Stranger Than Fanfiction(3)
“Would you give us a minute?” Jim asked the stagehand.
The overworked man was desperate to get things started, but he gave them some space.
“Sit down, Cash,” Damien said, and nodded to an empty chair.
“Um… okay,” Cash said, and took a seat.
All of them stared at him with stern expressions—except his costars; they were looking down at social media on their phones. Cash could tell they were all pissed off at him for something—something much worse than taking his time in the bathroom. Perhaps he had said something uncouth in an interview or forgot to live-tweet during a rerun.
“So…,” Cash said. “What’s up?”
“Before we begin, it’s important you know we’re all here because we care about you,” Jim said.
“Duh, it’s WizCon,” Cash said. “Everyone is here because they care about me.”
The remark inspired several eye rolls and exhalations, but Cash wasn’t trying to be a smart-ass. On the contrary, after three painkillers, two edibles, and a shot of whiskey, he was too numb to be anything but literal.
“This is serious, Cash,” the woman executive said. “This isn’t going to be a pleasant conversation, but it’s a necessary one before things get out of hand.”
“Out of hand?” Cash asked. “What the hell are you talking about?”
Everyone passed the responsibility of leading the conversation to the next person, until it landed in Damien’s lap like a heavy stack of books—books he did not want to read.
“Things have always been rocky between us, so I’m probably not the best messenger for this,” Damien said with a dramatic sigh. “Ever since we wrapped season nine and went on hiatus, you’ve gone totally out of control. At first we thought it was just a phase, but after two months of utter nonsense, we’re afraid it’s far worse. We’ve all cleared our schedules so we could be here today and address your recent behavior.”
Damien was right—he wasn’t the right messenger. In fact, he was the last person on earth Cash would listen to about behavior.
At just thirty-five years old, Damien Zimmer had the ego and the entitlement of all Hollywood’s worst clichés put together. He began his career as a child actor on a cheesy sitcom called Who’s the Parent?—which was more memorable for its obnoxious laugh track than its writing. When Damien was in his midtwenties, he developed Wiz Kids as a starring vehicle for himself. The network purchased the show but thought Damien was too old and forced him to cast younger actors. Even though Wiz Kids became a huge hit and made him filthy rich, Damien had always despised Cash for “stealing” his part and the spotlight that came with it.
“Hold up,” Cash said. “Is this an intervention? Right before a convention?”
“Damn right it is,” Damien said. “And I believe it’s more than warranted. You’ve been seen getting wasted at clubs all over town, getting high in public places, speeding down Sunset Boulevard with hookers in the backseat of your Lamborghini, and the LAPD are at your house every other night to shut down a ridiculous party.”
“First off, those were strippers, and I drive a Maserati,” Cash clarified. “And it’s not like throwing parties and getting drunk is against the law.”
“No, but child endangerment is,” Damien went on. “You’re lucky you weren’t charged after taking the Boys and Girls Club of America skydiving or those poor kids from Make-A-Wish to the shooting range.”
“We’re also aware you were caught trespassing,” Jim added. “Someone filmed you climbing an elephant statue at the La Brea Tar Pits naked while screaming ‘I’m the king of the mammoths.’ You have no idea how much damage control the network publicists went into to keep it off the Internet.”
Cash giggled. “You’ve got to admit, that was pretty legendary,” he said. “By the way, could I get a copy of that? I lost my phone that night and it might show where I dropped it.”
His request was denied with passive-aggressive silence.
“I believe you’ve entered a downward spiral of selfishness, stupidity, and self-destruction,” Damien said. “You’re ruining your reputation and jeopardizing the viewership of the show in the process. Even though we’re not currently filming, you are still a representative of this network, this studio, and my production company—”
Damien recited the rant like a Shakespearean soliloquy, but Cash’s eyes drifted away from him. His attention was completely captivated by Amy, who had started taking selfies with her phone. Cash couldn’t think of anything more inappropriate to do in the middle of an intervention—it was like ordering a pizza in the middle of a funeral. Then again, he wasn’t surprised. Amy’s narcissism had always fascinated him.
Once when they were on set, Cash accidentally saw inside Amy’s photo album when he confused her phone for his. Every picture was a different selfie with the same exact pose and her favorite expression—sultry surprise. He scrolled for miles but never found a single picture of friends or family—it was all just Amy. Sometimes he worried Amy wasn’t actually Amy at all, but Amy’s stalker wearing a suit made out of her skin.
“Cash, are you even listening to me?” Damien asked, and leaned forward to take a closer look at him. “Wait, are you stoned?”