Wallace.
Just the one name. That's who he would be now. He'd let his friends call him "Wal." He'd put up with being called "Wally" on the stupid show. But when he was out and about, looking slick in a leather jacket, escorting a pretty girl into a restaurant or on a red carpet, he'd be Wallace. Smooth, cool, gracious with just a hint of bad boy. A smile that would be everyone's screen saver. Ready to slip right into a real career when his contract with Griffin was up. Or, God help him, before. And he would never wear orange again. Ever.
Unless it was for an awesome movie roll. Action-adventure. Maybe superhero, or spy. One where he would sing the theme song, too. His name would come across the screen: "starring Wallace" at theexact moment he hit a killer high note. Grammy material. Kendork and the rest of his stupid band, he'd invite them to the premiere just so he could watch their jaws drop with jealousy. And then he'd totally ignore them. He'd be there with some hot chick. His hair would have that tousled, gelled look. He'd have to remember to get someone to help him with that because he never seems to be able to get it just right. But he'd have that permanent 5 o'clock shadow thing, and some really cool meaningful bracelet, with his sleeve rolled up just enough to show it off. People would love him because, hot as he was, he was so genuine and so great with kids. Such a good role model.
Big Time Tush, they'd still be dealing with teenage girls screeching at them, hordes of them throwing themselves at the stage and clustering around their junky tour bus, while he'd have women, Academy award-winning actresses, hanging on him, begging for his time, asking him to co-star in their next film. Directors would corner him; bring him drinks, just to have a chance to talk about his career. People would mention "The Magic Middle School" and everyone would laugh, because People Magazine would have just published photos "From Nerd to Hunk" disbelievingly comparing Towel Boy with Wallace, just like they do with George Clooney and the dufus he played on that old TV show. When he wasn't shooting films he would be recording epic music, maybe doing commercials for Rolex. Definitely some earnest "stay in school" PSA.
He'd get himself a house in the hills, something huge with an amazing view but still all green and eco-friendly and photo-ready. He would NOT invite Smellndall and his pals to the press-worthy parties he would throw there. But he might invite Camille, because that would really torque that twerp Mitchell. Rub it right in their faces when she went on and on about it the next day: the A-list guests and ice sculptures ad two bars and sunken dance floor and still getting to dance with Wallace himself because they were old friends. He could cast Camille in one of his movies - that would be ultimate justice. Camille and those three chicks who thought they were too good for anybody, but liked him. Then everyone at the Palm Poop would be talking about him, Wallace, not Big Time Lame. When he had enough cash maybe he'd buy the place, and the first thing he'd do is evict those losers. The he'd buy Griffin out, too.
Because he is Wallace. He is awesome.
There's a knock and a muffled message that he's needed on set. He combs down his hair and buttons up his shirt, grabs a piece of masking tape and a sharpie. At the door, he presses the tape over his dressing room nameplate, "Wally", and carefully letters - in his best action adventure font - WALLACE.
Tossing the pen back inside, he shuts the door and runs his fingers over his new future.
"Wallace."
And Wally Dooly stands a little straighter as he walks down the hall.
A/N Wow, 2 one-shot requests published this week, where I'd never done any before. Feel free to check out my stories "Home" and "A Drop in the Bucket," while I promise a new chapter of "Kendall's Day Off' soon! I'd love to hear your comments on any of them if you have a moment. Thanks.