hair so heavily to cover his balding spot that it photographed black), Devon was actually the Alpha Celeb off-camera, ruling the Buddy roost (and especially the Betty roost). Devon came from old money—a lot of old money.
Very old money. Money so old it had Spanish conquistadors on
it. His father and mother were acting teachers, so everything he did was affected, the result of bad acting classes. Devon believed, and informed everyone, that he knew more than they did about
show business.
“I am . . . hammered, ” Betty tested her acting-vocab chops.
“Good try, but ‘hammered’ connotes drunkenness. Action verbs should be precise so we, as actors, can understand the language immediately. So now you are empowered with knowledge to instruct your agent to condemn the idea and deflect the offer. Did I inform you enough to galvanize your position?”
“I guess,” Betty speculated .
“To guess is good! Perfect! Always remember, ” Devon said with R o b b y
B e n s o n
8 3
condescension, “I grew up in an acting class and was raised in a the-atre . Remember that’s thea- truh . Not thea- terrr .”
“But what does the thea-truh have to do with signing a million-dollar deal with a cosmetics company?” Betty percolated.
“Real actors don’t do that . Real actors stay true to themselves.”
Devon was getting flustered.
Helena, who just went by the name Helena, overheard Devon
and snorted.
“So real actors don’t endorse Snickers candy bars?”
“In my case,” Devon said in defense of his recent promotional
gig, “I had a lot to do with the copy and the direction of the ad campaign and creating awareness for the Peanut Allergy Foundation.”
“And the direction of the paycheck? I guess you use Stanislav-
sky’s Method acting technique when you endorse your checks?”
Helena channeled Jerry Lewis in her pantomime of Devon endors-
ing his check, adding, “Remember, it’s a C-H-E- Q-U-E ! Not a C-H-E- C-K !”
“Wow,” Betty swooned, “you’re so community-friendly, Dev-
on. Maybe with my cosmetics deal I could donate time and money—well, time —to people who were born with . . . what’s it called?
Really fucked-up faces and stuff.”
“I think Devon could rationalize that, couldn’t you, Devon?”
Helena taunted.
“It’s a good thing you’re a girl or else I’d—wait, you are a girl, right?”
“Clever, Devon. Clever.” Helena was the experienced founda-
tion of the cast—and a closet lesbian with a big walk-in closet. She had the role of the “odd” (go-to for funny) next-door neighbor.
She was used to dismissing these kinds of sexual barbs. She was a gifted comedienne, an athletic, wiry woman with a shock of short red hair, who could’ve been a test subject for restless leg syndrome.
J.T. had worked with her before and tried to catch her eye, but only managed to catch a paper napkin she’d balled up and thrown at
8 4
W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?
Rocky Brook, a young man with spiky blond hair who’d become
famous for his abs from an underwear campaign.
Rocky, unlike the others, was at least holding his script, but he was shifting it from one hand to the other doing biceps curls with it. J.T. saw Rocky remove a bottle of something from the pocket of his preppy twill trousers and take a swig with his free hand. Oh great, J.T. thought. Booze? Worse? Bored with the paper-ball game, Rocky wandered over to get a better view of Janice Hairston, a
blonde bombshell whose role in Buddies was to be flaky (every sitcom needs a flaky/dipsy/quirky blonde), and who was showing
Marcus Pooley what she would look like with breast augmenta-
tion. Janice managed to be discreet enough so that everyone in the room could see.
Talented, J.T. thought.
Betty, watching with dis-
The Hollywood Dictionary
dain, rolled her eyes, tight-
BLONDE BOMBSHELL: (1) The
ened her thin lips until they
epitome of stereotypes: an ac-
turned the exact shade of
tress burdened with a
Very old money. Money so old it had Spanish conquistadors on
it. His father and mother were acting teachers, so everything he did was affected, the result of bad acting classes. Devon believed, and informed everyone, that he knew more than they did about
show business.
“I am . . . hammered, ” Betty tested her acting-vocab chops.
“Good try, but ‘hammered’ connotes drunkenness. Action verbs should be precise so we, as actors, can understand the language immediately. So now you are empowered with knowledge to instruct your agent to condemn the idea and deflect the offer. Did I inform you enough to galvanize your position?”
“I guess,” Betty speculated .
“To guess is good! Perfect! Always remember, ” Devon said with R o b b y
B e n s o n
8 3
condescension, “I grew up in an acting class and was raised in a the-atre . Remember that’s thea- truh . Not thea- terrr .”
“But what does the thea-truh have to do with signing a million-dollar deal with a cosmetics company?” Betty percolated.
“Real actors don’t do that . Real actors stay true to themselves.”
Devon was getting flustered.
Helena, who just went by the name Helena, overheard Devon
and snorted.
“So real actors don’t endorse Snickers candy bars?”
“In my case,” Devon said in defense of his recent promotional
gig, “I had a lot to do with the copy and the direction of the ad campaign and creating awareness for the Peanut Allergy Foundation.”
“And the direction of the paycheck? I guess you use Stanislav-
sky’s Method acting technique when you endorse your checks?”
Helena channeled Jerry Lewis in her pantomime of Devon endors-
ing his check, adding, “Remember, it’s a C-H-E- Q-U-E ! Not a C-H-E- C-K !”
“Wow,” Betty swooned, “you’re so community-friendly, Dev-
on. Maybe with my cosmetics deal I could donate time and money—well, time —to people who were born with . . . what’s it called?
Really fucked-up faces and stuff.”
“I think Devon could rationalize that, couldn’t you, Devon?”
Helena taunted.
“It’s a good thing you’re a girl or else I’d—wait, you are a girl, right?”
“Clever, Devon. Clever.” Helena was the experienced founda-
tion of the cast—and a closet lesbian with a big walk-in closet. She had the role of the “odd” (go-to for funny) next-door neighbor.
She was used to dismissing these kinds of sexual barbs. She was a gifted comedienne, an athletic, wiry woman with a shock of short red hair, who could’ve been a test subject for restless leg syndrome.
J.T. had worked with her before and tried to catch her eye, but only managed to catch a paper napkin she’d balled up and thrown at
8 4
W H O S T O L E T H E F U N N Y ?
Rocky Brook, a young man with spiky blond hair who’d become
famous for his abs from an underwear campaign.
Rocky, unlike the others, was at least holding his script, but he was shifting it from one hand to the other doing biceps curls with it. J.T. saw Rocky remove a bottle of something from the pocket of his preppy twill trousers and take a swig with his free hand. Oh great, J.T. thought. Booze? Worse? Bored with the paper-ball game, Rocky wandered over to get a better view of Janice Hairston, a
blonde bombshell whose role in Buddies was to be flaky (every sitcom needs a flaky/dipsy/quirky blonde), and who was showing
Marcus Pooley what she would look like with breast augmenta-
tion. Janice managed to be discreet enough so that everyone in the room could see.
Talented, J.T. thought.
Betty, watching with dis-
The Hollywood Dictionary
dain, rolled her eyes, tight-
BLONDE BOMBSHELL: (1) The
ened her thin lips until they
epitome of stereotypes: an ac-
turned the exact shade of
tress burdened with a
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