Likely Story!

by David Levithan

  “I’m not sure I have anything juicy left to tell,” I joked, prompting a round of guffaws. “But … I’ll see your secret and raise you mine.” I threw in a bunch of chips.

  “It had better be good, Mallory,” Francesca cautioned. “I happen to know Dallas has a few doozies left up his sleeve.”

  “That’s what I’m banking on.”

  “Shut up, Francesca, or maybe my secret will be that I know yours.” Dallas saw my bet and raised me.

  “I don’t think so. I think you can do better than that.” I matched and upped the ante.

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?” He didn’t back down.

  “Not only would I like to know, I think I am going to know in just a minute.”

  “Big talker.”

  “Hey, I’m putting my money where my mouth is. You think I can’t back it up?”

  Chips were spilling off the pile, practically into our laps.

  “Go ahead and call if you’re so sure,” I challenged, training my eyes right at his. Dallas didn’t break my gaze. “You could always fold,” I offered. Dallas pushed his remaining chips into the middle of the table.

  “I’m all in. It’s your call, Mallory.”

  I considered my options. Backing down wasn’t one of them.

  “Call.”

  I flipped over my cards.

  “A pair of fives?” cried Gina. “You were bluffing?!”

  I began to scoop up my winnings. “Bluffing is my way of life.”

  “Not so fast, Tex.” Dallas revealed his hand: a straight. I was laid low.

  Dallas accepted congratulations and told me to ’fess up.

  “And make it good,” he added.

  I bit my lip. There were some secrets that were really not meant for sharing … but there were some that might do a lot of good if told to the right people.

  “Are you sure you want to know, Dallas? It’s about you.”

  Four pairs of eyes darted from me to him. Dallas’s usually steady smile visibly quivered.

  “Now I want to know,” said Francesca.

  “Be careful, Mallory,” Greg whispered.

  “Come on!” Javier bellowed.

  Dallas swallowed. “Why don’t we call it even?”

  I shook my head. “No way. Fair’s fair.”

  “But this is your first time. You shouldn’t have to tell something you’re not ready to.”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, this raised a red flag, like he had an idea of what I might say. If he did, he was wrong. But I did wonder what he was thinking.

  “I knew what I signed up for. Don’t worry—I won’t embarrass you any more than I already have. It goes like this. Mom and Richard want me to write a story where Ryan and Vienna have an affair.”

  I expected wretching. I expected outrage.

  I got oohs and aahs.

  “Omigod! Does this mean I’d get to have all kinds of blowout scenes with your mom?” begged Francesca.

  “Forget the Emmy, Fran. Slap Vienna, and you’d get the Purple Heart!” Javier proclaimed.

  Gina knew better than to come down on one side or another. “Your mother’s certainly a big fan of Ryan’s. She’d love it.”

  I looked to Dallas, hoping he’d know from the expression on my face that I thought it was a crime against nature.

  “It’s a little out of left field, isn’t it?” he said. This was a start.

  “Exactly. Ryan is in love with Jacqueline. End of story.”

  “But he doesn’t really know what his feelings are,” Francesca countered. “He’s totally ripe for manipulating. This would be the perfect time for a man-eater like Vienna to gobble him up.”

  “She has a point,” Dallas said. He looked at me and shrugged. “It could be fun.”

  “And sexy,” said Javier.

  “And dramatic,” said Francesca.

  And a complete disaster. I was not going to write love scenes for Dallas and my mother. She’d taken my show. I wasn’t going to let her take Dallas, too.

  That was one secret I couldn’t let slip. But when I looked at Greg, I saw that he understood.

  “You’re not crazy,” he said to me once the actors’ conversation had moved on to two cameramen who’d recently fallen in love over star filters and light-meter readings. “It’s a stupid, stupid idea.”

  “Thanks,” I told him.

  “Seriously. It’s not your feelings for, um, the actors involved that’s telling you to stop this. It’s your feelings about the show.”

  “It’s so hard to tell the difference nowadays,” I confessed.

  “Try. I know you can do it.”

  That made one of us.

  By the time I left the game, even Gina had been swept up in all the “Ryenna” talk. I told myself that Greg was right—they didn’t know what they were talking about. They weren’t my target audience. I was. I was writing for a nation of Mallorys.

  So when I got home, I evaded the dastardly duo and fired up my laptop. Final Draft’s blinking cursor dared me to give it a shot. It was better than logging on to www.likelywhorey.com or sifting through typo-riddled rants from Alexis’s fan club president … but not by much.

  (INT., VIENNA’S OFFICE)

  VIENNA sits at her desk,

  eraser end of a pencil poised

  flirtatiously at her lips.

  RYAN sits opposite, jumpy.

  VIENNA

  • • •

  RYAN

  • • •

  VIENNA

  I can sit here all day.

  RYAN

  Not me. I’ve got places to be.

  VIENNA

  Waves to surf? Hearts to

  break?

  RYAN

  (GETS UP TO GO) Kid sisters

  to babysit.

  VIENNA

  Making a pit stop at your

  dealer’s place first? (RYAN

  STOPS) That’s right. I know

  all about the monkey on your

  back. Don’t look so surprised;

  I’m a guidance counselor,

  remember? I know things.

  RYAN

  I just wish you knew when

  to quit.

  VIENNA

  I’m too stubborn for that.

  (CLOSE TO HIM) You’re dying

  for a fix, aren’t you? (LOCKS

  THE DOOR) Well, I’m not

  letting you out of here.

  RYAN

  You’re crazy! Let me out!

  VIENNA

  Not going to happen. You’re going

  to detox right here in this room.

  And I’m going to help you do it!

  (SHE PULLS HIM CLOSE TO HER AND

  KISSES HIM PASSIONATELY) Mallory,

  you might have an easier time

  comprehending this story if you

  wrote me like a real human being.

  MALLORY

  Excuse me?

  RYAN

  She’s got a point.

  VIENNA

  Who tries to kiss a person

  out of a drug addiction?

  RYAN

  No one I know.

  MALLORY

  They wanted Ryan/Vienna?

  Here’s Ryan/Vienna.

  VIENNA

  No, this is Ryan and your

  caricature of a campy,

  predatory cougar. You’re

  better than this, Mallory.

  But you’re too caught up

  hating your mother to

  realize it.

  I passed the pages to Tamika during Monday morning’s production meeting. She pulled me aside later and felt my forehead for a fever.

  “How often do you write yourself into scenes?” she asked.

  “I’m taking the Fifth on that one. Forget about the pages and just tell me what you think of the idea. Is Richard on to something? Or will he destroy us all?”

  She didn’t have to open her mouth to give me an answer.

  “Oh my God. You
love it.”

  “It’s pure soap,” she said, apologetic. “And you of all people should know that. The thing is—and this is an important thing—it’s definitely been done a million thousand times before, and the whole point of this show is to go new places. So while my Good As Gold–loving soul would love a strong dose of unexpected seduction, I also know it’s not necessarily the show you’re trying to give us. Look—are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

  I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I knew it was far from okay.

  “Maybe you should tell me exactly why you hate the idea so much. Besides the fact that it’s the demon brainchild of your mother and Richard.”

  Could I tell her that what it boiled down to was that the image of my mother lusting after Dallas knotted my stomach? And if so, would I have to explain to her—or myself—why it did?

  “I don’t know. It just feels wrong.”

  “I love you, but you’re going to have to do better than that if you want to kill the story.”

  She was right. Putting my foot down would be meaningless if I couldn’t hold my ground.

  Lunch that day was on Soap Opera Summary. Kimberly Winters had pitched their editors an informal press conference to dish about the Emmys. Richard, Mom, Dallas, and I were scheduled to sit around a table on set and be charming as we talked over limp Caesar salads. Given my missteps lately, I figured I’d just keep my mouth shut and try not to get in the way. Kimberly told me not to worry. “Expect fawning,” she said. “But I’ll be there to steer the conversation, just in case. They’ll be on the lookout for anything sensational they can smear across the cover.”

  Alexis caught me on my way to the studio floor. I tried to beg off, but she snagged my wrist and held on like a hyena grabbing a carcass.

  “Tell me something’s being done about that awful Web site.” Her faux concern was underwhelming.

  “Would if we could, but we can’t, so we won’t cry over it.”

  “That’s terrible. Hiding out and taking pictures of you? Making trouble for your boyfriend? That sort of thing should be a crime.”

  “It is. They call it stalking.”

  “Well, I hope they catch whoever’s responsible. Somebody needs to make it safe for people like us to go out in public.”

  “It hasn’t stopped me yet. Somehow I doubt it would stop you, either.”

  “Naturally. And while we’re on the subject, I’d love for you to participate in a charity event I’m organizing.” She handed me a flyer. “The cast and crew of Likely Story versus the cast and crew of Tropical Hospital in a friendly softball match to benefit research into pediatric cancer.”

  Hmm. Perhaps Alexis did indeed have a heart where I’d previously envisioned a breeding ball of snakes.

  “I know you’re not really a ‘gym’ person, but we could always use a mascot.”

  Or maybe not.

  “I’ll bring my glove and everything,” I said. “Slow pitch or fast pitch?”

  She had no idea what I was talking about.

  “Let me know when you figure it out,” I told her.

  “Friends and family are invited, too,” she called. “Bring Keith! Or whoever you’re with these days!”

  ————

  By the time I made it down to the floor, the choicest seats were taken, forcing me to paste on a smile and sit next to Richard. Dallas was trapped between Mom and Marilyn Kinsey from SOS, who was already dishing out questions about where he’d put his Emmy if he won.

  Kimberly was true to her word. The soap journos stuck to agreed-upon subjects and we toed the party line.

  What do you think about the nominations? “Why, we’re pleased as punch, if puzzled that the rest of our fabulous cast didn’t get nominated.”

  What do you think about your chances? “We’re just happy to be here.”

  How would winning awards change the show? “We don’t make the show to get awards, we make the show for the fans. We love you, fans!”

  How does it feel to be nominated for the first time in your (looong) career, not as Geneva, the character you’re best known for, but as Vienna? “You know, I feel a real affinity for Vienna. She wields a mighty empathy for those around her. She feels with a depth that Geneva could never have mined. I don’t think Geneva was ever deserving of an Emmy. Vienna, though, is another matter.”

  Is there enough room in the Hayden household for three Emmys? “My, but I have a whole room set aside for them!”

  Only my mother could take that question seriously.

  What’s next for the citizens of Deception Pass? Can fans of Likely Story expect big shake-ups anytime soon?

  The question had been directed at me, but Richard cut me off. “I think I can field this one,” he said.

  I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I realized: I have hair on the back of my neck.

  “Do you mind?” he asked, like he was giving me the choice.

  “Go right ahead,” I said, ever the obedient writer and stepdaughter-to-be.

  “While we’re very excited about the prospect of bringing home some trophies next month, we’ve always got our eyes on the story.”

  Mom rang in. “That’s what we’re about. We’re storytellers, first and foremost.”

  “We’ve got a number of big stories already building to a climax,” Richard added. “The most interesting one, to my mind, is Ryan and Jacqueline’s romance.”

  “Aren’t they great?” Mom encouraged. “Everyone just loves Dallas.”

  “Just doing my job,” Dallas said.

  Richard went on. “And doing a mesmerizing job of it. It’s had us thinking that we’ve been pretty unfair to the rest of the cast, overinvolving Ryan in this one plot.”

  “Spread the wealth, that’s what I always say,” said my mother, who’d never before said or thought that in her life.

  “Which is why we’ve come up with an incredible twist to the Ryan/Jacqueline story that I’d like to reveal exclusively to you—”

  This had gone too far. “Richard,” I interrupted, “I’m not sure the timing is right to be talking about this particular story.”

  Richard laughed. “Mallory is an incredibly talented writer, but like any writer, she’s got neuroses up the wazoo. She’s always saying her work is never good enough.”

  “You should hear what I think of your work.”

  If he wouldn’t take my hints, I’d have to force them down his throat.

  Richard ignored me and leaned in, taking the editors into his confidence. “Ryan and Jacqueline are going to find a little fly in the ointment,” he said, taking Mom’s hand. “A sexy little fly by the name of Vienna.”

  Marilyn Kinsey nearly fell out of her chair. If she’d been wearing pearls, she’d have been clutching them. “Ryan and Vienna are going to have an affair?!”

  Mom pressed onward as I tried hard not to hyperventilate. “Vienna is going to find herself desperately attracted to Ryan, in a way she’s never been attracted to a person before. And once she realizes that, she’s going to fight tooth and nail for his love.”

  Marilyn, who was of my mother’s generation, fluttered with excitement. “A May-December romance with two of daytime’s hottest stars! Sign me up!”

  The rest of the editors buzzed with questions. I caught Dallas’s eye from across the table. He looked worried. Worried for me.

  Someone asked how I felt about writing a sex scene for my mother and Dallas. Mom must have known by the steam coming out of my nostrils that I wasn’t happy about it, and she spoke up before I could choose just the right curse word.

  “Are you kidding? You saw that Web site, didn’t you? The one with the picture of Mallory and Dallas? She just wishes she was writing that sex scene for herself!”

  She meant it as a joke. And like a lot of the worst, most hurtful jokes ever made, it was made at the expense of more than just one person. In that moment, I could see the headline item of Internet celebrity news cycles for days to come: SOAP MOM SAYS DAUGHTER’S HO
T FOR CO-STAR! Worse still, in that moment, I could see Keith’s reaction.

  Dallas scrambled to make it better. “Mallory and I are just friends. She has a boyfriend.” I gave him points for trying, but that didn’t really make it better. Mom joined in, perhaps because she noticed the suddenly throbbing vein on my forehead, perhaps because she didn’t want to sleep with one eye open for the rest of her life.

  “But who wouldn’t want to write themselves into a sex scene with this sensitive young hunk?” she purred.

  I forced myself to slow down my breathing. There was only one thing left to do. Fortunately, it was one of the things I got paid to do.

  Rewrite.

  “The thing is,” I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, “Richard’s only told you half of the story.”

  Marilyn—who gulped down spoilers like my mother gulped Grey Goose—was instantly hooked, lined, and sinkered. “What do you mean?” she asked with breathless anticipation.

  It was one thing to hear a story from Richard. But now it was the Future of Soaps talking. I had to make it good. “I can only tell you if everyone here promises that this next bit goes unpublished for a while,” I said coyly. “I promise not to spill it to anyone else, and I’ll personally call and let you know when it’s all right to run with it.”

  The editors nodded in unison.

  Richard was uneasy—and rightly so, the big jerk. “I’m thinking you’re right, Mallory,” he said. “Maybe we should hold off on telling all.”

  “Trust me, Richard. And trust the good people at Soap Opera Summary. They’ve given us their word. No way are they going to tell anyone that right before Vienna succeeds in seducing Ryan, she discovers the horrible secret that could destroy them both … that he’s her long-lost son.”

  Everyone in the room—even Dallas, even Mom—gasped.

  Everyone but Richard, who was busy swallowing his tongue.

  There was no going back now.

  “I’ve HAD it with you!” Richard screamed.

  We were behind closed doors in his office. But at the volume he was hitting, all the assistants in the production office outside could hear him. I didn’t really care.