Out of the Ashes

A few weeks ago I found out that NBC did not buy the Hatfields & McCoys pilot.  I had expected a personal call from Charlize Theron breaking the news but instead I saw it in a Tweet from actress Virginia Madsen, also a cast member. I was crushed. My premier performance on the small screen would never see the light of day. I had totally nailed that ballroom scene, walking across the background like I owned it. Rubbing elbows, literally, with Rebecca DeMornay. Flirting with Charlize -- I would stare and she would pretend to divert her eyes and hurry away uncomfortably. I Tweeted her, pleading for her to shop the show around. If NBC didn't want it then perhaps a trendier venue. Netflix?  YouTube? Alas, she must not have received the Tweets because I didn't hear from her. Despondent, my career in tatters, I contemplated the future. I had to avoid the tired route followed by so many other has-beens:  alcoholism, drug addiction, the inevitable life of petty crime and - the final blow - a mug shot on The Smoking Gun. But wait, that path might get me a recurring role on Celebrity Rehab which could help me out of the gutter and into a stint on Dancing with the Stars or Celebrity Apprentice and eventual rebirth in a Quentin Tarantino movie. This could work, but now what? The alcoholism would be easy, I can pound whiskeys with the best of them. Drug addiction would be the real challenge. Cocaine is passé. Heroin and meth would mean hanging out in unsavory neighborhoods buying from unsavory people. Not really my thing. As if channeling Sherlock Holmes, I realized that what remained was the truest, as well as the trendiest option: pain killers. Getting opioids would be a cakewalk, I'd just tell my doctor that I'm experiencing excruciating, non-specific low back pain. Bingo! Years of Vicodin  prescriptions. I had chosen my path. It was 10PM. On a Wednesday. The phone rang. It was the casting company. Could I be on location for a movie shoot the next day at 7:30AM? I almost declined due to excruciating, non-specific low back pain but reconsidered. My entire career had been in television.  Would the big screen be my acting salvation? Could I use this job to rise from the ashes? Not to mention the $87.54 I would be earning. Suddenly full of hope, my hand shaking, I brought the phone to my ear. "I'll be there," I said. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The excruciating, non-specific back pain would have to wait. An Oscar worthy background performance in a feature film would come first.