Royal Reflections

Chapter TWO

Oliver

My thirteen-hundred-square-foot condo sat along a street lined with palm trees. Beyond my living-room windows, the Hollywood sign was visible in the distance. The Hollywood Walk of Fame was nearby as was the TCL Chinese theater, still referred to as Grauman's Chinese Theater. I was in the heart of Hollywood.

After a substantial stint on stage, my agent contacted me about the offer of a role as one of the lead characters in a popular futuristic comic franchise. The franchise approached me. My agent, Andrew Briggs—not related to the actor of the same name—proclaimed my ship had come in. The studio had a long list of sequels and prequels. Hell, there were even to be spin-offs.

Gold.

That's what he said.

Imagine my surprise when reading the revisions to the script for the upcoming release and I learned of my demise. My character would go out a hero, his reputation to be forever esteemed. Unfortunately, for me, that standing didn't come with prospects of future earnings.

“Sorry about dropping in before noon," Andrew said. “I have an afternoon flight out of LAX. Are you done filming?"

It wasn't unusual for him to stop by. However, it was usually on better terms.

“Yes, wrapped last night unless there are any pickup shots." I stared at my agent. “You weren't warned?"

Andrew shook his head as he walked back and forth in my kitchen. As he took a seat at the island, he said, “It's why I wanted to see you before I left town. I was caught off guard by your text."

“I was too shocked to call."

He grinned. “There's always voice work."

“Voice work?"

“You know, the franchise is looking at animation. Clone Wars has been a huge success."

With my hands flat and fingers splayed on the quartz breakfast bar, I took a deep breath.

“Your accents are fabulous," Andrew added. “There's no limit to what you're capable of doing."

While I was born in America, during my young, impressionable years, my mother was in the Air Force. Her career took my siblings and me to many corners of the world. When you're fluent in various languages, accents come naturally.

My dark eyes met Andrew's blue gaze. “You were the one who convinced me to leave New York. You said this series would be ongoing."

Not a bad-looking man, Andrew was a few inches shorter than I with the exact opposite coloring. As he sat and I remained standing, his complexion looked a bit off.

“Oliver," he said, “since you told me, I've been working on a few leads."

I'd already given this thought. Of course I had. Ever since reading the script that was like a gut punch to my stomach, I'd thought of little else. “I'm going to make calls to a few friends still on Broadway."

Andrew nodded. “A short return. I like it." He lifted his hands in a dramatic gesture. “Oliver Honeswell's Broadway return. It will be promoted as a limited engagement." He grinned. “I'm seeing the possibility."

Turning, I took in the view beyond the power lines of the city's rooftops and the Hollywood Hills. My mind filled with the rigorous schedule and rehearsals that came with live theater. Up until four years ago, I'd loved every minute. I was invigorated as the curtain rose, as the theater filled with patrons, as I became lost in the story we portrayed. The applause of a live audience was a drug. Ask any actor. It's addicting in the same way as alcohol or other drugs of choice. Each hit created hunger for more.

“What have you heard? Why did they kill me?" It was the question I'd not yet vocalized. Oh, I'd asked it in my head a million and one times. I'd contemplated the possibilities.

Andrew's sigh caused me to turn back as he ran his finger around the rim of the mug of coffee I'd offered.

“What did you find out?" I asked, uncertain if I wanted the answer.

He lifted his hand. “Rumor. It's all I have been able to learn."

“What rumor?"

He shrugged. “It was about the conflict."

Conflict.

My jaw clenched. “Rita? This is about me breaking off my relationship with Rita?"

“She" —he took a deep breath— “said she wouldn't continue filming if you were there."

“That's bullshit." My voice was louder than I intended. “Rita and I still talk. She was upset with the decision."

“What can I say?" Andrew said. “She's a good actor. Ronald didn't want to lose her."

“Fuck." Instead, they canned me.

Going to the liquor cabinet, I poured a shot of whiskey into my coffee, lifted the rim to my lips, and took a healthy swallow. Raising the bottle, I wordlessly offered Andrew the liquor.

My agent shook his head. He'd stopped drinking alcohol years ago. Good to know the recent news of my demise wouldn't knock him off the wagon.

Taking another drink, my thoughts filled with the woman whom I'd dated on and off for a decade. Shaking my head, I muttered, “That bitch."

“You know she's been seeing Ronald?"

“Been seeing?" I asked, puzzled because she and I only split two weeks ago.

Andrew nodded. “For at least six months."

The whiskey in my stomach churned. “How did I not know?"

“You can understand how Ronald felt."

My eyes widened. “Ronald, the franchise producer?" The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

Andrew nodded.

That information put this in a whole new light. “The decision wasn't Rita's. It was f*****g Ronald's. That whiny-ass piece of s**t didn't want me around. I could break that sorry excuse of a man in half."

“Oliver, none of this is official. It's gossip. It's hearsay. However, it makes the most sense. Your character was revered and had his own share of fan base." He shrugged. “Rita's is bigger."

Rita Smalls and I had been an on-and-off item since before I moved to L.A. We met nearly fifteen years ago when we were both struggling acting students at the University of Chicago. The tabloids made it sound as if my part in the franchise was due to her influence. She opened the door, but damn it, I was the one who played the part, the warlord with a soft spot for the superhero played by Rita Smalls.

“Maybe it would be good for me to get out of this city for a bit," I mused. “I'll make that call to Ricardo and see if Broadway is a possibility."

“Do you still have it in you to perform on stage?"

I looked down at myself and back up. “Are you saying I'm out of shape?"

“No. Not at all. It's been a few years since you've belted out songs or danced your way across a stage."

“Only because warlords don't sing and dance. I'll do whatever I need to do."

Andrew pulled out his phone. “The Broadway thing is a great idea." He showed me the screen. “I'll send you Dustin's number, Dustin Hargraves."

“The voice coach? You think I need a coach?"

“I think it's been a bit since you've stretched your strengths." He smiled. “Not physically. Hell no. You've kept up on your training. I'd say being a warlord has made you even fitter than when you first came to Hollywood."

“Send me his contact information," I acquiesced.

“In the meantime, I have a few leads on commercial work."

I shook my head. “No go."

“There's a script I read recently for a sitcom. You know, they're coming back, complete with laugh tracks."

“f**k that. I'd rather starve."

Pushing back the chair, Andrew stood. “I'm sorry, Oliver. I believe in you. You probably shouldn't have pulled out your d**k where you work."

Shaking my head, I grimaced. “My d**k never came out at work. Hell, I've known Rita longer than Ronald has." My whiskey-ladened coffee left a sour taste in my mouth at the thought of my d**k being where Ronald's had been.

I needed to call my doctor.

“That may be true," Andrew said, pulling me from my thoughts of possible venereal diseases. “Despite being a whiny piece of s**t, Ronald Estes holds power in Hollywood, especially at the studio. He promised Rita stardom beyond her imagination. It sucks, but you were the c*****e left in the wake."

Sucks.

I scoffed. “Someone was sucked, and it wasn't me." I looked Andrew in the eye. “I'm not c*****e. I'm not done acting. f*****g Ronald Estes can fire me from the franchise, but he sure as hell doesn't hold that much power over all opportunities. I'm not giving up."

Andrew nodded before finishing his coffee. “I'll be in touch. Let me know what Ricardo says, and give Dustin a call. He can help you brush up on your uncanny vocal ability."

After walking Andrew to the door and saying our so-longs, I waited until he should have made his way down the stairs to the street before I let out a roar. “Fuck."

My first instinct was to call Rita, but if Andrew was right, that conversation wouldn't do me any good. It probably would do me more harm. Pouring another shot of whiskey into what remained of my coffee, I went into the living room, sat on the couch, and turned on the giant television.

As I was about to change the channel, I caught a glimpse of the live footage. The prince and princess of Wales were hosting the crown prince and princess of Molave. The two couples were standing on a balcony, dressed in formal evening wear, smiling and waving at the crowd cheering them from below.

“f*****g ridiculous," I muttered. “You'd think this kind of s**t would have been over centuries ago." Yes, I was speaking aloud to the television. “Maybe I should try a British or Molavian accent."

Wallowing in your sorrows could cause a person to speak to inanimate objects.

In retrospect, the television was a lousy conversationalist.

My head turned as the camera zoomed in on Princess Lucille. The sapphire-and-diamond choker around her slender neck glittered in the sunlight. “You're an American," I said to her beautiful smile and stunning blue gaze. “Fairy tales aren't real, at least for most of us." I lifted my mug in salute. “Good for you, Your Royal Highness."

That would be the life. Live in a castle. Let the taxpayers pay for your trips and…well, everything.

No wonder the different monarchies around the globe were facing backlash. The ceremonial s**t on the screen was costing working people millions of dollars, pounds, rubles, whatever.

Turning the station to a rerun of a recent Lakers game, I muted the volume and called Ricardo. He answered on the second ring.

“Hello, warlord."

Yeah, the public hadn't been told the news of my demise. As far as I was concerned, the movie was a wrap. It still wouldn't release for another eight months. “Hey, I've been missing my roots. What's happening these days on Broadway?"