Unscripted Act I

Chapter 1

Chapter 1“You’re a madman! A murderer! You—you insane—!”

“Call me one more name and I’ll get rid of that tongue of yours for good.”

The hostage flinched, his battered face scrunched in fear, and with good reason. The man who stood before him was a person to be feared. Feared and respected and admired all at once. With wild, dark hair and a handsome, peel-your-panties off bone structure, Lazarus Hamish was by no means an unimpressive figure.

“Now…” he growled. “I’ll give you one last chance…”

“God, he is so cool!”

Plastering himself to the television screen, twenty-three-year-old Finn Phelps watched in anticipation as the newest episode of Hot Blood played out before him. Hot Blood was currently top contender for number one cop thriller. At first glance, the prime time drama was as cut and paste as it could get. Renegade cop suffering from the death of a loved one who is now taking his frustrations out on the criminal world. However, it wasn’t the plot that got viewers hooked. It was the lead role, Lazarus Hamish. Or rather, the actor that played him.

Ethan Teller seemed to come from nowhere. No real background in movies or television, only a little experience in theater—mostly in the prop department—yet within a matter of a fall lineup, Teller’s name was known throughout the nation. His smoldering good looks and talent aside, Teller made it a habit of dodging interviews and press releases, creating an all the more mysterious actor image. American audiences ate it up.

Who was this strange, phenomenal actor who was so raw yet so secretive? Were the studios hiding a bad boy lifestyle from the public? Was there a secret romance brewing that he would rather not talk about? Or was Ethan just so incredibly bad ass that the press simply couldn’t handle such bad-assery?

“Ooooh, what I wouldn’t give to meet him!” Finn, a pillow clutched to his chest, watched with child-like awe. If ever there were a fanboy, Finn would be the textbook case. He had everything Hot Blood related: the mugs, the slippers, the posters, the figurines, the notebooks, and yes, even the toilet paper. His entire studio apartment looked more like a gift shop than the home of a starving artist.

His wide-eyed TV viewing was interrupted by a bottle cap thrown at his skull. Frowning at the oh-so-rude gesture, Finn regrettably tore his eyes from the screen, rubbing the back of his sandy hair. Finn’s best friend Julian stared at him with bored eyes. “Oy. Did you invite me over to drink or to watch you drool all over your boyfriend?”

“Oh come on, Julian! That’s not fair! You know how I am on Friday nights…” Like a moth to a flame, his attention went straight back to the boob tube. “Besides, I never invited you. You just come over whenever you feel like it.”

“Point being?” Annoyed, Julian kicked back in his chair, feet on Finn’s counter top. Julian was a handsome man in most respects: tall, strapping, and with an all-around laisse-faire attitude on life. The two had gone to high school together, graduated together, and eventually, dropped out of college together. Heaven only knew why they never moved in together. “Look, if you’re not gonna drink this beer here, I’m grabbing it.”

“Yeah, yeah, help yourself.” Not put off by loss of alcohol, Finn was all the more entranced.

“I need you to tell me where she is.”

“Why do you even care?”

Lazarus, after pausing for effect, stared at his hostage and said: “I care about her. That’s all you need to know.”

“Oooh! You’re too good for herrrrr!” Practically sobbing, Finn threw himself up against the TV stand, wagging his hind quarters like a dog would wag its tail. “Oh Lazarus! Don’t waste your time with her! Come home with me and I’ll never take you for granted!” Because yes, if being a blond haired, blue eyed cherub in Los Angeles wasn’t enough of a tip off, Finn was absolutely and unapologetically gay. Three guesses who his big man crush was.

When it cut to commercial break, Julian had finished both his and Finn’s beer and tossed both empty bottles. Finally able to give his friend attention, Finn turned to him. “Hey, did you want to get food after this?” Julian paused, half way through lighting a cigarette. “That new taco shop just opened up down the block! We can go right after the episode.”

Julian smiled against his cancer stick, chin resting in his hand. “Sure, sure. Just don’t keep me waiting long—”

“Tonight, be sure to tune in for an exclusive behind the scenes look into the world of Hot Blood! With cast and crew commentary, as well as previews into next week’s episode!”

With a gasp, Finn went right back to the tube, fixated on the teasers and trailers flashing before his eyes. Looked like their dinner plans just flew out the window. Sighing, Julian lit his cigarette and pushed himself from the counter. He ruffled Finn’s hair, a little smile on his lips.

“Don’t stay up too late. Remember, you have work tomorrow.”

“I know, I know! God, you’re like my mother sometimes…”

Julian laughed at that. Giving his friend one last look, he turned and left Finn to his fan-fiction filled fantasies. He curled up against his pillow on the floor, head completely in another world. The main actor’s face came on screen, sending his heart into a tizzy.

Ethan Teller…Finn thought. If only I could meet you…

* * * *

Finn had never hated dinner bells before now. The small ones, which usually sat themselves quaintly on motel front desks and mom and pop shops. Honestly, he’d never had a reason to before, but when he started work as a server in some down-and-out greasy spoon near West Hollywood, Finn learned very quickly to despise them. That bell was constantly ringing at him, reminding Finn that there were plates to deliver and orders to fill. If he had his way, he’d toss that damned bell into the fire and watch it melt. Regrettably, Finn very rarely ever got his way.

Ding ding ding! The cook, a sweat ball by the name of Tommy, hit the accursed bell for the hundredth time, catching Finn’s attention. A couple of plates sat in the window, ready to be delivered. Quick as he could, Finn took each one and glanced at the ticket. Table six. Which one was table six again? The one by the window, right? There were two by the window though…Good thing for Finn, only one table was occupied. With a smile on his face, he brought the plates over to the lovely couple who awaited their food.

“Here you go! A fish fry special and a meatloaf dinner—!”

“Oh, that isn’t our food.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. I wanted the hamburger.”

That’s when Finn realized; this was table 9, not 6. Quickly trying to save face, he smiled wider and pulled the plates away. “Whoops! My bad. Sorry about that, folks.” Six, six…Where was six? Ah! It was right next to the restrooms. Thankfully, it was the correct food this time. “Here you go! Sorry about the wait—”

“You think I could get some more coffee? Mine went cold.”

“Of course! Can I get you anything else?”

“Some extra napkins.”

“And tartar sauce.”

It had been a long day for poor Finn. Normally, he had the lunch shift and was gone by five. Today, however, one of the dinner girls had called out sick. With no one else to cover for her, the burden was placed on him. And, with how often he’d been late recently, Finn decided not to argue. Managing to catch up to his workload, Finn had a few seconds to breathe and did so in the back kitchen. He’d only have a moment to rest his aching feet, but he’d take it. He often did this: catch his breath in the back where he could get a little peace and quiet. At least no one was yelling at him when he hid behind boxes of to-go bags. Normally, anyway.

As he sat, he dug through the depths of his pockets and pulled out a balled up napkin. On it was a sketch of a bird in flight. Napkins didn’t always lend themselves to great art canvases, but sometimes Fin would just take what he could get. The last time he brought his sketchbook in with him, he’d gotten a twenty minute ass chewing and sent home early. Taking the order pen from his apron, he started in on it, dotting a few feathers and minor details.

“Finn!” His own name made him jump a good six feet in the air. Turning around, he was face to face with his pug-nosed, fat cheeked, grisly manager named Frank. Other than the ability to yell himself into a different color, Frank’s talents included managing to somehow stick what little neck he had into a gaudy, clip on tie and button up shirt every day. Finn knew it was the same shirt, too, because of the ever-present mustard stain just beneath his left man breast. Narrowing his beady little eyes, he folded his arms across his chest.

“What are you doing back here?”

“Uh…j-just resting my feet, Mr. DiMaggio.”

“Really. So I pay you to rest your feet now?”

“Well of course not, I just—!”

But Frank wouldn’t hear of it. He slapped his hands to his hips. “There’s orders to fill, Finn. Table eight has been waiting for someone to get them for a good half hour!”

“But sir, isn’t Table eight Remmy’s—?”

“Go. NOW.”

So much for his five minute break. Leaping to his already aching feet, he rushed back into the dining room, stuffing the forgotten sketch into his front pocket. With a big grin, he said, “Hi folks! Sorry about the wait. My name is Finn, how may I help you?”

“Well it’s about time.” Finn’s customer, a stick of a man wearing a neon Hawaiian shirt and a camera around his neck, leaned back in his seat. His equally unattractive wife (though hardly skinny) glared at Finn as though the tardiness of their real waiter was his fault. “Look, we had a rough day and all we want is a little service.”

“Of course, sir. I’m sorry about that. But I’m here now, right?”

“What? What kind of answer is that? You some kind of smart ass, kid?”

“N-no, I…”

“You know when I was your age back in Philly…”

Thus began the twenty-minute speech, which not only made Finn late to help his other tables but also cost him better tips because of it.

* * * *

The walk home from work had never exactly been one Finn looked forward to, but this night it seemed particularly long and tedious, probably because of the lecture he had received at the end of his work day about being more prompt on his shift. Oh well. At least he had one thing to make up for his day. A nice hot shower, some fresh and ready Chinese take-out, a couple episodes of Hot Blood season one—he had the first two seasons on DVD (box sets of course)—and then a good, long sleep until ten the next day. A smile came to his face at the very thought. Ah, a perfect end to a shitty day. If only he didn’t have to repeat the process afterwards. Yawning, he patted his open mouth and glanced at his phone. It was nearing midnight. Maybe he’d have to restrict himself to one episode of Hot Blood instead of a couple. But which one to watch? The one about Lazarus’s long lost brother? That was always a good one…

Footfalls suddenly broke his concentration, and he glanced over towards an alley way. It was the one he always passed in the day time, but Finn found that it was a great deal creepier at night than it’d ever been in the past. Not only that, but something was moving down that alley way. Rather quickly in fact.

It was headed straight for Finn.

Unable to think in time, Finn froze in place, which caused the figure to collide with the poor waiter, sending the two of them tumbling to the sidewalk. For a split second, Finn saw stars. Now in the light of the street lamp, Finn was able to get a better look at the stranger who slammed into him.

He was a tall man, even with how low he hunched to the ground. An old ball cap covered most of his unruly hair, a pair of sunglasses clearly unneeded on his nose. Instantly, Finn assumed he was some sort of robber. Who disguised their face at night anyway? Certainly not an innocent man. But all that suspicion was sapped away in an instant when the man went from dizzily regaining his balance, to suddenly begging Finn on his knees for help.

“Please!” the stranger said frantically. “You’ve got to hide me! This could be my only chance! They’re coming, and I don’t know where to go!”

Fear suddenly ran through him. “Who? Who’s after you?” Gangsters? Mafia thugs? The IRS? Oh God, how frightening! Finn took his arm. “Are you in danger?”

“There’s no time to explain, I just need help!”

“Where did he go? That way?”

“I think so! He’ll get away if we don’t go now!”

The voices floated down the alley, practically turning the stranger pure white with fear. He looked on the verge of tears, in fact. Finn just couldn’t leave him there! What kind of person would he be? With no other choice, Finn took his hand and stood, tugging the stranger to his feet. “Come on!” Quick as a flash, the two tore off down the street, zig-zagging around corners and down sidewalks. Finally, Finn landed them right in front of his apartment complex. Before the pursuing footsteps could catch up, Finn yanked the man inside and up three flights of stairs to his apartment door. Now out of breath, but not out of danger, Finn had only a moment to fumble with his key before getting the door open and the two of them inside. Once there, they nearly collapsed.

Now, Finn was not an unhealthy man. In fact, he rather prided himself on how he looked in a pair of skinny jeans. But running six blocks at top speed and three flights of stairs was no easy task. It left Finn’s already pained body all the more worse for wear, his mind complete mush after such a run. His new house guest didn’t seem any different.

After managing to speak, the man nodded in thanks. “That was…so close…” he gasped. “I…owe you…”

“No…no problem…” Finn managed his best smile under the circumstances. They took a second more to catch their breath before Finn was able to stand.

“Whew…well…that’ll be a cool story later on.” He laughed to himself and limped towards the kitchen. First thing’s first. He needed his take-out menu. “I was going to order some food. Did you want some?” He flipped on the light, shedding a little more onto his run-away. Sunglasses and ball cap aside, the man also wore a battered old sweat jacket and dirty jeans. They probably hadn’t been washed in a while, but he smelled far too good to be homeless. What a weird guy.

At the prospect of food, he stood, smiling kindly. “Oh sure. I’m starving. I barely ate anything all night.” Without a second thought, Finn tossed the stranger a menu. After all, Finn knew it by heart.

“Pick out what you want. So long as we can split the tab, anyway. I need to be watching my spending.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He nodded at the paper menu labeled Cho’s Kitchen. “I can cover it. You did save me, after all. Does this place even stay open this late?”

“Sure does. Twenty-four hour delivery, can you believe that?” Tossing his shoes and coat aside, Finn let out a big, loud yawn, deciding to flop himself on the couch. “I guess since your stalkers are still out there, you can spend the night.” He flipped on the living room light. “The couch is comfy.”

“Thanks so much…” He continued to nod, still looking at the menu. Blindly, he inched his way into the living room. “This looks good. Hey, how’s the orange…” Just as he was about to finish his question, he looked up. Just like back in the alley, he froze over completely. Finn, confused, followed his eyes to a very out in the open Hot Blood poster across from them.

“Oh, you like that show, too?” Suddenly bursting with energy, Finn sat on his knees, grinning from ear to ear. “I didn’t like it at first, but after a few episodes, I just got so hooked, you know? Ethan Teller is just a genius. Not to mention a complete hottie. Oh.” A bit of embarrassment washed over him. “I’m um…well it doesn’t matter much, but I’m gay. Not that I’m gonna jump you in your sleep or anything, but is that gonna bother you at all? I’ll be in the other room all night.” Slowly, the stranger shook his head. “Good. A lot of guys are still so weird about that. Even now-a-days. Though I guess Hollywood’s better at it. I don’t know, I can’t help it. I was around a lot of people who are really freaked by that stuff growing up, so I always thought it was best to warn guys early on. Glad you’re cool with it, though. So, have you figured out what you want?”

“Uh…I…whatever…” He was starting to snap out of his strange shock over the Hot Blood memorabilia, though his attention was still drawn by it. “You really like that show, huh?”

“Eh?” Strange. Finn went on an entire tirade about general, homo-related freak outs and that was his first question. But it didn’t bother him much. Anything to give him an excuse to talk about Hot Blood he’d take. “Sure! I’ve followed the story since season one. Like I said, it took me a couple of episodes, but I got hooked really early on. I’ve seen every episode a least a hundred times. Though you sorta have to in order to get the story. It’s so complex, you know? The writing is just so good…”

Slowly, the man was starting to back away. “Right…good…” Setting the menu aside, he became very withdrawn, his hands in his pockets. “Well um…Thanks so much for your help, but I should be going.”

“Going? But—wait, what do you mean? Should you be going back out there so soon with those guys still chasing you? What did they want, anyway? You know, I really think we should call the police if you’re in trouble…”

“No, no police. And they weren’t really guys…” He seemed a little embarrassed all of the sudden. “Er, I’ll be fine. I’ll just call a friend. Thanks again, guy…” Just as he was about to turn to the door, his foot was caught by a leg of one of Finn’s dining room chairs. Right on cue, the man tumbled to the floor, his hat and glasses going flying. A perfect faceplant.

Gasping, Finn rushed to his side and knelt beside him. No blood, that was good. The last thing he needed was the guy suing him for a broken nose. “Are you alright?” he asked quickly. “Not hurt are you? I’m sorry, this is such a small place, everything’s so cramped! You have to be careful…”

The man, pushing himself up, kept his face turned away slightly. “I’m fine. No need-”

“Well let me at least see if you’ve hurt yourself!”

“Really, it’s okay.”

“But that was a bad fall! You could have a big black eye now!”

He put his hand on the man’s shoulder, actually having to turn him fully just to get a better look. That’s when Finn saw something that completely stopped him in his tracks. More than a stranger running straight into him at one in the morning. More than anything that’d ever happened to him before, actually.

Ethan Teller was staring at him from his hallway floor.