Standard disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. The author is not trying to claim that any of the actors whose names are used do/would behave in the fashion described in this story. Please do not redistribute this story without the author's permission.
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When you are on top of the world, it seems everyone wants to knock you off. At least that was the impression Britney Spears had while driving around in her limo. She had been the queen of teen pop for three albums. But she was no fool. She had tried her first acting gig in the film "Crossroads," which was released to less than spectacular reviews. Critics had gone into a frenzy. There is a tendency in the entertainment business to assume that if someone was trying to cross genres, it was because they didn't think they could cut it in their original occupation anymore. True, a few stars of music, movies, or television had been had been able to cross over successfully, but no one was giving Britney any chance of joining that elite club. She was just a "pop-princess" or a "flavor of the week." Three platinum albums and people still thought she was just going to vanish into thin air whenever the winds of popularity shifted. She was determined to make them eat their little arguments.
She had her agent constantly looking for other ways for her to show her skills. Even she wasn't thrilled by her performance in "Crossroads," but she felt she had learned a lot. And her agent had gotten her a guest spot on the hit FOX series "Dark Angel." She was thrilled. First, she was a fan of the show. She had like the influx of strong female characters, and the whole post-apocalyptic world was visually appealing to her. And secondly, she was going to get a part where she could hit people, which seemed like the most natural thing to do at the moment. Every time she threw a punch or a kick, she was going to imagine one of her critics right in front of her. That thought made her feel good all over.
"We're here maaaaaam!" chuckled her driver.
"Oh, hush!" She requested this driver a lot because he never let her take herself too seriously. She was comfortable with him, and there weren't a lot of people she could say that about. She had been bitching about not being treated like an adult, and he had started calling her "ma'am" all the time. She needed to remember to thank her limo service again.
She was met at the car door by about twenty executives with different levels of schmoozing ability. Occasionally, she hated being important. She was ushered into the studio, where yet more schmoozers surrounded her. She was actually beginning to feel a little trapped. Some of them were complimenting her clothing (which at this point was a pair of jeans and a sweat-shirt), others were telling her how happy they were she was there, and others were telling her everything she was going to need to know about the show at a rate that would have given a super computer a headache.
"O.K. vultures! Back off!"
Britney looked around. She saw Jessica Alba, the dark-haired star of the show approaching the mob of people with a wooden chair held out in front much like a circus lion-tamer might use.
"Back! I'm just a whip away from getting medieval on your asses!"
The entire crowd started laughing. Jessica grabbed her by the hand and quickly led her away. They entered what appeared to be the wardrobe room, and her savior closed the door behind them and locked it.
"Sorry. I meant to be there when you arrived. The executives around here have been drooling ever since they found you were going to be on the show. You know how those types can be."
"You're not kidding. They give jackals a bad name." Britney found herself grinning like a dork. She liked this girl.
"Well, you're dressing room is right next to mine. We have about an hour until the first read-over for this episode. Then we have a meeting with the stunt-coordinator. He's going to give you an overview of the fight sequences. We actually start training tomorrow, then filming begins the day after that." By this point they had arrived at their dressing rooms. Britney was more than just a little relieved to know she would be near Jessica. Even the rich and famous can get nervous, and she already felt a bond growing with the raven-haired beauty.
"So," Jessica continued, "I hear you've asked to do your own stunts. What's up with that? I HAVE to do them, otherwise the regular viewers will start complaining about discrepancies. But you don't have to. It would be hard to find someone in as good as shape as you, but I'm sure they could come up with a double."
"Nah. I've always wanted to try doing stunts, and there are a lot more roles available out there if you are able to do action pictures."
"True. Just make sure you have plenty of Advil and an appointment for a massage set up," Jessica said as she opened the door.
Britney suddenly became very nervous. "What do you mean?"
"You'll see."
As the other girl disappeared from view, two things came to Britney's mind. The first was that she might have bitten off more than she could chew. The second thing was that Jessica Alba looked damn good in black-spandex. Britney realized long ago that wearing spandex was a privilege, not a right, and many people wore it when they obviously shouldn't. But Jessica had a flawless body. And the bicycle shorts she was wearing left little to the imagination. Britney tried hard to free her mind of that image. Although she was attracted to members of the "fairer" sex quite often, she generally was able to repress those urges. She was still somewhat attached to Justin Timberlake. Besides, if she openly started the bisexual thing, the comparisons between her career and Madonna's would start up again, and she was sick of hearing about it. She was influenced by Madonna; she wasn't copying her.
Two days later, Britney fully understood what Jessica meant. After a single training session, she felt like every appendage on her body was going to fall off. She was lying on the floor of her dressing room waiting to die when Jessica walked in.
"Told you."
"Oh shut up," Britney groaned as she made a vain attempt to sit up. Realizing she had no strength left, she quickly succumbed to gravity a second time.
"Do you need aspirin or something?"
"Actually, I need a new pair of legs, a new set of arms, and a lead pipe."
"A pipe?"
"Yeah. To beat YOU with for letting me do this."
"You did ask," Jessica said with a smirk.
"Don't remind me. Actually, I managed to take some pain-killers, but they don't seem to be helping."
"Well, if you lie there too long, it'll be ten times worse tomorrow. Try doing some stretches."
Britney wasn't in the mood to move, much less stretch. She was an experienced enough dancer to know that what Jessica was saying was good advice. But good advice often comes too little, too late."
