Sweetheart [On Hold - Resuming 2023]

1. Trophy

I gaze into a sea of ten thousand pairs of eyes. Seat fillers, too excited to stay in the seats they're being paid to fill, crane their necks for a better view. My costars wipe tears, some real, most fake. The losing nominees dig deep into their souls to find the strength to feign happiness for me.

Through all the chaos, the room is silent, save for the whir of a hundred cameras. The crowd is silent, waiting for something profound to exit my famous toothy grin.

Truth is, I don't have anything to offer. I'm twenty-six. My highest educational achievement is the GED I bought ten years ago. Every line I uttered on Meet the Colemans and in headline-grabbing interviews was written for me.

Luckily, this acceptance speech was too.

I clutch the Emmy a little tighter and clear my throat. My proud grin is the only thing I'm not faking right now. I'm damn proud of myself. After surviving fifteen seasons on a laugh-track sitcom and being forced to grow up in front of the American public, I earned this little statue.

I start with my catchphrase. Smirking at the crowd, I quip, "Who, me?"

If they didn't watch me say that on TV every Tuesday, their kids did. It's our little inside joke—forget that millions of people are in on the reference—and they love it. A roar of laughter carries through the auditorium like a wave.

"To be serious for a short moment, I have some incredible people to thank. Firstly, thank you to the Academy. This is a great statue. Finally, something to replace Matty's soccer trophies."

Pause for laughter.

"To our writers, thank you. Your talent and creativity blow me away. To the crew who have dedicated the past sixteen years to making TV a funnier place, thank you for your incredible work. To the cast, thank you, and I love you. It's been an honor to grow up with you all. Tara, especially, thank you for being a second mother to me."

I shoot a genuine grin at my TV neighbor and only mother figure, Tara Denault. Thick, authentic tears roll down her cheeks.

"And finally, thank you to the audience who makes this possible." I pause, lingering by the microphone. "I love you guys. Matty out!"

I slide into the seat beside my date, Effie Malhotra. We assured the red-carpet interviewers that we're here as friends, but we're letting the tabloids speculate. The more hype that surrounds our fake relationship, the better Heist, the action flick we're filming, performs in the box office.

Meanwhile, Effie's been sexting her boyfriend under the table all night. I fully intend to celebrate with a model and an NDA as soon as the cameras turn off.

Squealing, Effie throws her arms around my neck and plants a huge kiss on my cheek. Beneath the table, Tara stomps on my foot. She hates when I play games with the media, but it's not like I have a choice. If I want to win the game, I have to play the game. It's that simple.

I've been Matty Magee, lovable neighbor to the Colemans and creator of plotline chaos, since I was ten. Although I've starred in movies between seasons, my primary gig has always been as a sitcom actor. Now that Meet the Colemans finished filming its final season, I'm stepping into the cutthroat, competitive world of movie acting. My every move is calculated, a ploy to show producers and directors that I'm more than the funny boy next door.

When my publicist Katherine, the PR industry's Professor McGonagall, informed me that part of the strict, expensive Operation Serious Actor is pretending to date my Heist love interest, I protested, but the arrangement hasn't been terrible. Effie and I have become close friends on our staged, paparazzi-infused strolls down Hollywood streets. She's a good date, and she scored us invites to an exclusive afterparty. Knowing that champagne and A-list models await me after the awards show keeps me playing along here.

My phone buzzes against my leg. Effie peeks down at the vibration, excitement in her eyes. Noticing that the shaking wasn't caused by another dick pic from her boyfriend, she lets out a tiny huff but holds her pearly smile. I swipe open Katherine's text and suppress a groan.

Katherine Cole: Hi, Asher. NO to the Hotel Paradise party. Jenna Ford was spotted. She is a KNOWN LEAK. Go to network afterparty.

The network afterparty is the last place I want to end tonight. Mingling with stuffy people in a stuffy restaurant is never a good time.

I should know. That's how I've been celebrating my successes since I first chowed down on a bowl of cereal to shill Kellogg's on national television at age eight. I've always had to be careful to avoid paparazzi and people known to leak to the press, like Jenna, while partying. The lovable boy next door can't be seen snorting mystery substances off Amex black cards.

The thing is, I'm not Matty Magee anymore.

Operation Serious Actor has a no-drugs requirement, which is fair. Film directors rarely take chances on messy sitcom stars. I don't recall anything about being in the same general location as drugs, though...

Me: Thanks for the tip. I'll be careful. No drugs.

Katherine Cole: NO. Go to network afterparty.

Me: I'll pass, but thanks for the invite.

Katherine Cole: Asher – you may NOT go to Hotel Paradise. Consequence: Fallon.

Katherine forces me to comply by threatening to schedule talk show appearances. Most actors view late-night shows as easy publicity opportunities, but I hate them. The canned dialogue, the fake laughter, the stupid anecdotes, I find it all so damn cringey.

But Jimmy's a good guy. I'll talk Heist for five minutes if I can celebrate my Best Supporting Comedic Actor Emmy win at Hotel Paradise.

Reading my mind, Katherine texts again.

Katherine Cole: Will also contact Corden's team about the segment with the disgusting foods.

Me: That's cruel.

Katherine Cole: If you don't want to eat mystery meat from a wheel, you will go to network party. Have fun.

Noticing a camera pointing in our direction, I nudge Effie. She smiles coyly at me.

"I have to hit the network party after this," I whisper. "Katherine vetoed Hotel Paradise."

"Yuck. I'll pray for you," she whispers back.

Too bad we're in Hollywood. The devil reigns here.