Free Can I See Your I. D.? by Chris Barton Page A

was really coming together, though, and this past summer, before the first episode even aired, Felicity was getting a lot of buzz. Part of that was because the network figured that having an actual teenager on the writing staff of a show about teenagers would make a good story, and they pitched it to the media. But what Entertainment Weekly did was a little surprising.
    The magazine has this feature they do each June called “The It List,” which is a rundown of the hottest, most creative actors and writers and singers in the business. And out of everyone involved in Felicity , it was you they wrote about. They singled you out. When they interviewed you, you told them, “In many ways, I am Felicity,” though you never said exactly what those ways were—or weren’t.
    A lot of people read Entertainment Weekly —people outside Hollywood, in airports and supermarkets and doctors’ offices, everywhere. Riley Weston suddenly became a lot better known than Kimberlee Kramer ever was, and no one besides insiders had even actually seen Felicity yet. By the time the show did go on the air at the end of last month, something even bigger had come your way: a $300,000 deal to create shows about teenagers for Disney/Touchstone. Holliman’s Way might actually happen after all.
    Meanwhile, your big break as an actress came along. An episode of Felicity you helped write has this character—a visiting high school junior named Story Zimmer who’s totally single-minded about getting what she wants, which in her case is to go clubbing—and she’s you, really. She’s you. It’s a subplot, but she’s got four big scenes, and they’re all comic relief breaking up this really heavy storyline about date rape, and people always remember the funny parts. You auditioned for the role, and you nailed it.
    So, things are going great, right? Entertainment Weekly. Touchstone. The Wall Street Journal is interviewing you, and Entertainment Tonight is following you around the set. You’ve got a big role—you shot the first half of the Story episode just yesterday.
    And then . . .
    And then . . .
    And then somebody turns on you. Somebody turns you in. Someone starts calling the show’s producers and your talent agency and reporters and everyone and telling who you really are, how old you really are, how long you’ve been around. They even have your Social Security number, and they’ve been giving that out so that reporters can see the proof down at the courthouse where you changed your name.
    You don’t know who is making those calls. Or why.
    Why would they do that?
    You’re here in your dressing room on the set of Felicity , on what ought to be the greatest day of your whole life. You’ve worked for thirteen, fourteen years to have scenes like these to shoot—scenes that you’re at the center of, scenes where millions of people are going to pay attention to you. You ought to be getting ready for the shoot.
    But instead, you’ve got this message from a reporter. She’s the one who wrote the “Touchstone TV inks teen scribe” article last week, but today she seems so hostile. You know that the producers know—you knew before you even showed up today that you were going to have to face them.
    But you can’t deal with that right now. You just can’t worry about it. You’re a professional actor, and you’ve got to keep it together at least long enough to complete your scenes. And then—well, who knows what then?
    You know, though—this whole thing would really make an excellent TV movie. If only they would let you play yourself.
    WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?
    RILEY WESTON INSPIRED a brief stretch of soul-searching in Hollywood about the bias toward younger talent and why some sorts of showbiz deceptions are more acceptable than others. Weston’s own career suffered, and her later acting and writing efforts attracted much