge, double staircase encircling a large fountain that lit up with sparkling light and splashing water. The large, double doors were crowned by a two-story tall window, perfectly framing an illuminated crystal chandelier.

Eddie avoided the front doors, walking around to the side entrance. He walked into his house, down a hallway, and into his kitchen. The refrigerator was full of healthy food that made Eddie cringe. Rabbit food. Not his choice.

The furniture in the kitchen was modern, sleek cabinets, stainless steel appliances, and glittering quartz countertops. The chairs resembled modern art sculptures. They were uncomfortable as hell. Eddie decided he wasn't hungry, after all.

The house seemed empty, though his live-in staff would be lurking around. They knew better than to bother Eddie at night. Eddie walked up the spiral staircase in the foyer, and down the hall into his study.

Compared to the rest of the mansion, the study was plain. Wood paneling lined the walls, and a wooden desk dominated the center of the room. One wall contained floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with books, and awards, Eddie had won. The opposite wall had several framed photographs and awards. Almost four decades of accomplishments crammed into one small room.

Eddie walked behind the desk and dropped the script on top of a pile of papers. Mainstream. Eddie sighed, flipped open the front page, and began to read.

No wonder Jeremy hadn't wanted him to read the script in the office. The synopsis at the beginning was enough to have Eddie rolling his eyes, and tossing the pages into the bin. A movie about a pornstar, fighting to become a mainstream actor. The scenes focused on the porn actor's struggles to be seen as a legitimate actor.

Instead of throwing the script away, Eddie couldn't put it down. The unknown writers had captured something elusive—something that instantly drew in the reader. The main character, Randall, was a deeply flawed man, trying to shake off his porn identify, Randy Bourbon, to become known as a real actor.

In the script, Randall struggled to be taken seriously, to avoid being used on the casting cough due to his former profession and finding confidence in himself. His strongest support comes from his agent. Felix Carter was an older man who discovered Randall in a strip club and instantly recognized his potential. A compelling story—it had everything.

It was the kind of script that won awards.

When Eddie finished reading, he glanced at the clock. Had he really just marathoned the entire script in three hours? It felt like no time at all.

The role was definitely outside of Eddie's comfort zone. Would the audience accept their former child star sweetheart, Eddie Gluskin, in the role of a pornstar? Would the world be able to view Hollywood's most eligible bachelor, and renowned womanizer, as a homosexual man? It was a very large stretch.

No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the script, he couldn't imagine himself in the role. He envisioned himself winning an Academy Award someday for portraying a war-hero, or a United States president—not an ex-pornstar.

Jeremy would be disappointed. That was nothing new.

A chime sounded through the mansion, alerting Eddie to the front door opening.

"Eddie-baby!"

"In my office," Eddie called out. He waited in his chair, staring at the script, as Helen sauntered into the study. She was only twenty-six years old, but her face already resembled a Botox fueled mask. Her long, blond hair was extensions, and the full breasts, revealed by the plunging neckline of her purple gown, were paid in full by Eddie.

"Darling," said Eddie, beaming. "You look ravishing."

"You were missed," says Helen. "Everyone asked about you. Did you get your work done?"

"Momentarily," said Eddie.

"I'm gonna get showered," said Helen, already walking out of the stud. "Do you want me in your bed tonight?"

"That won't be necessary," said Eddie, frowning at the back of Helen's head as she exited the office.

"Then…see you in the morning?" she asked, hand still on the doorframe.

Eddie sighed, staring down at his day planner. The trip to London for the premier of his last abominable movie was upcoming. I would be easier to arrive with Helen. Much easier to answer rumors about whether they were engaged, or pregnant, than to address the poor critical scores of the film.

Then, it was decided. Helen would stick around, at least through the trip.

Buzz. Buzz.

It was still dark outside the many windows of the master bedroom. Eddie's cell phone continued to vibrate, moving around on the night stand. He sighed as he grabbed for the phone and slammed accept.

"You woke me up."

"I'm sure I did, because you were up all night reading the script, right?"

"I read it," said Eddie, standing up out of bed. He reached for the script, sitting on the night stand. He still wore his comfortable silk pajama pants and a worn, cotton shirt.

"And you love it," said Jeremy. "Admit it. Best script that's come through in years."

Eddie gave a begrudged sigh. 'It was good."

"I think you just mispronounced 'great.' So, when can I get you, and that ass of an agent, down here to sign up some paperwork?"

"Never," said Eddie. He walked down the hall, into his study, and picked up the script. "It's brilliant. A true pearl of a screenplay. But I can't see myself acting this part. It's not for me. I don't know why you thought of me, honestly."

"This is big for the studio," said Jeremy. "The board usually isn't interested in showing these alternative lifestyle type of stories, but this one caught their eye. If I could attach a good name to it, I know it would get greenlighted."

"You said yourself, at length, that my name isn't the draw it was in the past," said Eddie.

"Well, call me sentiment, but I believe in you," and this is the kinda turnabout audiences adore. The washed up actor, re-imagined in a gritty role, and I'm sorry, how could I not think of you for the role? You're perfect."

"I disagree," said Eddie. He took the script with him as he stood up and walked into his bathroom. "I'm confident in my acting abilities, but there are so many sex scenes. Me acting out a sex scene with a man?"

"We'll use body doubles for the dirtiest parts," said Jeremy.

"Still, I would be kissing a man," said Eddie.

"We'll tentatively say yes, but if it's a problem, we can invent ways to work around it."

"I'm sorry, I'm still not sure…"

"That's why I'm calling," said Jeremy. "David's on his way over. Get dressed. I need you to meet the other actor I have in mind. If you could see him, I think you'd understand my vision for this piece. I already know the perfect director, and with you, and this guy…it can't lose."

"I'm sorry, I have plans today…"

"Liar," said Jeremy, "I already had your property manager check your day planner, and I gave David orders to kidnap you if you refuse."

"I'd like to see him try…"

"If you don't come, I'm going to use the remainder of your contract to put you in as many zany comedies as possible. You'll be voicing cartoon dogs, and taking pies in the face, for a year Ed…"

"I'll be outside."

Eddie was confused when David drove the limousine outside of Hollywood. The buildings were rundown, with a liquor store on every corner. Eddie frowned when the car pulled into an office park with pink brick facades and empty flower beds out front. The plaque beside the door read: NaughteeBoy Productions.

"You can keep driving, David, there must be some mistake," said Eddie, moments before the limousine door opened.

"Ed! Glad you could make it," said Jeremy. He reached in, and grabbed Eddie's shoulder, before tugging. "Come on, we're late."

"This doesn't look like any studio I would normally visit," said Eddie, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice.

"It's not, unless you have some sordid past you managed to hide from the tabloids. I find that difficult to believe, consider you've lived your entire life in the public eye."

Eddie grumbled but kept quiet. Jeremy led the way, pulling open the door, and holding it open.

Inside, the waiting room was barren. There were a handful of plastic chairs along the wall, and a plastic plant in the corner that somehow managed to look dead. Behind a plywood desk, a receptionist sat, staring at a laptop.

"Hey! You're Jeremy again, right?" asked the skin was a mess of fake tanner, more orange than brown, and her hair was an unnatural shade of red. She wore an oversized college sweatshirt and gray leggings. "And y-you…you're…"

Eddie gave a polite smile.

"Oh my GAWD, you GUYS! Eddie GLUSKIN?! Are you KIDDING ME?!" the girl squeaked and grabbed around on the desk. She picked up the first stray paper she could find. "You gotta sign something for me! Can you sign something! My name is Tessa! Can you write, 'To My Darling, Tessa,' Oh man, my friends are gonna flip their shit…"

"We're in a bit of a hurry, can he sign something on the way out?" asked Jeremy.

"Oh, uh, sure," said Tessa, looking flustered. "I think they're just finishing up now. At least, the light isn't on." She pointed toward a red light on the outside of the door. It wasn't illuminated.

"Thanks," said Jeremy, walking to the door and pushing inside.

The room inside was a more familiar scene for Eddie. A mess of cameras, lighting equipment, and bearded crew members. In the back of the room, a well-lit set depicted a locker room scene, complete with lockers, bins of dirty clothing, and wooden benches. Eddie could hear voices coming from the back.

"Oh, wow, man, Eddie, nice to see you again," said an approaching man with long, straggly brown hair and a matching beard. There were tattoos visible beyond the sleeves of his band t-shirt, and sweatpants completed the look. Eddie looked at Jeremy, instead.

"Frank," said Jeremy, jerking his chin toward the newcomer. "Frank Manera? You remember him?"

Eddie gave a flat stare.

"You guys worked together," said Jeremy.

"Yeah, man, I got my start on the set of Devil's Holiday," said Frank, smiling. Eddie's brow creased, and he shrugged. "Oh, I worked on Green Mansions, and then again on Executioner II: Beheaded."

"I apologize, I'm terrible with names," said Eddie, extending his hand. Frank's grip was enthusiastic as he returned the handshake.

"Gah, man, well, it's good to see you again," said Frank. "We're on a break right now. You guys wanna talk with Benny Jetts, right?"

"Absolutely," said Jeremy, grinning. He attempted to peer around the recording equipment. "Was he just shooting?"

"Sure, working on a pivotal scene today," said Frank. "Hey Benny!" There was an answering call from the set. "Get decent, and run over here."

"Ayup," came the response. Within a moment, a short, blond man came jogging around the equipment. His body was toned and lithe, and completely on display save for a small white towel he was holding around his waist. His hair was a mess of blond curls that fell into his face. When his brown eyes landed on Eddie, he immediately began walking slower. "Eddie Gluskin…"

Eddie glanced at Jeremy. Then at Frank. Then back at the newest arrival. "Nice to meet you, Benny."

"This is Waylon Park," said Jeremy, giving a wide grin. "Benny Jett is his stage name."

Eddie had to pause for a moment, as several pieces clicked into place, simultaneously. NaughteeBoy Studios. The nudity. The stage name. Oh, shit.

"My friends call me Way," said Waylon, grinning. Eddie noticed Waylon's wide smile, and dimples. His brown eyes were captivating, even when partially obscured by a blond fringe. "I didn't believe Frank when he said you were considering the movie. Me, in a movie with Eddie Gluskin, I was like, fuck you, no way, but you're here, I still can't believe it, someone pinch me…"

"I'd rather not touch you at all," said Eddie, frowning. "You look sticky."

"Fair enough," said Waylon, smirking. "It's just body oil. Don't get the wrong idea!"

"I don't understand," said Eddie, turning to address Jeremy. "You're considering this person for some part in the movie?"

"Who better to act the part of a pornstar turned mainstream actor than an actual pornstar, acting in his first mainstream production?" asked Jeremy. "It's brilliant. The marketing writes itself."

"He has no acting experience," said Eddie, glaring.

"Sure he does, man," said Frank. "He doesn't do the old gonzo porn anymore, Benny only puts his name on the more upscale productions, those with a storyline, and a script."

"Porn with a script?" asked Eddie.

"Sure, he was great in The Incredible Hunk, and Put It In Me, Coach," said Frank. "He's a real professional—the best I've ever worked with."

Eddie turned a death glare on Jeremy.

"I saw his work in Two Boys One Hole, and I can promise you, he's got what it takes," said Jeremy. "Scripted porn is much classier than say, releasing a sex tape."

Eddie's glare darkened as he leaned in closer, hissing near Jeremy's ear. "You know I had nothing to do with that…and I was under the impression I was being considered for the lead."

Jeremy laughed so loud he had to stop himself, cover his mouth, and turn away. It took several moments before he turned around. "There are two male leads, but, Jesus Christ, Ed, you're almost forty years old, no one's considering you for the part of a young pornstar. Holy shit. You're hilarious."

"I'd pay to see a movie with you as a pornstar," said Waylon, grinning. He stood as comfortably in a towel as most men do in a full designer suit. There was a definite charisma about the boy—something special. Could it translate to the big screen?

"Listen," said Waylon, stepping closer to Eddie—addressing only him, "I've been trying to get real acting jobs for a year now. Done some theater stuff. A couple late night commercials. This is my big break. I would act the shit out of this role."

Eddie frowned. "This script is exemplary," he said. "It could mean a lot to my career. Do you have any idea how much of a risk it would be to put my name next to someone who's not only untested but a…an adult film star?"

"Real life imitates art," said Waylon, laughing. "You're right, what can I say or do to convince you to give this ambitious porn actor a chance to go mainstream?"

Eddie paused, frowning as he looked around the small circle. Frank's bearded face held childlike hope. Jeremy's was cold and calculating. Waylon's dimpled smile never faltered. He stared at Eddie as though a figure of legend had just walked out of a painting and started speaking.

"I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me," said Eddie, pulling back his shoulders. "Unfortunately, I won't be able to accept the project. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Eddie turned and walked out of the room. He heard Jeremy making apologies behind him, but Eddie didn't slow. He walked out the door, toward the limousine, and only paused when Jeremy grabbed his arm.

"Hey, you know what this could mean to your career?" asked Jeremy. "He's the perfect guy, just look at him!"

"Did you even read the script, Jer? You want me to play the part of the agent, the older man who discovers the lead character, and then begins a relationship with him? A relationship where…"

"Don't you think you're being a little homophobic? I told you, we can work on the kisses, and sex scenes, if that's really such a huge deal…"

"The agent is the receiver in the bedroom," hissed Eddie. "He's the bottom. The one taking it. I'm not sure I could…I don't think…after…"

"Hey, hey," said Jeremy, grabbing both of Eddie's shoulders, and forcing him to meet his eyes. "Look at me, alright? I knew that when I offered you the part. Everyone in the world knows about that, okay? But, if you're the actor I think you are, you can overcome, channel those memories, and bring this part to life in ways no one else could."

"Absolutely not," said Eddie. He pushed Jeremy away with a firm arm, before stepping into the limousine and settling into the backseat.

Jeremy Blaire had lost his fucking mind.

"Take me home, David."

A/N: Updated Mondays Weekly Thanks for reading