The little sister. The girl-next-door. The innocent one. Those were the kinds of roles young actress Grace had been cast in so far. It was certainly how the producers and casting directors saw her; Beryl hadn't been offered any roles outside of that description. The teen auditioned for a variety of parts, but anything that wasn't utterly goody-two-shoes "didn't seem to fit," they'd tell her. So when Hank told Beryl Grace that he was invited to an MGM executive's party, she saw it as the golden opportunity she'd been waiting for. "I'll be your date," she informed him, pulling her hair back into a bun. It was about seven o'clock in the morning and the actress was sitting up in bed, already in a business-like frame of mind as her agent sipped coffee, leaning against the door frame. A half-smile played about Hank's lips, as if the blonde's assertiveness was a joke. But the man didn't offer any resistance to her idea; in fact, he'd almost suggested the same thing. Beryl spoke again: "It's next Saturday, you said?"

"Yeah, Bee," he told her. "You sure you'll be all right, going to such a fancy shindig for your first big-city event?"

"Baby, you know I will," she replied. "And besides, you did have some friends over that one time..."

Hank shook his head. "This'll be different," he cautioned. "A few members of the press will be there. Nothing disruptive, just a few."

Paparazzi, Beryl thought to herself. Even better. I'll give them something to write about. "Like I said, Hank," yawned the blond, reaching her arms above her head in a stretch. "I'll be fine. In fact," she added, "I'll knock 'em dead."

On the Saturday of the event, Beryl Grace was wearing a bright blue dress shirt with very-fashionable shoulder pads in it and a long, form-fitting skirt. Her shining golden hair exploded outwards from her head in an impressive mass of fluff, making it unlikely that anyone would see her sapphire earrings. Hank went more traditional, decked out in a black suit and tie. When they drove up to the car-lined street in Beverly Hills, it occurred to Beryl that her agent could be mistaken for her butler. The thought made a guilty smile flash across her face. Somebody opened the car door for the young actress, who found herself thinking of her old dress-up sessions as a child. It's not pretend anymore, thought Beryl, high heels clicking on the pavement. I'm living my dream.

One hour later, Beryl's delicate features were creased with worry. Hank had spoken to a producer about upcoming roles in their show. The producer, Eugene, mentioned needing at least two female extras. One would play a seductive woman; the other would be a pretty young girl. Hank carried this information to Beryl and asked "Are you interested in either part?"

"Hell yes," said the actress, eyes sparkling. "That show is iconic, right? I'll be a part of something that shows up in history books."

"It's only a remake of the iconic show you're thinking of," stated Hank.

"Hey. Close enough," Beryl said. She fidgeted in her itchy shirt. "Plus, 'seductress' is exactly the kind of role that I need to change my image."

"Talk to him, then," her agent said absentmindedly. "Let him know that you exist and that you're the right choice."

Eugene was on the other side of the person-choked room. Beryl tried to make her way over to him. Then she tried again. And again. Each time, he was either talking to somebody or people blocked her way. She didn't get near him until all of the guests were seated for dinner. The producer was on the opposite side of the table and was a few seats over. Another young actress was sitting on his lap, talking and giggling. "He's considering her for the part," grumbled Hank, sitting down next to Beryl. "Why didn't you go talk to him sooner?"

"I couldn't get to him without punching anyone," hissed the blond. "And it wouldn't exactly be civil to punch people, now, would it?" Hank's only response was more grumbling. The dinner party went on and Beryl desperately kept trying to insert herself into Eugene's conversation. Eventually, she met some success. "I heard you're in need of a sexy lady for an upcoming part," she said. "I'd be perfect for that role."

The grey-haired producer finished chewing his food and said "I'm also in need of a childlike young girl. Maybe you'd prefer that role?"

Beryl bit back her anger. The other young actress' eyes flashed at Beryl triumphantly. Miss Grace tried again: "Is the other role taken?"

"Not exactly," the producer mumbled through a mouthful of beef and potatoes. He swallowed. "I just can't picture you playing a seductress, Grace."

Before the irritated blue-eyed actress could keep talking, a butler called out from the hallway: "Who's ready for the next course?"

Every guest's head swiveled towards the butler. A few raised their hands. No, thought Beryl. I can't lose his attention now. A crazy idea popped into her head. The teen stood up. A couple of guests looked at her, but Eugene's eyes were still glued to the coming food.

"HEY," Beryl shouted to the producer. She used his last name: "I'm talking to you, RODDENBERRY."

Now all eyes were on her, even Eugene's. Luckily, Beryl Grace was not without a plan. She grabbed her own bright blue collar and ripped her shirt off. Tossing the ruined garment over the producer's head, the actress spoke: "How's this for a seductress?"

She hadn't worn any sort of bra that night; they weren't considered necessary in the eighties. A stunned photographer reflexively took a picture of her bare breasts. This is definitely something they'll write about, Beryl thought. The guests were a mixture of shocked stares and scandalized looking-away.

Ladies and gentlemen, stupid stunt number one.