The line between work and reality is a very fine one for actors, or anyone in the public eye, for that matter. As I referenced in the prior chapter, over a period of time, it became a bit difficult for me to just “be me.” Whether I was at work or in public, I found myself searching for an acceptable portrayal of “Dan” that would please others, but not necessarily myself. This issue can become even more convoluted when people associate you with a character you've played instead of you, the person who portrayed said character.

I was fortunate enough early on in my career to have the opportunity to audition for Hollywood legend and producer extraordinaire, Aaron Spelling. He'd created numerous hit shows over the prior three decades and, at the time, was riding another massive wave of success thanks to two new creations of his, Beverly Hills 90210 and Melrose Place. I was asked to come in and audition for a new character on Melrose Place, Jess Hanson. He was the long-lost, evil half-brother of Jake Hanson, played by the talented Grant Show. The character of Jess was to appear in the last nine episodes of the season. Now, at that point in my life I'd never seen an episode of Melrose Place, but I obviously knew that this was one of the most popular shows on television, if for no other reason than its rabid adorning fan base.

A day before the audition, I was told by my stereotypically fast-talking, eye-twitching, never-trusted-him, if Ari-Gold-and-Spongebob-had-a-kid-it-would-be-him agent, that Aaron would not hire any male leads if they had long hair and/or facial hair. At the time I had both, and therefore I not only had a minor career dilemma hanging over my hairy head but I also had a decision to make. It seems like a no brainer and is simple to just say, “Cut the hair and shave, Dan. Just think of the money you'll save on conditioner.” But in my mind, I believed that “look” added to the sinister mystique of the character and in keeping it, would hopefully separate me from the other guys auditioning. (How's that for some stereotypical, b.s., Hollywood rationale for you?) Plus, I also felt it may have been a ploy by Agent Spongebob to get me to do what he'd been wanting me to do for a while, which was to “cut that shit.” So, I decided to do what any other intelligent actor would do in my situation. I ran lines while looking at myself in the mirror. And after checking my good side twice, I decided to “keep my shit.”

When I arrived for the audition the following day, I remember seeing all the clean-cut actor faces there competing for the same job as me. Every one of those guys looked like they could star in an Aaron Spelling show, whereas I looked like a roadie for a band who would be opening up for Toad the Wet Sprocket in Columbus, Ohio. Just as I realized that my decision might not have been the wisest, my name was called to go in and read. This was it, I had no other alternative than to do my best to bring Jess Hanson to life in that room.

When I walked through the door, I immediately saw that there were about six or seven people in the audition room and Aaron was sitting front and center on a couch. Thankfully, this time I wasn't in my underwear, although it would have been a pretty bizarre plot twist if Calvin Klein was sitting next to him. Anyway, I was greeted with a warm welcome from everyone, I responded by taking a chair from the back of the room and moving it about two feet in front of Aaron. From there I let the hair and goatee work for me as I did my best to take this asshole-of-a-character, off the page and introduce him in person.

Truthfully I knew I wouldn't get the job, so my goal was to attempt to just scare the shit out of everyone in that room. You know, kind of like in the original Rocky, when he knew he couldn't beat Apollo, so he just wanted to go the distance with him? (I think that just got me another slice from Mike's Place.) When I finished my audition, the only thing I remember was a deafening silence. Not sure if it was a “Wow, what a great job!” silence or a “Please leave now or we're calling security and a barber,” silence. So, I returned the chair to its original position, thanked everyone in the room for the opportunity, and abruptly exited.

Later that night, I got a call from my agent, and all I really remember about it was some random squealing, followed by, “I gave him your number and he's going to call you any second.” No sooner he spewed that out, my call-waiting alerted me of someone on the other line. Proof again that I was ballin' at this point in my career, I had the call-waiting. I quickly answered it and someone said, “Is this Dan?” I confirmed it was, then the voice said, “Hold for Mr. Spelling.” Hold I did, mainly my breath. I mean, it's one thing to audition for an icon but it's another thing to have an actual conversation with him.

When Aaron got on the line, he did the majority of the talking, mainly because he was the one who called, and thanks to my nerves I stayed silent. I didn't want to accidentally throw out anything like, “How 'bout them Dodgers, huh?” Fortunately, not only was Aaron extremely talented, but he was also very kind as well. He complimented me on the audition, of which two things he said stuck out: “I loved the look,” and, “You really scared the heck out of me.” I was really hoping for “shit” but “heck” works just fine under these circumstances, too. He ended the brief, very-much-appreciated call with a congratulatory, “Looking forward to see what you do next week on set.” Yo, Adrian, not only did I go the distance, but I got the decision!

The following week I excitedly arrived on the Melrose set for my first day of filming. I was quickly shown around, run through wardrobe, and then taken to the hair and makeup trailer. Once inside, I was greeted by my makeup artist, who introduced himself, then abruptly took out some clippers and turned them on. Almost as if in slow motion, he brought the clippers toward my face in the most Sweeney Todd of ways. When I asked what he intended on doing, he let me know that there was “no facial hair allowed on the show.” With that, he proceeded to shave my entire face so smoothly that I looked like a porcelain doll that needed a nose job.

With my newfound face fresh and clean, I was taken out to set to shoot my first-ever scene for Melrose Place. The crew was as friendly as could be, and I even saw a few guys there who I'd worked with on other jobs. Being the new guy, that helped put me at ease a bit, but meeting the director immediately turned that ease to anxiety.

He greeted me with a reverberating rendition of “Oh my God! Why the hell did you shave?!” I did my best to explain what transpired earlier, to which he immediately escorted me back to the hair and makeup trailer by doing the “I'm walking really fast because I'm really pissed off” walk. Surprisingly, neither the makeup guy nor I were fired. But the faux pax led to me having to come in an hour earlier every morning for the next three weeks to get a fake goatee cut from a wig and glued to my face. A little skin toning side note, removing latex glue from your face for that long not only exfoliates your skin, it ex-freakin'-hurts it as well.

With that merkin-esque misstep a few months behind us, my run on the show was just about complete. We were closing in on the end of the season and were just about finished filming our cliffhanger finale episode. I won't lie, I truly enjoyed my time on Melrose Place playing this ruthless prick of a character. It was something exciting and new for me to sink my teeth into creatively.

The finale saw my character, Jess, propose to Daphne Zuniga's character, Jo, to which Jo said “no,” and after she refused to let Jess force the ring on her finger, he decided to beat her up. Did you follow that? It was a soap opera after all; work with me, people. The controversial scene was brilliantly constructed and shot by our director, Charles Correll—actually, maybe too brilliantly.

About a week or so after FOX aired the highly rated finale, I was approached by two women on the street as I was leaving my favorite Mexican restaurant in Santa Monica. It's a little difficult to describe them, but I'll give it a shot. Imagine Boss Hog from the Dukes Of Hazzard in drag, you got that visual? She's the one who did all the talking. “Are you Jess Hanson?” As I began to explain, that was just the name of a character I played on the show, she showered me with more expletives than a drill sergeant getting hit in the balls during boot camp. I did my best to keep calm and remove myself from the situation, but she followed me down the street for a bit waving her finger like she was doing some sort of Harry Potter sorcerer shit.

When I finally turned back around, she looked at me and said, “How could you do that to Jo? She's such a sweet girl, why would you hit her?” “I didn't hit her!” “Yes, you did, I saw you!” I'd had enough of this woman at that point and rather flippantly I said, “I don't know, probably because they paid me to.” To which Boss Hoggess promptly spit on me, said, “Rot in hell, asshole!” and stomped down the street to wait for the Star Tours bus. Looking back at the confrontation, it would have worked perfectly as a “deleted scene” for that season's DVD collection.

The conundrum I was left with from that day forward was this. How can I be more “Dan,” less “Jess,” more MTV, less Burger King, more extreme, less obnoxious, more engaging, less “in your face,” but you know…still be me, because that's what people want to see.