You Can’t Be Serious(67)

The answer came back fast: It was a hard no as far as the network was concerned. I asked them to check once more, and after a week of additional lobbying, I had gotten nowhere: “The network and the producers say they won’t let you off the show.”

I really didn’t want to call Chris Lu back and tell him I couldn’t take a job in the White House because my agent said I had to keep playing a fake doctor on TV, so I took matters into my own hands. Motivated by old Hollywood stories of gentlemen putting on smoking jackets and handling their disagreements one-on-one over a glass of scotch (which I finally knew how to drink thanks to John Cho), I made an appointment to see our show creator, David Shore, at his office next door to our soundstages on the Fox lot.

David is kind and approachable, the sort of boss who makes you feel comfortable enough to speak candidly. “David,” I said, “I know my agent has reached out to you directly a few times to see if I could get out of my contract to go work at the White House. I enjoy being on House and am so grateful for this experience, but serving our country is such a unique opportunity—a once-in-a-lifetime chance to help change the world. It’s the kind of thing I think I’ll regret not doing. Under the circumstances, I thought it was right to come to you myself.”

David looked at me quizzically and said, “This is the first I’m hearing of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Yeah, no one looped me in. You actually got a job in the White House?”

I should have seen it coming. Agents make a commission off an actor’s work. No work, no commission. Either my agent never asked, or the request was squashed at the network before it ever made its way to David. “Are you unhappy on the show?” he asked.

“No, not at all. I’m very happy,” I replied, truthfully. “Honestly, I know a lot of people will think I’m crazy for doing this. I finally have a lucrative job in television, on a show I enjoy. It’s just, thirty years from now, am I going to look back and say that I didn’t serve my country when I had an opportunity? Am I just a flashy Tom Selleck, or will I be proud that I had the balls to be a Wilford Brimley? I hope,” I continued, “I’m going to be able to say that even though I lost a lot of money and momentum by pausing an acting career that I’m passionate about, I’m glad I took a chance to help make the world a better place, even if it was a crazy move.”

David took that all in. “Well, look, I don’t know if you know my story. I was a lawyer in Toronto. I always wanted to be a screenwriter, and everyone told me I was crazy. They said I had a great gig going as a partner in a law firm, and that I would be throwing it all away if I were to try to go the Hollywood route. I finally decided I was going to pack up, move to LA, and become a screenwriter anyway. So, bottom line, who am I to tell you that going to work at the White House is crazy? Happy to help you do it—I just need a couple weeks to figure out how we’re going to write your character off.”

I was so grateful. David was the best.

Just over a week later, he called me back into his office: “Two things. First, your agent called to tell me that you’re not really going to leave the show for the White House and that I shouldn’t take it seriously. That’s incorrect, right?”

“Right.”

“I thought so. Second, here’s the deal: We’re going to accelerate your departure from the show. In the next episode, Kutner is going to kill himself.”

“Woah, what?” This was a gut-check moment. It was all fun and games until you realize that your character and the salary that comes with playing him are going to die.

“We’ve actually been looking for a catalyst for Dr. House to be institutionalized. There needs to be a problem he can’t solve and we’re exploring some mental health stuff anyway, so it works. BUT… You can’t start your job at the White House until after that episode airs in April. It’ll tip people off that something in the script has changed if you start before then, and if anything leaks, it destroys that plotline. So, you can’t move to DC just yet.”

I took a deep breath and thought about it for just a split second. Not being able to publicly acknowledge that I was leaving the show meant that I couldn’t formally accept the White House’s offer until April 6—the date my last episode would air. Could I take their word that the government job would still be there? It felt a bit like when a gambler puts it all on black. Deep down, I knew what I wanted. As David and I sat there face-to-face, two gentlemen definitely not drinking scotch, I looked him in the eye and confidently said, “Thank you.”



* * *



I had a quick phone interview from Los Angeles before flying to Washington, DC, for a more formal sit-down with senior advisor Valerie Jarrett (“VJ” for short), and her deputy Michael Strautmanis on April 13. To prepare, I had asked our House screenwriter Eli Attie for advice. When he was one of Al Gore’s speechwriters, Eli had an office in the White House, so he gave me some helpful background like, “Ask for the title Special Assistant to the President, it’s the most junior of the senior-level positions; it means you’ll have a higher salary and more direct decision-making authority.”

I asked for the senior title and the salary—and failed at securing either. Still, what I was offered was pretty great. I would be an associate director of the White House Office of Public Engagement. As Chris mentioned, that meant I’d also be the President’s Liaison to Young Americans, the Arts Community, and Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders. I was all in. As the interview wrapped up, I needed to settle any jitters I had about the reasons for my employment once and for all. “Valerie,” I began, “can you assure me I’m not being hired just because I’m a recognizable actor?”