Author: JessieBo PM
Denver White was an actor that lacked depth an emotion, but who could help him with that? Perhaps the odd artist from the art department? But what if Denver tries to understand her, only to find that she's a lot odder than he thought?Rated: Fiction T - English - Chapters: 5 - Words: 7,913 - Reviews: 13 - Favs: 3 - Follows: 13 - Updated: 04-19-13 - Published: 12-15-12 - id: 3083215
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
© Jessica Boden (JessieBo)
Any recognizable products and/or objects are not owned by me, nor do I claim them to be mine. I only use them in my stories.
Hey guys! So y'all voted for me to publish Untitled, so here's the first chappie! I also update A Proper Princess, so go read that too!
"Mr. White, I'm sorry, but we've decided to go in a different direction. We're going to use someone else for the role. Thank you for coming out, though." Of course.
"Thank you very much. It was great to meet with you." I shook hands with the director and smiled, leaving his office.
"You haven't gotten a job in about a year and a half, Denver ."
"I know, Pete."
"And it's not like you're trying any harder to get these roles." That's because something was missing.
"Once again, I get it."
"I'll have to drop you if you don't try harder. I know it's in you. I saw how you were when you were getting gig after gig."
"Seriously, Pete, it's getting old." He sighed.
"We have another meeting in two hours, okay? There's a man coming to the agency to meet with you."
"Did you hire him to come meet with me?"
"I did, but you will come. I swear on my mother's grave I will drop you if you don't come." I rolled my eyes.
"Sure, Pete. Sure." I headed outside into the immense downpour of rain. I pulled on my hood and stuffed my hands in my pockets, heading down the street to the nearest coffee shop. I walked inside, briskly shaking the water off my jacket. I pulled my hood off and got in line, waiting behind the large crowd waiting for hot coffee.
"Hey, isn't that Denver White?" I looked in the direction of my name, then quickly looked away after spotting two high school girls looking my way.
"I don't think so. It's hard to tell, though. I haven't seen Denver in anything since Draft." Even these kids were ragging on my career. I headed up to the counter and ordered a regular coffee, paying the cashier and heading over to the counter to wait for the drink. I grabbed it the second it came out and pulled my hood back on, avoiding the eyes of those irritating high school girls. I took a deep drink of the coffee, my insides instantly warming from the coffee. This damn weather had no intentions of clearing up soon, did it? I finished off the coffee, throwing it in the nearest trashcan, and continuing my walk back home. I suddenly heard a horn honking and tires screeching. I turned around and saw a girl in the middle of the street, picking up an array of papers getting soaked in the rain. Poor kid. I changed my track and headed into traffic, picking up the papers. Well aren't these cars friendly? Driving past some person who clearly needed help.
"Here." I went to hand the girl the wet stack of papers I'd picked up and I was met by a bright flash. The black dots faded and the girl was holding a camera to her face, smiling largely.
"Very nice. I've been looking for one like that. Thanks!" She stood up and skipped off.
"Wait! Don't you want your papers?" She'd left without the ones I'd collected.
"Each journey is a work of art! Remember that!" She called out before turning around and heading down the street, leaving me entirely dumbfounded, crouching in the middle of the street, soaking wet.
I stood up and pulled my hood on farther, heading out of the traffic and back to the sidewalk. I looked down at the wet papers in my hand and stuck them in my pocket. I would've thrown them away, but that girl seemed too scatterbrained to actually not care about the papers.
I continued my walk home and headed inside the apartment building, greeting the front door man as I headed in. I stepped in the elevator and heard a voice call out for me to hold the door open.
"Thank you so much, Denver ." Great. It was little miss psycho herself. I'd only dated her for a month, you'd think she'd leave me alone.
"So have you thought anymore about what I said? It would be great if you attended the same college as me." She'd been trying to get me to go to an actual college for two years, no and it was getting irritating. I preferred taking the classes online.
"I have no intentions of going to an arts college with you, Kelly. I think you should keep in mind the fact that we aren't even dating anymore. I broke up with you over a year ago." She pouted and I watched the numbers on the elevator creep toward my floor.
"Nonsense, Denny." I hated it when she called me Denny. "You know you've had the hots for me this whole time. And besides, you should formally attend college. Maybe it'll help you sort your life out." So now psycho was giving me advice on my life?
"Actually Kelly," I watched the elevator slowly reach my floor. "I think it's better we keep our distance. You know, so I can get over you." The elevator dinged. "I'll see you around, but I'll try to keep my distance." I quickly stepped out of the elevator and watched as it closed on Kelly, mid sentence.
I smiled to myself. Another Kelly Crisis averted. I headed down the hall and pulled my keys out of my pocket, sticking them in the lock. I opened the door and headed inside, shutting the door behind me. I shrugged off my jacket and threw it over a chair, heading into the living room to the answering machine.
"You have two new messages. Message 1. ' Denver ? It's your mother. Call home, okay? I've got a surprise for you, so you need to come over.' End of message." Of course mom was worrying about something. When wasn't she? "Message two. 'I swear to God, Denver , you better get your ass in motion and get over to the agency in twenty minutes, or I'm dropping you. The man you're meeting is getting here at two instead of three, so you hurry up now. This man is a tough guy to please, so you better do your best.' End of message." I rolled my eyes and deleted the messages, checking my watch. It was almost two, but I was still in my soaked clothing. I'd need to change before I got there. I headed into my bedroom and pulled off my soaked shirt, heading over to the closet.
"What to wear, what to wear." I pulled out a shirt, as well as a jacket, and pulled both on, heading back into the living room. I picked up my keys and headed out of my apartment, locking the door behind me. I headed back to the elevator, and waited as it came to my floor, finally stopping. I got in and relaxed against the wall, watching the numbers slowly dwindle. When it reached the ground floor, I headed outside, the rain seeming to have cleared up a little. At least I wouldn't be soaked when I got to the agency.
I strolled around the corner, taking my time to get to the office. It was this guy's fault that he wanted to meet an hour earlier. I wouldn't take resonsibility for that. I crossed the street and headed into the agency, greeting the secretary. I patted off my jacket, and headed into Pete's office, surprised to see a man sitting in my usual seat. I guess this was the guy Pete had hired.
" Denver , you're fifteen minutes late." I smiled nicely and sat down next to the man.
"I'm really sorry. I got stuck in traffic on the way here. I hope I didn't inconvenience you two." My mom always said I was born an actor.
" Denver , this is Chuck Filmore. He's a very inspirational method actor, and runs workshops for aspiring actors." Then why was he here? "He has played many different roles, and was always praised for his emotions he put into the work he did." I shook hands with the man and smiled.
"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Filmore." He grunted a reply and stared me down. Was this man sane?
" Denver , I called this guy in to give you a bit of a beatdown. He knows what he's doing, and he'll bring you back to reality." Where was I if I wasn't in reality? "I'll leave you two be." Pete stood up and left the room, leaving me with the possibly insane Mr. Filmore.
"You lied about the traffic, and think I'm crazy. Am I right?" What the?
"How did you-"
"Because I can read people. And you may think you're good, but you're easy to read. That's bad in an actor." Mr. Filmore stood up and headed over to the other side of the desk, sitting down in Pete's chair. "You've got potential kid, don't get me wrong, but you're limited. You started acting when you were sixteen, right?" I nodded. "And if I'm not mistaken, it was a horror movie, right?"
"And you've only worked with action movies and tv shows, right?"
"Well, yeah, I guess." Mr. Filmore nodded.
"As I thought. You're problem is that you've always been facing adrenaline when you're working. That's what gives you the extra spike you need to work well. I saw Draft two years ago, and it wasn't bad. Your character was good. But you were missing the true emotion. You were an 18 year old drafted into WWI, right?"
"And your character was extremely disattached. You fought well, and you died well, but you missed the connection when you were leaving home. Leaving your entire family behind. And you lost it again when you died in battle. If I remember correctly your last line was something along the lines of 'Take this home to my mother, and tell her I'm sorry,' and you gave your dogtags to one of the men in your division, who ends up dying almost two minutes after you do, so he never has the chance to give your mother your dogtags. You seemed to be lacking the emotion you were describing to your mate. You were connected, but it was dead. Tell me, kid. Have you ever felt any really intense emotion? Whether it be happy or sad? Have you ever loved someone? Have you ever lost someone?" I shook my head. Nothing entirely life changing has ever happened to me. "Well there's your problem. Kid, I've been acting for almost forty years now, and I've been commended for some of my most intense roles. I brought the emotion out, I laid it on the table, and I gave my all. My heart was literally beating for everyone to see."
"So how do I fix what's wrong?" Mr. Filmore sighed.
"You can't fix it. You need to learn it. Experience it. The most I can suggest for you is to meet some artists. Perhaps take an art class, then test your own roles. Artists are strong people, who may or may not have faced struggle in their lives. The good ones pour all they have into their work, regardless of how people will react. They do everything they can to the most. So try living like that. Go meet some people, and see how it works for you. Not everyone can act this way, but you need a direction to begin with."
"Where do I begin?"