Comedy of Erinn (4 page)

“We're sort of playing it by ear,” said Cary. “Right now, we're thinking about adding some local gang wars in Los Angeles. You know, keep it fresh. Contemporary.”

“I don't think the point of history is keeping it fresh. Or contemporary,” said Erinn. “That's why it's history.”

Mimi looked green as Cary took a last sip of tea and stood up.

“Well,” she said, looking at Erinn, “we're always open to suggestions.”

Erinn held her breath, fearing she had blown this opportunity. If she had, Mimi would never forgive her. But Cary smiled at her.

“So, you up for a producer gig? We pay crap, the hours are brutal, and we'll beat the shit out of your camera.”

“It's perfect,” Mimi added.

“We run a tight ship. We send out four people—two teams—at a time and you support each other. I think you'd be a powerful addition. We don't have many women shooters. You up for it?”

“She is!” said Mimi.

“Good,” said Cary, as she handed Erinn a business card. “See you Monday. I'll introduce you to your partner.”

Cary left. Mimi and Erinn sat in silence, not daring to look at each other.

“Too bad your agency is dumping me,” Erinn said. “That would have been an easy ten percent.”

“Oh, no you don't,” Mimi said. “I brokered that deal. You're still my client whether you like it or not.”

Erinn looked up and saw that Mimi was smiling. She kissed Erinn on the cheek and stood up.

“I've got to go pick up the Double Ds at preschool. Gotta run. I'll send the contract over to the house.”

Erinn tried to process the events. She had a tenant, had narrowly dodged being dropped from her agency—and now that she had a job, her sister couldn't say one damn word about her new camera.

As soon as Suzanna saw that Erinn was alone, she came over and tried to climb up on the high stool Mimi had vacated. The pregnancy made the trip awkward, and Suzanna resigned herself to standing opposite her sister.

“Did you hear any of that?” Erinn said.

“No, I was busy,” Suzanna said. “But I noticed you seem to have a new camera.”

“I do. And it was
very
expensive.” Erinn knew she shouldn't tease her sister, but she couldn't help herself.

Eric came out to the patio and waved to Erinn. He came over and hoisted Suzanna onto the stool, making sure she was secure before he let go.

“Hey, Erinn,” Eric said. “I ordered that book on the Silk Road for you.”

“
The Silk Road, Two Thousand Years in the Heart of Asia
?”

“The very one.”

“Not
Empires of the Silk Road: A History of Central Eurasia from the Bronze Age to the Present
?”

“Never.”

Erinn always thought Eric had an unusual sense of humor and could never tell when he was joking. Eric gave his wife's wild, curly hair a few affectionate strokes and retreated to the bookstore.

“Well?” Erinn asked. “Don't you want to know what's new with me?”

“I'm pregnant,” Suzanna said.

“Uh . . . that's what's new with
you
,” Erinn said. “I asked if you wanted to know what was new with
me
?”

“I just mean, I'm pregnant. Please don't torture me.”

“Well, when you put it that way . . . I'll tell you what's new with me. I got a job!”

“Oh, thank goodness!” Suzanna said. “I thought Mimi might be letting you go.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Erinn said. “She just wanted to introduce me to my new boss, Cary Caldwell.”

“From
Isn't that Weird?
Wow, I'm impressed.”

“And there's more. I rented the guesthouse! To a man I met at the farmers' market. We started talking, and the next thing you know, I had a tenant.”

“Wow!” Suzanna said. “I . . . I . . . I'm stunned!”

“And I found him myself,” Erinn said. “No need for you or the infinite wisdom of craigslist.”

“Tell me about him.”

“Well, you'll be happy to know he's a filmmaker. He's a serious actor—God knows what he's doing in Los Angeles. Between projects, he's a chef. Very serious about food. He's . . . of a certain age . . . and is stimulating company. He's . . . foreign.”

Suzanna distractedly rummaged through her pockets, but stopped mid-rummage. She looked coolly at her sister.

“How . . . foreign . . . is he?”

“He's Italian.”

“Italian?” Suzanna said, smacking the table. “Are you kidding?”

“No, I'm not.”

“Do you . . .” Suzanna said haltingly. “Do you think . . . you're ready for another Italian?”

“You haven't even met him, and you've decided you don't like him. Suzanna, that is unfair.”

“I haven't decided I don't like him.
That's
unfair.” Suzanna reached out and put her hand on top of Erinn's. Erinn tried not to pull her hand away, but she was never comfortable being handled by people. She didn't even like massages.

“I just think you should use some judgment,” Suzanna continued. “You can't arbitrarily love all Italian men.”

“I don't love
all
Italian men, just selected ones. Besides, having Massimo around will help me keep up with the language.”

“Oh! For all those trips to Italy you plan on taking in the near future?”

“I refuse to discuss this further. You said get a tenant and I got a tenant.”

“OK. Fine. But if I may make one small suggestion—save the money.”

E
rinn balanced a small vase of flowers in one hand and carried a
Welcome to the Neighborhood
card in the other. She unlocked the guesthouse and artfully arranged her offerings on the small café table just inside the door. Massimo was moving in today, but she would be at Apple Pie Entertainment, starting her new job. Opening the curtains to let in the morning sunlight, Erinn caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She squeezed the new tumble of curls on the top of her head and tried not to smile. Maybe the tides were turning.

Erinn locked the guesthouse and was returning to the house to grab the last of her camera gear—with the prospect of this unlikely new life as a producer and camera operator, Erinn had bought every accessory available for her Panasonic over the weekend—when she saw Massimo pull up in front of the house. Her self-confidence of a moment before came crashing down.

“
Ciao,
Massimo,” Erinn said as Massimo came to meet her in the driveway. “Wow, you're getting an early start!”

“Sì, bella,”
Massimo said, grabbing a leather suitcase from the passenger seat. “Our new life is waiting! I will put this suitcase in the little house and we will get espresso, no?”

“No!” Erinn tried not to sound rattled as Massimo stopped in the walkway and looked at her in surprise.

“No? But,
bella
. . .”

Erinn ushered him down the path, busying herself with unlocking the door for him.

“I have to go to work. I start a new job today.”

She swung the door open and Massimo walked in with his suitcase. He saw the bouquet of flowers on the table. Erinn was mortified. Trying to focus on anything but Massimo, she shut the curtains she had just opened. She realized how dark the room was and snapped on the light. When she turned back around, Massimo was smiling down at the
Welcome to the Neighborhood
card.

She met Massimo's eyes, but couldn't hold them.

“I . . . I'd better get going,” she said.

Massimo grabbed her hand as she walked to the door. He kissed it and continued to hold it to his chest until she looked up at him again.

“I am very happy,” he said. “I will remind you of everything you love about Italy.”

 

As Erinn drove into Burbank in her 1994 Honda wagon, her new cell phone, a gift from Mimi, rang. Erinn was not used to having a cell phone and she almost swerved into traffic at the sound. Taking her life in her hands, she stuck the earpiece in her ear and answered it.

“I can't talk, I'm driving.”

“It's an acquired skill. Get used to it,” Mimi said.

“I'm hanging up,” Erinn said.

“I don't understand how you can be practically a savant with all other technology, but can't operate a cell phone.”

“Other technology doesn't involve other people.”

“Erinn, you're part of cable TV now. You've got to accept other people.”

Erinn snorted and pulled the earpiece from the side of her head. She tossed it on the seat as she crested the mountains that separated the beach from the San Fernando Valley, practicing the mantra Suzanna wrote for her after the meeting with Cary.

“I will not alienate my fellow workers. I will not alienate my fellow workers.”

She tried to stay focused on her mantra, which, she had to admit, sounded a little clumsy to her trained ear. Erinn admitted that, in the past, she had perhaps alienated a co-worker or two, but, whoever it was that found him- or herself alienated—had undoubtedly deserved it. Erinn found her pulse quickening as she took umbrage with the unfairness of her manta.

She turned on the car radio . . . deciding to face her new comrades mantra-free.

Erinn found her destination with little difficulty—a blessing, given that she rarely ventured into this part of Los Angeles County. A huge sign on the building read APPLE PIE ENTERTAINMENT—Go APE! Erinn pulled into the designated parking structure.
Business must be good,
she thought, as she drove up two ramps in order to find a space. She got out of the car and adjusted her clothing. Having no idea how she should present herself, she had asked her agent what to wear.

“When you work in TV, there are two kinds of people,” Mimi had said. “There are staff people and there are production people. Staff people dress as if they are getting ready to take over the studio. . . .”

“I'm production, right?”

“Right,” said Mimi. “Production people dress as if they're going to paint the studio.”

Although that description pretty much summed up Erinn's wardrobe, she did think she should clean up for the first day and was now wearing black dress pants and a white sweater. At Mimi's insistence, Suzanna had dragged Erinn to a hairdresser and the sisters fought about covering the gray in Erinn's hair and about its length.

“Mimi says nobody has gray hair in show business,” Suzanna said.

“I'll be a trendsetter.”

“You'll be Gramma.”

They compromised. Erinn had the gray “highlighted,” but she kept the length. The last thing she wanted to worry about on her first location shoot was having to figure out how to use a blow-dryer. The hairdresser arranged Erinn's hair in a tousled updo, which seemed to satisfy them all.

As she looked around the office, Erinn saw immediately that she was overdressed, as assorted soon-to-be co-workers poured into Apple Pie Entertainment wearing cargo shorts, sloppy T-shirts, and flip-flops. As Erinn rode the elevator to the fifth floor, laden down with her camera gear, she also noticed that everyone else was young. Very young. Very, very young. Under thirty young.

The elevator door opened, and Erinn was jostled by all the busy television people getting ready to start their day. Cary walked by as Erinn arrived in the lobby and snared her.

“Wow, look at all that gear,” said Cary. “Let me get a P.A. to help you with that.”

Learning the terms of the television world was like learning a foreign language, thought Erinn as she recalled that a P.A. was a “production assistant.” For all her prowess with the camera, Erinn really had not had to learn anything related to other people until now.

Cary led Erinn down a hallway as a wraith of a girl, introduced as LeeLee, came to help her with the gear. Being separated from her camera was not part of Erinn's plan, but she had promised her sister and her agent that she would, as Mimi put it, “be breezy,” at least the first day. She watched as LeeLee struggled with the camera equipment. (Erinn was reminded of her earlier traveling days and watching guiltily as prepubescent boys in Morocco strained under the weight of her luggage. It hadn't taken her long to rethink her packing habits.)

“It's very enlightened of Apple Pie to hire women camera operators and P.A.s,” Erinn said
breezily
, trying to keep an eye on her gear.

“Yeah,” Cary said. “Well, don't kid yourself, Erinn. We still work cheaper than the guys.”

Cary gave Erinn a perfunctory tour of the company as they threaded their way through bull pens and low-walled cubicles. Each desk had an occupant who seemed to be either on the phone or lost in his or her own iPod world.

“We do all kinds of production here. Lifestyle programming, reality, food, travel, history. It's exciting, but it's hard to know what the programming flavor of the month will be,” Cary said.

“Well, at least with history, your story is already written.”

“True,” Cary said. “The challenge is making sure we've always got our facts straight. We're TV people, not historians, and the network suits get really nervous if our information isn't exactly right. Not that I blame them, but I always feel like I'm defending my dissertation when I have a history gig.”

Rounding a corner, Erinn was startled by the sight of row after row of people whom Erinn recognized—by their intensity—as editors.

She waited respectfully as Cary stopped to watch one of the editors. A sign over his cubicle read A
DAM
.

Adam wore enormous headphones and his hands flew over the keyboard and mouse, making adjustments to the video on the monitor. Cary and Erinn watched in silence for a minute, focusing on the black-and-white war footage on the screen.

“We have a great library of stock footage here,” Cary said in a low voice, so as not to disturb Adam. “It helps fill in the blanks when we can't afford to re-create everything with actors.”

Cary put her hand on Adam's shoulder. He took his earphones off and smiled at her.

“Hey, Cary,” he said. “I'm almost done.”

Cary introduced Adam to Erinn. They chatted a moment about how editing had changed over the years . . . although Adam was so young he really had only heard tales of darkened edit bays. Erinn, making a mental note to stop talking about the good old days, quickly changed the subject and turned her attention to the monitor.

“What are you working on?”

“A piece about World War One,” he said.

Erinn laughed.

Cary and Adam turned to her.

“Is . . . something funny?” Cary asked.

“I guess this is something to do to the new kid . . . not that I'm a kid . . . just to make sure I know my history, right?”

Cary and Adam shot each other a quick look. Erinn continued to beam.

“As if I wouldn't notice those soldiers were wearing World War Two uniforms!”

Adam and Cary turned back toward the screen and stared at it for several seconds.

“Adam, go back to the library and get the right stock footage, please,” Cary said.

Adam, looking slightly green, nodded, and Cary steered Erinn down the hall.

“Thanks, Erinn,” she said. “You just saved our ass.”

“Asses,” Erinn said, forgetting her mantra for a moment. Then, to redeem herself, she added breezily, “Or ‘our collective ass' . . . that would work, too.”

They arrived at a large conference room, already swarming with people. Production people, Erinn decided, given their attire. Cary turned to Erinn as they headed into the room.

“Since you're new to this, I'm going to team you up with one of our most seasoned directors.”

Cary took Erinn by the elbow and steered her over to the coffee—a cardboard box from Starbucks, surrounded by little plastic tubs of cream, scattered packets of sugar, and a rainbow of sweeteners. Erinn thought fleetingly of Massimo and how he would have probably cried at the sight. A man in the ubiquitous cargo shorts and duct-taped sandals was pouring himself a cup. Cary tapped him on the shoulder.

“There you are!” Cary said. “I want you to meet our newest producer.”

The man turned around and stared at Erinn.

“Erinn Elizabeth Wolf,” continued Cary, “this is Jude Raphael. Jude . . . Erinn'll be your camera op and field producer.”

Jude looked at her, his face unreadable. He took a sip of coffee.

“Erinn Wolf,” he said. “Who says God doesn't have a sense of humor?”

Cary looked surprised.

“Oh, do you two know each other?” she asked.

“Not really,” Erinn said. “He almost rented my guesthouse, but found it too gay.”

“I almost rented her guesthouse, but found the company . . . I mean, the place . . . claustrophobic,” Jude said. “How's Truck?”

“He's well, thanks,” Erinn said. “I'm sure he thinks of you often.”

“What can I say . . . I have a way with cats.”

As auspicious beginnings go, this was one for the books, Erinn thought. Perhaps she would one day look back and laugh. Or, even better, look back and write.

Cary rapped on the large mahogany conference table that dominated the room. The cargo-pants brigade started making its way to the table and, mercifully, Erinn was spared any further interaction.

Cary took a spot at one end of the table, a stack of papers to her right. Cary's easy, casual demeanor seemed to have been replaced by a no-nonsense attitude. Erinn glanced quickly around. She hoped she could sit as far away from Jude as possible, but the seat next to his was the only available space.

“Hey, everybody,” Cary began. “Well, we've finally staffed our last team member. People, this is Erinn Elizabeth Wolf. She'll be field producing with you guys and Jude.”

Erinn inclined her head in greeting. She hoped she signaled the confidence that she sorely lacked. She was actually terrified of being at this table. She hadn't been in a setting with this many people in years. Her social skills, while never her strong suit, were so rusty it would take a wrench to release them. She nodded woodenly.

“Let's go around the room and introduce ourselves,” Cary said. “Most of you know each other, but let's give Erinn a fighting chance to catch up.”

The next few minutes were a whirlwind of first names and impressions. The shoot they were going on apparently was going to have three field producers-slash-camera people and one director. She already knew that Jude was the director, and she tried to focus on each producer as he was introduced.

Carlos had thick black hair and he wore his cool like a refrigerator. His piercing black eyes gave him a menacing look . . . until he smiled. Carlos had a smile that lit up the room. He was attractive, charming, and appeared to know it.

Cary introduced another producer. He was as handsome as a 1940s' movie star. Erinn noticed he was wearing a tiny rainbow pin.