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“...So we know that acting isn’t part of your repertoire, but that is ok.” Said the insistent pest through the headset. “We will have an acting coach on standby to help you.” Like that was a good thing. If anything, it would only highlight how it might not be the brightest idea to bring a model–whose not even interested in acting–into a costly movie like this one.
“Also, the writer of the book is eager to meet you. I already fit you in for a lunch meeting with them and the director at the Maestro today at 1.”
Legato clenched his jaw as his skin crawled a little. The creator was an avid fan, supposedly. One that saw his older works and inspired them to write this particular character.
When Legato first received the call, he thought it was a joke, but the countless news articles said otherwise. Message boards filled with confused responses. One part was regarding the character’s actual gender, and the second part was, why him?
“Also, you did receive the script, right? The second revision? I had personally hand-delivered it to your hotel’s front desk.”
“I did,” Legato walked across the studio lot in his baggy clothes, beat-up shoes, and sunglasses. No one would suspect him to be some well-known international model. “I notice some dialogues got changed.” Mostly his.
“We didn’t want you to feel pressure. Being inexperience and all—not that I’m saying your prior work was not good…” Legato then promptly tuned the assistant out as he took out his phone. He opened the browser to see a roguish-looking man staring back at him as if he was up to no good.
Nicholas D. Wolfwood. Former stuntman turned action hero. One of the favorites for this movie. Very responsive toward fans and a lady killer despite having such a plain-looking face between a 5 o’clock shadow and a prepubescent boy that started to grow out his facial hair.
Legato opened the door and showed the guard the badge before entering the corridor for the studio.
He swiped the image away to look at the main attraction: Nai Saverem, the oldest son of the Saverem dynasty. His fanbase was even more extensive and far-reaching than Wolfwood’s, especially with his stint with a few suggestive films. Most of his images consisted of him without a shirt and sometimes without pants. The comments, well, many of them, consist of what fans are willing to let him do whatever he pleases to them—because that was something that several co-stars and directors agreed on: you don’t control Nai Saverem. He was professional and a good actor, but he did what he thought best and was not one to sugarcoat things.
Ruthless but also a great kisser.
Legato’s eyes lingered on the dour face and those piercing, icy blue eyes.
Legato pushed his sunglasses into his hair and gazed down at the profile image of the stern face of Saverem. He wasn’t that bad-looking but also brought nothing he wasn’t already familiar with. Though, he has to applaud the man. You can feel his presence even with this half attempt of looking at the camera.
“Mister Bluesummers?” Oh yeah, the assistant.
“I’m already here,” Legato said, lifting his gaze before stepping aside to let one of the stagehands haul a prop in.
“Oh ok-! Then I’ll see you--” He hung up the phone and took off his headphones, slotting it back in the charger. He relaxed his shoulders and his face slightly. He has to play a little nicer, especially if he wants to get paid.
“Which idiot decided to change the script?” A boisterous voice filled the studio, leaving an uncomfortable silence. Legato walked deeper into the studio to see a tall, blonde man in a suit chewing out one of the staff.
Even from behind, Legato knew who he was looking at. The man was much taller than he expected. Unknowingly, he stood a little straighter.
“Did anyone even read this bullshit?” Mister Saverem shoved the document against the staff’s chest. “Get the director here.”
“The director should arrive any minute now,” The staff tried to reassure.
“But you don't know when he’ll arrive. Why don’t you give him a call and check and see just how much longer.” Nai replied sharply before pulling away. “If they hired a proper actor, none of these changes would’ve been necessary.” And suddenly, those icy blue eyes were upon him as if the man knew he was there hearing all of it.
Legato looked right back at him, unflinching and calmly. “Good morning to you, too, Mr. Saverem.” He replied with a friendly, even tone that would irritate anyone. Years of practice kept the quiver from his voice because being pinned down by this man’s gaze left him trembling and not out of fear.
This could be a problem.