Unscripted (29 page)

“Guard the table.”

I sit up straight, nod my head and try to look stern.

A few minutes later, Will returns with our drinks. “Thanks,” I say as he places the iced coffee in front of me.

He turns away, walks to the sidebar and brings back two raw-sugar packets and a carafe of cream. He waits patiently while I pour a dollop of cream into my coffee, and then returns the carafe to the sidebar. I automatically rip open the sugar packets and dump them into my glass.

He’s so freaking sweet and perfect I can’t stand it.

“So, how’s Grant?” Will asks, taking a sip of his iced tea.

“I have no idea.” I twirl my straw absently. “He’s been off gallivanting in Costa Rica since the show fell through. If I had to guess, I’d wager that right now he’s drunk and shacking up with a pretty local. Or two.”

Will wrinkles his brow. “That uh, sounds like him. The quintessential ladies’ man…”

“That’s definitely Grant. Don’t ever tell him though, his head is already too big.”

Will places his elbow on the back of his chair. He’s just looking at me. It’s disconcerting.

“Have you heard from Katie and Ryan?” I ask as I sink back into the demi-booth, taking my iced coffee with me.

“Ah, you will be sad to know that Katie and Ryan have parted ways.”

“Weren’t they technically not even supposed to be a couple until after the show airs?”

“You can’t stop young love.”

“Like Romeo and Juliet. So, what’s the official word from the show?”

“After the finale, they’ll give interviews together, in love and still engaged but haven’t yet set a date. Then I suppose in a few months’ time they’ll come out with an official statement saying they’ve parted ways, but assuring America that they are still the best of friends.”

“And by America, you mean the ten people who are actually going to watch the show.” I can’t believe I just said that. What is wrong with me? Did I offend him?

“Excuse me, my parents are going to watch. That brings us up to an even twelve,” Will says with chuckle.

I shake my head. “I’m sure we are going to have tons more viewers, at least fifty.”

“Now, don’t get greedy. Fifty will ensure a season two, and no one wants that.”

“Do you?” I ask.

“Do I want another season? It would be great for my resume, but do I want to do this again? No. Will I? Yes, if I have to.”

“So what is it that you want to do?” I ask before taking a very affected and dainty sip of my coffee.

“I feel like, at a certain point, if it’s not your show, your production company, you’re just a chump killing yourself to make money for other people.”

I’m both surprised and relieved to hear Will voice my exact thoughts on our chosen careers.

“We’re suckers. I know so many people who are leaving or thinking about leaving. But I have no skills, Will. None. What else can we do?”

“Well, I’m going to try to sell shows.”

“Ooh, tell me some of your ideas.”

“I don’t want to bore you, we have better things to talk about.” As the waiter places our sandwiches on the table, Will unrolls his napkin and places it on his lap, his eyes never leaving my face.

Ugh.
I’ve put him in the awkward position of having to tell me no. Obviously, he can’t share his ideas with me. You can’t trust anyone in this town.

“Scratch that,” I say, taking a bite of my sandwich. “I know you can’t tell me. Next thing you know, I’m stealing your idea and pitching it to CBS. But that’s exciting, Will. I’m happy for you. If anyone can do it, you can.”

“What it must be like to be inside your head,” Will muses as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Abby, of course I will tell you my ideas, I just thought you were being polite.”

“Oh. No. I was being the opposite of polite. Well, not the opposite really… Okay. Just tell me one.”

“All right, but let me preface by saying, I am under no illusion that these are brilliant ideas. I just need to sell one show to get my company off the ground.”

“I know, I know. Go on.” He’s nervous. I’ve never seen Will nervous before. It’s adorable.
Yikes.
I’m in deep.

Will wipes his lips with a napkin. “This is one of those ideas that is so simple, you can’t believe it hasn’t been done. Did you ever watch
American High?
”

“Where they followed the high school students?”

“Exactly, so it’s
American High
for college. Or,
The Real World
set in a dorm. Campus life revealed.”

“You’re right. I can’t believe no one has done that. That’s a great idea.”

“We’ll see. I have two meetings lined up with colleges next month, once I get one on board, my agent will start setting up pitches.”

“If you can get a good dorm to agree, that show is as good as sold. That reminds me of this hilarious thing I found on the internet. There is an actual school in England for psychics. I think they call it spiritualist training. People live there for months, attending classes on remote viewing, contacting the dead, healing, paranormal investigating, all sorts of crap. It’s
Harry Potter
for freaky grown-ups,” I say as I finish off the last of my sandwich. “By the way, you have to hire me when you sell your show or I’ll say it was my idea and sue you.”

Will’s lips are paused on the rim of his cup. “I love that. Let’s do it.”

“Do what?”

“Let’s sell that show. Give me the name of the school, I’ll contact them and see if they’ll let us film there.”

“Really? You think that would sell?”

“Absolutely. If the school is game, and they give us access to what we need, why not?”

“What if it’s just a bunch of people sitting around, pretending to talk to ghosts?”

“Even so, don’t you think that could be good TV? And after their classes, we follow our ghost hunters and psychics into the dorms. Who knows what the hell is happening behind those closed doors.” Will fakes a shiver.

“You’re right. I’d totally watch that. So, you’d really want to do this together?”

“I suppose I could just steal the idea, but then you’d sue me. I’d win of course, but it would be an inconvenience,” Will says with a deadpan expression. “Yes, let’s be partners. What do you think?”

Can’t think.
Will and I are going to be partners.

“Sounds good.” I clasp my hands together and place them on the table. “I’ll email you the link to the school when I get home.”

“Good. I’ll check it out and contact them this week.”

“Now all you have to do is convince them that we have no intention of making fun of them.”

“Making fun of them? Certainly not. This will be an unbiased, fly-on-wall depiction of life at an institution of learning,” Will says grandly.

“So it will be indirect mocking. Up to the viewer’s discretion.”

“Exactly.”

“You better hope they don’t use the psychic whammy on you to divine the truth.” I laugh before finishing the last of my iced coffee. “Tell me another idea.”

“Cake first. What do you want?”

“I’m really full, I shouldn’t…” I say half-heartedly.

“How could we come here and not have cake? Don’t make me eat alone.”

“Well, I wouldn’t want to be rude.” I pull my wallet out of my purse and stand. “But let me get it, you got lunch. What do you want?”

“You decide. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you like.”

After a few minutes, I return with my beloved Chocolate Peanut-Butter Mousse cake and a slice of the Berry Blossom, a spongy delight filled with berries, white chocolate mousse and some kind of liqueur.

I try to restrain myself with the Chocolate Peanut-Butter Mousse Cake, but I suspect Will only gets in a couple of bites before I scare him off with my aggressive spoon antics.

As we eat our desserts, Will tells me two more of his ideas, both of which I can see as TV shows. Not satisfied with my compliments, Will pushes me for my opinion, and listens attentively as I offer suggestions. As we bounce ideas back and forth, Will’s ideas suddenly begin to shift into our ideas. And I can’t believe that he’s actually taking advice from
me.

Twenty minutes later, I begrudgingly offer the last spoonful of Berry Blossom cake to Will, but he gestures for me to take it. He looks at his watch and frowns.

“Unfortunately, I have to head out. I wish things weren’t so crazed right now,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.

“I understand. This was really fun,” I reply, suddenly feeling shy.

Will smiles at me and stands. “I’ll call you about getting together again soon. We need to start putting some of these ideas to paper.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. Well, I’m free all weekend, if you want to get together. To work.”

Free all weekend? You loser.

“Okay,” Will says, looking amused. “Friday night after work? We can get a pizza and flesh out the rest of the ideas…”

“Friday it is,” I say enthusiastically, much like an excited puppy about to pee itself.

“I’ll call you later this week.” He pats my shoulder and walks away.

Why didn’t I stand up for a hug?

“Bye, thanks for lunch,” I call after him.

“Thanks for eating all of my dessert,” he says without looking back.

After ordering a latte for the road, I walk out to my car, floating on a sugar-and happiness-induced haze. I can’t wait to tell Zoë the news. Granted, it wasn’t the stuff of my office fantasy, but it far exceeded any expectations I had for our little coffee date. I place my cup on top of a newspaper box, root around my purse for my phone and dial her number.

“Well?” she answers, without saying hello.

I feel a squeal coming on. A ridiculous, girly squeal.

“Hi,” I say quietly. I fight the urge to do a full body shake, ignoring the little electric pulses zapping through my limbs. “Hi,” I say again. It’s all I can manage.

“Jesus. Why are you being so freaky?”

“He’s just so…wait, we’re partners!”

“Back up. Partners?”

“Yes. He’s pitching shows, and he told me a few of his ideas, and next thing you know, I’m giving him suggestions, and then suddenly we’re partners and meeting for pizza, and oh, Zoë, he’s just so amazing.”

“You’re cracking me up. I need full details please. Should you be driving?”

“Shut up. Okay. So I…”

I pause midsentence as someone catches my eye. My ex, Matt Corrington is standing twenty feet across from me, walking toward the Starbucks.
Matt Douchebag Corrington!
He doesn’t see me, and I want to keep it that way.

“I gotta call you back.” I hang up without saying goodbye, grab my coffee and quickly walk toward my car, keeping a secret eye on Matt.

He looks absurd. He’s sporting a cheesy black fedora with a white skull printed on the side. His über-hip, faded yellow graphic tee with the logo from
Land of the Lost
probably cost him $150 on Melrose. And he’s wearing black skinny jeans with leather flip-flops. He also has some decorative facial hair thing happening; a thin line of hair runs across his jaw line and intersects with his tufty goatee.

I do a quick inventory. I’m not upset. I feel no nagging sense of jealousy or anger. And any residual longing that I might have once had is far far gone. I feel nothing, except the slight urge to mock. He wasn’t quite this, um, stylish, back when we were together, but it was always there, lurking beneath the surface. I wish him and his disturbing facial hair well.

Matt looks in my direction and I whip my head around. Apparently, I wish him well from a distance. No need to rehash old times.

As soon as Matt drives away, I’m back on the phone with Zoë, laughing over the sighting.

“I still wish you had made some dramatic scene, like tossing your coffee in his face.”

“Give him more material for the next movie? No thanks.”

“Hey, it’s the one-year anniversary of Lush this week. Douglas and I wanted to see if you’d come to the party on Friday?”

“Oh I would, but that’s the night I’m meeting up with Will.”

“Bring him.”

“No. I couldn’t. We’re working and he might think I think it’s a date. No way.”

“You guys have to eat. You can just stop by. Just ask him. Free food.”

“No.”

“Please. Maybe you can get him drunk and take advantage of him.”

Hmm
.

When I get home, I decide to email Will and casually mention the party, focusing on the free food aspect of it all. I explain how we could probably cut out early and go back to his place to work.

A few minutes later he responds from his iPhone.

Hmm, better stay off the booze that night. Just to play it safe.

Does my hair look tame and unfrizzy? Check. Are my clothes slimming and stylish? Check. Is my makeup sophisticated enough but in that not-trying-too-hard kind of way? A definite check.

Three days ago I had promised myself that I was not going to make a big deal out of tonight. I’d just be myself. Comfortable clothes, a little mascara, and yes, perhaps even some lipstick to top it off.

That was three days ago.

Two days ago I decided to go out and buy a new outfit. I mean, Lush is a pretty trendy place after all. Plus, Zoë informed me that several of Douglas’s celebrity friends have been invited, and so for that reason alone I decided to at least make a tiny effort. So Stephanie, Nancy and I went to the Grove for lunch and a little shopping. I originally planned on finding a nice, hip-looking blouse and maybe a pair of dark, slimming jeans. Instead, after much badgering, I walked out of Nordstrom’s carrying a lovely black, empire-waisted dress, with quarter-length sleeves, and a dipping neckline.

And today? Well, at the last minute I was able to book an appointment with my Beverly Hills hairdresser, who managed to take out all of my frizzies and add in some luxurious waves. And while I was there, I just happened to mention to the makeup artist where I was going tonight. Like my hairdresser, she graciously offered to fit me into her tight schedule. At first, we just agreed she’d shape my eyebrows. Something I’ve desperately needed ever since my savage attack on them during my “I Hate My Life” phase. Afterward, we discussed what would be a good look for my eyes. And before you know it, with a dash here, and a smudge there, I walked out a new woman. A new woman who is going to need at least one-month’s worth of paychecks to pay off the debts she’s accrued in two days.

At ten minutes to eight there’s a knock at my door. He’s early. I love that.

“Hey, you didn’t need to come to the door. You could have called me from the car,” I say to Will as I slip into my gray pashmina. Did I mention I also bought a gray pashmina? Zoë will be so proud.

“True. I guess I could have just honked the horn and shouted.” Will smiles as he helps me with my wrap. “By the way, you look great.”

I look down at my dress, nervously smoothing out the imaginary wrinkles. I feel completely awkward and uncomfortable. “Thanks. Well, you know, it’s a party and stuff…”

“And stuff…” Will says, still smiling.

He’s made an effort, as well. His black slacks, starched pinstriped shirt and smoky suede coat are all a far cry from his casual Gap-like self.

“So who am I meeting tonight?” Will asks as he turns the alarm off his steel-gray Audi.

“My friend Zoë and her boyfriend Douglas.”
Her boyfriend Douglas, who I am going to learn to like even if it kills me.

“And Zoë was your roommate?”

“Exactly. Now, just so you know, Zoë is going to ask you a thousand questions about yourself. Like where are you from? What college did you go to? What do you want to be when you grow up?”
What are your intentions?
“You know, the usual.”

“I think I can handle it,” says Will, opening the passenger door for me.

“Okay, I just wanted to prepare you. She’s pretty nosey. I don’t want you to feel obligated to answer. You can just plead the fifth.”

Will slides into the driver’s side of the car and turns to me. “Maybe I can manage to get in a few questions about you at the same time. It seems only fair if I spill, you spill.”

“You already know me. And anyway, I’m not that interesting.”

Will raises one eyebrow and turns on the ignition. “Well, you’re certainly not boring.” Will winks at me, and pulls away from the curb.

“Hiiiiiii,” Zoë shouts across the packed restaurant, waving over the dozens of heads that block her tiny frame. I wave back enthusiastically.

“Hi,” she says again as she approaches us, carrying a large martini in one hand. Tears fill her eyes.

“Hey, Chicken,” I say quietly as we fall into a long hug.

“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispers with a tearful sniff in my ear.

“Me too. I missed you.”

“Never again, okay?” She gives my back a little shake with her one free arm.

“Never again.”

After what seems an eternity, Zoë and I finally pull away, each wiping at our eyes.

“Hi, you must be Will,” Zoë says, thrusting her hand in front of him. “I’m sorry for that. Abby and I haven’t seen each other for a while.”

“No problem.” Will shakes Zoë’s hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“You too. So, let’s get out of this crowd. We have a table in the back where it’s a bit quieter. Douglas will be floating around, but he’ll come over in a minute or so.”

Zoë grabs my hand as we squeeze our way toward the back. There are a handful of young, attractive, yet slightly ruffled actor-types milling about. They all look remotely familiar in that “Haven’t I seen you on the CW?” kind of way.

Sitting at the tables are well-groomed, middle-aged couples. Men who probably fall in the categories of sought-after plastic surgeons, high-powered divorce attorneys and stressed-out agents. Across from them are their perfectly plucked, waxed, prodded and injected wives who have probably never lifted a finger since their wedding days (except, of course, for their weekly manicures).

And finally, there are tiny cliques of stunning women crowded around the bar who could, at one point, easily have graced the cover of
Vogue.
The men surrounding them, on the other hand, are most certainly nothing to write home about. Although they all seem to be wealthy and powerful guys in their dark, tailored suits and perfectly coiffed hair, very few appear to be under the age of fifty. These guys
must
be Douglas’s friends.

Next to the bar, a small three-piece band is playing Frank Sinatra covers, making it hard to hear anything Zoë is trying to say. “One-year anniversary…very exciting…closed party tonight,” she shouts as we follow her through the large, dark dining room.

I breathe a huge sigh of relief as we finally make it outside, where the crowd is thinner and the music lower. The heavy Moroccan-style curtains are pulled back from every booth, displaying several A-list celebrities.

“Is that who I think it is?” I whisper out of the side of my mouth as we pass two attractive couples sipping champagne.

“Yep, can you believe it?”

“Who?” asks Will showing a mild amount of interest.

“Posh and Becks and Tom and Katie,” Zoë says, pointing to our table in the far corner of the patio.

I slip into the carved wooden booth next to Will, looking back over my shoulder. I know it’s not cool to be impressed by celebrity sightings, but seeing someone of Tom Cruise’s stature out and about is a little like seeing an alien. “Quite an impressive turnout,” I say nonchalantly.

Zoë slides in across from us and takes a dainty sip of her martini. “Speaking of impressive. Abby, you look fabulous.” Zoë turns to Will. “Doesn’t she look fabulous?”

Will pulls away from me to survey my outfit once again. “Yep, she looks great. But that’s not saying much, since I think she always looks great.”

“Awwww,” Zoë gushes.

My eyes widen in horror as I shake my head. “Okay, you’re not doing this again tonight, Zoë. You’re banned. And you.” I point at Will. “You’re not allowed to play this game either.”

Will shrugs his shoulders. “What game?” he asks.

Zoë laughs. “The let’s-make-Abby-blush game.”

Will nods his head. “I think I like that game.”

“No. No, you don’t like that game. You may think you like that game, but you don’t really like that game.” I grab the drink that Zoë’s been toting around and take three large gulps.

So much for my ban on alcohol.
This is going to be a long-ass night.

Several minutes of small talk pass before Douglas makes his way to our table. At first, I don’t recognize him. Gone is the graying ponytail. His hair is now suitably cropped in a short on the sides, longer on top cut. The orange tan is also noticeably missing. He looks younger and okay, a little less sleazy. I’m sure Zoë had a hand (or fist) in all of that.

“Abby, so wonderful to see you again,” he says as he leans over the table to give me a kiss.

“You too,” I say warmly. “This is my…”
My what? Boss? Partner? Potential Love Slave?
“Um, this is my friend, Will.”

“Good to meet you,” says Will, firmly shaking Douglas’s hand. “Congratulations on the one year. Thanks so much for having us.”

He said
us!
I like the way that sounds. Wait. No. I have to stop this. We are partners. Of course we are an us.

“Please, it’s my pleasure,” Douglas says. “Are you a wine man or a beer man?”

“Both, but I tend to lean towards a good wine.”

“Ahh,” sighs Douglas as he places a bottle of wine on the table, “a man after my own heart. I will be back in a minute with several bottles for us to sample, but here’s something to get you started.”

Douglas leans over and pushes a strand of Zoë’s hair away from her eyes. She blows him an air kiss as he walks off to find refreshments.

She looks happy.

“So.” Zoë crosses her arms and leans forward. “Did you know, Will, that when Abby first started working for you, she was petrified of you?”

“Zoë,” I hiss through gritted teeth. I take another two hefty sips from her martini.

She winks in my direction and giggles. “I’m just trying to break the ice. Come on, don’t be a poop.”

As I continue to glare at Zoë from across the table, I notice out of the corner of my eye Will staring at me.
Do not turn to look at him. Don’t do it.
Damn it, what’s he doing? What’s his expression like? Is he horrified? Amused?
Aww shite!
I have to look.

I turn in the booth to face Will and find him smiling ear to ear. He doesn’t release his gaze for a second. “So, you were scared of me, huh?”

“No,” I say, pushing out my lower lip in defense.

“She thought you hated her.”

Will continues to stare into my eyes, but squints slightly at the flicker of a memory. “Right. Copy Girl.”

Zoë laughs.

“I’m officially ignoring you two,” I say as I pick up the menu. “What should I order?”

“You never told me he called you Copy Girl. I love it.”

Will playfully puts his arm around me and begins to rock my shoulders back and forth. “I think she’s grown rather fond of it.”

“Oh I can see that. Copy Girl, can you pass the wine please?” Zoë asks.

“Both of you need to stop.” I laugh. But inside, all I can think is:
Will is touching me. He’s touching me!

“Look, and now she’s blushing. She’s so cute,” Zoë coos.

My face is about a hundred degrees. But I don’t care because Will’s arm lingers around my shoulders before he slowly draws it away.

Douglas promptly returns to the table with three bottles of wine and places them all in the middle of the table. “Now, I think you’ll like these,” he says as he takes a seat next to Zoë. “I’d love for you to try this Pinot Noir first. It’s one of my favorites.” Douglas pours Will a small amount in his glass to taste.

I hope he’s not one of those pompous swirlers, smellers and sippers. I watch nervously as Will picks up the glass and takes a reasonably large, unpretentious sip.

“This is very nice.” Will nods approvingly.

Douglas gathers up a few of the glasses on the table and begins to pour for all of us.

“Oh, just a little for me,” I say to Douglas, placing my hand over the mouth of my glass. With half of Zoë’s martini in me, and no food since noon, I’m beginning to feel a little light-headed.

“Nonsense. Tonight is a celebration. If you can’t drive, we’ll hire you a car.”

I remove my hand from the glass as Douglas pours me a massive amount of wine. The scent of black cherries is intoxicating. Oh well. I’ll just need to eat something soon to offset it.

“Salute,”
Douglas says, taking a sip from his glass. We all follow suit. The wine is delicious. Fruity and smooth like silk on my tongue. A warm feeling envelops my body and without thinking, I take another sip.

“So, Will, what is it that you do?” Douglas asks.

“Well, I’m producing a reality show right now.” Will’s eyes dip down to his hands. For some reason, he looks embarrassed and quickly takes a sip of his wine.

“Will is being modest,” I interject boldly, feeling a boost of booze-induced courage. “He was the coexecutive producer for the show. He ran the entire thing and did an amazing job.”

Now it’s Will’s turn to blush. The coloring on his face morphs from a light tan to a scarlet tint just above his cheekbones. “It’s been a challenge, but overall a great experience.”

“The things that matter usually are.” Douglas turns to me. “Abby, you must try this Shiraz. It’s divine.” Douglas pours me a different glass of wine from another opened bottle. “Just taste it.”

“Okay,” I say, taking a small sip from the glass. It’s amazing. But my lips are beginning to tingle from the amount of booze I’m ingesting.

“So, Will, what’s next for you?” asks Douglas.

“I’d like to open my own production company. Actually, Abby and I have a couple of ideas we’re working on together.” Will turns to face me again. “I’ve been meaning to tell you all night, I heard back from the psychic school today. They were more than a little dubious, but I
was finally able to sway them our way. I’m pitching college dorm to NBC and CBS in two weeks, so we should write up the proposal for psychic school and throw it in the mix.”

“Really?” I practically scream. “You think they’ll be interested?”

“When I told my agent about it he went nuts. He loves it. He really thinks we have a shot.”

I put my hand up for a high five but Will gives me a hug instead; our first
real
hug. It’s close, and warm, and electrifying. I might again be imagining it, but it doesn’t feel as though he wants to let go. When we finally do part, it feels like it’s happening in slow motion. His arms pull away from my body as if they’re attached with a thick rubber band and it’s taking every piece of strength for him to release me from his embrace.