The Fourth Wall

Edgar slowly spun around in his desk chair and tightened his yellow polka-dot necktie. This was a week later. He had bought himself some time with Marty by promising to contact the Netflix producers (which he didn’t) and scheduling a follow-up meeting. His disgruntled client was due to arrive in five minutes. Edgar was feeling a little desperate. His reputation would take a serious hit if Marty bailed on the series.

First things first, offer the guy a drink and a donut. “Can I get you a Diet Coke?” he said, as Marty pushed through the door. It was remarkable how much he resembled you-know-who, especially the slouching-toward-Bethlehem gait. Oops, wrong beverage, Edgar realized, before the words were out of his mouth.

“Hell no,” Marty said. “My character drinks that shit 24/7.”

They settled on coffee and a scone. Edgar decided to try invoking their shared Midwestern roots. Back in the day, he had spent a couple seasons with Prairie Stage. It was Bill, the director, who initially gave Edgar the tip on Marty Cruz as someone to watch.

“Did you speak with the producers?” Marty demanded.

“Uh, I put in several calls and left messages,” Edgar said, “still waiting for a response.”

“Keep trying,” Marty said.

“I do have an idea for an experiment,” Edgar said. “It’s a way to reestablish and reclaim your basic decency and self worth. A way to prove to the world that you are not a jerk.”

Marty stared and shrugged and said, “Keep talking.”

“I remember you telling me that you and your late wife used to engage in some volunteer activities, other than Prairie Stage.”

“That’s right,” Marty said, “at the food bank and Red Cross blood drives.”

“Good, so how about you do some more volunteering?”

Marty asked, “And your point is?”

“It’s so out of character. It’s really you, not him. Your character would never be caught dead volunteering at a food bank. He’d never be seen working at a migrant shelter. You speak Spanish, right?”

“Mas o menos,” Marty said. “Yeah, okay, I’m getting your drift.”