Christ on a motorcycle, who isn’t carrying this story? I click through all fifteen hundred channels, both broadcast and cable, and I get no relief. Every morning show has the same video footage of me throwing the punch.

I can’t get away from it.

I’ve been sitting here for an hour, and the more I watch, the further I slump into the couch. This crap is depressing me, it’s like a career ending drama.

I’m so sucked into this that I’m startled when I see Jordan walk into the living room.

“Hey, bro. How are you doing this morning?” Jordan asks as he saunters in, looking like he came out of a page of GQ.

“I see you used your key.”

“Yeah, I knocked, but you didn’t hear me. So, I just let myself in.”

I sit up a little straighter and adjust the small towel around my waist and make sure I’m covered. I wasn’t expecting to see Jordan this morning and I don’t think he needs a show at this hour.

“Frankly, I’m surprised to see you up so early,” Jordan says, “but I made sure to be prepared just in case and brought you your favorite.”

He hands me a cup. It’s a six dollar, triple espresso shot, heavy on the cream and six sugars, just the way I like it. The price is outrageous, but he’s buying so I’m just going to be polite.

“Thanks,” I say and grab the coffee. “If you didn’t think I was up, what made you come by?”

Jordan nods his head toward the television screen.

“Oh, that,” I acknowledge. “That is quickly becoming the bane of my existence. And if you don’t do something quick, fast, and in a hurry, people will really believe I am the biggest piece of shit-crap that ever lived, if they don't already.”

“Yeah, well, that’s why I’m here.”

“Please tell me you have a better plan than yesterday. 'Cause the disappearing act just will not work. I am not leaving town. And if I have to, I’ll say it fifty more times, until you get it.”

“Relax,” Jordan says, and motions me to sit back, as if I were a child who needed a time out.

The bedroom door suddenly opens and Jordan looks up. A slow smile spreads across his face.

“Jordan, this is Katie,” I say, but don’t take my eyes of the screen, and Jordan doesn’t take his eyes off Katie. “This is Jordan,” I add, lifting my coffee cup hand in his direction.

“Nice to meet you,” Jordan says, without shifting his gaze.

“I…uh…seem to have…left some things out here,” Katie says.

I finally pay attention and turn around. Katie is wearing nothing but my deep green silk sheet, and her long raven hair has that messy, I-just-spent-all-night-fucking, look. Sexy as hell. I can see why Jordan is a little slack jawed.

“Feel free, search away” I say, waving my hand in a gesture that says, 'don’t mind us'.

Katie tip toes in and picks up her bra from behind one of the seat cushions, a black lace thong from the coffee table, and her shirt and pants from the corner of the room.

I flash on a moment from last night and think oh, yeah, the coffee table. Blood quickly rushes to the center of my body, necessitating a quick adjustment of my towel, you know, to get a little more comfortable, cause I’m getting a little …stiff.

Katie pads back into the bedroom, leaving me and Jordan alone with our thoughts. They're probably pretty much about the same thing.

“Earth to Todd,” Jordan eventually says, snapping his fingers in front of my face, and dropping a folder on my now infamous coffee table.

“What’s that?” I ask.

Jordan doesn’t answer right away. Instead he sits next to me and simply says, “Open it up.”

“Unless that’s the answer to this nightmare, I’m not interested.”

“It may just be.”

I stare at the folder for a few seconds. I’m curious.

I lean forward and grab the manila envelope and look inside. It’s just a bunch of papers. Okay, I’ll bite. I pull out the papers and discover it’s a script and a production schedule, neither of which interest me.

I toss them both back onto the table. “What the hell is this?”

“You didn’t even give it a good look.”

“Don’t have to. Right now, I need a solution to this,” I say, pointing to the television where the non-stop bullshit of my life seems to be playing without pause. Damn, aren't there any murders or hurricanes these assholes can cover?

Jordan sighs, and leans over, picking up the script. “Look at this, it’s a movie and it’s being directed by Sophia Palmer.”

I don’t respond.

“Don’t you get it? Sophia is a ‘Palmer’. Her father is legendary. He’s larger than life in this industry. And Sophia has become the little darling of the media, her last two films were each a big success–“

“Big success in the world of independent films…big difference.”

“Regardless, she’s gaining clout. She’s smart, talented, and she’s fucking gorgeous. And if that’s not enough, she’s also starring in this movie. You have nothing to lose and everything, everything to gain.”

I pick up the production schedule, and look through it. I can see that the schedule is tight because it’s an indie and they have no money.

“No, thanks. Not interested.”

“Listen, Todd, you want me to get you out of this mess you’re in, right? Well, you and I both know that you’ve been in the tabloids too often, you have a reputation, you’re becoming someone the studios aren’t going to want to touch—“

“Hold up,” I interrupt. “I make the studios a shitload of money.”

“Yeah, but only when the fans love you and are willing to pay to see you. Right now, I don't feel a whole lotta love out there.”

And there it is. With all this negative air time, I am now damaged goods.

“You need to give this script a read,” Jordan continues, “it’s good.”

I don’t want to hear what he has to say. Besides, something else has caught attention: the sound of my career flushing down the toilet.

Jordan gets up and walks to the floor-to-ceiling window. He just stands there looking out, saying nothing.

It’s a standoff. No words between us.

I cave first, “What?” I say in a tone that is both annoyed and a little worried.

Jordan combs his fingers through his hair and turns to me, “Stop being such a piss-ant and let me do my job. I’m good at what I do. And I’m telling you, you need this script and you need this director.”

I give him the middle finger.

“Good God, get serious, Todd! You got a major situation and you’re acting like you’re in high school giving me the finger. I’m telling you straight up, this part could mean an Oscar nomination, it’s that good. Besides, you need to be around Hollywood royalty right now. It will help get the stink off you. And Sophia Palmer is Hollywood Royalty.”

The one thing I know is that Jordan has never steered me wrong and he's doing a good job of selling me on this. I’m still on the fence about doing an independent film, but I can feel myself relenting, grudgingly.

I turn toward the screen and damn, I’m still there. That settles the matter. The media is giving me no choice, and I need to distance myself from this hot mess.

“Okay. I’ll do it,” I say, looking up.

“Great.” Jordan claps his hands together, “because production starts in two days.”