“I’ve grown since then, and maybe I realize what I gave up,” I said, trying to seem convincing.
“Thank God I know better than to take you seriously,” she said and hung up.
Okay, so maybe there was one ex who didn’t like me at all.
I was a little discouraged, but I wasn’t a man who gave up that easily. There were plenty of fish in the sea, so I swam over to Chateau Marmont after eleven to see what I could catch.
Chapter 2
Abby
Finally, a break.
After all that time I spent chasing down details as a script supervisor and writing teleplays on the spec, I got a writing job at last. It was a perfect example of kismet that landed me there, in an actual writers’ room. Just like I always dreamed. Okay, in my dreams it smelled less like stale coffee and cigarettes. In fact, in my dreams, it didn’t stink at all. Still, I had stepped in to help write the Golden Globe-winning season finale in a pinch, and now I was part of an award-winning team.
I took my place at the table. I set down my water bottle, phone, tablet, and a notepad and pen. Just because I was surrounded by seasoned screenwriters who had more awards than I had candles on my birthday cake, that didn’t mean I didn’t have every right to take up space at this conference table where I’d earned a spot. I’d come a long way from blogging my way through college about my adventures as a Hooters seating hostess (disgusting, misogynistic atmosphere, great tips, and pathetic pickup lines, just as you’d expect). I remember getting excited when I cracked thirty blog followers. Now I had a job working for a top television drama with all of these distinguished…men. All of them. To be fair, it was a show about warfare, so it made sense that—nah, I was just the first girl who made the cut. So I’d have to work extra hard to prove myself to them or they could be asking me to make their coffee. Their stinky writers’ room coffee.
I read through the email the team got that morning from the director with an upcoming plot twist that he, the producers, and the head writer had worked out earlier. It meant that a character I created for the two-part finale, Cirenda, would be getting a more prominent role. I was excited to see what I could do with her character.
I made a few notes, cleared my throat, and was about to start talking when another writer piped up about pairing Cirenda with Milrand, the grieving warrior. That got my hackles up. The first significant female lead in four seasons didn’t need a boyfriend straight out of the gate. She needed to develop a complex set of motivations before pairing off or being confined to the role of love interest.
“To me, the biggest contribution this character can make to the fabric of the story is the addition of some levity. Remember the Twitter reaction to her sarcastic remark in the first part of the finale? It was viewer gold. So I, for one, am eager to see Cirenda bring comic relief to Ancient Crowns,” Mitchell, one of the senior writers, said.
“I agree that Cirenda’s feisty personality was my favorite part of working on the finale, and that should remain part of her character,” I said, “but relegating her to comic relief is a mistake. She didn’t disguise herself as a man and ride all the way from Mykonos to slip on a proverbial banana peel in-between giving Milrand blow jobs. It would slam dunk on her integrity as a fighter and a former priestess to have her cracking jokes to relieve the tension for the front burner characters. I’m sure you see that.”
“You’re very attached to Cirenda. She’s the first character you’ve gotten to bring to life. But you have to realize that, as part of a writing team, many of our story decisions are guided by the wishes of the director, producers, and network based on focus groups and what they respond to. Our millennial viewership has flagged in the last two seasons, and projections indicate that adding more humor will win them back. We need those numbers in a younger demographic to attract more sponsors,” Randolph, the head writer, said patiently.
“It’s a business,” I said. “It’s hard for me to remember that sometimes because I’m new at this. I appreciate your help, and I’ll definitely need your advice going forward. But as a fresh voice on a proven team, I believe my vision for Cirenda appeals to the female viewers of my age group—strong, independent women who care about the greater good even if it means sacrificing some personal happiness.”
“We’ll take that under consideration and revisit it later,” Randolph said.
I winced and took a drink of water. , had effectively dismissed me, and it stung.
We went down a list of several upcoming plot points that had been decided upon already. Most of them just plain sucked. But after being reminded that I was the new girl, I decided to keep my mouth shut for now.
“We’ve worked together, the group of us, for better than a decade for this network. There’s a learning curve to the workflow of a team, and we respect that. In turn, you have to respect the process of collaboration. We were in a bind when you stepped in on the finale. We would have agreed to practically anything the network allowed on the heels of Robert’s sudden departure. So you may have gotten the impression that, in the throes of our grief, we were rudderless. But there’s a leadership structure in place,” Randolph said. “We have eleven more items to discuss. This might be a good time for a break.”
I nodded, cheeks flaming, and went to the ladies’ room where I could be sure I wasn’t being followed, considering I was probably the only woman on the entire floor. I could do this. I just had to change my approach. I had swooped in and rescued them when Robert, one of their writers, had died after a short bout with pneumonia. I’d been in the office working on script supervision details as a freelancer when they tapped me to write. They’d liked my ideas well enough then, and the episodes had been a success. Now that they didn’t need me as desperately, I might have to soften my attitude. I was used to having to shout to be heard as a woman in a man’s industry and a woman whose previous job was to nitpick the details. As much as I hated having to temper my personality, I wanted a good work experience, and they would have to be fed my ideas with a sugar coating. I was stepping on toes, and I’d have to back off a little. I needed to build some goodwill. I brushed my hair, stared at myself in the mirror, and nodded, chin up.
When I strode back into the room, I went straight to Steve. “I owe you an apology,” I said. “I came in here overzealous because I was so thrilled to be working with you all and wanted to prove my worth. I got us off on the wrong foot, and I’m sorry. I know I have a lot to learn.” I gave him my shy, humble smile.
He clapped me on the shoulder. “That took balls, young lady. I don’t know if I would’ve had the nerve to take on an executive producer when I started.”
“Thanks,” I said, “but it’s tact I need to work on.”
I took my seat and spent a rather frustrating day listening and taking notes and speaking much less. I had to play the long game to earn their respect and push my ideas forward. That meant modesty and quiet—two things I mostly sucked at.
After work, I went out for drinks with a few friends. We had gotten too busy to keep up our Wednesday margaritas tradition in the last year or so, but it was a special occasion. I was meeting up with Katie and Sara for guacamole and gossip to celebrate three whole months of being single. I was so glad to see them. We hugged and laughed and talked over each other as we ordered our appetizers and drinks. We saw each other pretty often, but a night out together was rare. Especially since Sara just finished moving out of our apartment to join her boyfriend Andrew in his townhouse. Katie was always busy, working crazy hours as a nail tech on top of grad school. So a night out with those two was the highlight of my month.
“So how is working in TV scriptwriting full time?” Sara asked.
“It’s a dream come true! I mean, it was a thrill getting to pitch in on the finale, but today it’s real. It’s my job now. No more sifting through pages and dailies looking for inconsistencies with a hairstyle or a nickname or something mentioned from a past episode that’s wrong.”
“So, what’s the problem?” Kat
ie asked.
“Nothing. The head writer even complimented me for having the courage to stand up for the female lead I created in the finale.”
“So it’s a boys club. You expected that. And you can hold your own. I know you,” Sara said supportively.
“You know what you need to help you get along in the boys club?” Katie asked. “Some of that.” She pointed to a TV above the bar that was showing a movie preview for the new Josh Mason movie—he was a cop or something, and his shirt was off.
“I wouldn’t mind being in a club with him,” Sara said, draining her drink.
“He is a hottie,” I sighed. “But the truth is, he’s not a bad actor. Did you see him in The Hook Up Hangover? He was hilarious, and his line delivery was so sharp even though some of the material was stupid.”
“It’s called The Hook Up Hangover. Did you expect it to be smart?”
“No, I expected it to be awful with a side of eye candy, and he was better than I expected. He showed some emotion, got a little choked up at the end when the stripper went back to her boyfriend.”
“I thought he was the stripper?” Sara asked.
“Different movie.”
“Oh. I’ve seen a bunch of his movies, but they all tend to run together.”
“Yeah, he sticks to the formula,” I said. “But I think he could do more.”
“But do you want to see him play a drug dealer? Or someone who keeps his shirt on?” Katie asked. “I didn’t think so. We don’t care if the movie’s stupid, as long as he’s half-naked and looks like Josh Mason. Have you watched his trainer’s YouTube channel? That shit is better than porn.”
“No. Why would I watch people exercise on YouTube? I have enough trouble dragging myself to spin class without spending my free time watching workouts. Fitness inspo doesn’t work on me. Only my pants being too tight motivates me,” I said.
“It’s not for the fitness advice. It’s because Josh Mason works out in black compression shorts and nothing else. Kettlebells, medicine ball, circuit training. The push-ups. God, someone fan me,” she said, scooping up guac with a chip.
I ate some chips and shook my head. “He’s great to look at, but I think he doesn’t get the respect he deserves as an actor because of the roles he chooses.”
“So consider it a blow for the double standard. All those movies where Angelina Jolie or Halle Berry had to stand around in a tank top while some guy was the hacker or the fighter or whatever,” Katie said. “These cheese fries are amazing.”
Chapter 3
Josh
Max lined me up for a couple of charity appearances, and I did a radio interview about looking for upcoming projects that reflected my deeper interests. Caitlyn’s office called requesting a meeting, and I hoped for an uptick in better quality offerings. Instead, I just needed to sign some papers on residuals from some old commercials I’d done. I’d arranged, with Max’s help, to donate the passive income from my early work to a local food bank, essentially quadrupling their monthly budget. I stepped on to the private and unreliable elevator to sign the papers, and a woman rushed in after me.
“Going to Caitlyn’s office?” I asked.
“Yeah, I guess there are some changes in my contract. I’m a little nervous,” Abby said with a smile.
She reached across me to press the button for the top floor, and the gleaming brass doors slid shut.
“I’m Josh,” I said.
“Yeah, I know,” she said. “My name is Abby Lang. I’m a show writer on Ancient Crowns.”
“Congratulations. That won a lot of awards last season.”
“I worked on the finale. Before that, I was just a script supervisor. But things are taking off. Except everyone I work with hates my guts.” She gave a short laugh that had an edge to it.
“Let me guess; you thought the female character should say words and their armor shouldn’t expose their cleavage?” I asked.
“Exactly. God, it’s like you were there,” she said.
“I’m not new to the business. I do a lot of shirtless stuff—I’m trying to get away from it, but you know how it is. Anyway, on my second movie, the female lead said it was the first time in her career she’d ever been allowed to wear more clothing than a man in the same scene. Like it could be filming in Vancouver, in winter, and she’d be in some damn tank top and short skirt while the guys were in suits.”
“Ugh. It’s the worst. Shit. Is the elevator stuck?” Abby asked, eyes wheeling around the narrow box as it ground to a halt between floors.
“Yeah, it’ll start back up in a minute. This happens all the time.”
“Should we push the emergency call button?” she asked, seeming a little nervous.
“Sure, go ahead. They don’t usually answer on the speaker, but it’ll alert them if they haven’t noticed the thing isn’t moving,” I said.
Abby pressed the button and stared at it. Then she stripped off her jacket to reveal a black shift dress underneath. “It’s warm in here.”
“It is. Are you okay?”
“I’m not claustrophobic,” she said.
“I didn’t say you were.”
“Right. I just don’t like being stuck. Although my friends would die to be stuck in an elevator with Josh Mason. I hope you don’t mind, but when I tell them this story, you won’t be wearing a shirt,” she said with a half-smile.
“They’d believe it. Half of America probably doesn’t think I own one,” I said ruefully.
“People don’t think you’re stupid. I mean, your comedic timing in Hook Up Hangover was really good, even though the script didn’t do you any favors.”
“Thanks. I was proud of that one. I know I seem to make the same thing over and over, but it’s what I get offered,” I said.
“Have you thought about producing something you’d love to star in?” she asked.
“I have. Actually, I have a production company. But I’ve never really put it to use developing projects for myself. I’ve used it to support new filmmakers; allow them to write and direct their material without studio pressure. We’ve turned out some pretty decent indies, even had a title go to Sundance last year.”
“What’ve you read lately that you loved? There might be a good role for you in it. Like, this elevator thing. That’s a nice meet-cute; it’s been in lots of books and movies. Read some Jasmine Guillory and some Helena Hunting—a romcom with some depth. Like where the hot, sometimes shirtless guy ends up raising a sibling after their parents die or something. It would open up some better roles for you, especially if you have an assistant or somebody hunting for stories like that for you.”
“That’s a good idea, Abby. I’m glad I got stuck in the elevator with you. So tell me, how I can return the favor for the advice?”
“Hmmm. Any ideas on how to be the new person on an established team?” she mused.
“Well, let me ask you a question first. Do you like the show?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, were you a fan? Did you watch it before you worked on it?”
“I watched it a couple of times, but it wasn’t really my taste. Really gloomy and violent, and all the heroes felt so sorry for themselves.”
“So, there’s your problem,” I said. “You’re writing for a show you don’t like. It can be done, hell, I did commercials for a sugar substitute and athlete’s foot spray and all kinds of stuff I didn’t use. But you have to quit trying to make it something it’s not. It’s not going to be what you’d consider good or entertaining. Just try to stay true to the vision of the show. Go watch a bunch of episodes at home and make notes on the best stuff.”
“You give good advice for a guy who’s most famous for taking off his shirt,” she said.
“Hidden depths, what can I say?” I laughed as the elevator started up again. I reached in my pocket and gave her my card. “In case you have any ideas for books that would make good star vehicles for me, or if you need ideas about how to get the boys club to listen.”<
br />
“Thanks. This was fun,” Abby said, flashing an amazing smile that had my insides turning.
When the doors opened, I let her go out ahead of me, and we parted ways. I wished she didn’t already have a job, because I wanted to hire her to work in development at my production company. She had great ideas, and I needed someone who could help me develop better projects for myself. It was a way to get what I wanted that I hadn’t explored. I could cherry-pick a book adaptation or movie remake for myself.
I sent an email directing my production staff to be on the lookout for bestselling books that might feature a strong male lead—a romantic comedy with depth or one of those Nicholas Sparks things with the cowboys in them and second chances at love. We needed to option a few of those to help take me in a new direction. Then I turned all my focus to having a great night out.
After some killer sushi and a stop for photos and to donate to an education program for disadvantaged kids, I met up with a few friends at a club. These were some of my oldest friends—not costars, but real friends. We sat around the club talking about the bands we’d seen that were better than the DJ and the women who got away. I told them I wanted to take on more serious roles, and they all gave me shit about that one TV movie I made where I played a sexy drifter who was really Frosty the Snowman.
“You should do a naughty Jack Frost next, or a stripper Great Pumpkin,” Chris said.
“You’re such a troll,” I said. “You’re just jealous that no one gives the lighting guys any sexiest man awards.”
“Yeah, here I am, cashing my paycheck and not having to wax my chest. It’s a hardship,” he laughed.
“If you want more serious roles, look at the original programming on Prime or Netflix. Do a limited series,” Ben said, “something with demons.”
“Demons?” I said. “That alien robot movie didn’t go so well for me.”
Pretend Wife Page 2