To her credit, Rita patiently listens all the way through and doesn’t interrupt, but when Teddy finally trails off talking about breakfast with the Caldwells this morning, the first question out of Rita’s mouth is, “Nothing, like, happened between the two of you, did it?”
“Jesus, Rita. Are you serious?” Teddy bites out, his free hand jumping up to grip the back of his neck. He glances quickly over his shoulder to make sure he’s still alone, then lowers his voice and says, “No. You know I’d never—”
“That’s all I need to know,” Rita says before he can finish his sentence. “The rest is not my business.”
“You’re the one who brought it up!”
“Because I’m your manager, and despite how much you and I don’t like it, we both know I need to be in the loop about these things,” she points out. “Preferably a loop that’s made of the barest details possible.”
“Fine,” Teddy says, doing his best to ignore how quickly his pulse had doubled. He definitely shouldn’t be blushing this hard, either.
“Can we go back to that minor little detail you failed to mention in the car yesterday,” Rita says. “The one about Bennett Caldwell being at your audition? Because I’d like to hear more about that. Starting with why you failed to mention it.”
“Honestly, I didn’t figure out she was at my audition until last night,” Teddy says, hoping she doesn’t think he’s a total space cadet for it. “But yeah, she was there. Which is kinda weird, right? Like, she and the director and a few other people were sitting off to the side the whole time. I didn’t know authors were that involved during preproduction.”
“They’re usually not unless they help adapt the screenplay, which is the point I’m trying to make—Teddy,” Rita says, excitement slipping into her tone. “I don’t want to jump the gun here, but this is a good sign. Word is Burt Bridges brings his writers in during the audition process for role frontrunners because he likes to tailor the script to whomever he casts as his leads.”
Teddy hears what Rita’s saying, understands exactly what she’s insinuating about his audition (which in reality makes no sense, given how last-minute his audition was scheduled). Yet his brain only wants to focus on the one part of that statement that isn’t about him.
“Hold on, wait,” he says, reeling for the second time in less than twenty-four hours about another M. B. Caldwell revelation. “Bennett worked on the screenplay? Since when?”
“I’m not sure,” Rita says, sounding confused by his reaction. “Maybe a few weeks after the movie was green-lit? I don’t know much outside of it causing some waves around town a few months ago.”
“Why? It’s not like an author helping adapt their book into a screenplay is unprecedented or anything.”
Rita snorts. “It is when a director fires half a staff of seasoned writers and brings on a teenager with zero screenwriting background as a script consultant.”
Teddy feels his jaw go slack, because holy shit.
From a logical standpoint, it’s a little too hard to believe the director of a major film franchise would take a gamble like that, but Teddy’s also heard Burt Bridges has a bit of a nonconformist reputation.
Rita hums thoughtfully. “Has Bennett said anything about your audition? Or the movie in general?”
“Not really.”
“Have you asked?”
“I started to on the plane, yeah, but I don’t want to come off, like, desperate or unprofessional or whatever. She and her family have already been so nice, I’m not trying to press anything here,” he says, following it up with a disbelieving laugh. “I mean, they freaking invited me stay the whole weekend when they found out my Miami plans fell through. Who does that? The least I can do is act against my own self-interest while I’m here.”
A long pause follows—long enough for Teddy to think the call dropped. “Rita?”
“Are you gonna stay, then?” she asks.
Teddy switches the phone to his left hand and rolls his shoulders. “I mean, I kinda just agreed to it, so…”
Rita takes another moment to clear her throat, then says, quite eloquently, “Goddamn, Teddy. I think you’re the luckiest little punk I’ve ever represented,” and it catches Teddy so off guard that he can’t do anything about the guffaw that comes barreling out of his mouth.
“I’m being serious!” Rita insists. “Do you even realize what an opportunity this is?”
Her question sobers Teddy instantly. “What does that mean?”
She hesitates, probably searching for the best way to phrase whatever she’s got planned next, but Teddy already knows where this is going. Rita isn’t a fundamentally devious human being, but she is in the same business as he is. A mandatory sense of “by all means necessary” is written into any job description in Hollywood. What separates the people you want to work with from the people you don’t is how much stock they put into it.
“I’m saying you’ve got a chance to do some networking here,” she finally says.
Teddy laughs bitterly. “You mean kiss her ass, don’t you.”
“Jesus, Teddy. No. Well, maybe—” She groans, then starts over with, “Let me ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly this time. Do you think your audition went well yesterday?”
Teddy’s stomach bottoms out as he fumbles around for something to say.
“That’s what I thought,” Rita sighs when he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t sound angry at least, but Teddy still feels like the worst client in the world. “I could tell in the car yesterday. You’re not a good liar, kid.”
Teddy glances out across the lake in front of him, eyes following a speedboat in the distance.
“Yeah, I know,” he mumbles. “I’m sor—”
“Don’t apologize, Teddy. I’d be an awful manager if I expected you to land every audition you go to.”
“Yeah, well. You guys worked so hard to get me that audition and then I completely blew it.”
“Stop. No sulking,” Rita says, switching back to all business. “Look. I’m just gonna lay this out for you. Do you want this Parachutes role?”
“Yes,” Teddy says, because it’s mostly true. Part of him is terrified of it, sure, but the rest of him—the hungry side of him—is screaming he’d be an idiot not to want it.
“Okay, then. You and I both know how this business works. Hollywood is tiny. You can be the next Meryl Streep, for God’s sake, but if you don’t know anyone, you’re screwed,” Rita tells him. “You’re already in an incredibly advantageous position right now—you’re talented, you’re up and coming, and you’ve got an unprecedented fan base for the small amount of projects you’ve worked on.”
Teddy’s tempted to contradict her on a few of those points, just to give himself some control over how uncomfortable this makes him, but he knows she’ll just tell him to shut up and stop being self-deprecating.
“I’m not saying you should be conniving or manipulative or anything,” his manager continues, “and I know this is weird as hell—trust me, I’m still trying to wrap my mind around how this even happened—but Bennett Caldwell is possibly a direct line to the role you want.”
Teddy scoffs. “You’re acting like she’s the casting director.…”
“She’s someone working with the casting director. And the director. And probably the producers, since she’s involved with the script,” Rita points out. “And who knows? She might have no say in who gets cast, but honestly, when it comes down to the difference between two equally talented actors, the actor that’s generally liked more by people working on the film gets the role nine times out of ten. You know what I mean?”
This is just … Teddy can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“So you’re saying I should stay to sell myself,” he says.
“I’m saying this could be your Hunger Games, Teddy. Remember?” Rita presses. “Would you be able to live with yourself if you didn’t exhaust every resource you’ve been given to land a role like this?”
&nbs
p; * * *
Bennett is sitting on the deck with her computer in her lap when Teddy walks back up from the dock. He climbs the stairs, still a little flustered from his phone call, and plops down in the rocking chair next to Bennett with a groan. He doesn’t even realize how pathetic he probably sounds until Bennett says, “More flight troubles?”
And Teddy laughs, because at least that’s the one thing in his life that’s actually in order. Before he hung up he asked Rita to rebook his flight for Sunday and e-mail him the details.
“Nah. Just—stupid shit with my manager,” he says, then wishes he hadn’t. His eyes drop to her laptop. “What’re you doing?”
“Answering e-mails.” She gives a little headshake. “E-mails on e-mails on e-mails.”
Teddy’s eyes flick up to her profile. He takes in the downward curve of her mouth and the slight hunch in her posture.
“Got a lot going on?” he asks. Which is a dumb question, all things considered. She nods, and Teddy can’t help himself. “Anything I can do to help?”
Bennett purses her lips and tries not to smile. “Can you convince my literary agent that I don’t need a personal assistant?”
“More than happy to try, if you’d like,” he says lightly. “But first I’d like to point out that you’re no longer allowed to call me a big deal.”
“Not true,” Bennett snorts.
“Who’s getting a personal assistant here, Bennett, you or me?” he teases. But Bennett just sighs, and Teddy kicks himself for killing the repartee before it had the chance to gain traction. “Why do they think you need a personal assistant?”
She looks up, hesitating a second. “My agent wants some stuff taken off my plate, I guess.”
“Well, do you need stuff off your plate?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” she says, her frown deepening. Teddy’s already teeing up his next question, since getting information out of Bennett Caldwell basically requires the same amount of strategic planning as getting information out of the Pentagon, so he’s a little surprised when she offers, “Everyone’s all worried I’m not going to meet my deadline for the third Parachutes book because I’m going to Wilmington for filming. Apparently the solution is to hire a babysitter to make sure everything gets done.”
So she is going to be on set in Wilmington. Teddy could’ve done without this information, because now everything Rita said to him on the phone is parading back to the foreground of his mind. And then some.
“When’s your deadline?” he asks.
“March fifteenth.”
“I mean, I’m not going to pretend like I know anything about novel writing, but that’s, like, seven and a half months away.”
“Yeah, but I technically haven’t started writing the last book yet because of all the movie stuff,” Bennett says, looking guiltily down at her laptop again. “Plus my agent knows I’m not the fastest writer in the world, so. Getting an assistant is probably the right thing to do … it just doesn’t sit well with me.”
“Sucks when you know something can help your career but it doesn’t feel right,” Teddy says dryly, staring through the pine trees in their backyard and out across the lake.
Bennett hums in agreement, and a quiet settles between them—one that brings back some of the unease from his phone call with Rita.
“You sure it’s okay that I’m staying this weekend,” Teddy says suddenly.
Bennett looks over at him, amused. “I’d tell you if I weren’t, Buzz. Why?”
“Because…” He takes a moment to search for the right way to word this, then thinks screw it. There’s no getting around what he needs to say, and candor is always better than fluff. “Because my manager just talked to me for ten minutes about how much of a networking opportunity staying this weekend is, and I’m feeling superweird about it now.”
Bennett lurches forward and bursts out laughing. (Thank God.)
“I’m serious!” Teddy says. “I mean, this entire situation is so bizarro to begin with, right? And I don’t know—you never actually said you were cool with me staying. I just don’t want you to think I’m, like, skulking around just to get the scoop on your movie.”
“Did you just use the word ‘bizarro’?”
“Yes—because this is.”
It takes her a second to keep a straight face long enough to look him in the eye. “Look, Teddy. I’m glad you’re staying, and it never occurred to me that you might want to stay to get the scoop on the movie. I honestly thought—well, I don’t know what I thought the reason was, but it wasn’t that.”
Teddy’s at least relieved that she didn’t initially think the worst of him.
“I’m staying because I want to stay,” he says.
“Good.” Bennett stands, still giggling a little. “Then we’re all on the same page here. Now go put your bathing suit on.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
After drinking a couple of beers Tanner snuck them and sitting in the sun for most of the afternoon, there aren’t enough words to describe how happy Teddy is when two p.m. rolls around and he isn’t boarding a flight back to LA. Instead, he’s lounging on the Caldwells’ dock, a beer in one hand, a great mood in the other. The music is up. There isn’t a cloud in the sky. And Teddy’s only problem is his own guilty conscience.
“Want to get in the water?” Bennett asks from the chair to his left. She puts down the book she’s reading and stands, and Teddy forces himself to look literally anywhere else but in her general direction.
First of all, everything was fine and under control after breakfast.
But then it all went sideways after lunch when Bennett said she wanted to go down to the dock to get some sun. Teddy and his conscience could do without the image of Bennett in her stupid little black bikini branded into the side of his brain. It takes the better half of the afternoon to convince himself that just because he’s staying at the Caldwells’ house this weekend doesn’t mean he’s cheating on his (ex?) girlfriend. But this is fine. Teddy is not in over his head.
“I’ll get in, yeah,” Teddy says, standing from his chair and watching with some amusement (but mostly misplaced frustration) as Bennett picks up a nearby life jacket and steps into the armholes. She pulls it up her legs like she’s pulling on a pair of pants and starts clipping it across her stomach. It’s obvious she isn’t aware Teddy’s watching her. He tries his best to keep quiet, but ends up busting out laughing anyway.
“Yeah, you think it’s funny now,” she says, grabbing another beer for herself before waddling over to the dock’s edge. It looks like she’s wearing a gigantic diaper, and Teddy’s just about to start making fun of her when she jumps in the water. She bobs up to the surface, cracks her beer, and says, “Come on—just try it. It’s the only sensible way to float on the lake.”
Teddy can’t argue with that, so he grabs the nearest life jacket and clips himself in the same way, then makes a pit stop at the cooler before waddling in after her. A moment later, they’re floating a little ways from the dock.
“There does seem to be some logic behind this whole upside-down life jacket madness, and I fully support it,” he comments happily.
Bennett nods. “Yeah, plus, it keeps you a little higher above the water than wearing it the right way does, so it’s a lot easier to look out for alligators.”
Teddy’s in the middle of a long pull of his beer and chokes on it.
“What?!” he squawks, flapping at the water’s surface and drawing his legs up as high as he can. He ends up tipping himself over backward and almost loses his beer. When he comes up for air, Bennett is laughing so hard he can’t help laughing, too. They end up settling in like that for a while (once Teddy has confirmed three times that there are, in fact, no alligators in the lake).
“So, your family’s coming over tonight,” Teddy says after he’s done telling a story about the time he slipped and got his foot stuck in a toilet his senior year of high school while trying to reach an air vent for a prank. “Who’s coming and what should I c
all them?”
Bennett ducks underwater for a moment, holding her beer above her head so it doesn’t get wet. She wipes her face when she pops back up and says, “Yeah. My aunt and uncle and cousins—so for you, that’s Mr. and Mrs. McGeary, Liz, and Will.”
“Sounds fun.”
“Fun is a stretch,” Bennett mutters absently, catching Teddy off guard. He studies her profile again and is about to ask what she means when she apparently remembers herself. “I mean—yeah, no, it’ll be fun. They live on the lake, too, so they’ll probably bring their boat over.”
Teddy knows a backstroke when he sees one.
“What, you’re not into family gatherings?” he asks, and judging by the look on her face, Bennett knows he’s onto her. She wrinkles her nose and squints out over the water.
“They’re just…” Her eyes flick to Teddy’s for a moment as she searches for the words she wants. “They’re just a lot.”
“Aw, come on,” he says, feeling robbed. He gives her a reassuring eyebrow wiggle. “I’m just as good at listening as I am talking, if that’s any consolation.”
She laughs, smoothing the hair on the top of her head.
“My cousin Liz and I aren’t really getting along at the moment,” she says.
“What happened?” he asks.
“It’s a long story. Liz and I have never had the closest relationship to begin with—” Bennett stops short and shakes her head. “She just—I don’t know. Things got weird when she found out about all the Parachutes stuff. She thought I was purposely not telling her things, even though I wasn’t telling anyone at the time. So she just started acting … weird.”
“What, like, jealous weird?”
Bennett’s laugh has zero humor behind it. “It’d be stupid pretentious of me to think that, but I guess I don’t know what else it could be? Even when it literally makes no sense.”
Love Scene, Take Two Page 6