with the recognition. “I'm Zak. I mean, I played Zak and I am Zak.”
“Yeah, I remember you. You were the lead singer. I used to love that show.”
A smile began to creep across Zak’s face.
The young hunk continued, “It was, like, the only thing I watched when I was in elementary school.”
Zak deflated. Again.
“Man, what happened to you after the show ended? You, like, disappeared. Totally.”
“I did a few commercials.”
“Your career tanked, huh? That sucks.”
Zak nodded. “It does suck. May it never happen to you.”
A casting manager, who looked barely able to vote, read from an audition list. He called Zak’s name and Zak hopped up and headed over to the boy. The casting manager gave Zak the same look of disdain that he got from the young woman when he entered. “Are you here with your son?” the young man scoffed.
Zak frowned.
“Your son, where is he?” the casting manager squawked impatiently.
Through clenched teeth, Zak said, “I'm Zak.”
The young man snickered. “You're Zak? I think there's been a mistake. We're looking for somebody a little more, um, youthful.”
“But…”
“Maybe ten years ago we could have used you but not now. Sorry, no can do.”
“Can you just read me while I'm here?”
“No.”
“Please.”
The casting manager pushed Zak toward the door. “Thanks for coming in.”
Zak jumped into his Mini Cooper convertible and sped away from the audition. He’d never been so angry and humiliated in his life. Since when is 32 considered old, he thought. Only in Hollywood. Zak grabbed his cell phone as he headed down the highway. He dialed his agent.
“Maurice, the audition was a disaster. What were you thinking sending me for House of Hot Wax 3 in 3D?”
On the other end of town, Maurice, a fastidious Black man, talked on his speaker phone. “You begged me for an audition.”
As Zak barreled around a bend, he said, “There has to be something out there that's more appropriate for my—”
“Age?” Maurice ventured as he examined a fingernail.
Zak raced down the highway. “I was going to say stage in life.”
Maurice studied his thumbnail more closely. “I'm sorry, Zak. That was the best I could do.”
Zak weaved through traffic. “Really?”
Maurice filed his thumbnail. “Making the transition to mature roles is difficult for a lot of actors, who found success at a young age. Do you want my advice? Do something else with your life. Have you thought about real estate?
Zak slowed to a halt in traffic. “Acting is all I've ever done.”
“No one wants to hire a former Malibu Boy. It's just so—”
“Last decade?”
“Exactly.”
Zak was now stuck in a traffic jam. “Are you saying I'm washed up?”
“I'll let you know if I get a casting call for the Maytag Man.”
“Thanks for being straight with me.”
“As straight as a gay man can be.”
Lying on his couch, Zak was so depressed, so utterly and completely demoralized, he could barely lift the remote to change the television station. But when The Malibu Boys theme song started to play, Zak had to act fast. That reggae/ Beach Boys sound grated on his nerves. Zak lifted his head and caught a glimpse of the young stud he used to be. As the fake boy-band performed, a youthful Zak, still filled with promises of a bright future, pretended to sing. As The Malibu Boys music softened, an announcer’s voice played over the tune. “Surfin' all day, jammin' all night, they are Zak, Josh and Chay, the Malibu Boys.”
Elvis, who was lying on the floor next to his master, buried his nose under his paws and cried. Zak zapped the television with the remote and stared at the ceiling. Elvis stared at Zak. The two seemed frozen in time and space until there was a knock at the door. Elvis perked up but Zak didn’t move.
Chay Robinson, also 32, barged in carrying a case of beer. Unlike Zak, Chay was still the carefree surfer-boy of his youth.
“Hey, Dude. What's going on?” Chay said as he sprawled at the end of the couch.
Zak didn’t budge.
Elvis heaved a heavy sigh and went to sleep.
“I had another audition today,” Zak said. “No job. And I'm being evicted.”
“My band's not playing tonight. I stopped by to see if you want to hang out, hoist a few, whatever.”
“My life is over.”
Chay glanced around the apartment. “Do you have any pretzels, Bro? I can't drink beer without munchies.”
“I've never done anything but act.”
“Do you have any chips?”
“I don't know what I'm going to do.”
“I'll settle for some Doritos, Man.”
Zak finally sat up and stared at Chay. “Are you listening to a word I'm saying?”
“Dude, I'm starving.”
“You have your band. You surf. You never really cared about acting.”
Chay handed Zak a beer. “It's all about attitude, Man. Stop whining and start downing the brew.”
After several hours of heavy drinking, Zak and Chay were both now sprawled out on the couch. Empty beer cans and snack food containers were strewn everywhere. One empty beer even sat atop Elvis's head.
“Is this all there is?” Zak wondered aloud.
“We can get another case, Man.”
“To life,” Zak added.
Chay jumped up from the couch. “Dude, you should join my band. It'll be like old times. Where's your guitar?”
“I don't actually play the guitar, Chay. The Malibu Boys wasn't a real band, remember? You were the only one of us who could really sing and play an instrument. My voice was so bad they had to overdub all of my vocals.”
Zak
