Jason Priestley by Jason Priestley Read Free Book Online

now twenty, but in TV world could still easily play high school, or fifteen, as Brandon was supposed to be. Nick had set up a meeting for the next afternoon at Spelling Productions. We spoke briefly that night about the script. “Go get it!” he said. I worked on my material late into the night.
    I drove over to the Lot studio, a small, obscure location on Santa Monica and Formosa, and walked over to Aaron Spelling Productions. I checked in and then took a seat in the waiting room of Aaron’s private office. I was surrounded by every other young actor in town, most of whom I knew from chasing other roles. Everybody’s here, I realized. Crap. Pilot season, a new Spelling show—the competition was stiff.
    My name was eventually called and I stood at the huge oak door that opened into Aaron’s inner sanctum. It was at least fifteen feet tall with ornate brass handles. I took a deep breath, pushed open the heavy door, and immediately stepped into the deepest shag carpeting I’d ever seen in my life. Seriously, I was buried nearly to my ankles. The office was huge. A dark-haired girl was sitting with a man on a long white built-in couch that took up an entire wall on one side of the office; Aaron himself was pouring a tumbler of vodka at the full bar set up in another corner. Charlie’s Angels and Dynasty posters covered the walls. The room was the epitome of ’70s chic decor, though it was 1990. I had never seen anything like it in my life.
    The man on the couch, who turned out to be a casting director, jumped up and introduced me. “Jason, this is Mr. Spelling; Mr. Spelling, Jason Priestley.” Drink in hand, Aaron shuffled over to shake my hand. I was dazzled by meeting the television legend in person in his over-the-top office and did my best to imprint the whole scene on my brain. Aaron and I walked over to the couch together and Aaron said, “Jason . . . this is Shannen, she’s our Brenda.”
    â€œNice to meet you,” I said. She nodded.
    â€œSo . . . how’d you like to read a few scenes together for us?” Aaron asked. I sat down, we read a few short scenes together, and it seemed to go well; there was decent chemistry between us. When we finished, Aaron said, “Great, Jason, great . . . tell me . . . do you think you could make it over to FOX tomorrow for a network reading?”
    â€œI could probably squeeze that in for you, Aaron,” I said. He smiled. He got the joke.
    â€œGood, good . . .” he said. “We’ll have you do these same scenes for the people over there . . . I’ll see you then.” I said my thank-yous and exited. There were still eight or ten guys waiting to be seen, but I had at least made it to the next round.
    I jumped into my Alfa Romeo and raced home. The phone was ringing as I walked in the door. Nick was calling to hammer out my deal points. All actor deals are struck before you go to the network for a final test, so that no one can hold the production up for more money should the pilot lead to a hit show. My contract was prenegotiated then and there for five years. (Nowadays, it’s usually seven.)
    The next day, Friday, I dressed in a different T-shirt but kept the jeans and tennis shoes (that’s what we all wore back then). I drove to the network meeting on the FOX lot, where I sat in a different waiting room with the other two final contenders. One of the guys I knew by sight, just seeing him around auditions, and one of the guys I didn’t. None of us spoke.
    When it was my turn, I entered the office and Aaron himself greeted me. He pulled me aside to a corner of the office. From inside his jacket he pulled a page torn out of a recent People magazine; it was a small column item about me on Sister Kate . “I just showed this to everyone,” he whispered. “Don’t worry—I’m looking out for you.” He winked and clapped me on the