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 3
Vince, E, Drama and Turtle walked along the promenade of the first annual Celebrity Open.
"Yo, this is so fuckin' sick," Turtle said. He walked slightly hunched over from the weight of the racket bags on his back. "There's celebrity hotties everywhere. I didn't know this was a ladies tournament, too."
"Maybe you should ease up on the weed, then, retard," E said. "No marketing exec in this town is going to miss an opportunity to have the most gorgeous women in the world running around in little white skirts."
Drama scoped the scene from behind impenetrable sunglasses. Sweat beaded on his brow. "This heat is murder. Did you bring my SPF 30, Turtle?"
"Yes, Drama." He rolled his eyes. "Fuckin' snowman."
Drama whirled around. "Hey, you're lucky to be in here with genuine industry professionals like the rest of us. Now hand me my towel."
"Vince, would you tell these guys to lay off me?"
Vince didn't respond. His usual easy manner was now cold and rigid. His eyes continually scanned the throngs of players and spectators.
"Hey," E said. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Vince said.
"You nervous?"
"No. Just a man on a mission."
"Vince?" a woman's voice called from behind.
They all turned around.
"Hi!" It was Mila Kunis, the exotic, dark-haired actress.
"Hey," Vince said flatly. He gave the perfunctory one-armed hug and kiss on the cheek.
"God, I haven't seen you since Jaime Presley's party. How are you?"
"Getting by."
She frowned. "Yeah, I know. I'm sorry Medellin didn't work out for you. I thought you were great in it."
"Thanks." He forced a light smile. "I saw Forgetting Sarah Marshall a couple of weeks ago. You were amazing—I fell in love with your character in a big way."
She smiled mischievously. "Well let's hang out some time. You can fall in love with the real me."
Vince smiled, but it didn't touch his eyes. He looked away. Turtle cleared his throat in discomfort. Mila's own smile faltered and embarrassment clouded her face.
"Okay, well—whatever—see you later."
She turned to walk away and Vince grabbed her arm.
"Wait. I'm sorry. I'm distracted. Seth Green insulted my boys and I'm playing him in the tournament."
"Seth?" She shook her head in annoyance. "He's such a childish prick sometimes."
"You know him?" E asked.
"Yeah… from Family Guy." Everyone stared at her blankly. "He's Chris, I'm Meg…"
"Who's Meg?" Turtle asked.
E smacked his chest. "She's the mom, dick. How do you change your voice so much for that character?"
She was getting annoyed. "I don't play the mom- I'm the daughter. Meg."
"They have a daughter?" Turtle asked. E put his face in his hand.
She sighed. "Yep. The joke of her character is that she's completely forgettable and insignificant. Nice to know it works."
"Hey, listen," E said. "I'm sorry. We love your other work. We were just watching That Seventies Show, in fact." He looked over at Drama, who was inscrutable behind his shades. "That was the other day, right Drama?"
"I don't watch sitcoms," he said.
"You know what," she said with a cruel smile. "Fuck you guys. Seth is going to wipe your asses off the court." She stormed off, her tennis skirt fluttering above gorgeously tanned legs.
"Nice work, guys," Vince said, still scanning the faces in the crowd. He noted all the celebs talking to fans and to the press. He had yet to be approached by either.
"More where that came from, bro," Drama said. "Besides, you can't be trucking with the star of a cancelled sitcom."
"At least she's got a steady cartoon gig," he said. "I can't even book a sweet-sixteen these days."
"Hey—I apologized for that," Drama said.
"You puked on the girl's fucking cake, ass head," Turtle said. "Your drunken, broken heart bullshit cost Vince two hundred G's."
"Guys, shut up," E said. "Here comes Ari."
"So what? He doesn't know Drama's a fuck up?" Turtle asked.
"I want to hear what the story is for the match."
Ari swaggered over. He was wearing a linen suit over a black polo. He flashed a shark's grin.
"We're all set boys," he said, slapping a hand into Vince's. "I fixed us up sweet."
"How so?" Vince asked.
"All you have to do is win the first round. If Sethy does the same, you're set to square off in a battle-fucking-royale in round two."
"Who do we play in the first?"
Ari smiled. "Kevin Smith."
Vince's eyes widened.
Drama laughed and clapped him on the back. "It's in the bag, bro. We'll run his flabby ass into the ground."
"Wait," E said. "Who's his partner? It's not Affleck, is it?"
Ari waved him off. "Nah, it's that fucking Kato kid he keeps around. Jason something."
"Holy shit," Turtle said. "You guys are playing Jay and Silent Bob?"
Vince shook his head. He looked positively forlorn. "I can't believe what it's come to."
- - -
Vince and Drama approached the net at the center of the court, and their opponents. The actor/director Kevin Smith wore his signature trench coat over a plus-sized white polo and jean shorts that hit well below the knees. His companion, Jason "Jay" Mewes, wore a loose hanging wife-beater and long basket ball shorts. Tattoos covered his exposed arms and legs. He looked Vince up and down.
"Well would you look at this morose motherfucker right here," he said.
"I'm sorry?" Vince said.
"Ease up, man," Kevin said to Jay. "This cat's had a rough couple of months." He extended a hand. Vince shook it apprehensively.
"Vinnie Chase," Kevin said. "Aquaman on land. This is a thrill and a half, sir."
"Thanks. This is my brother, Johnny Chase."
Drama shook his hand. "Yeah, we've met. How have you been?"
Kevin looked confused. "Have we met?"
Drama cleared his throat and took on a forced casualness. "Yeah, I was in the second unit on Mallrats."
"Right on," Kevin said.
A voice came over the stadium loudspeakers. "Our umpire for this first round match is a legendary actor who's starred in such films as The Buddy Holly Story and Lethal Weapon."
"Oh, no way," Vince said, shooting a look at Drama.
"They got Joe Pesci for this shit?" Jay asked.
"Please welcome… Gary Busey."
Busey walked out to applause. He climbed up into the ump's chair. His nose was sun blocked to solid white and he wore mirrored sunglasses and a white fisherman's hat. A whistle hung from his neck.
Drama waived. "Hey, Gary."
Busey continued to stare straight ahead. "This is a rite of passage, John," he said ominously. "But do you have the right?"
Drama looked at Vince. Vince looked at Kevin.
"You guys want to serve first?"
- - -
A few games in, E stepped away from the match to grab a drink. Vince and Drama were decimating their Jersey-boy opponents, so he felt comfortable leaving for a few minutes.
As he paid for his Heineken, he heard an abrasive voice from behind.
"Suit."
He hung his head and sighed. "Billy Walsh." E turned around to face him.
Billy looked horrible. His greasy his hair hung over sunken eyes. His beard was completely unkempt. A cigarette hung sadly out of the corner of his mouth. He was wearing an early-nineties Agassi-style neon green tennis shirt with loudly clashing plaid shorts. He clutched an old wooden racket. In his hands, it looked a caveman's club.
E spoke cautiously. "How are things?"
"My life's in the shitter, but I just had anal sex with a Thai hooker, so things seem a little more positive at the moment. You saw what they did to our fucking film?"
"What who did?"
Billy walked up to the counter. E saw that the back of his shirt had 'FUCK THE HACKS' spelled out in black electrical tape.
"Give me an American beer. None of that pussy Dutch boy shit that my friend the suit here gravitates to." He turned to E. "No offense."
"Oh, none taken," E said.
"The fucking Weingarten Group," Billy continued, beer in hand. "They hacked up my fucking vision and turned it into a direct-to-video, Cinemax-2, bargain rack pile of shit. Wouldn't even let me lay down a commentary track."
"I'm sorry, man. We're all hurting from the aftermath."
Billy stopped and leaned in close to E. It became readily apparent that he was already drunk. "If I thought I'd hurt Vince in any way, I'd have a pistol in my mouth right now. You know that, suit."
"I know, Billy."
"But it wasn't me this time. My cut could have overcome the Cannes bullshit and the fucking media bashing. But that goddamn hack studio exec desecrated it, and he fucked us all in the process."
And here I thought it was your maniacal, second-rate Apocalypse-Now antics that fucked us.
E just nodded, and tried to figure out a way to get away from him.
"There's a reckoning coming, suit. You mark my fucking words."
And with that, Billy lurched away.
- - -
Vince put a beautiful drop shot over the net. Kevin ran in for it, but he never had a chance.
"Forty-love," Gary Busey announced from the ump chair. "Set point to Chase brothers."
Kevin was standing mid-court with his hands on his knees. He was gasping for air."
"Hey, Kevin—you okay?" Vince asked.
"I think he's having a coronary," Drama muttered. "If he drops, we win by default."
Jay went over to Kevin. "Come on, lunch box—breathe."
"He should take that coat off, man," Vince said. "It's like ninety degrees out here."
"Can't," Kevin wheezed.
"What? Why?"
"Tubby here never sheds his armor in public," Jay answered.
And with that, Kevin feinted to the ground, out cold. The crowd rose to their feet nervously.
Busey blew his whistle and leapt from his chair to the court. "Man down! Stand aside. I'll use my life force to revive him."
"Are you gonna do mouth-to-mouth?" Jay asked.
Busey skidded to a halt next to Kevin. "I don't need to use my mouth on a man."
"Amen to that," Drama muttered.
Busey closed his eyes and started making slow, circular motions with his open hand an inch above Kevin's chest. He threw his head back and began chanting in a foreign language.
- - -
As the tournament spectators watched the scene unfolding below, Ari spoke animatedly into his cell phone. "I don't know what else to tell you, baby—there's no way I can make dinner tonight, I'm working." He paused as she replied, and then dived back in. "Yeah, no shit Ellen's husband makes dinner every night, ICM fucking fired him two weeks ago." A pause. "I bet she doesn't know, either. He's probably sucking off trannys on Santa Monica to put food on the table and cover her fucking vicodin habit." Another pause. "No, what's ridiculous is how much shaft he must be guzzling to float her worthless—
He stopped as a man in a light colored suit dropped into the empty seat next to him.
"Hello, Ari," Terrance said.
"I gotta call you back, honey." Ari shut his phone.
"I do love to hear a discussion of admirable family values," Terrance said. "Interesting match," he added idly.
"Yeah, I'm dying to see how this one ends," Ari said, gesturing to the unconscious bulk sprawled out on the court. "I'm surprised to see you at this match."
"I've been moving from court to court," Terrance said. "There's scarcely a round being played in this tournament that doesn't have one of my clients participating."
"So what, you rep the clerks down there?"
"I'm afraid not, although Gary is, of course, one of mine."
Busey was now dancing spiritedly around the unmoving form of Kevin Smith and chanting his head off.
"You must be very proud," Ari said.
"Well, he does still get some acting work on occasion, which is perhaps more than can be said of the once promising Mr. Chase."
Ari fixed him with a hard stare. "Vinnie will be back. Count on it."
"Oh, I've no doubt," Terrance said jovially. "Actually, I really just wanted to come by to wish you luck in the next round. They'll need it, I daresay."
Ari cleared his throat. "Who are they playing in the next round?"
"Oh, come now, Ari. Word's gotten out. I know what lengths you went to to put Vincent and Seth together on the court. What I'm wondering is why you're purposely positioning your client to play a match he'll lose so embarrassingly."
Ari forced a grin. "What can I say—Vinnie just really wanted to meet Seth."
"The matter of Seth's cartoon, no doubt." He smiled at Ari. "Pride comes before a fall."
"Well, you'd know, you limey fuck."
Terrance's smile faltered for a moment, then returned. "Seth is a patron of my agency, and his direct representative tells me he's a professional-quality tennis player." He stood. "I look forward to seeing him put another nail in Mr. Chase's coffin. Good day."
Ari watched him walk away.
"You better come through on this one, Vin," he said to himself.
To be continued…