Comedy of Erinn (19 page)

After the shower, she lay down on the bed. Her lower back hurt so much, she knew she wouldn't sleep. Tomorrow was Saturday, thank God, so they wouldn't be shooting. She could just sleep late.

She sat up, glowering at the beckoning computer.

OK, you win
.

She clicked open her e-mail.

“W
e've been canceled,” Erinn said.

The boys—including Massimo—were having breakfast when she dropped the bomb. As soon as she read the e-mail from Cary, Erinn had sent them all a nebulous message, instructing them to meet in the lobby at nine sharp. They greeted her cheerfully, but there was a hint of apprehension. They had to know something was up. Even a go-getter like Erinn wouldn't call a meeting on a Saturday morning unless it was important.

Oatmeal, fried eggs, potatoes were all pushed aside and they stared at her. Carlos put his BlackBerry on silent, which as far as Erinn knew, was unheard of.

“That's impossible,” Jude said. “We haven't even been on the air yet.”

“We haven't even finished shooting,” Gilroi added.

For a moment, Carlos said nothing. He just turned the BlackBerry around in his hands as if he'd never seen it before. Erinn looked at him and he waved the device at her.

“Guess I'll be returning this,” he said.

“So . . . ,” Gilroi said. “Dish.”

Erinn sat. She had told them. At least the worst was over. She had printed out copies of Cary's e-mail for everyone—thank God for that portable printer she'd bought just before the trip.

Suzanna had thought the printer was an extravagance for a freelance producer.

But now, it has proven itself invaluable
, Erinn thought as she passed out the dreaded e-mail.
Of course, if I could choose between keeping my job and Suzanna being right, I'd choose Suzanna being right . . . maybe.

A waiter brought Erinn a cup of coffee and she busied herself with cream and sugar while the boys read. She had printed a copy for herself, but she didn't need it—she had read it so many times, she had it memorized.

Erinn had resisted the urge to edit Cary's memo, and decided to print it just the way Cary wrote it. Bad news didn't really get any better just because it was grammatically correct.

The boys sat quietly—digesting the news, if not their toast. Massimo finally broke the silence.

“I am no longer George Washington?” he asked.

“Nope,” Jude said. “And I'm no longer a director, and these guys are no longer producers. Like you guys say,
‘Que sera, sera.' ”

“Dude. That's French,” Carlos said.

“We're now just passengers on the Unemployment Train,” Gilroi said.

“Well, I guess we sit tight and wait for the plane tickets,” Erinn said.

“Fuck that!” Jude said. “We're having a wrap party tonight!”

She was relieved that the news had settled as well as it did. The group made plans to meet again that evening, and they all went their separate ways. Massimo stood in the lobby looking lost. Erinn walked up to him.

“Bene?”
Erinn asked.

“Sì,”
Massimo answered.
“Sono deluso.”

“I know,” Erinn said. “We're all disappointed. Do you want to see the city today? That might make you happy.”

“No, I will buy a new suit. That will make me happy
.”

Erinn turned to go, but Massimo took her arm and spun her toward him. Erinn had no time to react as Massimo kissed her on the lips.
“Fino a stá sera
,
”
he said.

“Yes, I'll see you this evening.”

Erinn watched Massimo glide out the hotel door. What was that all about? She turned around and saw Jude looking at her. He was standing at the front desk, and when she caught his eye, he turned back to the clerk.

Erinn wasn't close enough to see what Jude's reaction to the kiss had been.

Probably nothing.
She wondered what
she
thought of the kiss? It was obviously more than friendly. But she was his landlady! Erinn decided she couldn't add the intrigue to her brain or it would explode. But it did make the idea of a wrap party more interesting.

She pushed the kiss aside and wondered what she would do with her day. Even in her heyday, there was a lot of downtime in her professional life—it was the nature of show business, no matter what branch you swung from. She knew she needed to keep busy. There would be enough time over the next few days and weeks to go over all the “what ifs” of losing a job. Every muscle in her body ached, and it only took a few steps up the stairs until it came to her. What she really needed was a massage. She checked with the concierge and was pleased to hear that not only could she get an appointment, but the masseuse would come to her room. Erinn checked her watch. She realized that since becoming a producer, she checked her watch compulsively. Time was money. She wondered if that habit would continue, or if time would go back to being just time.

She'd answer a few e-mails, get a massage, see a few sights, and take a nap before the impromptu wrap party.

Not a bad way to spend the day
,
considering I just got . . .

Fired? Erinn wondered if she'd be fired. Or was she laid off? Or, merely, was she no longer employed? She headed up to her room—these were the very thoughts she wanted to avoid.

Erinn settled down at her computer. Last night, after she had opened Cary's e-mail, she just didn't have it in her to read anything else. She looked at the time . . . she knew she'd have several panic-stricken missives from her sister by now. Erinn was sure they would all be variations of Mimi's favorite, all-purpose, “What the fuck?”

Erinn clicked on the latest communiqué from Mimi. It was indeed full of breathless hysteria about “dodging a bullet” when she hired Massimo to her concern about the show's abrupt demise. Erinn put her head in her hands. Mimi was three thousand miles away and she was still exhausting. What happened to the concept of agents being hard to find when you needed them?

A knock on the door made her jump. Surprised with the speed with which the masseuse had arrived, she clicked out of e-mail and gave herself a once-over in the mirror on the way to the door. She looked as worn-out as she felt. Erinn hoped the massage would help with that as well as with her aching limbs. She hated to admit it, but she was looking forward to the wrap party.

Erinn wondered if she was supposed to be naked under one of the hotel's plush robes; she was still completely dressed. As she swung open the door, she said, “Sorry I haven't taken off my clothes yet.”

Erinn froze. Jude was standing on the other side of the door. He breezed past her.

“I'm thinking you're expecting someone else,” he said.

“I was going to get a massage.”

“Oh.” Jude seemed to hesitate. “Well, then . . . I guess I'll talk to you later. After you're naked . . . I mean, relaxed . . . I mean . . . I'll talk to you later.”

He headed to the door, but Erinn stopped him.

“You can talk to me now.” She wasn't quite sure why she was detaining him. She had always prided herself on her self-awareness, but she'd be damned if she was going to wonder about this now.

Jude came back into the room and sat on the bed. Then he jumped up as if it were covered in hot coals and took a chair instead. Erinn sat on the bed and they stared at each other.

“I really liked working with you,” Jude said.

“And I you.”

“Listen, Erinn, I've been thinking about the wrap party, and I know I'm probably going to get shit-faced, and I . . . I want to talk about something and I think I should be sober. I don't want to be a puss . . . I mean, I don't want to be a little bitch about it.”

“God forbid.”

“So, I was wondering . . . are you with that Italian poser dude?”

“Italian poser dude? Massimo? You think he's posing as an Italian?”

“No! But he's a little too perfect, don't you think?”

“You mean, do I think he is refined, educated, handsome, and industrious?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yes, I do. Do you have a problem with that?”

“A huge problem! Don't you think he's just a little on the nose for you?”

Erinn looked at the ceiling. She wasn't sure what to make of this comment, let alone the conversation. Erinn started to think that it had been a long time since she'd been in this sort of situation, but blushed when she realized it had been less than a week—and with this man. Jude got up and started pacing. He avoided looking at her.

“Don't get me wrong, I get what you see in him, but . . .”

Jude looked out the window at the brick wall. Erinn waited, but he said nothing.

“But what, Jude?”

“Are you with him or not?”

“No, Jude, I am not with the Italian poser dude.”

Jude turned to face her.

“I can't get Valley Forge out of my mind,” he said.

“It was a great shoot,” Erinn said. “Everything went very well.”

“You know that's not what I'm talking about,” he said. “Don't you think about it?”

Jude sat on the bed beside her and took her hands in his. Erinn tried to control her breathing.

“Jude,” Erinn said. “I'm not a simpleton. Of course I've thought about . . . Valley Forge.”

“It was good, Erinn. We were good. I know you have a lot of shit you think about, but . . .”

“But?”

“But couldn't we give this a chance . . . you and me . . . you and I . . . you and me?”

“You and me . . . and no, Jude. We couldn't.”

“Why?”

“Because of Giselle.”

Jude stared at her blankly.

“OK . . . I'll bite,” he said. “Who is Giselle?”

“That pretty girl who was playing the nurse on our shoot. You exchanged phone numbers with her.”

“I exchange phone numbers with a lot of pretty girls.”

“Exactly.”

“This isn't going to turn into some psycho jealousy thing, is it?”

“Of course not! It's just that . . . when I looked at the two of you talking and laughing, I thought, he should be with her. You two looked perfect together.”

“I look perfect with a lot of people.”

“Jude,” Erinn said, “I'm too ol . . . I'm too tired to deal with an avalanche of emotions.”

“But that's not fair! I'm in that avalanche with you. I'm . . . I'm bombarded with really frozen . . . white . . . passion.”

“You're bombarded with really frozen white passion?”

“I thought we were doing an avalanche metaphor thing,” Jude said. “Erinn, look, I've always dated the prettiest thing that would date me. Then I met you.”

“I'm sure there's a compliment in there somewhere.”

“The point is, it doesn't matter how young and beautiful that . . . that Giselle was . . . she was a girl on a shoot. All I know is—our connection was amazing. You've got me thinking.”

“About what?”

“Stuff.”

Erinn nodded slowly.

“Could you be a little more specific?”

“Usually, when I'm on a shoot, I couldn't care less what it's about. But since I met you, I mean, I've been all over this Revolutionary War. You know . . . like Helen Keller.”

“I hadn't realized Helen Keller was interested in the Revolutionary War,” Erinn teased him.

“No, dude. In the movie. She suddenly wants to know stuff. I'm like that.”

“There's a quote that haunts me—”

“And I have a feeling you're going to share.”

“At eighteen, our convictions are hills from which we look. At fifty, they are caves in which we hide.”

“Well, I'm not eighteen and you're not fifty, so maybe we can meet in the middle.”

Jude kissed her. Erinn could think of a million reasons why this was a terrible idea, but she could not bring herself to stop. Jude tipped her back onto the bed, never breaking their kiss.

He's very practiced,
Erinn thought. Then she ordered herself to stop thinking.

“Besides,” Jude said, looking into her eyes. “I wouldn't mind following you into a cave. . . .”

A knock on the door startled them both. Erinn pushed Jude, who landed sideways on the floor. Erinn straightened her clothes and headed for the door.

“My masseuse is here.”

“OK,” Jude said. “But will you think about it?”

They stared at each other. They were only a foot apart, but neither of them reached out to the other. The knocking continued.

“I'll think about it. Please go. I'll see you tonight at the party.”

Jude grinned and gave her a fist bump. Erinn stared at her fist as Jude vanished into the hallway. He was replaced by a Viking of a female masseuse.

She'll pound some sense into me,
Erinn thought.