Hello, Hollywood!

by Janice Thompson

  “Well, that’s true,” Mama said. “There are low points in every relationship whether we expect them or not. I love my husband, of course, but I’m ready to kill the man about every third day. Oh, I don’t, of course. I suppose that’s what makes our marriage work.”

  Not killing him is what makes your marriage work?

  “I’ve often thought that if I murder him, I’ll end up in prison,” Mama said in her sweetest voice. “And what sort of life would that be?”

  “Mama!” My mouth dropped open. In all my years I’d never heard her talk like this. So all of those years of thinking she and Babbas had a near-perfect relationship were nothing but a sham? And she had to reveal all of this with Stephen and Paul present?

  Paul scribbled down notes as fast as she shared her thoughts.

  “Wow. I’m so glad to hear this. I thought I was the only one who ever had a rough marriage.”

  Babbas stepped beside Mama and laughed. “Oh no. Marriage is hard work.”

  “I like to say marriage is heart work,” Mama added. “And thank goodness, the high points in a marriage outnumber the low ones.” She smiled. “Otherwise we’d be in big trouble.”

  “Exactly,” Stephen said. “That’s the work of great plotting.”

  “Great plotting, eh?” Babbas laughed. “Well, the only one plotting my life is the Lord. And frankly, I don’t care to know what step I’m at on his plotline, thank you very much. I’d rather just be surprised by what tomorrow holds. For today I know one thing—you kids have come to the right place to learn about the love between a husband and wife. We might have our lows, but they make the highs even higher.” He swept Mama into his arms and gave her a passionate kiss on the lips. Embarrassment flooded over me until I saw the smile on Stephen’s face. It put me at ease.

  I thought about my mother’s words all morning long. Surely she’d been joking. Right?

  By 10:45 the breakfast crowd had thinned, but by 11:30 half of Los Angeles had entered the premises. My parents continued to work, visiting with the customers and stopping on occasion for a peck on the cheek, or even a quick kiss on the lips. I had to wonder if they were going a little overboard with the affection because they knew they were being watched. Likely. Still, it did my heart good to see them so tender toward one another. Why not? So many people grew apart over the years. It felt great to know they still cared so much about each other. In between thoughts of murdering one another, anyway.

  Stephen noticed it too. I observed him jotting down notes in his notepad. I would have added a few myself, but I ended up working on the sweets and baking breads. Aunt Melina fussed over the details of the baking process, pausing only when Milo entered the shop at noon. From that point on, she seemed distracted by him. Their back-and-forth chatter in Greek made me smile and feel a little homesick. Not that I’d ever actually been to Greece. Still, I pined for the homeland I’d heard so much about.

  Paul’s eyes seemed to glaze over as he watched the steady flow of traffic during the lunchtime rush. “Is it always like this?” he hollered out above the crowd.

  “Yep. Saturdays are a nightmare.” I watched Mama and Babbas work together on sandwiches. Hmm. Better offer them some assistance. I tossed Paul an apron. “Here, put this on.”

  “W-what?” He shook his head. “Oh no.”

  I nodded, unwilling to take no for an answer. “They need our help.”

  Stephen fell into line beside us. “Good idea, Athena. If we’re going to see what it’s like to work together, this is just the ticket.” He gave me a little nudge. “Maybe we could pretend to be husband and wife working together. What do you think?” The laughter in his eyes caught me off guard. For a moment—a teensy-tiny moment—I thought about playing along. However, a customer with a bad attitude brought me back to reality.

  “Hello?” The platinum blonde glared at me. “Did you hear me? I need a refill on this coffee.” She shoved the cup my way. I forced a smile, then turned to my pretend husband and passed it to him. “Coffee for one, dear. And step on it.”

  “Coming right up.” He took her empty cup to the coffeemaker and returned with a full cup. “Here you go, snookums.” He passed it my way and I took it, almost enjoying our little game.

  Paul seemed to get a kick out of it and decided to play along too. “I’ll be Athena’s ex-husband,” he suggested, “stopping by the shop to pick up some sandwiches for my buddies for the big game tonight.”

  “What big game?”

  “Hmm.” Paul shrugged. “Okay, skip the game. It’s poker night at my place and I need gyros for seven guys.”

  “Hey, speaking of guys, whatever happened to Scott?” Stephen asked. “I thought he was coming today to help write the next episode.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I’d almost forgotten. “He and Kat should be here soon. I think they’ll be a great help with this scene. If anyone knows about working together as a married couple, they do.”

  Stephen nudged me. “Look at your parents,” he whispered.

  I glanced up in time to see Babbas pat my mother on the backside. She gave a little giggle in response, then went right back to work.

  “I guess that’s what makes it work,” Stephen said. “They have fun together. It’s enjoyable.”

  “Yeah. Guess you’re right. Never really thought about it.” My parents were the playful sort. Always had been. Maybe I’d picked up my comedic streak from them. Well, from Babbas, at least. He could get pretty silly at times. Not that I minded. Might be fun to be married to a silly guy—someone who could make me laugh and keep a smile on my face, even during the hard times.

  After the crowd thinned, Stephen leaned against the counter, looking exhausted. “Do you want to sneak away for a few minutes to write?”

  “What about Paul?”

  “Looks like your aunt Melina and Milo are teaching him how to make baklava.” Stephen winked, causing my heart to race. “Maybe you’ll end up dueling Paul too.”

  I glanced at Paul just in time to see him drop the phyllo dough on the floor.

  “Doesn’t look like I have much to worry about there.”

  “No, you’re right. I’m your only real competition.”

  Ugh. The way he worded things! Hopefully he referred only to the baklava and not my job.

  “Paul’s having a great time,” I said. “I like to see him like this. I worry sometimes that he’s too depressed.”

  “I’ve picked up on that too. Seems like an odd personality for a comedy writer.”

  “He makes it work. It’s that sarcastic, dry sense of humor.”

  “I try to stay away from sarcasm as much as I can,” Stephen said. “Sometimes it comes across as biting. Spiteful.”

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “I’ve felt that way at times. The type of comedy that makes people laugh at the expense of someone’s flaws can be a little hurtful.”

  “Are you ready to get started?” he said. “I feel like we’ll come up with something great with all the notes I’ve taken.”

  “Sure.” I led the way to the storeroom. Pushing aside a couple of boxes, I took a seat at the little table near the back door. “This okay?”

  “Perfect. Nice and quiet.” A resounding “opa!” rang out from the front of the shop, and he laughed. “Well, maybe not quiet, but it’s our own private space.”

  The words “our own private space” hovered over me, and I found myself feeling a little shy. This was our first time alone outside of the office. And with those amazing brown eyes riveted on mine, an increased pulse rate was to be expected. Right?

  “Before we get started, I want to tell you how much I love your family. They’re great. All of them. And I’m glad you came up with this idea to spend the weekend with them.”

  “Was it my idea?” Suddenly I couldn’t remember. “I know my parents are glad to have you, and you can see them in action, both at work and at play.” I paused. “Oh, that reminds me, we’re going to church tomorrow morning, as always. Want to go with?”

&nbs
p; “Sure.” Stephen nodded. “I’d like that a lot. Brooke and I have been looking for a church ever since we moved here.”

  “What flavor do you like?” I asked.

  “Flavor? You mean like orange, lemon, or lime?”

  “No.” I laughed at the image that presented. “I mean like traditional, contemporary, charismatic, etcetera.”

  “Oh, I prefer the etcetera flavor.”

  I laughed again. “Then you’re in luck. We happen to go to an etcetera church. You’ll fit right in.”

  “Awesome. Nothing like fitting right in.” His laughter put me at ease. When the chuckling died down, his gaze lingered on my hair. For a second there, I wished I could read his thoughts. Then he seemed to startle back to attention. “I guess we should get to work.” A hint of a smile lit his face.

  I shifted my gaze to the notebook in his hand after I realized I’d been staring into those gorgeous eyes once again. “Y-yes. We should.” As soon as I can convince my heart to settle down.

  Suddenly he was all business. “Let’s talk about Jack and Angie. You go first. I want to hear your take on the two of them.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “What makes them tick? When you think of their relationship, what makes it work? Where are their struggles?”

  “Well . . .” I paused, thinking back to my first week as a writer on the show. “From the very beginning, we knew they had to be different from each other in every conceivable way. They started out as opponents, you know.”

  “Right. I remember that first season.” A boyish smile lit his face. “They couldn’t stand each other.”

  “Right.”

  “But then something happened.” Stephen gave me a knowing look.

  “Chemistry. When it’s there, it’s undeniable.”

  “Sure is.” He looked up from the notebook, catching my gaze for a moment.

  Focus, Athena. “And when there’s chemistry—think ‘science lab’ here—there’s potential for disaster.” I pointed to the notebook. “Write that down.”

  He nodded and scribbled a few words. “That’s what makes comedy work. Conflict is—”

  “Key.” We spoke the word in unison.

  “Okay, so conflict. They’ve been through a ton of it over the years. And most recently they’ve survived the influx of elderly clients and the chaos that goes with that. This coming week we’re putting them through the Snidely Whiplash thing.” He paused to gaze into my eyes. “And by the way, you were right about that.”

  “Oh?”

  “I didn’t want to admit it, but that script is one of the funniest things I’ve read in years. I went over it again last night, just for kicks. It’s perfect for where Jack and Angie are at in their relationship. And I need to give credit where credit is due. You were the driving force behind it.”

  “Why didn’t you want to admit that you liked it?”

  His gaze darted to the table. Then the wall. Then to the back door. Finally he got around to looking back at me. I could feel his discomfort.

  “I don’t know. Call it insecurity. Call it pride. I just struggle with . . .” His words faded away.

  “Working with a woman?”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just . . .” Stephen closed the notebook. “Look, here’s the deal. I’ve only ever worked in live comedy clubs. That sort of thing. I’m my own boss. I write my own jokes. It’s me, myself, and I.” He shook his head. “See how self-centered that is? Sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud like that, but that’s how it’s always been. I’m used to working alone.”

  I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I kept quiet.

  “I’ve never had to be part of a team before. And I came in like a . . .” He raked his fingers through his hair. “A bulldozer.” His rough edges seemed to fade away as he stared at me with those beautiful brown eyes.

  “Ah.” Not much of an answer, but what else could I say?

  “See. You agree.”

  “Well, you had ideas. No sin in that. All creative people have ideas. Besides, that’s why they hired you, to add your voice to ours.”

  “I just didn’t know how to express my feelings without hurting yours, and I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to usurp your authority.” As he reached out and took hold of my hand, an unexpected jolt of electricity shot through me. “I think you’re a brilliant writer, Athena.”

  “O-oh?”

  “You . . . well, you intimidate me a little.”

  “Huh?” Where in the world did that come from? Pulling my hand away, I repeated his words. “I intimidate you? Am I hearing right?”

  “Well, sure. Rex thinks the world of you, and so do Kat and Scott.”

  “Wait. Rex thinks the world of me?” I wanted to linger on those words. “Because he doesn’t really come out and say that, so I thought . . .” What did I think? That he saw me as dried up?

  “He thinks you hung the moon. They all love you, Athena. I wish you could have heard Rex singing your praises when he hired me. He went on and on about how fortunate I was to be working with someone of your caliber.”

  “R-really?” Wow.

  “Yes. In fact, he intimidated me with your résumé. That Amazon scene you wrote was brilliant. I’m surprised you weren’t nominated for an Emmy for it, to be honest.”

  “You think so?” I felt my confidence surge. “Because I really loved it too.” Joy settled into my heart. “That’s one thing I love about writing. It really does transport you. Takes you to a different place. If you’re having a crummy day, you can just write a funny scene and set it in a hut in the rain forest. Surround the characters with all sorts of animals and other distractions and then let them squirm.”

  “Internal and external conflict. It’s the crux of every good story.” He grinned. “Guess if someone wrote a novel about my life, it would be a bestseller.”

  “Mine too,” I threw in. “Especially if they factored in my family members. Then we’d have conflict all over the place. Especially if Mama ended up in prison for killing my father.” I couldn’t help the groan that followed.

  “That’s why I was so keen on adding more ongoing cast members. The more people you have, the more potential for conflict you have.” Stephen shook his head. “I just hope the conflict stays on the page and not in my relationship with Rex. To be honest, the only reason he hired me at all was because he felt sorry for me.”

  “Okay, stop this train. I need to get off.”

  Stephen sat back in his chair. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean this is the polar opposite of what I’ve been thinking. Why in the world would Rex feel sorry for you? You’ve had a brilliant career as a stand-up comedian. And that HBO special was really great.” Or so I’ve heard.

  “Thanks, but doing stand-up is not where my heart is. I have a daughter who needs a stable life. And our time in Las Vegas—even though it was great for my career—nearly did her in. When I contacted Rex and asked him for work—”

  “Wait.” I put my hand up. “You came to him for a job, not the other way around?”

  “Well, yeah. I needed to get out of Vegas. And my agent was one of Rex’s best friends back in the seventies. They’d worked on a couple of shows together, so he put me in touch with him. I took a chance and called him. Didn’t have a clue if he’d be interested or not. And like I said, I knew he was already working with an award-winning team of writers, so I figured the chances were pretty slim. Just decided it was worth a shot, for Brooke’s sake.”

  Relief washed over me, followed by shame. I’d misjudged just about everything. I stared at him, so overcome I could hardly speak. “You’re actually an award-winning comic. And I thought you came because . . .”

  Ack. I couldn’t say it. The words wouldn’t come.

  “You were worried about your job? What?”

  “Well, yeah. I thought maybe Rex wanted to prove some kind of point. Our ratings this past season haven’t been as high as in seasons past. I
know he’s been worried about that. The sponsors have too. And he said it himself—bringing you in gave the show a fresh face.”

  “Some fresh face. Why do you think I’m taking that course on plotting? This is the first time I’ve had to write actual scenes with a beginning, middle, and end. And something with a strong takeaway value too.”

  “No way.”

  “Sure. Think about it. Most of my jokes are pretty short. Under three minutes. Until I started taking this class, I didn’t know a thing about plotlines or ‘Belly of the Whale’ scenes. I’m on such a learning curve.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I just hope Rex doesn’t boot me too quickly. Brooke has already started school, and I want her to settle in for a change. Have some stability in her life.”

  I still couldn’t get past his comment about the plotting class. The boy didn’t know anything about scriptwriting? Nothing at all? And I’d been worried he would steal my job?

  Okay. Time to offer a little encouragement.

  “Stephen, I’m glad you’re here. Rex is right. We needed to make some changes this season. Mix things up a little. The viewers have been really fickle.”

  “Well, that’s always how it is when you finally bring a couple together after keeping them apart for so long. The sense of anticipation is gone.” He stared into my eyes, and I suddenly understood that sense of anticipation he was referring to. Be still my heart. Thankfully, he kept talking. “As for adding a fresh voice, I guess there’s some truth to that. Whether or not my ideas—my voice—will up the ratings is another thing. We’ll see, I guess.”

  “I’m sure it will be fine.”

  “Probably. I just thought it was about time I let you know how grateful I am to get the chance to work with you. You and Bob and Paul have laid a foundation for the show, and I’m glad to be aboard. So if my enthusiasm ever comes across as anything other than that—enthusiasm—please just . . .” He shrugged. “Step on my foot or something.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh at that. “Okay. I promise.” A pause followed. “But if you ever catch me really stepping on your toes—hurting your feelings or leaving you out—let me know, okay? I . . . I want you to feel like you’re part of the team.” Suddenly I really did want that.