Mainstream

Scripted

"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.