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 4

The paramedics carried off a now-conscious and very disturbed looking Kevin Smith.

Drama brought his hand up for a high-five. "That's one-and-oh for the Chase brothers."

Vince brought his hand to Drama's without enthusiasm. "Yeah, we earned that one."

Drama scoffed. "Who gives a shit? Point is, we won our first bout, and expended minimal energy doing so. The reserve tank is still full for taking on that fuck Seth Green in round two."

A ball boy approached them. "Towel, gentlemen?"

"Negative," Drama said curtly. "You won't find actors of our caliber partaking in public sweat sponges." He looked off to the sidelines, where Turtle was macking on somebody's assistant, a hot little Asian number. "Turtle!"

Vince rolled his eyes, and then extended a hand to the ball boy. "I'll take one, man—thanks."

As the boy walked away, Vince shot Drama an annoyed look. "Can you try to be a little nicer? I'm trying to win back the public's affection. Being a douche bag to the help isn't exactly conducive to that."

"First," Drama said, "if you want to be perceived as a movie star, you need to act like one. Second—you use those fucking recycled towels at your own peril. That thing could've been dabbing Bjorn Borg's balls at Wimbledon of yesteryear."

Vince finished drying his brow. "Awesome, Johnny—thanks for that."

"Turtle!" Drama shouted. "Come on, earn your allowance over here."

Turtle tore himself away from the girl and walked over, shaking his head. "You're a cock-blocking prima-donna, you know that?"

"Just bring me a clean towel—you're talking your way out of a job."

"God willing," Turtle said.

They made their way off court, where E greeted them. "I saw the stretcher. I'm gonna take that as a win?"

"Yeah, big win," Vince said.

"You're not gonna believe who I just ran into," E said.

Ari came over. "Walk and talk, guys. We have to get over to court six."

The four boys and Ari walked towards the big match. E's tale of his Billy Walsh encounter was an almost welcome distraction from the impending duel with Seth Green.

"Look, I love Billy and I know he means well," Vince said, "but I can't deal with him today, so let's try to steer clear."

Ari grabbed E's shoulder. "If that pycho beatnik asshole approaches Vince," he said, "you tell him we're going in a different direction, and that direction is a hundred-eighty fucking degrees from wherever the hell he's at."

"Agreed, but I think we need to phrase it a little more carefully," E said. "The guy's pretty unhinged."

"E!" a jovial voice called out.

His hackles went up. He knew that voice. They all turned around.

Seth Green had come up behind them. He was wearing classic tennis whites, but with an urban-style visor hat that his spiked-up hair erupted out of. His eyes were hidden by tremendous silver sunglasses. He flashed his ever-present jackal's grin.

"What up, E?" he asked. Seth had a squad of dickhead peons from his posse in tow.

"We've got nothing to say to you, Seth," E answered. "We'll settle our business on the court."

"Damn, E. That's cold. Guess I was right about you being on the rag, 'cause I can smell your pussy from here!" There was the requisite laughter from his crew.

Ari leaned forward to retort, but Vince had already gotten in Seth's face. He had to bend over a bit to do so, given their height difference.

"Now you listen to me, you cackling fuck."

Seth pulled off his shades.

"You don't talk to E, you don't talk about E," Vince said. "Or any of these guys."

"Oh, but I do, Vince, I really do," Seth said. "And I've got so much more to say."

"Then we have a serious problem."

They stared each other down for several tense moments.

Ari put a hand on Vince's arm. "Come on, Vin—not here, baby."

"Now—me, Vince," Seth said, "I don't put any limitations on you." He turned to his crew. "God knows he has enough as it is." As they laughed, he looked back at Vince. "We can dance anywhere you want, Escobar. Any time."

Just then, a tall, gorgeous black girl sidled up to Seth and kissed him on the neck. She straightened up, now standing a head taller than Seth. She looked at Vince and smiled.

"Is my man here being fresh with you, Mr. Chase?"

"A bit," Vince answered. He flashed her his best movie star grin. "I know you from somewhere, don't I?"

"Cover of Maxim this month, Vince," Seth boasted. "Don't hate me, big guy."

Vince didn't take the bait, and he kept his eyes locked on hers. "I knew beauty like yours had to be in the media somewhere. But I thought maybe we'd met before."

"Wishful thinking, man," Seth said, putting an arm around her waist.

Vince nodded, still hitting her with the high beams. "It is, Seth. It really is."

Her smile softened a bit, and her eyes widened.

Turtle leaned over to whisper to Drama. "Dude, she just got moist—Vince got her in the tractor beam."

Seth looked from her, to Vince, and back to her. He gave her a light pat on the ass. "Okay, baby, come on—I'm working. Go grab a seat for the game."

She sighed, gave Vince one more smile, and sauntered off.

"Hey, what's your name?" Vince called after her.

Now Seth got tight. "Yo, what's your problem, man?"

Vince didn't answer, and continued looking at the girl.

"Monique Monroe," she said.

Vince gave her the big smile one more time. "I'll see you, Monique."

She left, and he turned back to Seth. "You sure I'm the guy you want to be messing with?"

Seth chuckled and shook his head. "You know how it is in this town, Vince. The bitches are everywhere, and I don't sweat her, just like I didn't sweat E's little lady back in the day." He looked past Vince. "Right, E?"

"It's old material, Seth," E said, "and it was bullshit the first time."

"E, seriously—we're all friends here—how many times did Sloan mention my cock in bed?"

E moved in towards him, and Vince put a hand on his chest to keep him back.

"We'll finish this on the court," Vince said. "You'd better watch your ass out there."

Seth laughed sharply. "Right, right." He put his racket over his shoulder. "This is gonna be awesome, guys. Really. E, I wish you could join us, but nobody knows you exist, which kind of throws off the whole Celebrity Open thing." He cocked a head in Drama's direction. "Bringing Viking Quest here along is enough of a stretch as it is."

Drama jerked like he'd been stung. He made as though he would retort, but nothing came to him.

Ari spoke up. "At least Five Towns isn't on late night cable, dipshit."

"Yeah," Drama chimed in.

"Well," said Seth, "we all gotta hold on to something, right?" He saluted with his racket. "I'll see you out there, boys."

Vince and Drama each stood at opposite corners of the baseline, firing practice serves across the court. Seth and his doubles partner, Breckin Meyer, sat relaxed on a bench on the opposite side, apparently discussing the Chase brothers' technique. They laughed regularly.

"I'll tell you what, baby bro," Drama said. "Either we beat them, or we beat the shit out of them. I'll feel some satisfaction either way."

Vince didn't answer, but instead nailed another ball across the net. It went long. Seth gave him a silent thumbs up from the far end.

Ari and E walked out onto the court.

"Now listen to me," Ari said. "You own these fucking pricks. Vinnie—you are the star of the highest grossing film of all time. You're a sex symbol the world over, and every woman in those stands wants to fuck you hard."

"Nice, Ari," Vince said.

"You're the fucking man, Vinnie. And you can do this—you too, Drama."

"Thanks for remembering me," he mumbled.

"Hey—who's starring in this season's hottest primetime drama, huh? You're like Travolta in Pulp Fiction. You're back, motherfucker, and everyone loves that you're back."

Drama grinned broadly. "Thanks, man."

The announcer's voice came over the P.A. system. "Ladies and gentlemen, please take your seats. The match is about to begin."

Ari spoke quickly. "Guys, remember—no matter what, keep cool. The cameras are rolling and we can't come off as the bad guys. Destroy these fucks—but do it nicely for the folks at home."

E shook their hands. He shot a glance back at Seth. The prick smiled and waived at him.

He looked Vince hard in the eyes.

"Fuck 'em up," he said.

"Count on it," Vince answered.

Ari and E went back to the stands, and Vince and Drama were alone on a court that now felt massive. Hundreds of industry spectators looked down on them from the risers. Vince's hands began to sweat. He felt nervousness for the first time in ages.

Seth and Breckin stood, and made their way towards the net.

Vince exhaled slowly. "Come, on," he said. "Let's get the pleasantries out of the way. Remember—be Hollywood."

"Fuck that," Drama muttered.

Turtle dropped into a courtside seat. The section was normally reserved for coaches and trainers, but for this event, it was being occupied by celebrity staff and assistants. There were a couple of publicists sitting a few seats down who didn't spare him a glance. He set down Drama's heavy duffel bag and cursed his neurotic tendencies for the millionth time.

A girl's voice came from behind. "Hey, Turtle."

He turned around, and a huge smile came to his face. It was that hot little Asian girl from before. She hopped down into the seat next to him.

"What's up, sweetheart?"

"I told you—I'm here with Breckin."

Turtle looked out at the court, where Vince and Drama were shaking hands with Seth and Breckin.

"Oh, that's right—you're his assistant."

"Yeah. But I don't think he's going to need my services for the next hour or so. Can you get away?"

Turtle hesitated. "This is a big match for Vince, honey. I don't know if I can—

"Come on," she insisted. "We can find someplace private." She caressed his thigh.

He took one last glance at the court. The four actors were smiling and laughing.

He shrugged. "Let's do it."

She kissed him on the cheek, and let her lips linger there for a moment.

"Oh, we will," she whispered.

Vince and Seth shook hands across the net.

"I'd say we're gonna try not to embarrass you guys too badly," Seth said, "but that would be total bullshit."

"Total bullshit," Breckin echoed.

"Hey, did they call you in for Garfield 2, yet, chief?" Drama asked.

Breckin frowned. "No. It doesn't shoot for another year," Breckin said.

"Jesus," Drama said.

"What?"

He leaned in. "It was a joke, dick. I never actually thought they'd sequel that piece of shit."

Vince gave a big, friendly, showman's laugh. He reached across the net and clapped Breckin on the shoulder.

Seth laughed, too. "Hey, Johnny—what's this I hear about you being shit-canned off an M.O.W. for jizzing on Brooke Shield's leg mid-take?"

Drama was about to retort when Vince interjected. "Have a great match, guys." He turned his brother around and they walked back towards the baseline.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer's voice boomed. "We regret to announce that, due to illness, Jeffrey Tambor will not be serving as umpire for this match."

"What freak show do you think they'll stick us with now?" Drama asked.

"Standing in is a man who needs no introduction in this city, or anywhere in the film-loving world. An executive producer whose work drives the direction of today's cinematic arts. Please give a warm welcome to Mr. Harvey Weingarten!"

Vince and Drama exchanged a horrified look.

They heard a howl from the stands, softened by distance. It was Ari. "Fuckkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk!"

To be continued…