He's a What?

Bernie

I did NOT want to have a partner. I don't care what my manager says, I'm a one man show. A 24 year old male actor who has starred in two movies and is now on Broadway sounds ok. But with a piano playing partner? It sounds like a bad Disney show. So when 300 pounds of jolliness and optimism came bundling my way in the form of Dave, as a pessimist, I was none to happy. "Hey Bern!" He called. That's not my name. My name is Bernie. Not Bern. I didn't like it when people called my that. It made me mad. But then again, everything made me mad. I had "serious anger problems", according to my doctors. I knew that my directors and producers all called me a diva, because I complained about everything, but I didn't care. I was well on my way to becoming the next Johnny Depp. And he certainly didn't have a plump Santa partner.

"My name is Bernie." I said when he got closer. He laughed a laugh that sounded more sarcastic than legit. I hated it. "Whatever you say, Bern!" He yelled (not said, yelled.). He slapped me on the back, and it took all my anger management lessons to not slap him back. In the face. Repeatedly. "Yeah. So, Louis says that we should start with the first song, which is Rock Island." I was going to be starring in the Broadway production of "The Music Man", as Mr. Harold Hill, and Dave would be supplying the music. Dave flipped his greasy brown hair, and his beady eyes stared into mine. "Then let's get to it!" He took a massive step towards the studio.