Second Act (His Chance 1)

I muttered, “I wish I’d had time to prepare some material. I also wish I was dressed better.”

“You look fine, and Lang knows you didn’t have time to prepare anything. He’ll probably run a scene with you, or he could ask you to perform something you have memorized. Either way, you’ll do great.”

“I hope you’re right.”

Sylvia looked confident as she leaned back in her seat. “I know I am. Just make sure you come across as calm and confident, even if you’re freaking out inside. Lang’s frazzled right now, not that he’ll show it, and he needs to know he can count on you to play this character and save his film.”

“Why does it need saving?”

“I heard through the grapevine that this production has already faced numerous delays. Now it’s set to begin filming on Monday, and they really have to stick to that schedule. One more delay might cause the studio to pull the plug, and Lang has everything riding on this. If the film is a success, it’ll legitimize his move from acting to directing. But if it fails, he can probably kiss his directorial career goodbye.” It helped a little to know we were both under pressure.

We spoke for a few more minutes, and then I got up and told Sylvia I needed some air, so Lorenzo accompanied me outside. I paced around and chewed on my thumbnail, until he gathered me in his arms. As I held on to him, he murmured, “You’re shaking.”

“I’m so nervous. You know what this could mean for me, and for my family. It feels like my very last shot, and I just can’t blow it.”

“You won’t.” He rubbed my back and said, “Just take a deep breath.” When I did as he asked, even that was shaky. I buried my face in his shoulder and concentrated on trying to calm down.

A few minutes later, Sylvia opened the door and called, “It’s time.”

I looked to Lorenzo for reassurance as I tried to fix my hair. “Do I look alright?”

“Of course you do. You’re the most beautiful boy in all the world, Will.” When I met his gaze, his smile became self-conscious.

It was all I could do not to fidget as Sylvia and I rode the elevator to the fifteenth floor. When we reached our destination, we found Gage Lang in the reception area fighting with a printer, which seemed entirely out of character.

He was a tall, handsome African-American man in his late thirties, who was still as muscular as he’d been in his action star days. Even dressed in a black track suit and sneakers, there was something regal about him. The way he carried himself made a lot of people in Hollywood think he was arrogant, but to me it just came across as confidence.

He greeted Sylvia warmly, as if they were old friends. It was hard to tell if that was genuine, or just the typical Hollywood schmooze. After she introduced us, my agent said, “I’ll wait out here. Let’s do a quick meeting after you two have a chance to talk, Gage.”

Lang grabbed a piece of paper from the printer before ushering me into his office and saying, “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“No problem.”

“Kandinsky is an interesting name. Are you related to the Russian painter?”

“It’s actually a stage name, but that’s who inspired it. My real name’s Will Smith, which obviously wasn’t an option.”

Lang grinned at me. “The white Will Smith. I like that. Come and sit over here, it’s more comfortable.”

He led me away from his huge, cluttered desk, indicating a pair of club chairs and a coffee table beside the glass wall. Then he kept the conversation light for the next few minutes by telling me a funny story about a party he’d attended the night before. He was incredibly charismatic, the kind of person who could make anyone feel at ease. It even worked on me. Once I’d relaxed a bit, he said, “I assume Sylvia told you why I wanted this meeting.”

“Just in general terms.”

He tried to pretend he was embarrassed as he ran a hand over his very short hair, then indicated the sheet of paper on the glass coffee table. “I’m sorry to have to ask this, and it’s nothing personal, I swear. But before I go into specifics, would you mind signing a nondisclosure agreement? What I’m about to tell you includes some sensitive information.”

“That’s totally fine.”

He handed me a pen, and I quickly scanned the form before scribbling my name on the bottom. Lang left it sitting on the table as he said, “Last night, Trent Chambers was involved in a head-on collision. Apparently, he was under the influence of drugs and alcohol at the time.”

Trent was one of Hollywood’s hottest young stars. He’d recently made two critically acclaimed films back-to-back that had netted him numerous award nominations, but there’d been stories circulating about a possible drug addiction. It seemed the gossip was right.