Smells Like a Brewery

“The director will be here really soon, guys, really soon!” said Riley Steel with limited conviction as she stared at her watch. Putting on a red cocktail dress and high heeled sandals for nothing wasn’t her idea of a productive day. She tapped her foot while other crew members and actors milled around waiting for their director to come. The stage was all set. Everyone was ready to go. “Where the hell is he?” And then the repugnant odor of alcohol assaulted her nostrils like a boxing champion’s knockout uppercut. “Oh no,” said Riley while shaking her head in shame.

Fashionably late, Director Devon Rollins came staggering into the studio with a beer bottle in one hand and a whole lot of nothing in the other. This was what his cinematic masterpiece Marble Halls meant to him. This was what he signed a contract for: so that he could show up whenever he wanted to in ridiculously baggy clothes, disheveled brown hair, stubble on his face, and a beer stench that could be whiffed from space.

Devon stood in front of his director’s chair and hummed while battering his lips up and down with his index finger. In the most offensively ableist voice imaginable, he said, “Why’s…everybody…always picking…on…me?” He took a seat in his chair and fell on the back of his neck, much to the shock and horror of everyone on set.

“Good God almighty,” said Riley with shock in her eyes as she watched Devon struggle to get up and reposition his chair.

He got an A for effort, but then stumbled over the chair again and just laid on the floor defeated and dizzy. Throughout all of his drunken posturing, he still managed to keep his beer bottle in his hand. Another A for effort for an acting job that was surely an acquired taste, just like the alcohol that he was smashed on.

Riley’s lips curled with anger as she kicked off her uncomfortable heels and marched over to her drunken director. She kneeled down and grabbed him by his Star Wars T-shirt before shaking and slapping the shit out of him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?! You smell like a goddamn brewery! We’ve been waiting for you since ten-thirty this morning!”

Burping and slurring his words, Devon said, “I can’t do this anymore, Linda” before dunking his head backwards and falling asleep.

Riley growled before grabbing her director’s greasy hair and slamming his head against the floor once just to wake him up. After Devon yelled to indicate he was awake, his actress tore into him some more. “It’s Riley, not Linda, you idiot! Pull yourself together, for god’s sake!”

“Sure thing, Tina!” said Devon with an obnoxious burp and a thumbs up.

Riley shook her head and watched as actors and crew members filed out of the studio, not wanting any more of Devon’s shit. “Are you happy now?” she asked rhetorically. “Look at them! They’re walking out on you and I should probably do the same thing. The only thing keeping me from doing so is a little something called a contract. You know, that thing you sign which legally binds you to work on Marble Halls. This is your project, Devon! You have to do it professionally! Otherwise, we’re screwed!”

Devon took a few moments to catch his breath, which still reeked worse than a frat boy’s asshole after doing a tampon chug. “Divas…you’re all divas…”

“What are you talking about?”

“Nobody will do what I say, Tiffany. I give them one direction and they tell me no like they’ve got a choice. I’m the director. I call the shots! If I have to be a North Carolina dictator, then so be it!” Devon ended his rant with another burp, this time with liquid bubbling up in his throat.

Riley made a disgusted face. “So that’s why you started drinking? Because nobody will do what they’re told? In case you hadn’t noticed, Marble Halls is a team effort. It’s not just a bunch of people doing what they’re told. We have input. We have feelings. We have reservations. For example…do you remember that day I refused to do a nude scene for you?”

“Yeah…I remember…you’re a diva too, Rebecca. It’s part of the script. If the script says take your clothes off, then you take your clothes off.”

Riley folded her arms. “Yeah, the script does say that. The script, by the way, that you wrote from beginning to end, by yourself, with no criticism from others. If anybody has the power to negotiate with his own actors, it’s you. Besides, why does that script even need a nude scene anyways? How does it advance the story? Are you sure you didn’t just put it in there because you don’t know how internet porn works?”

“…Ouch, Ronda. Very, very ouch…”

“Truth hurts, doesn’t it?”

“No, I actually mean ouch. Get your knee off my gut!”

Riley stood up and backed away just in time to watch Devon spit up a fountain of barf, covering his own face and chest in biological sludge. He breathed heavily after that while his lead actress could only look on in pity. She shook her head. “Go home, Devon. You’re drunk. Nobody wants to be around you right now. Just go home and sleep it off. We’ll pick up again tomorrow and hopefully you’ll be sober by then.”

“But…what about that contract thingamabob? Isn’t the executioner producer going to be pissed?” Another burp erupted from Devon’s mouth as did a wad of bile.

“To be honest, I’ll take my chances with the EXECUTIVE producer. I’m sure he’ll give me a way out of my contract after what you did today. Besides, if anybody is getting blamed for all of this, it’s you, Mr. North Carolina dictator!” She picked up her heels and tried to leave the studio.

“Wait!” mumbled Devon as he clutched his actress’s ankle. “Don’t go! I…I…”

“You what? You want me to convince the cast and crew to come back? You want me to convince the executive producer not to blacklist or sue your ass? Let go of my damn ankle, Harvey Weinstein!”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Devon coughed and got some acidic spittle on Riley’s bare foot. “I mean…I need someone to drive me home.”

“I’ll call you a taxi.”

“No…I want you to be the one who drives me.”

Riley scoffed. “Yeah, like I’m going to let you stink up my nice Volvo with your beer and vomit breath. You can sleep on the floor for all I care.”

“Wait! Wait, please…I’m not looking for a way home…I want you to take me to Paradise Rehab.”

Riley’s expression softened as she kneeled down beside her director. “You want to check into rehab?”

“I do…I really do…listen to me just for a moment. I know I’m blitzed right now, but I still have something to say.” Devon took a while to catch his rotten breath. “This drinking problem has been going on for a long time now. This is really the first time I came to the set drunk. All the pressure from upper management…all the arguing with the crew members…the deadlines that are impossible to meet…the beer was the only way I could manage my depression.”

“You’ve been depressed this whole time and you didn’t tell any of us?”

“What do you guys care? I’m just another pig who demands nude scenes, which are totally part of the plot, by the way. I don’t give these orders because I want a bunch of brainwashed slaves. I give them because…I want Marble Halls to be the best movie it can possibly be. And when we draw the big money and win the Oscars…I want to share them all with you and the crew. Yes, I know I’m drunk right now…but I mean every word that I say.” There was a teary twinkle in his eye to validate his true feelings.

Riley’s face was etched with pity once again. She wanted to believe these words despite the alcoholic influence. She wanted to believe Devon Rollins had a good side to him. She wanted to believe that his nude scenes were completely necessary. Although she was fighting not to believe those things, she knew that nothing would be accomplished by leaving him on the floor to be sued and fired. Besides, if what he said about depression was true, then he was just as human as the rebellious cast members.

“Come on, Devon. I’m taking you to rehab.” She wrapped his arm around the back of her neck and struggled to lift him to his feet.

“Thank you, Riley. Thank you so much. I won’t let you down….you know, any more than I already have.”

“No problem, Devon. Just do me a favor: don’t barf all over my expensive leather seats.”