Unscripted

by Natalie Aaron

  “That was so sweet!” Christine squeals.

  “He was just trying to make me feel better.”

  “Mmm hmm,” Christine says, disappearing toward the kitchen.

  I am not going to make this more than what it is. I was feeling down. He’s my boss. He felt bad for me. He doesn’t want it to affect my work. And that is that. Hmm, maybe I should go and put on some lipstick?

  Nine hours later I’m standing in front of Nancy’s door, cursing myself for giving in so easily.

  “I am so happy you’re here!” Nancy gushes as she wraps me in a hug. “You are going to absolutely love this.”

  “Hmm. We’ll see. How did I let you talk me into this again?”

  “You will be transformed, I promise you.”

  I step inside the impeccably neat apartment and follow Nancy to her bedroom. Every candle, picture frame, vase and book is situated in such a way that it makes you feel like you’ve just stepped into a Pottery Barn store.

  I plop myself onto her bed while she goes to the mirror to put the finishing touches on her makeup.

  “Are you sure you’re doing okay?” she asks, clearly referring again to Matt’s movie.

  “I’m fine. I’m over it.” I’m not in the mood to get into a full-on therapy session with Nancy about this, so I quickly change the subject.

  “So what happened with you and yoga guy?”

  Nancy stops applying her lipstick and looks at herself in the mirror, as if analyzing the question.

  “I’ve thought about it a lot, and I just don’t think he was ready for an adult relationship. Now, that’s not to say that we won’t somehow find each other again, somewhere down the line, but he’s not in the same place as I am.”

  “Wait, so you’re saying that if he ever wanted to get back together, you’d take him back?” I ask, shaking my head. I adore Nancy, but her optimism frustrates me. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt, especially those who don’t deserve it.

  “You never know. I believe Tim and I are somehow intrinsically tied together. Maybe from a past life, and we’re still trying to work out the problems we had from back then.”

  Grrr. “Nancy, he broke up with you in a text message. He is clearly an ass.”

  “He’s just scared. He doesn’t know himself yet. But he’s a good man deep down.”

  I decide to let the matter drop. There’s no reasoning with Nancy once she’s set her mind to something.

  “So how are things going with Will?” Nancy asks, putting on her shoes.

  “Things are, well, I think they’re good. It turns out, Stephanie was right. He didn’t even remember me.”

  Nancy smiles. “See, I told you to just talk it out and it would all be fine.”

  No. Actually, she told me that he was a wounded little bird that I had hurt. But I’ll keep that one to myself.

  “So, are you ready to go?” she asks, popping up to grab her keys.

  “Mmm hmm,” I say, trying hard not to sound negative.

  “This is going to be so much fun,” she cheers.

  “Mmm hmm.”

  I follow Nancy to her friend Mia’s house, one of those picturesque Venice beach cottages by the canals. We ring the bell and the most beautiful woman I have ever seen in person greets us. She’s tall with flowing long blond hair and huge blue eyes. Her skin is perfect. Not one spot, scar or dark circle to be found and she’s not even wearing an ounce of makeup. It’s the kind of beauty where you hope she turns out to be a bitch, so at least there’s some flaw. But because she’s Nancy’s friend, I suspect it’s not to be.

  “Hello, love!” Mia says with a crisp, British accent.

  “Hi.” Nancy kisses her on the cheek. “Mia, I’d like you to meet my friend, Abby.” Nancy looks at her meaningfully.

  “Oh, so this is Abby. It’s good to finally meet you.” Mia positively beams as she pulls me into the living room. “Ladies, this is Nancy’s friend, Abby.”

  In the span of two minutes, I am hugged, kissed and generally groped by fifteen strange women. Some, like Mia, look like they just walked off the runway. Others have that flowy skirt, big jewelry, new-agey look about them. And a few, surprisingly, are dressed, as my mother would say, for a night on the town.

  “Have a drink,” Mia enthuses as she hands me a glass of wine.

  “Thanks,” I say, taking a huge sip. “Your house is amazing.” It’s a Craftsman, a style that I personally love. The furniture is modern, but the room is accented with colorful Eastern art. I glance doubtfully at my red wine. Mental note: Stay away from the white sofa.

  “We are so blessed,” Mia says. “Do you smell the sea? It’s so clean here. Just breathe in the air.”

  “Mmm.” I inhale deeply and smile. All I smell is jasmine-scented candles and some kind of curry coming from the kitchen.

  “See,” Nancy whispers. “Nothing to be afraid of.”

  I raise my eyebrow and take another sip of my wine.

  “So, I think everyone is here now.” Mia stands in the center of the room, places her hands together at the middle of her chest and bows. “Namaste.”

  The group responds, “Namaste.”

  Mia continues, “I think we should start off by sharing a recent revelation and describing our intent for the evening. I’ll go first.”

  Oh, son of a bitch. I’m going to kill Nancy. I turn and scowl at her but she’s staring straight ahead, pretending she can’t feel my death glare.

  “I’m sure you all remember the difficulty I had in our last session. But I have to say, ever since, I have felt so clear. I’ve cut the cords to all of that negativity and I’m ready to accept the abundance of the universe. I’ve been buzzing this whole week. I can feel the energy flowing, so tonight I want to manifest my dreams.” She shakes her head and laughs. “Tonight, I will manifest my dreams.”

  Everyone laughs and claps. I’ve only been here ten minutes and I’ve never wanted to leave a place more. Would it be bad form to run screaming from the room?

  A woman wearing a plain white cotton dress and a pink wrap steps to the center of the room. “I know in the past you’ve accused me of bringing negativity to the group…”

  Ruh roh. Wait ’til they get a load of me.

  “But I’ve done a lot of meditating this month and I finally accept that my soul wanted to teach me all of those painful lessons. So I’m not going to fight my soul contract any longer. I’m going to embrace it and take in what the universe is teaching me.”

  More claps and hugs all around as more women share their revelations.

  When the hell are we going to eat?

  I stand there with a huge fake smile plastered on my face as more women talk about spirit and buzzing and creating and life paths and energy and empowerment and mastery. It’s like they’re speaking Mandarin.

  I don’t know if I can listen to this for much longer. Plus, my wineglass has been empty for thirty minutes, so I don’t even have alcohol to console me.

  Nancy walks to the center of the room, avoiding eye contact with me entirely. “Hi, everyone. The last few weeks have been very powerful for me. I am just so grateful for this group of women. Because of what I’ve learned here, I was able to embrace the truth and love myself more than I ever thought I could. I truly feel that my heart is open now and I am ready to receive love and joy.”

  She’s so hopeful and vulnerable that it almost makes me want to cry. I can see that these women are sweet and genuine and that they are actually trying to change their lives. More power to them. It’s just not for me.

  “And another blessing is that my friend Abby finally agreed to come here,” Nancy adds, smiling at me. The whole group turns toward me.

  Do they expect me to speak? I am not going to speak. I’m a newbie. Newbies don’t have to speak. I’m putting my foot down. I am not speaking.

  “Abby, what are your impressions so far? Do you have anything you want to share tonight?” Nancy clasps her hands behind her back.

  She’s dead to me
.

  “I’m just taking it all in,” I say with a big fake smile. They’re all staring at me, expecting more. “And, uh, dinner smells good.”

  Everyone laughs as if to say, oh, foolish mortal, you do not understand our ways.

  I try to grab Nancy but she’s conveniently made her way across the room and is now engrossed in conversation, safe from choking distance.

  Mia heads to the kitchen and announces that dinner will be ready in forty-five minutes. That’s forty-five minutes further away from my departure time. Let’s get a move on, people.

  The doorbell rings and Mia glides over to answer it. “Jacques, hello!” Mia says as she hugs the creepy-looking old man standing in the doorway. He has stringy long hair and is wearing a polyester shirt with a giant purple butterfly on it. He holds out a bunch of wilting daisies to Mia.

  “I know it’s your woman’s evening so I wanted to give you all a gift.”

  Creepy Jacques walks over to the fireplace, holds out his arms and, to my disbelief, breaks into song. I think it’s in Italian. Or Spanish? Or Italian and Spanish? Or more likely some kind of creepy twaddle that he’s inventing as he goes.

  It’s the most awkward, surreal thing I have ever witnessed. His face is tight with concentration, his voice is wobbly and hoarse from what’s got to be fifty years of smoking, and he’s moving his arms like he’s conducting an orchestra.

  It’s too much. I look down at the floor, trying not to laugh. I check out the other women’s reactions. They are completely enchanted. Their heads are tilted and they are smiling as if an angel has descended from heaven right into Mia’s Craftsman-style living room.

  Creepy Jacques finishes with a bow and everyone claps. He hugs as many women as possible (as I step into the kitchen to fill up my wineglass) and leaves.

  Just feed me so I can get out of here!

  Nancy comes over and puts her arm around my shoulders. “Isn’t this just fantastic?”

  I roll my eyes. “Who was the crooner?”

  “Oh, that’s Mia’s neighbor. They’re really close. He’s amazing, isn’t he?”

  I can’t help but look at Nancy as if she has truly lost her mind. “Why do you think he’s amazing? Because he can sing in tongues?”

  Nancy shakes her head and laughs. “He’s just really in tune with his emotions and isn’t afraid to show them. He gets it, you know?”

  Hmm, was that a little passive-aggressive slap from Nancy? Is that her trying to say the old, creepy guy gets it, why don’t you? Maybe it’s time to do some damage control. I love Nancy dearly, and the last thing I want her to think is that I’m mocking her.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I think everyone is really nice, but it’s just not my scene.”

  “How can you say that? You need to open your mind. Just let it happen, stop analyzing everything.”

  I sigh. “Okay but don’t volunteer me for any more sharing. I will witness, drink in and then leave. That’s it.”

  “I was just hoping with a little push you’d feel at home and…”

  “No sharing.”

  “Okay, okay. You are going to love dinner. Mia is the most amazing cook.”

  It’s times like these I wish I was more like Stephanie.

  Mia walks to the center of the room once again. “I think we should wait until after dinner to open the workbooks, so why don’t we go out back and make a toast.”

  “Workbooks?” I whisper to Nancy. She walks by quickly, pretending not to hear me.

  I definitely feel a headache coming on.

  We walk out to her backyard. It’s gorgeous, and absolutely huge by L.A. standards. There’s a long table set for dinner and a roaring fire in the outdoor pit.

  “As usual with our little get-togethers, the night is off to an interesting start. Here’s to an amazing night full of blessings and revelations.”

  We all take a sip. I hold back a groan.

  “Well, I’m ready for a little Ohm,” says one of the more new-agey-looking women.

  What the hell does that mean?

  “Ooh great idea!” Nancy glows. “Come on, everyone.”

  Suddenly I am being pushed into an enormous group hug. Noooo. For the love of God, no! I am wrapped in a cocoon of fifteen women. The smell of wine, essential oils and hairspray is clogging my nostrils. Then it starts, the Ohm. Everyone is Ohm-ing, I can actually feel the rumble. I am silent, but I feel the pressure to join in on the Ohm. To Ohm, or not to Ohm, that is the question. I don’t want to Ohm, but it seems rude not to. Oh fine!

  “Ohm…”

  Pushover.

  And there we stand, Ohm-ing in a giant circle of love for-freaking-ever. Seriously, it’s not stopping. I can’t take it. They are all great, lovely, powerful beings but get me the hell out of this huddle!

  “Let’s serenade the moon goddess,” Mia says excitedly.

  Oh my God.

  “Wait, let me go get my flute,” cries a short woman who looks as though she’s just returned from a Grateful Dead concert.

  Two minutes later, Dead Head comes back with a large wooden flute and begins to play a sort of haunting, Native-American-style tune (out of key, of course). Mia clears her throat and begins to sing.

  The song is about some Moon Goddess named Selene and how she is the key to our feminine energy and power and some other kind of shit like that. Then, when I think it can’t get any worse, everyone else begins to join in, swaying to the song. And I can do nothing to stop it; I am part of a giant, swaying, singing, cluster hug. I am going to be scarred for life.

  After the hug from hell disbands, I claim that I feel a migraine coming on and ditch the party. I’m pretty sure everyone knows the score, but I don’t care. One more minute of that earth mother festival and I might have had to kill myself.

  On the way home I hit a drive-thru and vow to never ever let Nancy talk me into anything again.

  Chapter Eleven

  It’s been a few days since Nancy’s freakish, I-am-woman-hear-me-roar party and tonight I’m going out with Zoë and some of her high school friends for dinner. I really just need a night of normal conversation. No howling at the moon, no reveling in our female genitalia. Perhaps I’ll even meet a cute boy, flirt a little, you never know. Zoë could be right. Maybe I need to think about dating again.

  Zoë’s car is in the shop, so I’m picking her up from Paramount Studios before dinner. I’m excited because I haven’t watched her work on set for a long time, and tonight she’s doing a fight scene on an action film.

  As I drive up to the lot, I stop at the security kiosk in front of the large, neoclassical double arched gates. I hand my driver’s license to the guard and he prints out my drive-on pass.

  It’s funny, everyone thinks my job is so glamorous back home. What they don’t realize is that I’m either housed in a dirty, old office building built in the seventies, or traipsing around L.A. following a bunch of drunk wannabe reality stars ’til all hours of the night. It’s only recently that my work has connected me with real celebrities, and that’s not all that thrilling either.

  Here lies the real glamour of Hollywood. It’s all I ever dreamt about before moving here. I never thought I was bitter about it not working out until Matt succeeded where I miserably failed.

  After driving around for at least ten minutes, I finally find the right soundstage. Outside a young woman talks into a mouthpiece. “Copy that. Yep, we’re rolling in five.”

  “Hi there. I’m a friend of Zoë’s. She’s the stunt double for Rachel McAdams.”

  “You must be Abby. I’m Amy,” she mumbles in a Night of the Living Dead-type voice.

  “I was going to join you guys tonight at Lush, but I had a 4:00 a.m. crew call this morning, so I’m wiped.”

  “Wow, that’s brutal. I’m sorry. So you’ve been here for how long?”

  “Fifteen hours, shortly going on sixteen.” Her eyes are so bloodshot they actually blend in with her red hair and freckles. “Come on, I’ll take you to her. She’s about to sta
rt shooting again.”

  I follow Amy inside the soundstage. She guides me through a maze of darkened rooms that are not being used for tonight’s shoot. As my eyes adjust to the light, we come across the set of a woman’s apartment. There are cameras, lights and random pieces of equipment surrounding the living room and kitchen area. I step around the cables that litter the floor, careful not to trip and knock some five-thousand-dollar light over.

  “She’s right over there.” Amy points. “If you just take a seat behind these monitors I’ll let her know you’re here.”

  Zoë is straight ahead of me talking to a large man. She looks tired.

  “Thanks. Hope you get some sleep soon.”

  “You and me both,” she says as she walks away.

  I climb into one of the tall director’s chairs and sit next to an older-looking gentleman wearing headphones and a shirt that says Kiss Me, I’m Irish. He shoots me a sweet, yet exhausted half smile.

  “Hi, sweetie, I’m Max.”

  “Hi, Max, I’m Abby.”

  “Nice to meet you. Is this your first time on a set?”

  “Nah, I’ve been a couple of times before.”

  “Well relax and enjoy the show,” he says with another smile, turning back to his camera monitors.

  “Hey you,” pipes Zoë as she takes one of the seats next to me. “Have you met Max our sound guy?”

  “Yep,” I say.

  “He’s our big teddy bear, aren’t you, Max?” she says, leaning over to give him a squeeze.

  “Sweetest guy on set. He keeps us laughing all day long.”

  “Someone has to keep up the morale,” Max replies blandly.

  “So, they promise me that I have about two or three more takes and then I’m out of here. You cool with that?” Zoë asks.

  “Sure. What are you shooting?”

  “It’s been a bit of a nightmare really. See that big guy over there?” Zoë cocks her head to one side, motioning to the guy she was just talking to.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, he’s playing a hit man who’s broken into Rachel’s apartment. The problem is he’s not a stuntman, he’s the actor and he wants to do all of his own stunts. So, he’s supposed to throw me up in the air and then I’m supposed to hit that mark there—” she points to a piece of tape on the floor, “—and then slide into the kitchen, hitting my head on the bar. But he’s never done this before and he’s not throwing me hard enough. So I’ve been sliding on my ass for the last hour and a half, and he won’t let the stunt guy take over.”