DISCLAIMER: In the spirit of Entourage, this story features real-life celebrities portrayed as fictional versions of themselves. The content of this story is fictional, as are the actions and motivations of the characters therein. No celebrity has endorsed or participated in this story.

CHAPTER 2

Vince tossed a tennis ball up in the air and brought his racket down across it. The green ball shot straight into the net.

"Little late," E said. "And come towards the baseline."

"Did Ari call yet?"

"No. I'll try him again." E pulled out his blackberry. He nodded to Vince that he had him on the line. "Ari, we gotta talk."

"Yeah, I got your messages," Ari said from behind his desk. He had E on speakerphone. "Found the shit on youtube. That little prick has some balls, going after our boy like that."

"It's not about Vince, it's about me. The guy's got it in for me."

"Eric, you're being very narcissistic—it's a nice quality for you and I encourage you to develop it, but a manager needs to be a realist, too."

"No, dick, I'm serious."

"Yeah, yeah, I know—he played bury-the-brisket with your former lady friend between takes on Buffy and now you're mortal enemies. It's fucking boring. You weren't there first, E. Neither was Columbus, but he still got to fuck a few feathered hotties and they named a town after him."

"I hear you, Ari," E said. "I guess you had to adopt that mindset after that eighties sex tape of Mrs. Ari and Jack Wagner hit the web last year."

"Shut the fuck—what sex tape?"

"I don't know—I only watched a few minutes. But she was hot in her prime."

Ari yanked the handset off of the base. "That's the mother of my children, you fucking McNugget. If you—

"Whoa, easy there. What do you give a shit if some D-lister hit it first?"

"You're full of shit," Ari said firmly.

"Yeah," E agreed. "I am."

Ari laughed, somewhat uncomfortably.

"It's a little different when you love the girl, right?" E asked.

Ari closed his eyes. "Let me talk to Vince."

"Fine, hold on."

"And Eric?"

"Yeah?"

He raised a fist in the air and held it there. "There's really no sex tape, right?"

"Not with Wagner."

"What do you mean not with—

"Yo, Vince! Come into net."

Vince jogged to the center of the tennis court and E tossed him the phone.

"Ari?"

"Vinnie, what's happening, baby?"

"I'm a little pissed."

"Fuck that punk. We'll be back on top in a year and he'll still be doing voiceovers with Mark Hamill."

"If it were just me, I wouldn't give a shit, but he went after E and my brother. It isn't right."

"Drama can use the press and E will get over it."

"I'm not over it."

"Vin, come on. What do you want to do here?"

"I think I want some payback."

"I like the fire. What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. I thought you could come up with something."

"I'll look into it. But keep it in your pants until I get back to you—we can't afford any more setbacks right now."

--

Drama dished scrambled eggs onto everyone's plates. "I made a few inquiries," he said. "And we could have Seth Green wind up as an ingredient in several cans of Alpo for a hundred G's. Just say the word, Vince."

"We're not having him whacked, Drama," E said.

"I'm just saying it's an option."

"Well here's another option," Turtle said. "I still have some connections in the world of hip-hop. Maybe I let it slip to a few select people that Seth Green is no friend to the brothers. He'll be at some club and get the shit kicked out of him in no time."

"It's too impersonal," Vince said. "There has to be a reckoning."

E studied Vince over the rim of his coffee mug.

"What, you want to delegate it, Mr. Manager?"

E shook his head. "I just don't get why this is so important. Since when do you give a shit what anyone says about anyone else?"

"No one goes after my boys."

"Bullshit. In high school you never reacted to any of the shit anyone said about any of us. Until a punch got thrown you were an impartial observer."

"Whatever. Today, right now, I want Seth Green to feel some pain—professionally, physically—I don't care which."

E's phone rang. "It's Ari."

"Put him on speaker."

"Ari, you're on speaker," E said. "It's just the four of us."

"Vinnie, I've done some digging."

"And?"

"Little Seth is pursuing a script put out by one of my buddy Andrew Klein's writers. I can call in a favor and the shit gets put out of his reach permanently."

"That's not really the embarrassing blow I had in mind, Ari."

"I also found out who he's dating."

"So?"

"So you can fuck her and make sure he finds out about it. If he comes looking for you, you kick the shit out of him. Humiliation times two, baby."

"I like it," Drama said.

"It's sleazy," Vince said. "And I can't imagine Seth caring enough about a chick to give a shit."

"Well, he is obsessed with Sloan," E said.

"Perfect—Vince—fuck Sloan," Ari said. "E's done with her anyway, he won't mind, right?"

"Eat shit, Ari."

"Got any Sbarros?"

"Hey, hey—I got it," Vince said. "The fucking tennis tournament. I'll challenge Seth."

"No, no Vinnie—scratch that off the list."

"Why?"

"Why? Because it's lame, Vin. You're a man of style, and this shit has no style."

"I disagree," Vince said.

"Vince, please."

"What? What is it, Ari?"

Ari let out a long breath. "You cannot challenge Seth."

"What do you have that you're not telling us," E demanded.

Ari put a hand to the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. "Little Seth is a child actor and a suburban Jew, and that means he plays tennis like a mother fucker. I asked around. The prick has a half-dozen country club championships under his belt. And word is Breckin's not far behind. And their dipshit cartoon network lifestyle leaves them plenty of time to practice."

A silence fell over the table.

"Vince, just fuck his girlfriend, man," Turtle urged him. "That's your championship sport. Why take a chance on getting humiliated by this asshole again?"

"Turtle makes an excellent point, and I have to admit I'm astounded," Ari said. "I personally and professionally recommend Plan B."

Vince thought about it for several moments while the guys watched him.

"No," he said finally. "Johnny and me will take these guys down at the Open."

"We will?" Drama asked nervously.

"Yeah. Who can stop the Chase brothers, right?"

"Vinnie, please," Ari said. "Sleep on this shit. These guys are serious fucking racket jocks."

"I don't care. I want to have it out with them in a legal, straight-up battle and this is the best we're gonna get."

Ari sighed. "All right. I'll put a few things in motion to make sure your team gets matched up against theirs. Drama, you'd better be a kick ass fucking tennis player. And Vin, you'd better practice your ass off for the next two weeks. E—you be his Yoda, even if you are shorter."

"Don't worry about it, Ari," Vince said. "Those guys are getting destroyed."

"Okay, guys. Later."

Ari hung up and rolled back from his desk. He let his head roll back so that he was looking at the ceiling. "Fuck," he groaned. He let his head roll to the left. "Lloyd!"

Lloyd trotted in. "Yes, Ari."

"Get me Shauna. Vince is gonna crash and burn at this goddamn tournament and we need to have a rescue plan in place."

To be continued…