DISCLAIMER: This is merely satire. No offense is intended and no offense should be taken.

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THE 2H'ers

by

phair

Connor felt like she was dragging herself up the last flight of stairs to her apartment. Some days the forth floor walk up was tougher to manage than others. Today was one of those days. Connor was already exhausted from yet another pointless cattle call. All day spent waiting with dozens of other hopeful actresses for her five minutes in front of the casting director. He didn't even look up at her when she read.

"Thank you, next," he called out when she was only three words into her lines.

She turned the key in her door thinking, "I guess, there's always tomorrow."

Sobbing from the living room startled her as she entered. She set her things down and hurried toward the sound.

"Benjy, why are you crying? What's wrong?" She questioned her roommate but immediately shifted her attention to Joyce who was sitting across from the young man. "Joyce, what have you done? Why is Benjy crying?"

"Well, that's a fine hello! Go on, assume Joyce is the bad girl, again. You know, I might stop coming around here if you don't clean up your attitude missy," Joyce huffed.

Connor put her hands on her hips and replied, "Come around? It's more like living on our couch! Joyce, you don't pay for rent or for any of the food you chow down and the only time you don't sleep here is when you find some jerk to screw. On top of that, you're a constant pain in the ass!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I was afraid you hadn't noticed my unique specialness," Joyce said with a broad grin.

"Connor, you'll never believe what she's done. We're totally wrecked. It's all over. Neither of us will ever get work again," Benjy gasped out between sobs.

"Big difference! You two never get work anyway," Joyce scoffed. "Unless it's pancake house work you're talking about. Still, neither of you are lead waitress caliber performers."

Before Connor could fire back, Benjy tossed her a copy of Variety. "Read the article, ‘Hollywood's a buzz...but very quietly.'"

"What started as a blog about a secret movie screening has turned into the film buzz of the year," Connor began but was clearly confused. "A film screened by invitation only for the two hundred smartest people in the country has caused an unprecedented stir. Film maker Benjy Benjie..., Oh my GOD!" Connor dropped to the floor. "You didn't do this...,"

"I was bored!" Joyce announced. "It was something to do. So, I invented a fake Indy movie premiere with a super secret guest list. The guests are sworn to secrecy because the film is so Earth shattering. Only the smartest of the smartest are invited. Benjy's the director, I'm the set and wardrobe designer and...,"

"PLEASE! Say you left me out of it," Connor begged.

"Don't be silly. You're the actor. Cast of one!" Joyce giggled. "Really, I thought people would see right through the hoax. But, some of those Hollywood types are very vain, you know. Nobody will admit they weren't invited."

"Oh God, oh God, oh God, oh God," Connor was rocking back and forth clutching the newspaper to her chest.

"What are we gonna do?" Benjy asked Connor as the phone began to ring.

"It's not the end of the word, stupid," Joyce reprimanded. "They're starting to talk about a Golden Globe nomination."

"Oh GOD!" Connor cried.

The beep of the answering machine silenced the room, "CONNOR! PICK UP!"

"Shit, it's Saul," Connor said. She scramble to grab the receiver. "Saul, hello, let me appol...,"

"Is Benjy with you? And, that twit Joyce?" The man interrupted.

"Yes."

"Put me on speaker." He waited to for the clicks. "Can everybody hear me?"

"Yes," the trio muttered solemnly.

"To be truthful, I was fit to be tied when I heard what was going on. I got my lawyer to look at your contract, Connor. I wanted to know if I had grounds to sue you. He said, I have a great case against you." Saul paused to let his words sink in. "But, that would be counterproductive."

"Saul, I...," Connor tried to explain.

"Honey, sweetie, relax. Sure, I'm put out that Benjy didn't invite me to the screening...,"

"What?" Connor exclaimed.

"My fault, Saul," Joyce jumped into the conversation. "I was suppose to mail your invite and it ended up stuck inside my purse. Didn't find it until yesterday. Sorry Saul."

"Figures it was you," Saul sounded disgusted. "Anyway kids, our collective fortunes are turning. I've got a pile of scripts on my desk for the three of you to read. And, Marv Rattenbury of RATTS Studio is sending his private jet tonight to shuttled the four of us to LA. Be in your lobby at 8:30 sharp, my car will pick you up, we're flying out of JFK, one bag each, I'll spring for makeovers when we get out there, Joyce and Benjy are both going to sign contracts with me on the plane so I don't get pissy and sue Connor, got it, kids?"

"Yes," the group response was even softer.

The line clicked off. Connor looked at Benjy and saw tears streaming down his cheeks. Joyce was mercifully silent.

"I guess, I was wrong. There is no tomorrow," Connor said more for herself than anybody else.

Continued...

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