Odd couple Yusuf and Ferida find themselves trapped in an infinite hallway with doors that hurl them through time and space—but it’s the actors playing them who really have problems.

Yusuf, a former member of the Nation of Islam and a long-term resident of the hallway.

Ferida, a spoiled, microaggressive white woman who wants out of there right now.

Gabriel Barrow (Yusuf), a popular television leading man, star of the hot new series “Jonquil.”

Seton Solowitz (Ferida), Gabriel’s costar, a former wild child and kind of a mess.

Showrunner Mark Warren, a real piece of work.

Mark’s business partner Marilyn O’Day, who has had it up to here with Mark.

Danger Kowalski, a junior writer on the show, hopelessly in love with Seton.

Being a naturally cheerful person, Danger did not immediately succumb to the idea that Seton was the worst thing that had ever happened to him. He gave it some time. Half of 2014. All of 2015 to date. As late as a few weeks ago there had still been a chance shit might turn around. People told him to get out—either that or they wanted to be introduced to her, or both. Even his own mother, who was a celebrated (or at least syndicated) feminist columnist, said Seton was the definition of bad news.

“How can you say that? She’s exactly the kind of girl you always write about.” Except older. Ilene had recently published a book called LOLing Around: Young Women, Sexual Freedom, and the End of Feminism.

“I can see what she’s doing to you, sweetheart.”

What you are doing to me: an investigation, he typed into his phone. He passed from a corridor with walls of anodyne green into one with walls of anodyne blue. a. You are dominating my thoughts. b. You are trampling my self-esteem. c. You are making me look ridiculous. d. You are turning me into a mediocre writer.

He had to get out.

The corridor swung right, carrying him past a large abstract painting on one side and a thoughtfully arranged seating nook on the other. He looked at his phone and added: e. You are devouring my youth. What was he now, twenty-six? How long would it take him to recover from her? He pictured himself at thirty, still broken, dating only tall girls with black hair while his talent slowly suffocated in the depths of his unfinished roman à clef. And probably writing for reality television, since the unfolding disaster that was “Jonquil” was going to ruin them all.

Something struck his side and a voice said, “Watch it!” He had walked into a woman in scrubs. “Look where you’re going,” she said, glaring at him. Danger clutched his phone protectively and walked faster, with the result that he sped right past the waiting room and had to be called back to find T.L. and a heavyset woman conferring beneath a softly gabbling television. “You’re Danger Kowalski?” the woman said. She shook his hand. “Marilyn O’Day.”

“I’m such a huge fan. Of your work. Your and Mark’s work. It’s such an honor to be working for you.” He realized he had to let go of her hand. “You’re a legend,” he said, unsure how to bring his compliments to a close.

“Mark’s still in surgery. They’re saying it might be five or six hours.” She turned to T.L. “How soon could you get everyone together?”

“Pretty soon.”

“Okay,” Marilyn said. “Go ahead and give it a try. It’s crazy, but at this point—” She shrugged and stood. “I’m going to check in with Shelly.”

“What’s crazy?” Danger asked when she was gone. T.L. told him. He said, “Mark will go apeshit.”

“Mark’s having quadruple-bypass surgery.”

“Yeah, but when he wakes up, he’s going to saw all our heads off with a plastic spoon.”

“What are we supposed to do? We don’t even have a script for tomorrow.” T.L. put his hands over his face and rubbed vigorously up and down. “Without Gabriel this show is only half a show.”

“You don’t think you’re a little bit biased?”

His roommate looked at him coldly. “Why?” he said. “Do you think Seton’s a great actress?”

“Too fucking shay.”

“I’m too old for this shit,” T.L. said. He started rubbing his face again.

Danger wondered how many hours of his life had been spent watching War&Day productions. He had taken his nickname, loosely, from their great teen-spy series, “S.P. Anaj,” which he himself watched faithfully as a teen and which had been the subject of his first spec script. He had followed all eight seasons of “The Baffle,” even the crappy one with the haunted altar boy, and thrilled to the legal stichomythia of “Valentine and Dark.” In all that time, those hours and hours of study, had he once questioned the value of making little people move and speak on screens of various sizes? He had not.

“Do you ever think about getting out of television?”

“Every day,” T.L. said. “But where would we go?”