Kat stopped me for a hug. So did Tia. The three of us stood together, squealing like a trio of preteen girls. Off in the distance, Jason rolled his eyes at all the noise.
After celebrating with the ladies, I walked down the hallway toward our office, my heart so full I wanted to burst into a song-and-dance number. I arrived to find Paul inside, lying on the floor. Poor guy.
“Back hurting again?” I asked.
“Nah. Just thinking.” He looked up at me with a woeful expression. “Turns out this is a good position for clearing my head.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“My date tonight.”
I stepped inside the room and pulled the door shut behind me. “You’re going out on a date? I thought you’d sworn off women.”
“It’s not a woman. It’s my ex-wife.”
I fought the temptation to ask, “Which one?”
“Sylvia’s back in town and wants to talk to me about something.” He shrugged. “Could be something big. I dunno. I don’t really want to go, but I feel like I should for some reason.”
“Maybe she wants to give you back that dog she got custody of,” I said.
“Nah, she can keep the dog. She got the house and the car. Might as well keep the dog too. I can’t afford the vet bills. It’s one of those goofy little toy poodles. Has all sorts of health issues. Some months we spent more on the vet bills than we did for our own medical stuff.”
“Wow. Well, you’ll have to keep me posted.” Or not. I guess it’s not really my business.
Paul swung his legs around and sat up, leaning against the wall. “So, did you happen to see the headlines in the entertainment section of today’s paper?”
“No. What headlines?”
He tossed a copy of the newspaper my way. “Check it out. You might want to sit down first, though.”
I opened the newspaper, thumbing through it until I came to the entertainment section. “Oh, cool. They did a piece about our show.” I smiled as I skimmed the article, which talked about the Golden Globe nomination and the episode leading up to it. “Looks like everyone got a kick out of it. They’re glad we’ve added the pregnancy this season, and they think the whole Snidely Whiplash shtick was clever. That’s good.”
“Remind me again whose idea that was?” Paul said, his expression tight.
“You and I came up with it.” I shrugged. “Right?”
“Right.” He gave me a pensive look. “Keep reading.”
I did. When I got to the paragraph where the article credited Stephen Cosse with the writing of the now infamous episode—no mention of any other names—my heart hit the floor. Well, it felt like it did. I must’ve read it wrong.
“It’s got to be some sort of misunderstanding. He would never take the credit for an idea he didn’t come up with.”
“How do you know?”
“Because I know him.”
“Yeah, you know him all right.” Paul rolled his eyes.
“I would think very carefully about what you’re about to say,” I suggested. “Because I have a strong suspicion your words are going to paint you into a corner, and it’s going to be hard to get back out again.”
He never flinched. “Let’s just say that not everyone is who they present themselves to be.”
Yep. Learned that with my former fiancé. And your point is . . . ?
“Read the rest, Athena. You’ll see.”
I glanced back down, picking up where I’d left off. Most of what I read seemed benign . . . until I got to a quote from Stephen. “Heading up the writing team is a blast. Can’t remember when I’ve ever had so much fun at work.”
My emotions almost got the better of me as I read and reread the lines. The Stephen I knew would never have put himself in the limelight, leaving the rest of us behind. This had to be some sort of mistake. I folded the paper and set it on the desk. Out of sight, out of mind.
“Now you see my problem,” Paul said. “We’ve been working with someone we thought we could trust. Turns out he’s more like everyone else in Hollywood than he claimed to be. So much for that boy-next-door persona, right? He’s been out to put a knife in our backs all along. Makes me sick to think he was just using us.”
“I don’t want to jump to conclusions, Paul.”
“You don’t have to. That article did it for you.”
“There’s got to be a reason. He was misquoted, maybe. Something.”
“I just know it doesn’t settle well with me. We were nominated for a Golden Globe. A Golden Globe, Athena. We should be celebrating. Instead, we’re talking about someone else taking the credit for our work. That’s not right. You have to see that.”
“I see what it looks like. But sometimes what we think we see isn’t always what’s there.”
He rolled his eyes. “You’re too naive. Always willing to trust, even when it’s not reasonable.”
At this point, I couldn’t really tell what was reasonable and what wasn’t. I only knew in my heart of hearts that Stephen couldn’t possibly have taken the credit for something he didn’t do. No way. Not that he hadn’t played a role in writing that episode. Part of the credit was his, naturally. But not all. And he knew that.
I thought about all of this as Paul and I turned back to our work. When Stephen entered the room a few minutes later, I wanted to come right out and ask him, but I didn’t dare, not with Paul present.
“Hey, Athena.” A broad smile lit Stephen’s face. “I’ve been trying to reach you.” He pulled me into a warm embrace. “I’m so proud of you. And so happy about the Golden Globe nomination. Isn’t it the best news ever?”
“Yeah. It’s great news.” I took a breath and contemplated my next words. “I hear that your HBO special was nominated too. Congratulations.”
Paul grunted. Well, maybe he grunted. Maybe he cleared his throat. I couldn’t really tell for sure.
“Thanks.” Stephen walked over to the divan and put his laptop down on the coffee table. “I was in a meeting last night with my agent. He wants me to play up the double nomination. We’re trying to figure out how to take advantage of this opportunity.”
“Looks like you already have,” Paul said.
Stephen gave him a curious look. “What do you mean?”
I handed him the paper. “You did an interview with a reporter about the episode we wrote?”
“I did?” He looked stupefied. “Unless they interviewed me in my sleep, no. What did they say about me?”
“Just read it.”
I looked on as his eyes skimmed the page. When he got to the halfway point in the article, Stephen looked up. “This is crazy. I never said this.”
Paul coughed.
“No, really. I didn’t say a word of this. Doesn’t even sound like me. Can’t you tell?”
“I don’t know you well enough to tell,” Paul said. “Are we supposed to believe some reporter just randomly came up with a quote from you?”
Stephen shook his head. “I have a feeling I know what happened. I’m sure my agent is behind this. But I can promise you, I had nothing to do with it. I would never do anything like this to you two.”
“I need to get out of here before I say something I’m going to regret.” Paul grabbed his coffee cup and swung the door open. He turned back for a moment. “Do you remember the ‘Bupkis’ episode from The Dick Van Dyke Show?”
“Wasn’t that the one where Rob coauthored a song with a friend, then the song became a big hit?” I asked.
“Yes.” Paul stared at Stephen. “Rob didn’t get any credit for writing it, but his friend did.”
Ouch. You had to go there.
“I’ve also been thinking about that episode where Laura wanted to write a children’s story, then Rob rewrote it and made it his own. He took her heart and soul out of it.” He shook his head, muttered, “I need to go clear my head,” then disappeared down the hallway.
Stephen looked my way, his shoulders slumped forward. “Athena, you don’t really think I
would do something like that to you, do you? Take the credit, I mean.”
“No. I know you better than that. It just stinks, that’s all.”
“Of course it does. And I’m going to make it right. I’ll make sure they reprint the story. In the meantime, you’ve got to give me the benefit of the doubt.”
I felt a lump in my throat but managed to speak above it. “Of course I will. This just takes a little bit of the joy out of our news.”
“Don’t let it. Please.”
“It’s hard enough being female in this industry, but to have a male writer get all of the credit when I’m the show’s head writer . . . it just stinks.” I trembled, in part because I felt tears coming on. “You’ll never know how tough it is for me, and this just makes it tougher. I know you didn’t cause this, but you have to see it’s like a slap in the face.”
“I’m so sorry, Athena. Of course I know how hard it is for you,” he said. “Women have to work twice as hard to get half the acknowledgment in this industry. I know that. And I can only imagine how this must make you feel.” He tried to draw me into his arms, but I wasn’t having it. Not right now.
“This just reinforces the misperception that female writers aren’t funny,” I said with a shrug. “Otherwise why would a male writer be singled out over a female as the author of the funniest episode?”
“If that’s the perception, then people don’t know you. If they did, they’d know that you’re a laugh a minute.”
I bit back the tears to speak my heart. “I’m not laughing right now.”
“Is it hot in here?” He tugged at his collar, then walked over to check the thermostat. “Feels like it’s ninety degrees.”
It was hot in here, all right, and getting hotter by the moment. “I get it that men have led the way in the industry. And I realize that most sitcom writers are males in their twenties and thirties.”
“This is a male-dominated industry,” he said. “You can’t expect perceptions to change overnight. That’s probably why that reporter assumed I wrote the funny episode, Athena. Because he’s biased. He made an assumption.”
“This whole conversation is ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century. Women have come a long way, baby.”
“With a long way yet to go.” He shrugged. “Look, I’m not saying I agree with the perceptions. I feel your pain. I knew a lot of comediennes back in Vegas who fought to get noticed. Always felt a little sorry for them because the guys seemed to have it so much easier. I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m just saying that’s how it is.”
I found it hard to be angry with him when his beautiful brown eyes gazed at me with such tenderness. After a moment, he gestured for me to sit on the divan. I reluctantly took the place next to him.
“You want to pattern everything after The Dick Van Dyke Show, right?”
“Well, it was just an idea to arrange the office—”
“No, I get all that. And I was an idiot to change the room around. I’ve regretted it ever since.”
Wow. Felt good to hear him acknowledge that.
“I just want you to think about that show for a minute, since it’s apparently one of your favorites. Three comedy writers sitting in an office, cranking out jokes for The Alan Brady Show.”
“Right.”
“Rob, the brains, Buddy, the clown, and Sally, the one who typed the scripts and occasionally came up with an idea that they ended up tossing. Do you see now what I meant about perceptions between the sexes? It’s been this way all along.”
Ouch.
“Again, I’m not saying that’s what I believe. I’m only saying that’s how women have been perceived. Sally’s role in that show was to act as a buffer between Rob and Buddy, and to bring an occasional bit of drama with her off-scene romance with nerdy Herman Glimscher. She was never meant to be the driving force of the team.”
Okay, now I really wanted to punch him.
“You might as well relax,” Stephen said. “I’m going to clarify what I mean in a second. And none of this is meant to be personal.”
“Well, it feels personal.”
“I’m on your team, Athena.” He reached out and put his hand on my arm. I shrugged it off. “The only reason I’m telling you any of this is because I think you’re better than all of us. You’re better than Bob, you’re better than Paul, and you’re light-years above me. You’re the best comedy writer I’ve ever met, and I’m not just saying that because my heart is involved.”
Okay, well, those words softened me a little. So did the concern in his eyes. This time when he reached to touch me, I didn’t pull away.
“Athena, it kills me to see you have to work so hard to get noticed. It also kills me that people make assumptions that leave you feeling wounded. I wish I could change that. I’m working to change that.”
My heart—crusted over just seconds before—began to melt.
“These false perceptions about women in the industry are like a wall that needs to come down. You can speak to that mountain, and it’s going to topple.”
Only one problem—right now I didn’t feel like speaking to any mountains. I just felt like going home and crawling under the covers.
“I think it’s better if we change the subject,” I said at last. “Honestly? I think I just need time to absorb everything that’s happened.”
Stephen moved to the chair behind the desk and leaned his head down. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up, his eyes locking with mine. “I can’t believe all of this has happened right now, when we should be celebrating our nomination. You know what this means, don’t you, Athena?”
“No, I have no idea.”
He sighed. “We’ve just skipped Step 10 and have moved directly to Step 11 in the plotline of our relationship.”
Ugh. Tell me you did not just say that.
“I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill me in, Mr. Plotter. I’m a seat-of-the-pants kind of girl, remember?” Okay, my words sounded a little snippy. Still, I couldn’t help myself. How dare he interrupt such a tense conversation to talk about writing? What was I, some sort of homework assignment?
“Step 11 is the ‘Ultimate Test,’” Stephen explained. “This is where we see if we’ve got the goods.”
“I see. So this step determines if we’re going to make it?”
“According to the class I took.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s a natural part of the progression of the relationship. The big gloom. The supreme ordeal. Whatever you want to call it. That point in every story where it looks like things can’t possibly work out. That’s where we are, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Helps to see it in perspective, right? Besides, this is where we find out what we’re made of.”
“I can tell you what I’m made of. Jell-O.”
“Jell-O?”
“Yes. That’s what my insides feel like right now. Jell-O. So there’s no point in thinking I’m going to have some terrific rebound and prove that I’ve got the goods—as a character in some script you’re writing, or in real life. I’m just a girl. A girl with issues. I get jealous and I get angry. And right now I’m a little of both.”
“There’s no point in being jealous. I’m getting attention from the media, but it’s undeserved.”
“That’s the part that has me a little angry.” I sighed. “But being angry is unreasonable, so I’m also a little angry at myself for getting angry. Does that make sense? I should have a better handle on things. I need to get control of my emotions.”
“There’s another step on the plotline for that,” he said. “Where the hero or heroine faces his or her inevitable flaws and challenges.”
“Stephen.” I put my hand up. “I appreciate the fact that you’ve studied this whole plotting thing. Seriously. It’s good to know how to lay out a story. And maybe it’s helpful for you to point out where I am in my journey. But some things can’t be plotted. I have a feeling I’m off the plotline altogether, the way I’m feeling right now. So enough with that already. Gi
ve it a rest.”
His expression shifted to one of regret. “Sorry. I’m on a learning curve here, so this whole thing about plotting is just for my sake. Maybe I’m taking it all too literally.”
“I hate to be a plotting party pooper, but I’m getting a little tired of trying to figure out where I am and where I’m going. Can’t we just say that we’ve hit a major bump in the road and leave it at that?”
“I’m going to smooth out this bump. I promise. My agent’s going to own up to what he’s done, and that story will be rewritten. We’re going to get past this. The hero and heroine always get past the hurdles if they’re meant to be together.”
If they’re meant to be together? How should I take those words?
I squared my shoulders, ready to put this behind me. “It’s fine. Really. I’m probably just being overly sensitive. I am a woman, you know. And women are emotional beings. Right?”
“I never said that.”
“No, your agent said it for you . . . not in so many words.” I pulled the laptop onto my knees. “Anyway, we have a lot of work to do, so we’d better get to it. Should we wait for Paul or just dive right in?”
“I need to leave a little early today, so we’d better get to it.”
“Leave early?”
“Yeah. I . . . well, I’ve got an appointment this afternoon.”
I didn’t ask what kind of appointment, though curiosity almost got the better of me. If I didn’t watch myself, several things might get the better of me today.
All the more reason to take my hands off and just let God be God.
The next couple of days were tense at best. Paul came and went from the office, acting more than a little suspicious. I was dying to ask him about his date with his ex-wife but didn’t dare. I knew he wouldn’t want to share anything so personal with Stephen in the mix. Likely he wouldn’t feel like sharing something so personal even with me in the room. The guy had always been private.
And speaking of private, Stephen’s actions left me feeling unsettled. On Wednesday we faced another dispute, this one related to the show. It came in the middle of fine-tuning the following week’s episode.
Hello, Hollywood! Page 19