I heard from a PA in the offices that a lot of closed-door meetings have been going on this week. That could explain things, but I wish he wouldn’t shut me out. I know there are things that go on above my pay grade that he isn’t at liberty to discuss, but it’s awkward because I just don’t know how to handle it. On one hand, I want to be supportive, so perhaps I should text him to let him know I’m thinking about him. On the other hand, that could make him wonder what I know and if people are talking about these closed-door meetings. So I have no idea how to proceed. Gah. Reason #521 why you shouldn’t date your boss!
Maybe I should just sit back and appreciate the distraction of working late tonight. And with that thought, my phone vibrates. Janine ran out to grab us some sushi since we have at least another hour of work ahead, and I just can’t eat one more meal at Crafty.
While the crew is on a ten-minute break, I sneak away to Janine’s offices in postproduction. I see she’s knee-deep in organization—this team runs like an intense machine. They have to edit together the episodes from all the different camera footage we provide, mostly using the notes I have created as a guideline of what the director had in mind. As I walk in, Janine is unwrapping our takeout with one hand while typing on her iPad with the other and talking with the phone tucked between her shoulder and ear—multitasking at its finest. I turn my back to her so she knows I’m not trying to rush her. I casually review the notes she has written with huge multicolored pens on the whiteboard that makes up one whole wall of her office.
The first thing I notice is the scheduled dates she has circled with huge red arrows pointing at them. I follow her scribbling to see that the editing team has an incredibly tight set of deadlines for getting initial cuts of the episodes to Hogan.
“My backup plan is to quit and retire to a little casita in Mexico.” Janine’s comment is such a non sequitur to her phone conversation. I turn back around and realize she’s actually talking to me now.
“Why do you have such a quick turnaround?”
“Hogan had a big meeting with the post team before production started. He felt that the network took so long giving notes on the episodes that we didn’t have enough time to incorporate their changes as well as his changes to their changes.” We both smirk. Basically, Hogan is a control freak. He wants to edit according to what the network wants, then have enough time to show them why he was right and still be able to go back and fix it as he wants it before it airs. I don’t blame him; after all, it’s his show. But since they moved up the premiere date for the new season, it just adds to the pressure the editors feel to get the episodes cut (edited) and in Hogan’s hands ASAP, if not sooner.
“Craig’s going to have a conniption about all the overtime that’s going to require for my team.” Janine dips her spicy tuna roll into the ponzu sauce.
“He’ll make it work. I’m sure Craig understands why Hogan wants extra time with the episodes. And if it helps, you can tell him that the earlier we get notes about added scenes or pickups, the easier it is for us to squeeze into the current production schedule. So that will save money.”
I have had to resign myself to it: no matter how meticulous we are (I am) during filming, there are always going to be scenes or little parts of scenes that we have to go back and film again. Sometimes it’s as frustratingly unavoidable as a glitch in the camera or the digital file it was saved on, and the editors discover that some of the material is just unusable. I hate when it’s a creative choice or something we could have avoided through better preproduction planning.
“Oh, God, remember episode four? Hogan decided weeks later that he hated that guy’s wardrobe in the South American sequence and wanted a complete reshoot. You and Frank spent hours figuring out the least expensive way to add three days of filming to the production schedule before cooler heads prevailed.”
“It wasn’t cooler heads.” I put up a hand so I can swallow my bite of shrimp before continuing. “Hogan would have done it. You saved the day by selling him the idea of focusing on the other camera angle, and Craig talked him into being okay with the close-up shots so that you never really saw what the guy was wearing.”
“What who was wearing?” I turn around to see Billy in the doorway, loaded down with DVDs.
“You’re going to watch dailies at”—I check my watch—“nine-thirty?” I know I shouldn’t be surprised by Billy’s work ethic at this point, but, well, I am.
“Yes, Maddy, that’s what directors do. They sit up all night and obsess over the dailies.” He smiles. “You think actors are bad about obsessing over our performances… I plan to apply that same level of neurosis in my first time as director. Isn’t that what you called me once, neurotic? Oh, and narcissistic.”
“Ouch!” Janine says.
I blush with embarrassment, thinking back to the days before Billy and I were friends. He had caught me in the middle of an inappropriate rant about him and another actor, after they had a hissy fit about how loud the crew was during their rehearsal. In retrospect, he was obviously stressed out that day and tense about his performance. And the crew was talking a lot since the director had made some big changes. Even Frank apologized to Billy about it afterward. I definitely got the diva vibe from him that day and didn’t hesitate to say it. Obviously, we got past it. He was professional enough to know he overreacted and cool enough to call me on my crap and then let it go. I’m glad it happened, honestly, because I don’t think we’d have as good a relationship now if it hadn’t. But it’s still embarrassing.
“I would say ‘I’m sorry’ again, but you threatened to never say a line of dialogue as written if I apologized one more time. So for your own professional reputation, Billy, I’ll refrain.”
“It was the only threat that I knew would work. ‘I hate ad-libbing’ is going to be your epitaph, Maddy.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I take the teasing about my obsessively by-the-book reputation in stride because I’m used to it, and because I kind of like it. As far as obsessions go, I’d say it’s a pretty healthy one.
“Speaking of us neurotic actors… guess who was asking about you last night? Adam!” He says his name with a goofy smile, before I can even begin to guess. Not that I would have gotten that one right, in a million years.
“What do you mean, he was asking about me?”
“We met up to shoot some pool over the weekend, and I believe his exact words were ‘so what’s Maddy’s deal?’ He must’ve learned that smooth talk on the soap,” Billy snickers. I am too uncomfortable, not to mention caught off guard, to begin to formulate a reply. Oblivious, he continues. “He said he talked to you at the HBO thing and you seemed cool.” He does an exaggerated impression of Adam’s tough Brooklyn accent.
Cool? Ha, cool is the last thing I feel. Especially at this moment.
“Well… so what did you tell him?”
Billy raises his eyebrow and looks pointedly at Janine, who goes back to shuffling cards around on her desk like she’s at a blackjack table.
“Oh, she knows…,” I tell him, reading from his look that he’s wondering if Janine knows about Craig and me. I finally confessed all to her on our hike over the weekend, mainly because I needed her to help parse out his message canceling on me. “But no one else does, so let’s keep it that way. Okay?”
“No problem,” Janine agrees quickly before saying, “But I gotta say, did not see that coming. Craig and Maddy. I mean, I would never have called it…”
“What? He’s nice.” I am a little taken aback that Janine and Billy both seem so shocked by the idea of Craig and I dating.
“Oh yeah, totally. You guys seem so different, somehow. But hey, opposites attract. Isn’t that what they say?” Janine fills in quickly.
“I was actually feeling like we had a lot in common. We both—”
“Okay, well not to interrupt the girl talk here,” Billy pipes in. “But I told Adam I thought you were seeing someone. Know what he said?”
“I have no idea
, Billy. This is all very ninth grade,” I say, with my best above-it-all huff.
“Well, for the record, he said ‘too bad.’ I’m not saying you should date him. I’m just saying… well, you’ve got a lot of options out there. That’s all.” Does Billy have a problem with Craig? Is that what I’m reading between the lines?
I get a little defensive on Craig’s behalf. “Adam’s an actor. On this show. He dates supermodels. And did I mention he’s an actor? And I have a ru—” The word “rule” is still forming on my lips when Janine and Billy recite like grade-school students, in unison, “No actors!”
“Oh my God, you guys are the worst. New topic,” I say, eager to get off the subject of my romantic life, which frankly has never been something to inspire more than three minutes of discussion.
“Fine,” Billy concedes, much to my relief. “What are you guys doing this weekend?”
“I’m heading out to Burning Man,” Janine announces.
“What?” Now it’s Billy’s and my turn to speak in unison. I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised that Janine’s free spirit and self-expression would be drawn to an event like Burning Man. From what I’ve heard, it’s like Woodstock, without the bands. It makes sense that Janine, one of those rare homegrown Hollywood people, would be drawn to this mecca celebrating the individual within a communal environment. Most people in this business came from somewhere else to pursue the Hollywood dream. But Janine has the unique confidence that you get only from being born into the business; her parents are world-class editors who have worked on some of the biggest features with incredible directors. She was probably taught to speak Avid before English.
“What? Don’t look so surprised. Burning Man is an experience. I’m going to be off the grid for three days.” She sighs with pure bliss. “Being one with nature and art… not to mention hot, artsy guys,” she adds with a laugh.
Billy and I exchange a skeptical look. Janine going to Burning Man is like me standing in line to go to a Vince Camuto sample sale. But then that’s why I love her—just when you think she’s going to zig, she zags.
“That’s hard-core, Janine. And I thought she was the granola one,” Billy says, pointing at me.
“Well, I will be wearing fleece this weekend…,” I say.
“Off home to the mountains?”
“Yep.” I’m unable to hide my smile. “We’re having a big surprise party for my mom’s sixtieth birthday. She has no idea I’m coming up. I told her I had to work.”
“So you’re off the grid too. Should I not even bother texting you? Are you going to come back with hairy pits, smelling of patchouli?” Billy teases.
“Ha-ha, smarty pants. I do plan to shower while I’m home. It’s going to be heaven. Hikes, hanging out by the lake. I’m going mountain biking with my brother.”
“Sounds like a nonstop workout.” Janine groans. “No thanks, the toughest thing I’m going to be doing is figuring out where to put my next henna tattoo.”
“I can just picture it—all weekend we’re going to see Maddy’s Facebook posts: ‘Hiking. nine a.m.’ with some postcard-perfect Instagram updates every five minutes.” Ever since his publicist made him get on social media, Billy has been obsessed. “Meanwhile, I’ll be here, with these,” he says, gathering up the stacks of DVDs he left on the table. “Have fun, ladies.”
“He really is so hot,” Janine says with a sigh as soon as Billy is out of earshot.
“Watch who you say that to, or this week’s love of his life will scratch your eyes out.” I start grabbing up the rest of my sushi. “Okay, I have to get back to work. And I know you don’t need any more distractions. Thanks for dinner—next time I’m buying.”
Just as I’m settled back in my chair on set, ready to polish off the rest of my tuna roll, my phone buzzes. Must be Matthew again, bugging me about Mom’s gift. I wipe off my fingers to reply to his text, grinning already that I’ve got him begging. Matthew’s weakness is he hates being ignored. Instead it’s a message from a number I don’t recognize.
I hope you don’t mind, Billy gave me your number. I wanted to make sure you have my numbers so I can collect on our bet.—Adam
I stare at the screen for several seconds. And then I turn my phone off and stash it in my bag so quickly you’d think it was on fire.
Scene 007
Ext. Pacific Coast Highway—dawn
“I will wait,
I will wait
for you.”
I belt out the lyrics of Mumford & Sons as the song blares through the speakers of my car. To my right, the dawn sun is casting a yellow glow over the Pacific and empty highway stretches before me. It’s beautiful. There’s something very peaceful about being on the open road at 6:00 a.m. And if the traffic stays light, I’ll be home in plenty of time to get to the restaurant for my mom’s surprise party at 1:00 p.m.
The flat California desert disappears into gorgeous green hills and farms, the farther north I drive. I love how different the views are every hour on this drive. It’s always a surprise to see what’s around the bend. Likewise, with my iPod on shuffle, I have no idea what music is going to play next. One minute I’m listening to Michael Bublé croon his latest and the next I’m transported back to ninth grade, head-banging to Trent Reznor. But the best part of this windy six-hour drive is that it leaves plenty of solitary time to think, which this morning mostly consists of me replaying my rather strange date with Craig last night.
We met up for drinks at the Mexican place near my house, but just like last week he seemed distracted—there, but not there. As I munched on the nachos we ordered, I mentally added to my list of “possible reasons why Craig is so distracted”: #7. He doesn’t want to date me anymore; #8. Family issues; #9. He has a secret wife he never told me about, like on the Dateline Exclusive I watched way too late last night. The possibilities were endless. As it turned out, it really wasn’t anything especially surprising. At the end of the night, as we’re standing at my door, he turned to me and said, “Look, Maddy, I know, I’ve been distracted the last week. I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s just, well, things are a little crazy right now. Hogan is talking about needing to bring in some new blood. He’s talking about making some changes on the development side.”
I couldn’t help but make a face—changes at the top make everyone nervous.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” He took my hand and started playing with the braided string bracelet my mom made me the last time I was home. Luckily it’s a pretty tame version of her many artistic endeavors, so I’m happy to humor her and wear it, although jewelry is not usually my thing.
“Then why all the secret meetings?”
“Ah, so people are talking.”
Damn it, I wasn’t supposed to reveal that, but he didn’t press me for details.
“The good news is that Hogan is excited for the future of HCP. He isn’t just coasting on the success of The Wrong Doctor. He wants more. I just…” He hesitated, and probably out of habit more than worrying that the random strangers at Casavega care about our conversation, he leaned in closer. “I want Hogan to give me a chance to run Development too.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I know I can count on you to not say anything to anyone about this. I want to get my ducks lined up and then go to him with a proposal.”
On the one hand, I was thrilled that he confided in me. On the other hand, I’m uncomfortable thinking that he probably never would have told me his plan if he knew about my relationship with Hogan. I kept meaning to tell him about it, but how do I do it now? I don’t want Craig to think I actually have any influence over Hogan, because I don’t. But I don’t know how to tell him now without him thinking I’ve been keeping something from him.
As if I have conjured him with my thoughts, Craig calls.
“Morning, Maddy.” Craig’s voice rings through the Bluetooth speaker of the car. He still has his morning voice, which I decide I like. Very much. It’s kind of husky and understated, without his usual polish.
&
nbsp; “Hey, you. Did you just get up?” The clock on the dash reads 7:48.
“No, I’ve been up for about twenty minutes. Just watching last night’s Sports Center. How far are you? Did you really get up at five-fifteen?”
“Well, five, actually, and I was on the road by five-thirty.” Yup, I have this super annoying habit of waking up about ten or fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off. Almost every morning. It hurts because I could really use the extra ten minutes of shut-eye. But I know if I set my alarm for ten minutes later, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for worrying that would be the one morning I wouldn’t do it. “I got to see a beautiful sunrise, and I’m making good time.”
“And I haven’t even made coffee yet. You inspire me, Maddy. I need some of your energy.”
I don’t know if it’s energy, per se. I do think it’s that I was raised getting up early to hit the slopes when they open, or to get on the lake for the best conditions or before the crowds. And now working in TV, we’re either up at “Oh-dark-thirty” or we don’t start until 10:00 p.m. and we’re filming all night, and I’m back in bed well after the sun comes up. The good news is that I can sleep anywhere, any time. The bad news is, never for long and very restlessly. I’m always afraid there’s going to be a problem with someone on the crew or cast, so I have to leave my phone on all night. When we’re in production, I’m like a doctor—always on call. One of the best parts of going home is the naps. I can’t wait to sneak in a few, under my mom’s quilted afghan (another of her hobbies) on our old couch.
“So, you’re back in town on Monday, right?” Craig asks.
“Yep, I’m sure next week is going to be crazed after the holiday weekend, but maybe we can do something next Saturday, in the morning? We could go for a walk up to the Griffith Observatory.” Given Craig’s anxiety levels these days, he could use some time in nature, as opposed to some overcrowded brunch spot in Santa Monica, which is what I imagine he would suggest.
Scared Scriptless Page 5