Love Scene, Take Two

by Alex Evansley

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  Table of Contents

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

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  For Sam

                            For Ana

  For Ashley

                            For Zoe

  And for everyone who read this story on a screen,

  long before it was ever a book.

  Teddy Sharpe (actor)

  This article is brought to you by Encyclopeakia, the people’s encyclopedia.

  Theodore Maxwell Sharpe (born September 3, 1997), or Teddy Sharpe, is an American actor and producer. He is best known for his costarring role on the hit MTV comedy-drama series Testing Wyatt. Sharpe made his film debut in 2016 in the independent film Corduroy and starred in the film Bistro on 5th, which debuted at Sundance Film Festival in early 2017 to mostly positive reviews.

  Sharpe is known for his energetic improvisations and slapstick performances, and has recently been praised for his craft versatility for such a young actor. Although he is relatively new to acting by industry standards, he has been described as one of Young Hollywood’s brightest (and most promising) rising stars.

  Filmography:

  Television:

  Testing Wyatt (2015–present) [Recurring role]

  Lies Your Ex-Girlfriend Tells You (2016) [Guest role]

  Film:

  Corduroy (2016)

  Bistro on 5th (2017)

  Remember This Moment (2018) [Uncredited]

  Parachutes (2019) [Rumored]

  CHAPTER ONE

  There are few things in life of which Teddy Sharpe is absolutely certain, and he’s absolutely certain this audition is going to be a train wreck.

  At least, that’s what’s running through his head when he bursts through the front doors of one of LA’s fanciest office buildings, scaring the receptionist and a security guard half to death along the way. Teddy’s had to run into last-minute auditions before, yeah, but never one he learned about an hour ahead of time. Never one he’s had to go into completely blind because he hasn’t seen the script yet. And never one that could launch his acting career into the stratosphere. He’s a little on edge.

  “You said you’re here for the Parachutes auditions?” the receptionist asks, pulling her hand away from the button that releases the lobby’s turnstile to smooth her hair. She looks unnervingly like Jennifer Coolidge. “Call times for those auditions started at seven a.m. I’m sorry, I can’t let you up if you missed—”

  “I just got the call from the casting director an hour ago,” Teddy rushes out, a little out of breath and holding up his phone. It doesn’t help that he came straight here from an early morning shoot for his TV show. He’s been awake since midnight and probably looks as cracked out on caffeine as he sounds. “She said if I got here by nine, I could have the last slot of the day.”

  The receptionist looks unconvinced. “That’s not how things are run—”

  “I know,” Teddy cuts her off again, then tries to cushion it with a smile. He gives her both the casting director’s and the director’s names. “My booking agent’s been trying to schedule an audition time for me all week. We just confirmed it this morning.”

  “Let me see if I have a note about it. Just a moment,” the receptionist says, typing something into her computer. Teddy checks the time on his phone, sees 8:56 a.m., and starts to panic all over again. He rubs a hand over his jaw and makes eye contact with the security guard sitting at the desk on the other end of the turnstile.

  “I’m not seeing anything,” the receptionist says slowly.

  “Is there any way you could call up there? Tell them that Teddy Sharpe is here? They know I’m coming,” Teddy tries one last time, subtly reaching around to unstick his T-shirt from his back. At least the Testing Wyatt stylist dressed him in mostly black this morning. Teddy’s been stress sweating since his manager, Rita, picked him up from set and rushed him across LA to make it here on time.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but auditions are still going on. I can’t call to interrupt. This is why we have the call times policy—”

  But see, the thing is, Teddy knows about policy.

  He also knows he’s been waiting for a shot like this for two years. So instead of listening to whatever boilerplate technicality she’s going to pitch next, Teddy backs up from the desk, gets a running start, and vaults over the lobby’s turnstile, earning himself a startled shriek from the receptionist as he sails by.

  “Sorry!” Teddy yells over his shoulder. The security guard scrambles after him, sending an office phone clattering to the ground behind him, and Teddy definitely doesn’t have time to wait for the elevators now. His foot slips out from under him on the marble floor as he bolts right, barely catching himself before slamming into the concrete stairwell.

  So here Teddy is, sleep deprived and soaked in sweat, taking the stairs two at a time to get to the most important audition of his career with the building’s security guard chasing after him. This is not the way he anticipated his day going.

  The security guard is wheezing behind him in the stairwell, but Teddy’s got him by at least two floors now. His legs, however, might give out before he makes it to the eighth floor, and every time he grabs the railing to swing himself around on a landing, the palm of his hand keeps less and less traction to curb his momentum. Finally his hand slips and he almost goes face-first into a door with a large number six painted on it. Luckily his shoulder is there to break the impact.

  The eighth-floor door comes into Teddy’s line of vision and he makes it up the last flight of stairs in three strides. He spills out into a long, carpeted hallway with a dozen doors on each side. His audition is supposed to be in the eighth-floor conference room, and Teddy checks the plaque next to each door as he sprints by. He comes to another hallway running perpendicular and makes a snap decision to go left, sucking wind and silently praying he made the right call. This hallway leads to several sitting areas and a couple of rooms with floor-to-ceiling windows.

  “Excuse me, sir?” someone calls out. Teddy whips around.

  Christ, it’s another receptionist.

  “Yes, hi, I’m, uh—” He takes a deep breath in. “I’m Teddy Sharpe. I’m the last scheduled Parachutes audition today?”

  The woman smiles warmly at him from behind her desk. “Great, they’re expecting you. The audition before yours just ended, so you can head straight in. The conference room is the last door at the end of that hallway,” she says, pointing to Teddy’s left.

  “Awesome, thank you,” he says, like his lungs aren’t about to implode. Why the hell couldn’t it have been that easy eight flights of stairs ago?

  Teddy checks his phone again as he breaks into a speed walk back down the hallway. With how fast everything happened in the past hour, he didn’t exactly have time to dwell on what this audition could mean for him, so of course now is when his brain chooses to fully register the gravity of the situation. Waves of nerves
hit him hard the closer he gets to the conference room.

  This is big.

  No—this is huge. And Teddy is hyperaware of how unprepared he is when he knocks twice, then twists the doorknob after someone on the other side calls to come in.

  There are three people sitting behind a table in the middle of the room, a camera operator set up next to them—which is standard. There’s also a small group of people sitting in the back corner—which is not standard. When Teddy walks over to the table to introduce himself and get his script, he’s unsure if he should introduce himself to the group in the back as well.

  “There’s a red dash next to the monologue on page seventeen we’d like you to read,” the casting director tells him.

  First rule of auditioning: Don’t waste any time, under any circumstances.

  Teddy walks to his blocking position in front of the camera.

  “Awesome—thanks so much for scheduling me. I’m Teddy Sharpe, auditioning for the role of Jack O’Heinessey,” he says, and oh, dear God, please let that be the way the name is pronounced. No one corrects him, so he puts on his most charming smile, pretends like he has the slightest idea about the character he’s auditioning for, and … points a thumb back over his shoulder and says, “I’m sorry, but just as a heads-up—a security guard might bust through that door in a second.”

  * * *

  “Seriously, this could be your Hun ger Games, Ted,” Rita says for the third time since picking him up from the audition. She’s driving Teddy back to the Testing Wyatt set to pick up his car and has spent the majority of the trip giving him another rundown on how crucial this could be for his career. “How are you feeling about it? Do you think it went well?”

  “Sure,” Teddy lies. He sits up straighter in the passenger’s seat of her fancy sports car and doesn’t mention that the audition happened so fast, the only thing he remembers is not feeling good about it on his way out.

  “Come on, Ted! You gotta give me more than that.”

  Teddy glances over. Rita’s been his manager since before he landed his Testing Wyatt gig three years ago, back when her hair was dark brown instead of platinum blond and when Teddy never went into auditions unprepared. Rita’s one of the main reasons Teddy is where he is right now, and even though he can’t stand lying to her, he doesn’t have the heart to tell her he blew the audition she and his booking agent worked so hard to get him.

  “No, I mean—you know how it goes,” Teddy skirts, rubbing his hands over his jeans. He still hasn’t stopped sweating. “They had me read a two-minute monologue, then I read a scene with one of the PAs.… Then they had me do some improv.”

  “Oh, thank God—you always kill it with improv. Did they say anything before you left?”

  “Not much.”

  “Not even about scheduling a second round?”

  Teddy shakes his head (further evidence the audition didn’t go well), then realizes what a shitty job he’s doing of putting up a front here. “Well, they mentioned something about the audition process being a little unorthodox because of preproduction conflicts, and that if I get the role, we should hear from them soon—what’s been going on with preproduction?”

  “I haven’t heard much. Just that the script initially got held up getting green-lit and that the director is eager to get the ball rolling to make up for time,” she tells him, turning into the Testing Wyatt set parking lot and pulling into the spot next to Teddy’s car. “I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, though. It happens a lot with book-to-film projects. Especially in YA.”

  Teddy nods again. “I appreciate the lift today.”

  “Of course.” She smiles and holds up her hands. “By the way, that receptionist thought you were on something when I came in to fill out paperwork during your audition. Did you jump over the turnstile to get to the elevators?”

  “I didn’t have time to wait for the elevator,” Teddy says. “Had to take the stairs.”

  Rita laughs. “That’s the commitment a manager likes to see.”

  Teddy shoulders open the car door and steps out into the Los Angeles sun.

  “Wait, wait, before I forget,” Rita says, reaching into the backseat and presenting him with a Barnes & Noble bag. “For your flight to Miami this afternoon. In case you’re in the mood for some light vacation reading.”

  Teddy peeks inside and forces himself to smile at the hardcover copy of Parachutes at the bottom.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The flight attendant is really starting to stress Teddy out.

  He’s not trying to be a dick here, but only so much can be expected of him given the circumstances. She already insisted on personally escorting him to his seat, and now she won’t stop staring at the duffel bag resting across his legs. It hasn’t left his lap since he sat down on this Boeing 747 death trap that’s supposed to fly him from one end of the country to the other, and he’s too busy trying to regulate his pulse to worry about moving it.

  Flying. Teddy hates it.

  “Are you sure you don’t want me to stow your bag in the captain’s closet, Mr. Sharpe?” the flight attendant asks, popping up in the aisle next to him.

  “Oh, uh—” Teddy clamps both hands down on top of it. “I’ll keep it with me, thanks.”

  “Is there anything I can get for you? A blanket? Or a pillow?” she rushes out, undeterred and borderline manic.

  Teddy barely gets out a quick “No, thank you” before she finally detonates, and it takes active effort for him to not recoil out of the blast radius.

  “My daughter thinks you’re just the cutest thing!” she gushes. “She’s going to just die when she finds out you were on my flight tonight!”

  Teddy tries to laugh it off, despite how uncomfortable he is. He knew it was only a matter of time before she said something—he saw the recognition flicker across her face when she scanned his boarding pass at the gate earlier.

  “No way, that’s so sweet,” he says, sending her into another fit of adoration. He’s already a terrible flyer, and again, not to be a dick here, but there’s no way he can deal with this on top of everything else right now. Not when he’s still sleep deprived and wallowing in self-pity over his botched audition this morning. “Actually, yeah,” he interrupts, “could I get a pillow?”

  This appears to be a thrilling development. “Of course! Back in a second.” She winks at him and then she’s gone, and Teddy stares stoically at the tray table in front of him and tries to roll some of the tension out of his shoulders.

  It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the occasional attention he gets from people who recognize him. He knows it comes with the job. And he knows he’s going to have to get used to it if he lands this Parachutes role (big, massive, ginormous if). Still doesn’t mean he’s used to it now, though. Teddy loves talking to fans, but he’s always liked his space. Particularly when it comes to his personal life.

  Speaking of which.

  Teddy’s connecting flight to Miami is going to cut it close. Since he has no idea where his next gate is going to be, he pulls out his phone and uses it as an excuse to start a conversation with Chelsea. She filmed on location in North Carolina a few years ago. Maybe she remembers her way around the Charlotte airport.…

  Yeah, Teddy knows it’s a stretch, but, you know, desperate times, desperate measures.

  Teddy sighs and holds back an eye roll. He and Chelsea have a complicated relationship (if you can even call it that anymore). One more reason why he’s glad he’s not much of a tabloid target by industry standards. One second they’re on, the next they’re off—Teddy can’t keep up with it, and he sure as hell doesn’t need US Weekly speculating on when “Teddy Sharpe and Chelsea Bordeaux finally call it quits.”

  Still, Teddy’s looking forward to spending a long weekend in Miami with Chelsea. She planned this trip as an apology for canceling the last two trips they were supposed to go on because of her filming schedule. It’s been more than a month since they last saw each other, and lately Teddy’s
caught himself wondering if Chelsea’s as tired of keeping track of their time apart as he is. Assuming she’s keeping track at all.

  One-word answers have become a recurring theme with her. Teddy doesn’t respond out of respect for his dignity.

  “I brought you an extra, just in case.”

  Teddy’s head whips up from his phone.

  The flight attendant is back. She winks at him again and hands him two pillows. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  “Any way I could get a bourbon on the rocks?” Teddy asks, because screw it. He could use a drink right now. It’s a gamble, though. He still has a few weeks before he turns twenty-one, and the flight attendant knows who he is, obviously, but maybe it’ll work in his favor. He surveys her reaction, and—nope, gets confirmation that’s not the case as he watches the smile disappear from her face, the illusion of Teddy being the perfect boyfriend for her daughter shattering.

  “You’ll have to wait until takeoff. And I’ll need to see some ID,” she says, narrowing her eyes at him before walking away.

  “Okay, thanks,” he calls after her, satisfied to put her off a bit.

  He’s still alcohol-less, though. And conversation-less with his girlfriend. And—now that he’s alone with his thoughts—helpless to the preflight anxiety creeping in.

  He needs a distraction.

  Teddy pushes his duffel bag into the empty window seat next to him and digs through it, looking for his copy of Parachutes. Since he has a five-hour flight ahead of him, maybe perusing it to compare and pick apart his performance will double as enough masochistic entertainment to get him to cruising altitude. Or he can at least use it as a shield if that flight attendant comes back. He finds it toward the bottom of his bag, shoved under his toiletry kit.

  Only the title and the author’s name, M. B. Caldwell, are on the cover, with a faint silhouette of a deployed parachute in the background. Nothing spectacular. But apparently whoever M. B. Caldwell is knew what they were doing when they wrote the series, because “spectacular” is the word everyone keeps using to describe the type of opportunity this is for Teddy’s acting career.