Scared Scriptless

by Alison Sweeney

  “Exactly. You’re going to have everything you need at your fingertips to make the show a success. Come on, let me show you your office.” As he heads down the long hallway, I have to force myself not to whimper. As much as I love Sophie and the ultra-trendy clothes she’s lending me to make a good impression here, I don’t know how much longer I can stand these heels. I am fantasizing about dipping my feet into hot water with Epsom salts as I follow Ed down the hall as fast as I can, which is not that fast.

  “So, take your time getting settled. We’ll meet in the conference room with the other creative execs at six to go over the launch plan for Wolf.”

  Ed sees the grimace I can’t quite hide at the idea of hiking all the way back to his wing of this warehouse-sized building.

  “We’re putting you through your paces right off the bat, but you seemed like the type to handle pressure. Was I wrong about you?”

  “Oh, not at all. I’m ready for anything you’ve got for me, Mr. Greenling.”

  “Ed, please. We’re going to be in the trenches together; you have to call me Ed.”

  “Okay, Ed… It’s just that… I guess I just picked the wrong shoes for all the walking I’ve done today.”

  “Oh… of course. That’s such a woman thing, isn’t it? It’s always about the shoes—that’s what my first wife used to say.” He heads to the door chuckling. “And my second wife, too, come to think of it.”

  He turns back at the door. “We’re a casual crew around here, Maddy. Wear some flats.” He winks and is gone. I collapse in my chair and immediately kick off the wedges Sophie promised would be more comfortable than stilettos. I am pretty sure I can see my bare feet swelling before my eyes. I wonder if I’ll even be able to get the torture devices back on my feet when it’s time to get to the meeting. I calculate how long it will take me to reach the main conference room, including time for me to get lost in this maze. I should probably leave by 5:40 to be safe.

  Now that that’s settled in my head, I look at the work ahead of me. There are stacks and stacks of papers and files and newspaper clippings to look through. At first it’s overwhelming, but then I find a box filled with supplies from Office Depot. I feel energized by the organizational tools—there’s nothing a girl can’t do armed with Post-its, markers, and a fresh notebook. I put the white board up on the wall first, and pull out all the colored markers. I separate the little Post-it notes from the white note cards, and underneath the box, I discover a corkboard.

  I’m knee-deep in the papers and pictures and images I brought from home, totally lost in my idea board, everything from beautiful scenic photos of the mountain to specific events. I printed out a pic of me holding my first snowboarding trophy in fifth grade so I could start painting a visual picture of the sensibility for the show. When the alarm on my phone goes off, hours later, I flinch, knowing it’s time to put those damn shoes back on and head to the conference room. I really have no idea what to expect as I slowly, gingerly begin the trek to my first big industry meeting. Am I supposed to pitch them the show again, have all the details locked up? Or are we just getting to know each other? I mean, how am I supposed to know this stuff? A little heads-up from Ed would have been nice. The meeting isn’t even starting until 6:00, and I have no idea how long it will go on for. I rest outside the kitchen/common area in the center of the first floor and fight the urge to take my shoes off again. Instead, I shift my weight back and forth, giving each foot a break. Then I text Adam, knowing he’ll be able to calm me down.

  AD: Go get ’em babe. You’ll knock ’em dead.

  Me: Thx. I don’t know what time we’ll be done here. I know we planned to finally get that whiskey I owe you…

  AD: Don’t worry about it. Text me when you’re done. I can’t wait to hear about your day. XO

  His kiss and hug warms me as I walk in, shoulders squared to face the unknown.

  After two and a half hours of chitchat, brainstorming, a lecture from Ed about finances that made no sense to me but had the rest of the team nodding their heads and grimacing appropriately, we are finally calling it a day. Who knew working at the development level could have as sucky hours as being on set. At this point I will have no life at all outside of work. And yet, it’s exciting to see the big plans they have for Wolf. They are talking about a serious publicity and marketing campaign. Since it was only the initial meeting, people were just spit-balling outrageous ideas like bringing real wolves as guests on the Tonight Show, billboards on taxis, doing a “Wolf Week” like Discovery’s Shark Week.

  The first thing I do after saying good night to my new colleagues is take off these damn shoes and walk barefoot to my car. The risk of tetanus outweighs the thought of wearing them one more second. The next thing I do is call Adam. I can barely wait for my Bluetooth to sync up before dialing his number.

  “Tell me everything.” He skips pleasantries to get right to it.

  “I have my own office.”

  “Of course you do.” I hear him smiling on the phone.

  “They had it stocked with all sorts of stuff for me to work on the layout and the breakdowns for the show. It was like Office Depot threw up in there.”

  “Which you love. You sound hyped up, not exhausted. You still want to go out?”

  “Sure, I can tell you the rest in person.”

  “I’m just wrapping up dinner with some friends. Let’s meet at your place. Go from there.”

  It throws me off a bit as Wanda guides me to the nearest freeway on-ramp. I didn’t know Adam had dinner plans. Is that weird? He didn’t mention who he was eating with and I don’t want to seem all nosy and demanding and ask.

  By the time we get settled at a table in one of the cool little bars on Ventura in Studio City, its 10:00 and I’m totally wired. I tell Adam all about the meeting and the publicity and marketing ideas. It’s a great end to what’s been an exciting day, except for right when I’ve smoothly brought up his dinner to see if he’ll tell me who he was with tonight, we’re interrupted by a rather large group of people wanting Adam’s autograph and to take a picture. No, not a picture, individual pictures with each person in the group. All the guys are good-naturedly laughing as they take pictures on their phones of their spouses or girlfriends or whatever posing with Adam. I watch the photo shoot unfold patiently knowing we’ll never get back to the subject of his dinner now. This is just part of the life, and Adam handles it with a lot of grace and gives each fan his time and attention. And if I’m going to be a part of his life, I’m going to have to learn to handle it as well as he does.

  Nothing can dampen the rush, though, as we walk back out into the warm fall night, holding hands. I think about how great it’s been to have someone to share my day with. And honestly, it scares me how much I enjoy spending time with Adam.

  As we walk back to the car, there’s a bunch of giggling twentysomething girls in slinky little outfits who brush past us, hurrying into a bar on the corner.

  Adam sees it first, something tucked into the driver’s side windshield wiper. It’s not a parking ticket, but he pulls out a paper with something attached.

  “Oh God.” Adam laughs and goes to unlock the car.

  “What? What is it?” I’m surprised he doesn’t offer an explanation to begin with.

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” he says casually. He opens his door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  I note the fact that he doesn’t come around to open the door for me as he normally does. It makes me jump into the car quickly, so that I catch him before he can tuck the note out of sight.

  “What are you hiding?” I laugh, making a grab for what’s in his hand.

  “Nothing.” He shies away from me.

  Now I have to know what this is. “Just let me see. What’s the big deal?”

  “Okay, fine.” Adam reluctantly hands it over.

  “ ‘Call me’?” I read, looking at Adam. “ ‘Hearts, Heather.’ ” And then I realize what’s fallen into my hand with the flowery note. A pair
of lace panties. I flinch and drop them into my lap like a hot potato, an involuntary “ewww” slipping out. It takes a couple of spastic movements to get it off me and back onto his side of the car. “That’s disgusting!”

  “Well, it’s original, that’s for sure.”

  “What? Original? Is that all you can say? Does this happen all the time?”

  “I wouldn’t say all the time… no.” He starts the engine.

  “Well, how often, then, Adam? How often are women giving you their underwear and telling you to call them? Once a week? Twice a week?” I tell myself to calm down, but the idea that all these gorgeous women trail Adam around just got very real.

  “Maddy—”

  I interrupt him. “I just can’t believe someone would do that. I mean, she had to have been wearing them, right? You don’t keep extra undies in your purse just in case you run into a celebrity.”

  “I’m not sure I understand. Are you mad at me?” We’ve arrived back at my house from the short drive down the block. Adam turns off the engine and turns to me.

  “Well, I’d like to know why you tried to keep… that”—I gesture to the offensive note and its accessory—“from me. Why didn’t you just admit what it was when I asked?”

  “What do you mean ‘admit’? I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t have anything to ‘admit’ to.”

  “You didn’t want me to know what was on your windshield. The note she left you.” I say it with as much derision as I can muster.

  “Of course I didn’t want you to see it!” he says loudly. And then in a much more reasonable tone, he adds, “I knew you’d overreact.”

  Overreact?! I’m fuming at the implication that my reaction is anything but completely rational.

  “Maddy, this isn’t real.” He holds up the crumpled note and underwear in the dark car.

  “Oh my God… can you please get rid of them? Or do you have some place at home where you keep these things?!” I know I’m reaching here, but somehow I just can’t stop myself.

  Adam growls in frustration. “Are you kidding me, Maddy? I’m not going to keep them. I just didn’t have a place to throw them away, and I’m not going to toss them out the window on Ventura Boulevard.” He stalks to the trash cans on the corner and tosses them in. “Happy now?”

  “No.” I get out of the car too. I’m whispering so my happy, normal, suburban neighbors don’t start staring out their windows. “I don’t understand how you can just take that so casually. It’s crazy. And maybe I am ‘overreacting,’ but I clearly don’t fit in with all this.”

  “That’s absurd. Maddy, you can’t let a couple of crazy girls—who probably didn’t mean anything by it—get to you. It was probably a bet, or a joke to them. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

  “Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’ve never taken a girl up on an offer like that?”

  “What?”

  “Answer the question.”

  “That’s so unfair.” We hold a silent contest of wills, but I am not backing down on this, even though I really don’t want to hear his answer.

  “Yes. Okay? Yes. When I was young and stupid, I hooked up with a few fans. I’m not going to lie to you. But that was years ago. Obviously that’s not what I want now. I want you. I want this.”

  I just look at him. I don’t know what to say. I know in a rational part of my mind I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t help it. I’m chickening out. How can I ever compete with all these girls, girls who are willing to do anything to be with a celebrity? For the longest time I don’t say anything. And then I can’t even look at his face anymore. I stare at my feet.

  It’s Adam who breaks the silence. “Right, never trust the actors. How could I forget?” Without waiting for a response, he gets back in his car and starts the engine. I take a few deep breaths, but he’s just sitting there with his car idling, and I realize he’s waiting for me to go inside. He’s still there watching as I unlock my front door, but by the time I’ve shut the door and go to peek out the curtain, all I see are taillights.

  Scene 004

  Int. Wolf production offices—evening

  For the last twenty minutes I’ve been talking with Brett, our brand-new story producer, and Joel, show runner for Never Cry Wolf, about the magic that was the first season of The Real World.

  “All my high school friends had a crush on Eric Nies,” I tell the guys.

  “Oh, but Kevin Powell stole the show. So much drama.” Brett has just moved here from New York City and hasn’t even found a place to live yet. He’s worn the same green shirt three days this week.

  Brett, Joel, and I have had some fascinating discussions and fierce debates about reality TV in our daily production meetings. Brett worked on The Real Housewives of New York City and has some really good gossip about those ladies. But from our conversations over the last couple of weeks has come a clear understanding of what we want our show to be like. I have already used up three spiral notebooks on just the prep for production.

  We are chomping at the bit to get up to Wolf and start filming next week. We’ve gotten Ed to sign off on one episode focusing on Wolf County “getting ready for winter.” And then we’ll hold off until the snow falls for the rest of the season.

  It’s a little tight, getting the crew ready and the field producers up to speed. Luckily for me, I have Joel by my side, because one of the first lessons I’ve learned is that I have to be careful who I reveal my inexperience in reality to. As snobby as scripted people can be about reality, the reverse is true too. Reality TV people can be total purists about their style of TV production, and I’m tired of the “Well, that’s not how we do it” comments. I want to do it the way that makes the most sense for Never Cry Wolf.

  Joel keeps telling me that I am a good test sample for him of what the people in Wolf are going to be like. “Maddy, I know if I can convince you, I can get these Wolves to do anything.”

  We’ve spent this meeting trying to figure out how to shoot the resort getting ready. My brother and dad hiring the ski school employees, the seasonal lift operators, the most interesting parts for the audience to see. We’ve also talked a lot about the ground logistics. The crew will be staying at The Mount Inn, which is a tiny bed-and-breakfast near the lodge. With only eleven rooms, the Never Cry Wolf team can take up the whole inn and effectively make it headquarters. My mom mentioned that the owner, Marybell, had told her that she bought all new sheets for all the rooms and tried a new recipe for blueberry muffins. It’s like I’m bringing a dozen guests home for dinner, but I know the crew will love the Wolf hospitality.

  I look at the clock in the corner as we wrap the meeting and note that this will be my fourth sixteen-hour day in a row. Every day for the last week, I’ve woken up, driven straight to the Wolf offices, worked my tail off all day, breaking for lunch if someone forced me to, and then come home and fallen asleep before I could even watch a minute of the news. Not that I am complaining, because the upside of this brutal schedule is that I haven’t had one spare second to think about Adam.

  Which is not to say I don’t feel a split second’s hesitation every time my phone rings or beeps a new text, but it’s never Adam. Well, he did text me once, the morning after Thong-gate:

  Maddy, the only underwear I care about is yours. Call me.

  I know he was making light of the situation to defuse the tension, clearly he also just wasn’t taking my feelings seriously. I really needed to talk to him, explain myself, which is what I was going to write back, but I knew I had to sort out my thoughts first. When I’m with him, it’s hard to keep a thought in my head anyway. So I figured I would spend some time coming up with a script of sorts, and then I’d be able to explain my feelings clearly when I saw him. But then I got so busy with work and one day led to a week, and one to two, and we haven’t spoken at all. There’s no way he’s going to come back on a white horse at this point given that (A) I’m not a damsel, (B) he doesn’t even know if I am in distress,
because (C) I’m the one who picked this fight. If this were a fairy tale, I’m actually more the villain, or just a fool.

  And why did I do that? I had a trumped up list of reasons in my mind, but I had to cross them off, including that stupid mysterious dinner. Some fashion blog had pictures of him leaving the restaurant with Alice and her husband Tony that night. So I’m left with nothing to hide behind except the main one, circled in red at the top: I’m scared. Adam—hell, Adam’s whole world—is so far out of my league, it’s not even funny. He’s going to realize it sooner or later and go back to dating the Lola Stones of the world, or fans with sexier underwear, who would die to be by his side at all of his fancy events. I’ll remember why I had my rule in the first place. I’m saving us both the trouble. Aren’t I?

  “So is that a yes, Maddy?”

  “Sorry, Joel, I zoned out there for a sec. What’s the question?” Please let it be something easy to answer.

  “We’re going to the pub across the street to grab a quick drink since we’re all going to be here so late. You in?”

  An easy question indeed. “Yes, a drink would be great.”

  In the spirit of bonding with my new team, I grab my purse and follow Joel out. He has a couple of the younger producers in tow and we all file into the pub behind him like ducklings. One of the quirks about Hollywood is how quickly crews can become so close. When you’re working such long hours with a group of people, you can’t help but get tight, quick. It’s like an adult version of summer-camp friendships. Now that The Wrong Doctor has wrapped, I’m glad to have this camaraderie with a new team. Sometimes, after a show wraps, it can be months before you come back from the hiatus or start a new show. When you’re used to being with a huge crew for sixty-plus hours a week, it can be… quiet.