Unscripted

by Natalie Aaron

  “He’s really important to me, and you’re really important to me, so it’s about time you two got to know each other,” she says as I’m still rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. I’m too tired to put up a fight, and I have to admit, slightly curious to see the Silver Fox in action.

  So here I am, eight hours later, sitting with Zoë in one of Lush’s hip outdoor canopy tables, a prime and much coveted location, according to her.

  “I didn’t see this part of the restaurant before,” I say, glancing around at the décor. While the restaurant inside is classic Hollywood swank, the patio is a lush Moroccan garden. An elaborate mosaic fountain dominates the courtyard and multicolored stained-glass lanterns sit on every open surface. Rich tapestries of gold and reds surround every intricately carved wooden booth.

  “Douglas wanted each section of the restaurant to have a different feel to it. He calls this area Arabian Nights,” Zoë says as she scoots into one of the booths, adjusting the colorful silk-and-beaded pillows behind her back. “It’s where all of the A-listers sit because you can close off the tapestries to make the tables completely private.”

  I nod my head. “That’s cool. So where’s Douglas?”

  “Oh, he had a quick conference call, but he promised to come by right afterwards.” Zoë pours us each a glass of wine. She looks really beautiful tonight. Her auburn hair is blown out, so it has that perfect combination of straight pieces with just the right amount of waves. If I want my hair to look like that, it takes my hairdresser three hours with a roll brush, hairdryer and flat iron. I always feel so guilty afterward because he looks as though I’ve put him through the most grueling workout of his life.

  Her makeup also looks fresh, and she’s wearing a black, flowy tube top, showing off her tiny shoulders and toned arms.

  “So, how are things going with you two?”

  She smiles brightly. “I know what you’re going to say, but I have to be honest with you. I’ve never been happier.”

  “Wow.” I mull this over for a second. “Well that’s good. Is it getting serious, then?”

  “It’s not getting serious, it is serious. We’re good together.”

  “So, has he ever been married before?”

  “No.” She knows where my mind is going with this one. “He says he hasn’t found the right one yet.”

  He better hurry up. Time ain’t exactly on his side.

  “So what do your parents think?” I ask.

  “They can’t believe how worldly and successful Douglas is.” Zoë beams.

  Well, I guess that’s a nice way of saying “really old” and “filthy rich.”

  “And my mom loves Douglas. They have so much in common. Sometimes my mom will call to talk to me, and ends up talking to Douglas for like an hour instead. It’s ridiculous.” Zoë laughs. “She thinks he’s perfect for me.”

  I smile and nod my head. Of course they have a ton to talk about. They’re practically the same age. Although I love Lynn, I’m sure the only thing she cares about is that Zoë lands a man with money. She wants her little girl to have the same easy life she always had.

  “Look what he bought me today.” Zoë lifts up an off-white purse adorned with simple leather flowers. “It’s Prada.”

  I take the purse from her hands, inspecting it on all sides. “It’s nice.”

  “Nice? It cost over $2,000! Do you think Jeff ever bought me anything like this in all the time we were together?”

  “How do you know how much it cost?”

  “I looked it up online,” she says, lifting up one eyebrow. “Anyway, the point is, Jeff would have thought it was a waste of money. But Douglas isn’t like that. He enjoys the finer things in life.”

  “Just because Jeff didn’t spend thousands of dollars on gifts for you doesn’t make him a bad person. It doesn’t mean he didn’t love you.”

  “I didn’t say that. Douglas likes making me feel special, it’s important to him. We spent the whole day yesterday at a spa. You think I could ever have dragged Jeff there?”

  “No,” I say quietly. Why did I even bring Jeff up? I’m not in the mood for another argument tonight.

  “No, exactly. Douglas and I are just more in tune. Did I tell you he’s taking me to Paris next month?”

  I snort reflexively. “I didn’t realize you guys had gotten to the point where you’re taking vacations together.”

  “I know it’s moving fast, but it doesn’t feel like it. It feels as though we’ve been together for years.”

  I let out a small sigh. She’s smiling. Hell, she’s even glowing. I shouldn’t ride her on this. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”

  “I am, I really really am. Okay, enough about me. I haven’t seen you in ages. Tell me how work is going. How’s the bitch?”

  I wince. One of the reasons I decided to go out tonight was so I could talk about Lisa. Well, Will and Lisa to be exact.

  “Eh, the same. She hates me. You remember Will?”

  “The one you’re scared of?”

  “That was so two jobs ago.” I wrinkle up my nose, feigning annoyance. “Anyway, I think I sort of caught him with Lisa last night.”

  “Were they kissing?”

  “No, but they looked like they could have been.”

  “And?”

  “It’s just that she’s an awful woman.”

  “Well then, why would he even go for her?”

  I shrug my shoulders and start to pick at my cuticles. “Because she’s beautiful. Super thin. Strong. Successful. Jesus, she’s probably my age and she’s my boss.”

  “Who cares? You say she’s a bitch, so why would he go for a bitch?” Zoë gently pulls my hands apart to stop me from destroying my nail beds.

  “When does that ever matter to guys? All they initially care about are looks. I don’t think they realize she’s a bitch until it’s too late. He probably just sees how incredibly fabulous and sexy and put together she is. And when I think she’s being bitchy, he probably thinks she’s just being tough and good at her job. Maybe he respects that. Who knows.”

  “Okay, but my question is why do you care?”

  I have no explanation for her so I shrug and take a sip of my wine.

  “Do you like him?”

  “No!”

  “Are you sure? Because it looks like this is really bothering you. It’s okay if you like someone. You’re allowed to have feelings for a guy, you know.”

  I shake my head and laugh a little. “I just don’t want to see him end up with her.” I spit out the last word as if it’s poison on my tongue. “Anyway, I’m not his type.”

  “Ah hah!” she cries out. “You do like him! You’re just scared of getting hurt again. Why would you think you’re not his type? I tell you all the time how beautiful you are, and how smart you are, and funny, and sweet. Everyone says it. You just don’t see it.”

  I look down at my hands. I don’t know what to say. I’m not even sure how I feel. But before I can even respond, I see Douglas walking toward our table. He has a bottle of Cristal in one hand and three champagne flutes in another.

  “Hello, my darling girl.” Douglas places the champagne on the table and gives Zoë a kiss on the lips. I can’t help but stare at his graying ponytail and leathery skin. Darling girl is definitely the appropriate term.

  “Abby, it’s so good to see you again.” He leans over the table and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “You’re even lovelier than I remember.”

  I swallow hard. I’m not good with compliments, real or fake.

  “See. I told you. Everyone thinks you’re adorable.” She touches Douglas’s arm. “Abby doesn’t think she’s pretty.”

  Oh my God. Are you kidding me?

  “What’s this?” Douglas asks, as he waves over a waiter to open our bottle of champagne.

  “Oh come on, Zoë,” I say, with a forced smile. “Drop it. We have better things to talk about. Douglas, your restaurant is just beautiful. I hear you’re treating us to a special menu,
I can’t wait.”

  “You know, there’s nothing more endearing than a woman who doesn’t know her own beauty,” Douglas says, winking in my direction. “Corey, what do you think?” Douglas turns his attention to the cute waiter who has just appeared at our table.

  What the bloody hell? Can this man not take a hint?

  Corey pops the cork, then turns his head to Douglas. “About what?”

  “About this dark-haired lady on your left. Is she not a vision?”

  My face feels so hot you could probably fry an egg on it. I am shrinking from the humiliation of it all.

  Corey grins at me as he fills our glasses with champagne. “She’s uh, beautiful.”

  Jesus, Joseph and Mary I am going to kill Zoë for this. Douglas is practically paying this dude to compliment me. “Ach, stop!” I hide my face in my hands.

  “She looks like a dark Irish beauty, don’t you think?” continues Douglas.

  Corey turns to look at me again. The poor boy is trapped. “Yes, she does.”

  “You guys have to stop. Seriously, you’re killing me over here.”

  Zoë giggles, enjoying the little game she started. “Okay, okay,” she says. “We’ll lay off for now.”

  I let out a sigh of relief. Embarrassing, yes. But I haven’t laughed like that for a while. I’ll give Douglas one thing: He’s a charmer. Flattery can sometimes get you pretty far if you’re good at it, and Douglas is clearly a pro.

  Bloated and finally sober, I walk over to the valet station with Zoë. I feel like I’m rolling instead of walking, since Douglas had us sample practically everything on the menu. He definitely likes to spoil his women.

  “So, what do you think? He’s great, right?”

  “Yep, he was really nice.”

  “Is that it?” Zoë’s bottom lip protrudes. “Is that all you have to say?”

  I’m not sure what to say. He’s charming, he’s worldly, he’s wealthy, he’s my dad’s age and I have absolutely nothing in common with him. “It’s only one dinner. You have to give me time, Zo. It took me a while to get close to Jeff. You can’t expect me to just switch off so quickly.”

  Zoë nods her head. “I guess so. I just want everyone to love him the way I do, you know?”

  “You love him?” I ask.

  “I don’t know. Maybe? Yes?” She smiles shyly.

  Would you love him if he were a waiter at the restaurant, rather than the owner? Okay, that was rather harsh, but I can’t help it. What else could she see in him?

  “Don’t jump in too fast. Seriously. You just got out of a long relationship with Jeff. Take some time to figure things out.”

  “Oh, I will. Don’t worry,” she says, giving me a hug. “Thanks again for coming tonight. I know you’re tired.”

  “No problem,” I say as my little silver Jetta pulls up in front of us.

  “And that stuff with Lisa and Will. Don’t let it bother you.” She waves her hand flippantly. “Maybe you’re the one that needs to figure things out.”

  “Nah, I’m fine. There’s nothing to figure out.” I smile, hug her again and climb into my car.

  As I begin to drive away, my cell phone starts to ring. I fumble in my purse to find it. After what seems an eternity, I grab it, look at the caller ID window and feel an overwhelming sense of unease.

  Will.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Will has only phoned me once, and that was to tell me that my producer had been in a car accident and I was going to have to take his place. Ooh, maybe something’s happened to Lisa. I stare at the phone for a good ten seconds before pressing the talk button.

  “Hello?”

  “Oh, uh, hi, Abby?”

  “Hi, Will,” I say as I struggle to make a turn with my left hand onto Sunset Boulevard.

  “Did I call too late?”

  It’s 9:30 p.m. It’s not even too late for my grandma.

  “No, not too late.”

  “Good, good. So, um, I wanted to thank you for doing such a great job with the Frank reel. It looked great.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You know, I just figured Tom would do it himself since he volunteered, so thanks for going with him and adding that extra touch.”

  What? Is he telling me that I didn’t have to go with Knit Cap last night? Deep breath in, and release.

  “I’m glad it came out okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

  “I also wanted to let you know that the call time for tomorrow has been moved up by thirty minutes.”

  “Oh. Well, I got the call sheet. Is it still 11:30?”

  “Yep. Great.”

  “Great. Thanks though.”

  “No problem. Since you weren’t here today, I wanted to make sure you knew.”

  “Thanks.” Awkward silence here. What is going on?

  “So, I assume Grant told you about the impromptu elimination?”

  “No, I haven’t talked to him today. There was an elimination?”

  “Ah. Yeah, Katie was so pissed she wanted to give Frank the boot immediately.”

  “Aw, frick and frack. I can’t believe I missed it.” Frick and frack? What the hell was that?

  Will laughs. He has a really nice laugh. “The guy was a tool. I knew it the moment we cast him. Katie was furious. You should have been here to see her kick him off. You would have loved it.”

  Hmm. This is new. He’s never been this candid with me before. Wait a minute. Is this about Lisa? Is he feeling me out to find out how much I saw? Well forget it. I’m not playing.

  “I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow from Grant,” I say casually. The phone goes quiet for a second. “Hello? Will, you still there?”

  “Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was, uh, just got distracted.” More silence. “Grant’s a great guy, huh?”

  “Grant? Yeah, he’s a great director.”

  Will clears his throat. “Yeah, great director, but cool guy too. You guys have been friends long?” guy.”

  “I’d say about a year. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason, just curious. I thought you guys had been friends longer. He’s a great guy.”

  He just said that. So this is our conversation? Of course, he’s not going to ask about Lisa. I’ll bring it up casually, make him sweat a bit. “So what did Lisa think of the elimination ceremony?”

  “She thought it was good TV,” he says dismissively.

  “Good,” I say, quietly waiting for his next question. I park my car, climb out and walk toward the apartment.

  “So, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says.

  I lean against my front door. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

  “Bye, Abby.”

  “Bye, Will.”

  I close my eyes and hold on to the phone for another few seconds. What was that about?

  As I’m stepping out of the shower the next morning, the phone rings. It’s Zoë.

  “Hey,” I answer. “I only have a sec, I have to be at work soon.”

  “Douglas and I were just eating breakfast and I read something in the trades. I’m just going to say it. Matt got a development deal with DreamWorks. Seven figures.”

  Muther F’er! I want to throw the phone across the room and watch it break into tiny pieces. “Well, I guess it wasn’t just a one-time thing.” My laugh is bitter. I cringe at the anger I hear in my voice. My fingers are curled into a fist so tight that I’m digging my nails into the palm of my hand. I relax my fingers and shake my hand to get the circulation back.

  “I shouldn’t have told you.”

  “No, I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t want it to be a surprise.” My voice is flat.

  “Just because he got a deal doesn’t mean he’ll have another hit. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  “It means he’s doing exactly what he wanted and I’m…I’m not.” My voice cracks a little and I clench my fingers again.

  “It has nothing to do with you. Call in sick. Let’s go to the spa. You need a perception change.”

 
“I can’t. You know sick days don’t exist when you’re in the field.” Zoë is silent. She knows I’m right.

  “I didn’t think you’d be this upset.”

  “It’s not just Matt,” I admit to her for the first time. “It feels like everyone I know has their shit together and I’m stuck in the same place.”

  “You’re not stuck. You’re a producer now. You’ve never made this much money before in your life.”

  I want to tell her it’s not about the money, but I know she’ll never understand. “God, I have to get ready for work. I’m okay, really. Can I call you later?”

  “You sound awful, you can’t go to work feeling like this. You know what I do when I feel down? I dress up. It sounds silly, but it always boosts my confidence when I make that extra effort. It starts on the outside and works its way in.”

  “I don’t know, it’s production. No one dresses up.”

  “What about Lisa?”

  Bleh. Lisa. The woman is always perfectly tailored and pressed. It’s as if she’s never pulled a pair of jeans out of the dryer after letting them sit there for days. I feel like a kid when I’m next to her. I’m sure I don’t present myself as a formidable force in my cargo pants, T-shirts and pink Puma tennies.

  “Just try it for today. Do something nice for yourself.”

  Maybe she’s right. I certainly can’t walk around feeling like this all day. What’s that ridiculous expression? Fake it till you make it. “Fine, you win. I’ll try it.”

  “Goodie! Who knows, maybe you’ll give that bitch a run for her money.”

  “Lisa? Believe me, there’s no run. I’ll call you later.”

  “We’ll see. Talk to you later.”

  I hang up the phone and decide to put plan Stop Looking Like a Schlub at Work into action.

  Digging around the black hole that is my closet, I pull out a cute pair of last season’s dark brown boot-cut trousers, a fitted white linen camisole and a tan cashmere shrug that Zoë bought me for my birthday last year. To top the outfit off, I find a pair of stylish brown, suede wedges that I’ve only worn once. I brush off a layer of dust and slip them on. I’m pretty sure they’re comfortable, but today it won’t matter since it’s another elimination, and we’re only filming in and around the house.