David Crane was furious. Absolutely livid.
A few days ago, David had received a call from his old friend Darren Star, asking him to arrange a role for a kid he'd watched grow up. David had agreed without hesitation—
It was no big deal.
As the producer of Friends, David's influence in Hollywood was at its peak. The sitcom was now in its sixth season, ratings still soaring, firmly established as NBC's flagship show. On top of that, he was producing three other series simultaneously.
Finding a small role for someone? Child's play.
Honestly, Darren could've handled this himself—Sex and the City was another critically acclaimed, ratings juggernaut, with a constant stream of attractive guest stars. But there was one small problem: Sex and the City was an adult-oriented show.
"He just turned eighteen. I'm worried his mom might send me a Howler in protest—pretty sure she wouldn't want to see her baby boy stripping on screen."
That was Darren's exact line, which had earned a hearty laugh from David.
So, David agreed—generously offering to slot the kid into Friends as a favor to his friend.
Fans of Friends might recall Chandler and Joey's favorite show, Melrose Place—another of Darren's productions. That little detail alone speaks volumes about David and Darren's friendship. Of course David wouldn't refuse.
Besides, it was practically effortless.
Shows like Friends and Sex and the City were filmed week-to-week, partly to incorporate current trends and partly to tweak scripts based on audience feedback—especially for network TV.
Sex and the City aired on HBO, a cable network that didn't rely on ratings, only subscriber satisfaction—giving them far more creative freedom. That's how HBO churned out classics in the late '90s and early 2000s.
Friends, however, was NBC's crown jewel—a network where live ratings dictated a show's survival. Every fluctuation in viewership was scrutinized, and scripts were adjusted accordingly.
Normally, the writers' room would brainstorm future plotlines during weekly meetings. This time, David had simply instructed them to write in a minor role—no big deal, no ripple effects.
But!
Somehow, the writers had misunderstood entirely—
A small role?
No. They'd drafted an entirely new script—centered around a guest star. The whole episode would revolve around this character.
How…?
Where had communication broken down?
David was fuming.
HBO might not care about ratings, but NBC sure did.
Granted, a show like Friends wasn't in danger of cancellation—Season 7 was already greenlit. But this would affect ad revenue and, worse, David's reputation. He wasn't about to let that slide.
Damn it!
David massaged his temples.
But after the initial rage, he cooled off fast—this wasn't his first rodeo.
Darren's request? Still doable. Just needed to push it back a bit.
The real headache was Friends—they were nearing the end of the season, and ratings were crucial. If they couldn't squeeze in a role now, he could always slot the kid into one of his other shows. Easy fix.
The immediate problem was Friends itself. To end the season strong, they needed a major draw—and the writers had already brainstormed an idea. All David needed was an A-lister to guest star.
And he already had someone in mind.
—Bruce Willis.
The Die Hard superstar had just reignited his career with The Sixth Sense last year, followed by his first comedy, The Whole Nine Yards, earlier this year—he was on fire.
In The Whole Nine Yards, Bruce had co-starred with Matthew Perry (Chandler from Friends). During filming, Matthew bet Bruce that if the movie topped the box office, Bruce would guest star on Friends for free. Bruce agreed.
Result? The Whole Nine Yards spent two weekends as #1.
Now, David figured, was the perfect time to cash in that bet.
The catch? No idea if Bruce was even available.
Damn it!
Cursing aside, David was a top-tier producer for a reason. Crisis management? He handled it ruthlessly.
The audition? Could wait.
Let's be real—today's "audition" was just for show. What people didn't know was that while auditions mattered, most decisions were made before anyone even stepped into the room.
David just wanted to meet Anson, play the mentor role, and offer some producerly advice. That's it.
But now? The audition had to be postponed. He needed to call Bruce—secure the commitment first, then strong-arm his agent into clearing his schedule.
Every second counted.
Then, David saw the kid.
After twenty years in Hollywood, he'd seen them all—Brad Pitt, Tom Cruise, Leonardo DiCaprio, Jude Law, Hugh Grant… every flavor of leading man.
But this one?
Commanding.
Features like they'd been chiseled by a master artisan—sharp brows, a nose like carved stone, a jawline measured to perfection.
His relaxed demeanor carried the effortless charm of dawn's first light through pine trees—pure, natural charisma.
No nerves. No awkwardness. Just an easy confidence as he stood there.
David paused, fury still simmering—but in a split-second decision, he changed course.
The emergency? Still urgent. But it could wait five damn minutes. Bruce was probably still hung over anyway.
"Come in."
David pushed the office door open and gestured inside.
Anson offered a polite smile to the stunned statue of a man beside him before stepping past. The guy stood frozen, mentally short-circuiting:
Wait—what just happened?