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. . . And Jesus Brought a Casserole	By : Faline Category: Casts RPF > Smallville Views: 2473 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know the celebrity I am writing about. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Note to Myself
- 2-K & R
- 1
- 2
Disclaimer: I don't know these people. I am merely borrowing them for my amusement and the amusement of others for the sole purpose of entertainment. No infringement is intended and no offense is meant. I have a great respect for the actors and actresses of Smallville and sincerely hope that I present them in the best light possible for my story.

A/N: NOT my first actor fic, however I've never tried anything other than Orlando Bloom. Hopefully, with an older and differant subject, this fic won't turn out like my others. Please be kind with it. I'm not a stalker fanchick and I don't know everything about Michael Rosenbaum. I admire him, among other things, and I'm just having a little dream land fun.
Oh, and review, s.v.p. That'd be great.

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I stepped on a pin last night. It was half way in before the sensation registered in my fuzzy brain. The five people in the room watched me hop around and curse to every god ever created before I realized what it was and what I should do. I pulled it out, half an inch, in two tugs. And it hurt like a bitch.
Or, it would have.
If I’d been able to feel it. I couldn’t, of course. That’s the beauty with alcohol; you don’t feel jack shit unless you’re one of those sentimental types that have a few drinks to forget and only end up ear deep in memories of times past. Those types that sit and cry at the bar for hours, leaving feeling worse than when they came in.
But that’s neither here nor there. I’m not one of those drunks. I’m not the sentimental type, which is amazing given most Cancers are prone to tears during sappy movies.

Instead, two tugs and this pin is just sitting in my hand and all of my friends are laughing at me look from my hand to the top of my foot, trying to connect the dots of what’s just transpired and coming up extremely blank.
It didn’t hurt last night, but it hurts right now, at this instant. It throbs, actually. Thank god I had my annual tetanus shot not so long ago. At least, of all the things I could worry about, gang green isn’t one of them.
The real bitch of it was the timing. Of all the stupid ‘nights before’, why did I have to pick the day before the start of the first day of the rest of my life? Oh, why? One of the production assistants stops in front of me as I’m sitting with my bare foot in my hand, poking and wincing at the big red dot on the ball of my foot.
“You okay?”
I look up at him. Some guy named Rick or something. Maybe it was James. Sometimes, I never know. I crack him a lop sided grin. “Yeah, I’m cool. Are they ready for me?”
“Yeah, set three. I’ll take you over.”
I pull the obnoxious heeled sandal that I’ve been forced to wear back on and stand. I wince and let the blood return to the stupid leg of mine before following Rick/James ‘bitch’ over to the set.
Dream job, right? A one way ticket to Vancouver, the newest cool character on one of the WB’s hot shows at the moments. Plenty of eye candy. The pay is good, the experience will look wonderful on my resume, and one day, I may look back at my time on the Smallville set and NOT remember shooting pain in my foot.
One day perhaps, but probably not today.
I’m actually limping a bit as we pass some sound techs working on something. They greet the production assistant. Mr. Production Assistant is Rick, okay. Got it. Past all the equipment and around a make-shift wall and suddenly I’m in the Mansion. Only, there’s no lights streaming in through the windows and there’s about twenty techs fixing and setting up. It’s strange, to see a world that looks so complete on TV just dismantled before my very eyes. It almost feels like they’re desecrating the only castle in Kansas.
My little TV-set virgin eyes go wide as, I kid you not, Clark Kent and Lex Luthor walk through the door right behind me, pushing past me and walking over to a man with a head set. Only, it’s Tom Welling and Michael Rosenbaum but a girl can imagine, can’t she?
The man with the head phones, who Rick points out as Cliff Bole, is our director de jour. He speaks with the two men for a few moments before standing up and calling order to the masses.
“All right, we’re behind schedule as it is. Let’s get this show on the road. Is Monique here?”
I jump a bit. That’s me, I’m Monique. Rick pushes me forward and suddenly there are fifteen pairs of eyes on me. I grin. Defense mechanisms up and ready to go. “That would be me.” I ignore the gaze of the two men next to the director and continue to beam my shit-eating smile at Mr. Bole.
“Excellent. We’re on scene five right now. Places, everyone.”
The dreaded scene five. The main entrance of Monique Donavan, a bright young woman with a promising career in bio-genetics. It’s a damn shame that I failed most of my science classes in high school and that I have no clue about what I’m supposed to know by heart. Lots of fun. I’m ushered back towards where I came, only this time the back drops are in place and I know that when I push open the doors, it’ll look like I’m coming in from the hall way. The magic of TV.
The doors are closed and I’m alone for a moment. I mentally run through my checklist of things to remember. 1. Remain aloof bio-chemist. 2. Lex Luthor is NOT a good boss. 3. Lionel is my God. 5. Think Unsexy thoughts, at all costs.
“Action.”
I push the doors open, taking the room by storm. “Mr. Luthor. I assume there’s a good reason you’d pull me away from my oh so busy schedule.”
Pause at the first mark, directly in front of the desk. Cock hip to the left, slightly, while presenting right. Even gaze. It’s hard to not crack as Lex Luthor looks up at me from a ‘report’. He sighs. I melt a little on the inside. I knew coming into this job that it’d be hard as hell not feeling for the character, but he’s hot. And the things I’d like to do to him . . .
Mr. Rosenbaum is speaking frankly, leaning forward with his hands peaked and holding up his chin. I almost miss my lines.
“You called me to the other side of the middle of nowhere to tell me that the latest discoveries I’ve made are good? We’ve both got better things to do than compliment each other, don’t you think?”
He raises his eye brow in a challenge. “Indeed Ms. Donovan. I just assumed that you’d like to hear you’re doing a good job.”
“I know I’m doing a good job, sir. I don’t need to hear it.”
“And cut.” The stage is flooded with people once more. The make-up people hustle over. One of them clucks over my pale complexion before calling for a lighter shade of foundation. I try my hardest not to roll my eyes, and not to look at the man in front of me.
He laughs at something someone said to him, and I can’t help myself. I look, just a little though. A small peek beneath my eye lashes and I take this moment to look, really look, at the man and not the character. He looks tired, but I know that’s just the make-up. His eyes really sparkle when he’s laughing. It’s a real shame Lex Luthor never really laughs or else there’d be a lot more desperate twenty-something females lusting after him.
He turns and catches my eyes. I look away, turning slightly red. “Hi, we haven’t been introduced yet.” I look back at him, he’s holding out a hand. “Michael Rosenbaum.”
My smile is weak, I know it is, but it’s the best I can do. I shake his offered hand. “Kendra Bowen. Nice to meet you.”
“Loved your entrance. It was . . . very convincing.”
“Thanks.” Before I can anything else, a bottle of water is being shoved in my hand and I’m being ushered away. Mr. Bole is calling for my attention. I listen, raptly, as he gives me a few directional hints and calls for places once more. We do the scene three to four more times, each time getting more tips.
It’s a good thing I’m patient. It’s a good thing I have a knack for picking things up quick. It’s an especially good thing I can keep lust-ridden glances and the tremor in my voice under control. I suppose that’s what makes me good at what I do.
After the fifth run through, we’re ready to introduce Clark.
This part of the scene is what I’m the most nervous about. Tom Welling is another one of those guys that are innately beautiful and commanding. And, around men like that, I’m almost always guaranteed to sip up somewhere.
I add a number to my list. 5. Clark Kent is NOT Tom Welling. Remember that and stay in character.
“Places people.”
I return to my position in front of Lex’s desk. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and wait for action. It’s called and there’s immediate silence while the director films a few seconds of the stand-off between Mr. Luthor and the head-strong bio-chemist.
The doors open, we both turn and look. Clark enters, through the right door instead of both, as I had done. He pauses when he catches sight of me. “I didn’t know you had company Lex. Sorry.”
From the look on my face, it might as well be Tom Welling. Pure desire bubbles out of my eyes and a sigh slips past my lips. Everyone pauses. And I mean everyone. Even Cliff is leaning forward, slightly surprised. Don’t break character. Remember your lines.
However, it’s not my line. Lex says, “It’s all right Clark. I’d actually like you to meet one of my bio-chemists, Monique Donovan. She’s been brought in to try and clear up the problem with all of the contestants on Chloe’s ‘Wall of Weird’.”
Confusion crosses my face and I glance back at Lex. He gives me a strange half smile. Clark comes farther into the room and approaches me, hand out and at the ready. “Clark Kent.”
I shake his hand. It’s a little stronger than it probably should have been, but given my character description, not completely uncalled for. His hand is warm, while mine is slightly clammy. I really wish I’m not so nervous, but that can’t be helped. Remembering that Mr. Welling is a married man helps a little and I run the thumb cross his that they’ll get a close-up shot of.
Clark jumps like he’s been bitten. Lex says, “I believe we’re done here Ms. Donovan. I’ll be awaiting your report tomorrow.”
He gets another glance before my eyes return to Lex. He doesn’t look terribly happy. Quick nod, move to the door. “Until tomorrow Mr. Luthor.” Exit. The scene continues without me. There’s another assistant waiting as I exit the actual set and take a spot behind the director. She introduces herself as Jen and gives me some more water. I’d kill for a Dr. Pepper right now, but water is the best option at hand, I suppose.
After the last lines between Clark and Lex have been spoken and cut has been called, Cliff gives me a smile and thanks me. I’m not needed again until five, it’s now three. Two hours of nothing to do. I suppose I should head back to my trailer.
I get about twenty feet away from set when a woman calls out my name from behind me. I turn and wait for Chloe, aka Allison Mack, to catch up with me. She reaches my side, breathing a little heavy from the short jaunt, and sticks out her hand. I shake it, feeling like my fingers are going to be filthy by the time I’m done for the night.
“Hi! I’m Allison. I heard you’re the next female regular on the show and just wanted to introduce myself.”
I’m not really a ‘girl’ type of person. Usually I can’t stand other women. But the way she’s grinning up at me, all smiles and welcome, I can’t help but grin back. “Monique Donovan, bio-chem bitch extraordinaire. That’s me.” I shake her hand and add, “Kendra, by the way. Kendra Bowen.”
“Where are you headed?”
“Well, I have a few hours of nothing to occupy. I was going to head back to my trailer and read a bit. I’m trying to work my way through a book before the weekend.”
“What are you reading?”
“Choke, by Chuck Palahniuk. I’m a little late on his band wagon but I can’t seem to get enough of his work.”
“That’s cool! I just read Fight Club. That was a great one.”
“Yeah, one of my favorites.”
We descend into that horrible awkward silence that happens when you’re talking about a safe subject and the content runs out. She’s more than willing to break the lapse though. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to swing by the food tent and get something to drink.”
Another wide grin and I feel like I’m lost, literally. “Yeah, sure. Sounds good.”
“Great!”
I follow the blond out of the building and across the lot, where a tent has been erected. The sun is shining and I fish my sunglasses out of the purse I’d kept stored during filming. “Enjoy it while you can. The sun never lasts long. Vancouver is a very rainy place.”
I chuckle. “I’m used to it. I spent four years in Grand Rapids, which has the unfortunate tendency to be the second cloudiest urban area in the Continental US. Rain and snow, bring it on.”
We laugh, making our way to the drink table. I spot the cans of Dr. Pepper, drenched in ice and looking oh so delicious. Grabbing one, it gets opened and half of it gets downed while Allison looks at me like I’m strange.
“Caffeine addict. I’ve got a wicked head ache. I haven’t had anything caffeinated to drink since the crap coffee on the plane ride over.”
We select a table and both sit, looking out at the bright and shiny parking lot around us. “You flew in today then?”
“Yeah, my flight left Detroit about ten hours ago. And, for all intents and purposes, it should be three in the afternoon right now instead of twelve. Damn time zones.”
“I hear ya. Not that it really bugs me. I’m from California.”
Another silence descends on us; however it’s a comfortable one. I can see myself liking Ms. Mack a lot.
“So, are you from Michigan?”
“Born and raised. I went to college in Grand Rapids, hence the four years. I’m actually from the other side of the state.”
“Anywhere near Okemos?”
“Let me think. Where is that near?”
“Oh, fifteen minutes away from Lansing, if that.”
I hold up my hand and make my measurements. Allison is looking at me strangely again, but I calculate the distances in my head. Turning my palm towards her, I point to where Lansing is. “I’m from here.” I move my finger down and to the left, resting almost at the bottom. “Chelsea. Fun little town, little being the key word. Why do you ask, anyway? I thought you were from California.”
“She is. I’m from Okemos. Nice use of the palm map, by the way.”
We both turn and watch as Tom and Michael join us at the table, a bottle of water for each in their hands.
“Small world.” I’m suddenly nervous again and the glances the other three are throwing each other tell me that they notice.
“Chelsea huh? Isn’t that where Jeff Daniels is from?”
I nod and take a sip of my pop. “Yeah, he was my first big break, I suppose you could say. Landed a job working as an assistant Stage Manager for a season or two. After the great Taco Bell Cup incident of ’99 though . . . that job was nixed.”
“The Great Taco Bell Cup Incident, eh? Sounds traumatic.” Michael’s eyes are sparkling, again. The other two are laughing. “This I have to hear about.”
My cheeks color lightly. That was not a good experience. “I was on loan to another theater, doing a youth program for the high school. Fresh out of college, excited that I was considered good enough to be placed at other theaters. One of my stage hands had gotten Taco Bell earlier in the day and had placed it on the fire place mantle. Well . . . it was never removed and stayed on the Warbuck fire place the last half hour of the play.”
They all chuckle some more and a faint reminiscent smile runs across my lips. “Nobody liked that one. The director broke down in tears during the show and had to be lead out while I; well . . . I was fired and told, in ten words or less, that I should never be a stage manager again.”
“That’s a bit harsh. It was a high school play, right?”
A rueful smile now for Allison. “Yeah. However, the Purple Rose is an incredibly serious group of people and things like that just don’t go over well.”
“What did you do?”
“Thankfully, Jeff is a really nice guy. He gave me another chance, as an actor this time, and the rest, as they say, is history.”
“That,” Michael hits the table lightly with his fist, “was a great story. I’ve heard great things about the Purple Rose.”
“It’s a great place.”
Michael looks down at his watch and groans. “I’ve gotta jet. I’ll catch you all later.” He stands to go and the other two give him enthusiastic good byes while I mutter a parting. He turns to leave, but stops mid step and looks back at me. “By the way Kendra, that really was a great entrance.”
More color floods my cheeks as Tom and Allison watch, slightly bemused.
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. . . And Jesus Brought a Casserole