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Chapter 42: A Little Guidance
🕑 Added 2025-06-08 17:22:58 +0000 UTC
Gary didn’t even try to play it humble. He smirked, leaned back in his chair, and said, “Eh, I know a thing or two. If you’re trying to make it big—that’s mostly luck. But if all you want is to survive in this town, yeah, I can help with that.”
“Well, that’s refreshingly honest,” Henry said, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you supposed to give me a whole motivational speech right now? You know—talk about believing in myself, chasing dreams, yada yada…”
“What the hell would I gain from lying to you?” Gary snorted. “I’m not a talent agency. I don’t get a cut of whatever you make. If I tell you I can make you a star and it doesn’t happen, you’ll just come back and break my jaw. I’m old, not stupid.”
Henry laughed. “Relax, I’m not trying to sign my soul away. I just figured I’d ask someone who knows the lay of the land.”
Gary waved a hand. “Then ask away.”
Henry leaned forward, arms on the table. “I was flipping through the Yellow Pages and noticed there are two different actors’ guilds—one for film, one for TV and radio. If I wanted to get into acting—just as a side thing, mind you—where do I even start?”
“If you’re serious about acting, step one is getting a decent agent,” Gary said. “A real one, not some dude with a fax machine and a headshot fetish. If you get lucky and find someone willing to invest in you, even better.”
Henry rolled his eyes. Right. Because this is totally a Hollywood rags-to-riches story. He was in the Marvel universe, for Krypton’s sake. Even if he did win an Oscar, S.H.I.E.L.D. could still pull some classified red tape stunt to make his life hell.
He wasn’t worried about Thanos or Dormammu—interdimensional threats were weirdly simple: show up, punch things, save the day or die trying.
No, the real nightmare was Hydra. Bureaucratic cockroaches with tentacles in every government, media outlet, and tech firm. They couldn’t kill him easily, but they could ruin him—and that would be worse.
“I’m not trying to be famous,” Henry said. “I just want to play a few extras, walk on a couple sets, see what Hollywood is like from the inside. Maybe meet a few celebrities so I can one day sit in a rocking chair and say I met So-and-So before they overdosed in a hot tub.”
Gary stared at him. “You serious?”
“Dead serious.”
“Huh.” The old man scratched his shiny scalp, trying to make sense of it. “I’ve heard weirder reasons, I guess.”
Gary was old enough to have seen the dark side of Hollywood—and not the fun, TMZ side. He’d seen the real rot. Drug-fueled parties, predators in tuxedos, the whole machine devouring bright-eyed kids with dreams of stardom.
Hell, groupies in rock and roll at least got free concert tickets. In Tinseltown? You were lucky if you got a callback after the casting couch.
Gary squinted. “You sure you’re not just looking to bang a few actresses?”
Henry’s expression twisted in horror. “Jesus, no! I’m here to experience life, not catch every STD in the California zip code.”
It wasn’t just paranoia. This was the early ’90s, and HIV was still an incurable death sentence. Add in syphilis, gonorrhea, and whatever else was floating around backstage, and you had yourself a real-life horror movie.
Gary actually looked impressed. “Well, you’ve got more sense than most of the starry-eyed idiots that wander through this town.”
Henry gave a half-smile. “I’m not interested in selling my dignity for a casting call. Just want to be in the background, keep my head down, see how the sausage gets made.”
Gary nodded slowly. “You got rent money?”
That came out a little harsh, so he added: “Just saying—we agreed this was long-term. If you miss a payment, I don’t care how nice your kitchen smells. You’ll be sleeping on the curb.”
Henry smirked. “No worries. I’m not broke, and I don’t do drugs. You’ll get your money.”
“Alright then,” Gary said. “If you're just trying to blend in and catch the vibe of the place, you’ve got two ways to go. One, you find an agent. They’ll hunt down roles for you—real ones, not just ‘Man #3 Standing in Line.’ Some of those roles never even hit the public listings. But agents take a cut, and trust me, they’ll keep trying to push you toward bigger gigs whether you want them or not. That’s how they get paid.”
Henry nodded. “Makes sense.”
Gary went on, “Second option—join the union. Either way, it’s a good idea if you plan to do any acting for real. Even agents’ll tell you to get your union card eventually.”
“I’ve heard you can get gigs without an agent if you’re in the union,” Henry said.
“You can,” Gary replied. “But those gigs… well, let’s just say they’re not exactly Oscar bait. Don’t let the studio numbers fool you. Only about fifty movies a year make it to major theaters. But Hollywood pumps out over seven hundred films annually.”
Henry raised his brows. “Wait, what?”
Gary grinned. “You heard me. Most of them are low-budget, straight-to-video garbage. Half are made by wannabe auteurs who think they’re the next Scorsese, but can’t even afford decent lighting. And a bunch of those movies are just made to sell off international rights, tax shelters, whatever.
“Unless those producers have a deal with a big agency like CAA—which does happen—they’ll avoid agents entirely. Agents drive up costs. And when your movie’s being filmed in a garage on a budget of twenty bucks and a pizza coupon, you’re not looking to spend extra.”
“And those guys use the union to find actors?”
“Exactly. They’ll post casting calls to the guild directly. If you’re a card-carrying member, you’ll get notified. It’s better than nothing, but don’t expect glamorous roles. It’s mostly background stuff, walk-ons, fake commercials. You’ll get paid, though—and not get scammed, which is more than I can say for Craigslist.”
Henry leaned back in his chair, mulling it over.
He didn’t need fame. He didn’t want to be on talk shows or plastered on magazine covers. All he wanted was a way to exist in this world, stay under the radar, and maybe—maybe—leverage a few Hollywood connections later on when things inevitably got weird. Because this was the Marvel Universe. Weird was coming.
One way or another, being a “nobody” might be the smartest move of all.
