"My Name's Friday. I'm a cop."
The stucco and chicken-wire cliffs of Hollywood success are alluring from afar, but the pilgrims who cling to the steeps find them treacherous, lonely and slippery as glass. A fearful few on the higher ledges kick savagely at those who struggle near; the weary majority simply hang on, motionless as skewered lepidoptera. Climbers tumble off daily into a shadowed limbo below, to live out grey lives without Cadillacs, swimming pools or cell space in the brain of Louella O. Parsons. But television's Jack Randolph Webb, 33. has...