Unscripted (13 page)

I pat her hand under the table.

“This isn’t what I bargained for,” Zoë adds.

“Well, how much is he making now?” blurts out Dana.

It always amazes me how L.A. people talk about money like it’s the only thing that matters. In my family money talk is very rarely broached, and if it is, it’s discussed in hushed tones, under strict confidences. Here, it’s like
can you pass the salt, oh and what were your total earnings last year before taxes?

“$1,500 a week,” Zoë says, dipping her eyes down to the table.

“What?” the girls gasp simultaneously. “That’s awful!” Marcie says, mouth agape. “How are you going to buy a house on that?”

Before Zoë can reply, the Silver Fox returns to the table, with waiter and wine in tow.

“Hello again, ladies. Now, this is an exceptional Malbec from the Mendoza region,” he says, pointing to the bottle that is being uncorked by the waiter. “I believe the wine is as spectacular as the setting from which it’s drawn.”

I seriously love this guy. It’s like watching a real-time sketch comedy show right here at our table.

The waiter pours a taster and hands the glass to the Silver Fox, who in turn, hands it to Zoë. She closes her eyes, and takes a long, slow sip. “This is delicious,” Zoë purrs. “Thank you.”

“No, thank
you.
I’m Douglas by the way.”

“I’m Zoë, and these are my girlfriends Abby, Marcie and Dana.” We all reach over the table to shake Douglas’s charred hand.

“Enchanté.”

He did not just say that. Check please!

“You look so familiar,” he says, leering at Zoë. “Are you an actress?”

She giggles. “Not really. I do stunt work.”

Christ, she
giggled?

“I’m impressed.” He rubs his jaw line, looking intrigued. “Well, ladies, I need to get back to work, but I’m going to send over some appetizers for you to enjoy along with some more wine. On the house. And if there is anything you need, just give me a call.” He hands his card to Zoë. “Anything at all.
Bon appetit, mes belles filles,
” he says with a bow.

“Champagne wishes and caviar dreams right back at ya,” I say as he strolls away.

Dana lets out a big “Ha!”

“He was totally picking up on you, Zoë,” Marcie adds.

Zoë shrugs her shoulders and looks uninterested. “I’m engaged, so it really doesn’t matter.”

“Well, he didn’t see any ring. And where is your ring by the way?” asks Dana.

“Jeff can’t afford one right now,” Zoë says with disdain.

There is a collective “Ohhh” from the table.

“Maybe your dad can loan him some money?” Dana suggests.

“Jeff would never take money from my dad,” Zoë replies, almost resentfully.

“Well, he should be shaking in his boots, with men like that flirting with you,” says Marcie. “That’s a major compliment considering who he is.”

“It’s a compliment, but it’s kind of creepy too, don’t you think?” I turn to Zoë. “I mean he’s old enough to be your dad. Do you think anyone falls for his line?”

Zoë smiles, touches the card thoughtfully and then slides it to the middle of the table. “No idea,” she says quietly.

“Waaaa!” moans Christine.

“Ruh roh, what’s the matter, little one?” I ask.

“We only have two weeks left on this show and I still haven’t found a job yet. I’m totally freaking out.”

And the reality show scramble begins.

“Don’t worry. Before you know it, you’ll be moving into a new edit bay with no windows and a socially inept editor.”

Christine squints her big doe eyes at me. “Thanks a lot.” She laughs. “It’s just that I’m starting to hate this freelance thing. You never know where your next job is coming from, and if it’s going to be hellish or not.”

“Listen, I don’t have anything set up either. But I’m not really worried. Everything will work itself out.” All right, so I’m fibbing. Of course I’m worried, but I’ve been so wrapped up with the whole Matt’s-a-big-time-success-while-I’m-stuck-here thing that I haven’t had a minute to think about finding another job. I can only handle one neurotic thought at a time. Maybe now would be a good time to direct my energy elsewhere and start obsessing over where my next paycheck will be coming from.

“Well, if you hear of something, will you let me know?”

“Of course,” I say encouragingly.

Five minutes later my phone rings. God, don’t let it be Knit Cap. I’m far too busy constructing the “I might be starving and homeless in two weeks’ time. Please help me find a job” email.

“Hello, Abby, it’s Will. Could you come into my office for a minute?”

“Sure,” I say. “I’m on my way.”

Hmm, why does he want to see me now? Granted, I haven’t made an appearance in any of the edit bays this morning, or yesterday for that matter, but can I help it if I have a case of senioritis? The shows are to time, all of the network notes have been addressed, and we’re about to send out our final cuts to online. Nobody really needs me anymore.

As I head over to Will’s office, Knit Cap ambushes me.

“Hey, Abs. I haven’t seen you around lately,” he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“I miss you.”

“Oh, well.” (gag) “But since you’re basically done with your show I really don’t need to check in on you that much.”

He glances down at his feet sullenly. “I think you’re avoiding me ’cause you can’t stand the heat. You know you’re my favorite producer, what am I going to do without you?”

What have I possibly done to encourage this kind of behavior? I’ve never been anything but professional with this guy. “I’m sure you’ll do fine without me on your next show,” I say, but what I really want to say is
I hope for your wife’s sake you’re stuck with a male producer, you disgusting pig.

He sighs heavily. “I’ll be floating aimlessly on my surfboard, alone, lost at sea without you,” he says, grinning like an asshole.

I look at him impatiently. “Tom, does your wife know what a flirt you are?”

He laughs. “Of course. She says I can check out the other items on the menu, but I’m not allowed to taste,” and with that, he unconsciously (or bleh, consciously?) licks his lips.

Gross.

“Abby?” I turn around to see Will peeking his head out of his office. “You ready?”

“I was just on my way in,” I say, scurrying away from Knit Cap. He may not be able to eat off the menu, but he sure as hell looked as though he wanted a nibble off the appetizer plate.

“Bye, gorgeous,” Tom calls out as I quicken my pace, eager to put as much distance between us as possible.

Closing the door behind me, I take a seat in front of Will’s desk. “So what’s up?”

“I’m starting a new show in a couple of weeks and I wanted to see if you wanted to come on as a producer.”

Did he just ask me to come and work with him again? He’s not exactly Mr. Praise, so in Will-speak, he basically just said,
you are the best producer in the world.
Okay, maybe that’s a bit over the top, but I’m going with it. Just because I can’t write a screenplay doesn’t mean that I’m not an essential part of a creative process. “That sounds great,” I blurt out. “Are you supervising?”

“No, I’m the co-ep.”

“Wow, you’re executive producing? That’s amazing. Congratulations on the promotion.”

He cracks a smile. “Thanks. So, anyway, the show is called
Second Time Around,
it’s a midseason filler so they’re only ordering six episodes. But it’s the network’s first dating show, so fieldwork might get a little crazy. You know, long hours, maybe some weekends. You could work in post, which might be a little less stressful, but that won’t even start for another few months or so.”

“I’ll do field. I don’t mind long hours. I have no life.”
Yeesh!
Stephanie would kill me for saying that. She’d think I was selling my soul, and she’s right. But unfortunately, it’s my only offer at the moment and I don’t have enough money saved up to wait around to work in a nice cushy (though icy) edit bay. And honestly, working with Will again isn’t such a bad thing.

“You’ll be getting a pay bump, of course, but the line producer will contact you about that,” he says.

“That’s great, thanks so much. So what’s the show about?”

“Think
The Bachelorette
with a twist.”

“What’s the twist?”

“The girl we cast will think it’s a regular dating show. But we’re going to be bringing in some of her ex-boyfriends to battle it out with the new guys.”

“Cute.” Yeah, that’s pretty dumb. Don’t care, I have a job and Will likes me.

“The network is hoping to pull in some big numbers with this one. I’m just hoping it won’t be as cheesy as it sounds,” he says with that crooked smile of his.

Mmm, do I detect a little remorse in that statement? Would Will rather be doing something besides working in reality television? These days, more and more people want to get out of this business. But what can we all do? We’re not really trained to do anything else but this. And where can we all go once this genre encounters the same fate as the variety show? Thousands of us will be unemployed. We all can’t open up a gym. Wouldn’t it be great if there were a place like the Island of Misfit Toys where we could all happily retire? It could be like a sanctuary for useless and unwanted producers. And then one day, instead of Santa and Rudolph saving us, it would be the president of the Writers Guild, coming to tell us we all have jobs on scripted shows.

“I’m glad you’re on board,” continues Will, snapping me out of my little daydream.

“Me too.” I smile. “Sounds like fun. But hey, do you have a place for Christine? She’s looking as well.”

“She’s actually next on my list,” he says matter-of-factly, signaling that he is now finished with our meeting.

“Oh, uh, that’s great, I’m sure she’ll be thrilled.”
What? Is he asking the entire staff to roll over on to his next show?

“Can you send her in?”

“Sure,” I reply, sounding pathetic. “And thanks again.”

I round the corner to my desk and find Knit Cap lurking about. He’s leaning down by Christine’s shoulder, looking at something on the computer. She must be dying with that cretin on top of her.

I must save her.

“Hey, Christine, Will wants to see you.” At the sound of my voice, Knit Cap straightens and shoots me a droopy-eyed wink.

“Do I need to be afraid?”

“Nope.”
Not of Will, at least.

I pull out my chair violently, practically maiming Knit Cap in the process, but he doesn’t take the hint.

“So, are you coming with us to
Second Time Around?
” he asks as Christine walks away.

Muther F’er!
Will asked this perv too? “I thought you were sad that we weren’t going to be working together again,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

Knit Cap chuckles. “I wasn’t sure if Will was bringing you on until he called you into his office. So I guess you’re stuck with me, beautiful.”

Great. I can’t wait.

I walk into the apartment to find Zoë and Jeff in the living room, glaring at each other silently. I close the door and they reflexively shoot annoyed looks my way.

Ugh.
I have clearly walked into the middle of another shit storm. I’ll just say a quick hello and head to my room to wait it out.

“Hey, guys,” I say hesitantly.

“Hey,” Jeff replies, his hands gripping the back of the couch.

Wow, he looks pissed. His face is bright red and the veins in his neck are jutting out. I look over at Zoë but can’t catch her eye. Her stare is ruthlessly fixed on Jeff; her eyebrows raised in some kind of a challenge. Surprisingly, I don’t see any evidence of tears on her face.

“Hi,” Zoë says coolly. “Jeff was just leaving.”

“Yeah, that’s for fucking sure.” Jeff grabs his coat and heads to the door, gently laying his hand on my shoulder as he passes. “See ya, Abby.”

“Bye,” I say, bewildered. I look up at his anguished face, surprised to see his eyes misting with tears. My own eyes begin to sting in response. As he walks out the door, I feel oddly bereft. Why did that feel like goodbye?

“What happened?” I ask as I walk over to Zoë.

“Sorry you had to walk in on that.” Her back is rigid and her arms are crossed. Jeff’s departure has not broken her icy demeanor.

“Please, how long have I known you? Don’t worry about it.” I clasp her arm in support, my hand meeting taut muscle. I’m always surprised by how solid she is underneath that tiny frame. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine. It’s over.”

“What do you mean it’s over? You guys have fought before.” Even as I say the words, I know from what I just saw that this fight was unlike any other.

“Yeah. We fight all the time. I’m done. Jeff is a child. How can I be with someone who can’t even buy me an engagement ring?”

“Zoë, come on. I know you didn’t break up with Jeff because he can’t afford an engagement ring.”

“Did you know that Jeff only has eight hundred dollars in his savings account? He’s thirty-seven. For three years he made almost two hundred thousand a year and that’s all he could save? Then he takes that bullshit job and I’m the one who’s punished. The man has no credit-card debt and he won’t even charge a fucking engagement ring. How would we ever buy a house?”

“You’d find a way, you know your parents would help. This job is temporary. Jeff has a plan. You’re just freaking out.”

“Jeff said he would never take money from my parents, so fuck him,” Zoë snaps. “I’m not going to live in some fucking tract house in
Valencia
because Jeff is too proud and too stupid to let someone help him.”

“Don’t throw everything away because you’re panicking. You know deep down that Jeff…”

“I appreciate what you’re trying to do but this is the best move for me. I need someone on my level, and Jeff will never be that person.”

“Jesus, you sound like a snob.”

“I’m not being a snob. It’s not just about the money. Jeff and I have very different priorities. Believe me, he’ll find someone more like him and he’ll be happy. This is for the best.”

“You don’t seem upset at all. I’m more upset than you are. How’s that possible?”

“Of course I’m upset, I just ended my engagement. Just because I’m not crying my eyes out doesn’t mean I’m not upset. Look, I really don’t feel like talking about this right now. Can we just order a pizza and watch bad TV, please?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess so,” I say quietly as I open the menu drawer. “Um, do you want pepperoni and garlic?”

“Perfect. You know, I wish I had thought to pack Jeff’s stuff up in a box. Hey, would you mind calling him tomorrow and arranging a time for him to come when I’m not here?”

“Oh God, Zoë, can’t you give it a few days?”

“No, I don’t want to drag it out. Please? It will break my heart to have to see him again.”

“Fine. I’ll call tomorrow.”

“Thanks. Be right back, I’m going to go change into my pajamas.”

Zoë practically skips off to her room. I can’t believe it. She doesn’t seem upset at all. She actually seems relieved.

I hear Zoë’s feet pounding back down the hallway. She ducks her head around the corner. “Don’t forget the Diet Coke.”

“All right.”

I know it can’t be this easy for her. She must be in complete denial.

This is going to hit her hard tomorrow.