Unscripted

by Natalie Aaron

  Lisa smiles warmly. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me, okay?”

  Christine leans over to give me a cursory hug, and walks off toward her car.

  Lisa heads back toward the bar. I know I have to swallow my pride and say something because she did exactly what I wasn’t able to do. She was, dare I say it? Cool.

  “Hey, Lisa?”

  She turns around and the warm smile she gave Christine is replaced by an icy stare.

  “I just wanted to say thank you. That was really sweet of you. I think she feels a lot better. She needed to hear those things, and, well, you were really great. You knew just what to say. So, thanks for that.”

  Lisa continues to glare at me for a second before shrugging her shoulders. “Uh huh,” she mutters, walking back into the bar, leaving the door to shut in my face.

  Jesus! What did I ever do to make this woman hate me so much?

  I wait a second to compose myself before heading back inside. I look around and see little cliques of crewmembers chatting away. In an intimate corner, Knit Cap and his new victim are whispering and gazing into each other’s eyes. Christine had the right idea. Sweats and eating crap. That’s the only way to go.

  After giving my goodbye hugs to the crew, I do a final search for Will, but he’s nowhere to be found. I find Grant standing at the bar, doing shots with one of the camera guys. “Hey, I’m taking off. Have you seen Will?” I ask.

  Grant downs his shot, and follows it with a beer chaser. “Wooo, dude, that one was strong!” he says to no one in particular.

  “So. Will? Is he still here?”

  Grant’s eyes are half-closed. “Crabby Crabsters! My favorite gurrl in the world.”

  I roll my eyes. “Grant, focus. Will. Is he here or gone?”

  “The man has left the building,” Grant says as he drunkenly points to the back door.

  My stomach drops. I missed him. He’s left. I didn’t get a chance to say thank you, or goodbye for that matter.

  Now it’s suddenly my turn for my eyes to get glassy. I give Grant a quick hug goodbye and make my way outside.

  As I get into my car, I realize that I am not just feeling a little low. I feel several tears drop onto my nose and lips. Why?

  Okay, let’s think about this. Lisa did a better job comforting Christine than I did; I’m six weeks away from being homeless; and my best friend and I are no longer speaking. Is that it? Yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s something else, too.

  I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and the realization hits me. It’s Will. I’m upset about Will. I like Will, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

  I wake up the same way I’ve woken up for the past three days. Thinking about Will. So I have a plan. Today, I’m going to the production office of Second Time Around to pick up my last paycheck. I will see Will, invite him across the street for a quick coffee and do my damnedest not to spaz out. My hair is controlled, my makeup is subtle and I’m wearing my cream bubble top with jeans and a fitted brown jacket. I’m going for a kind of “Hey, I was just out running errands, lunching with friends” kind of casual. Rather than a “Hey, I’m totally obsessed with you, I want to smell your neck, why don’t you love me?” kind of casual.

  As I walk from the parking lot over to the office, I start to feel slightly nauseous. What if he blows me off?

  No. Can’t think that way. I’ll stick to my fantasy version of our meeting. We’ll see each other from across the reception area. He’ll approach me, and then tell me how sorry he was that he didn’t get to say goodbye at the party. I’ll laugh nonchalantly and tell him it’s no problem. I’ll say something flip like, “I knew we’d see each other again somewhere down the line.” He’ll look a little hurt, but ask if I could follow him into his office.

  Once behind closed doors we’ll look at each other for a moment of awkward silence. Then a smile will appear on his face, forming small laugh lines around his hazel eyes.

  He’ll tell me that he has a confession to make, but he’s afraid to say it. I’ll joke around and tell him that if it’s about another season of Second Time Around, to count me out. Next, he’ll take my hand in both of his and tell me he hasn’t stopped thinking about me. He will admit to missing me, and ask if I feel the same. I’ll tell him yes, I’ve missed him, too. At that point, he will pull me close to his chest, placing both arms around my waist. I imagine he’ll smell fresh, like Ivory soap and mouthwash. He’ll draw me even closer, and quietly kiss me for several seconds. We’ll part, and softly pushing my hair away from my face, he’ll tell me he loves me.

  There are other versions, of course. Sometimes, he just shows up on my doorstep and gives me the speech. But usually we’re here, in this dumpy, brown, office building that smells like Chinese food, professing our undying love to one another. Once in a while I like to add Lisa walking in on us, just for fun.

  As if in slow motion, I walk up to the chipped wooden front desk and ask for Will.

  “Hey, Abby. You just missed him. He’s left for a network meeting,” says Mary the receptionist.

  A heavy feeling settles in my chest. This is it. This was my last chance to see Will.

  “Oh, that’s okay. I was just going to ask him for my paycheck.”

  “Ahh, I’ve got them up here with me.” Mary leafs through a large stack of white envelopes until she comes to my name. “Here ya go. So where are you going after this?”

  “Some celeb-reality show. I’ll be working with Grant again.”

  Mary nods her head. “Very cool. I love Grant.”

  “Mary?” screeches a voice behind me. “Can you order me a Nicoise salad? Dressing on the side. And tell them to leave off the anchovies.”

  It’s her. Don’t turn around. Just start walking.

  “Hello, Abby.”

  Crap.

  “Oh, hey, Lisa,” I say in a fake, cheerful tone. “How’s it going?”

  “Great,” she gushes. “The show looks beautiful. The network loves it. I can’t even imagine how amazing it will look when we color correct it.”

  “Yeah, uh, yeah,” I stammer. I hate that she makes me feel stupid.

  Lisa gives me a bitchy smile. “You should have picked post over field. There have been some late nights, but we are having a blast. All we do is laugh. I’m getting the best abs workout ever. Will is so funny!”

  My mouth feels dry and I feel the sting of tears burn behind my lids. My fantasy of kissing Will in his office has become grossly distorted. Now it’s Lisa in his arms and me walking in on them.

  “Sounds like fun. Well, I have to get going. Tell everyone I said hi,” I say in a low voice as I turn back toward the front door.

  Get a grip. Do not cry. Wait until you’re out of here, and then you can bawl your eyes out.

  I walk double-speed to my car, and as soon as I’m safe inside I take a deep, sobbing breath. I don’t know what I was thinking, but Lisa and Will are definitely a couple. I’m such an ass. I look at my phone, and all I want to do is call Zoë and cry, but we’re still not talking.

  I decide to call Stephanie instead. At least she will be able to joke me out of my funk. But there’s a message waiting for me on my cell, so I enter the code to voice mail and put it on speaker.

  “Hello, Abby. This is Ted over at LRB. I have some bad news. The network has decided not to go with the show, so, unfortunately, we have to let everyone go. I’m really sorry but if anything else comes up, we will definitely give you a call. Sorry again for this. Take care.”

  I drop the cell on the passenger seat and rest my head on the steering wheel.

  What am I going to do?

  My breath hitches and I start to cry. The tears are spilling down my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands and take deep breaths. My grip is so tight that I can feel the suction of my breath against my palms.

  I can’t give in to the panic. I give myself three minutes to calm down and then start the car. I don’t want to talk to Stephanie right now. I d
on’t want to talk to anyone.

  It’s Sunday at 10:30 a.m. and I’m still in bed. I don’t want to get out from under my covers, but my bladder is about to burst. After another few minutes I finally drag my atrophied legs out from underneath the comforter and shuffle into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Horrifying. I haven’t changed out of the same pair of pajamas for three days. And I don’t mean I’ve worn the same pair every night. I’m talking I haven’t taken off this pink flannel combination in seventy-two hours. My teeth feel like there’s a layer of cotton covering them, my eyes are bloodshot and my curls have turned into something a small animal could probably get lost and die in.

  Aww, shite! I take a closer look in the mirror and see several tiny patches of hair missing from my eyebrows. I’ve been pulling them out mindlessly as I watched bad television all week. I can’t help it though. Losing that job threw me into a major funk.

  I peel off the offending nightwear and hop into the shower. I’m not going anywhere, or seeing anyone. I just can’t stand being in my own skin anymore.

  Five days have passed since I sent out one of my emergency “I need a job” emails. After much internal debate, I cc’d Will on it. I was sure he’d at least take pity on me and write back with some sort of obligatory response. Any kind of communication with him would have been better than none.

  The only emails I got back, however, were from a few friends asking to get together for coffee. One from Grant saying he was sorry, but relieved because he is now going to Costa Rica for a vacation. And the last one was from Christine, who wanted me to know that she’s now way over Knit Cap. I never heard anything from Will. I can’t believe how idiotic I was to even fantasize about that man.

  I pour a blob of my ridiculously overpriced rosemary-scented shampoo into my palm and lather my hair. There’s a dull throb in my sinuses, which I can only assume is a side effect of a five-day crying jag. I’ve tried to stop crying but I can’t. I feel…alone. I know I have good friends and family, but right now, this is how I feel: alone, disappointed and heartbroken. Will is the first guy I’ve had feelings for in years and it’s killing me. He’s completely out of my league and unattainable, but I cannot get him out of my head.

  I still have no apartment, no job and, let’s face it, no future. What am I doing with my life? Am I always going to be in this temporary state of being? Just jumping from one crappy reality show to another? Never making my mark on anything? Never being secure? Unless they are show runners or editors, the oldest people you see working in this field are in their mid-fifties, so if I can’t do this forever, what am I going to do?

  And Zoë still hasn’t called me. I don’t think we’ve ever gone five hours without speaking, much less weeks on end. I have no idea how she’s doing. What does her house look like? Where is she working now? Did she go to Paris? Is she happy? Is she really in love?

  I step out of the shower, brush my teeth and put on a pair of fresh pajamas. I head into the kitchen and, without thinking, bend down and open the cupboard below the sink. I take out a jar of peanut butter and some Nutella. I open up a drawer, grab a spoon and plant myself on Zoë’s big puffy chair. I realize I’m wallowing here, and yes, I’m slightly disgusted with myself, but I just can’t snap out of it.

  It’s like everything is going in slow motion and I need the scene where the inspirational music plays and I get off the couch and pull my life together. Where is my movie montage?

  I glance momentarily at my laptop sitting on the coffee table before grabbing the remote control instead. I know I should be on craigslist every day, but if I can’t be bothered to shower, how can I be expected to look for an apartment?

  I go to the guide, and immediately spot Sixteen Candles. When I was thirteen I must have watched this movie twenty times. I had most of it memorized.

  It’s almost over, so I’ve missed all the funny bits but I’ll see it through till the end. I sigh loudly as I take a spoonful of peanut butter and dip it into the creamy Nutella.

  Jake and Samantha are sitting cross-legged on his dining room table with her birthday cake between them. Jake tells Samantha to make a wish and she says it’s already come true. The Thompson Twins start singing, they lean in for the kiss and I start bawling like a baby. Tears pour down my cheeks and I begin to hiccup at the same time. I’m crying over Sixteen Candles, for God’s sake. This movie has never made me cry.

  It’s just that nearly two decades have gone by and here I am, wishing I were Samantha again.

  I scrub my cheeks dry with my pajama top, dip my spoon back into the peanut butter and Nutella and shove the entire mess into my mouth.

  Before I can go for a third spoonful, the phone rings. It’s Nancy. She’s called and left messages for the last two days but I couldn’t be bothered to call back. I push the spoon into the Nutella and reluctantly hit the talk button. She will only keep calling.

  “Hello?” I say in something close to a whisper. Maybe she’ll think I’ve been sleeping and tell me she’ll call back later.

  “Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for days.”

  “Oh, sorry, I haven’t been feeling well.”

  I hear a sigh on the other end of the line. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have brought you over my homemade chicken soup.”

  I fake a small cough. “I didn’t want anyone to catch anything.”

  “Don’t be silly. I could have left it on your doorstep. Anyway, I have amazing news. A cute one-bedroom just opened up in my building. I already told the manager about you, and you can come and see it now if you want.”

  Well, that would mean I’d have to stop blubbering, get dressed and actually leave my apartment. I want to say no and continue to hide out here, safe in my misery.

  “They’re still painting but I’d get here soon because as you know this building is cheap, and it’s going to get snatched up pretty quick,” Nancy says dramatically. “We will have so much fun. We’ll be neighbors!”

  My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure if it’s out of excitement, or dread. Living next to Nancy might be a bit much. She’ll constantly be bugging me to do things like exercise, eat fruit and think positive. I look around at the apartment I once loved and feel nothing but sadness. No. This is a good thing. This is definitely a good thing.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Blah blah, boo dee bah bah…woo hooo, ladadee daaaaa.” I’m sitting on the floor of my new apartment, wearing puffy blue ski gloves and singing (okay, screaming) so I don’t have to hear myself pulling apart all these cardboard boxes. If anyone were with me right now, they’d probably be on the phone trying to get me committed.

  I splurged last week by having a moving company come and pack up all of my things from Zoë’s apartment. Of course I can’t afford it, but that’s what credit cards are for. There’s no way in hell I could have handled all of this cardboard twice. I was at my breaking point as it is.

  “Laa dee daa daa, laa dee daaa daaa doooo!” Fack! This is torturous. I have about twenty boxes left and they’re going to stay taped up for a while; at least until I can get someone else over here to finish up the job. Who needs dishes and clothes anyway?

  I throw off the ski gloves and stretch out on the floor. Nancy did not steer me wrong. The place is perfect. Though the small, square kitchen hasn’t been updated in over thirty years, I kind of like the retro charm of the green Formica counter tops and cabinets. The yellow linoleum is worn and faded, but it’s just a tiny stretch of floor and the olive-green fridge counterbalances it. There’s even a breakfast bar, complete with two olive-green vinyl barstools.

  The majority of the place has good bones. Decorative baseboards line the sandy-colored hardwood floors, while crown moldings give the place a really cool Victorian feel (slightly at odds with the groovy kitchen, but I don’t mind). The white walls are bare, but eventually I’ll make it my own. Once my new couch and chair arrive, I’ll start to really feel at home. I can only assume Zoë picked up her stuff from
the apartment. I sent her an email, but she never wrote back.

  “Knock knock, neighbor!” Nancy calls out as she cracks open my front door. “How’s it going in here?”

  The dreaded drop-by. How am I going to break her of that?

  “Awful. I thought the gloves would help, but they might be making it worse. The sound of the fabric against the cardboard is making me want to pull my teeth out.”

  “You’re so crazy.” She laughs. “Just let me know when and I’ll open some of these boxes for you.”

  Having Nancy as my neighbor is going to be the best. “Thank you, thank you. And maybe break down some of those?” I point to the corner where I’ve tossed ten empty boxes.

  “Of course. Come on, I told Steph we would be there in half an hour. She had to book us in for 11:30. I guess there’s limited room on the machines or something like that.”

  “Okay,” I say, putting my hair up in a ponytail, “I’m ready.”

  Today Nancy and I are seeing Stephanie’s gym for the first time. Somehow the two of them talked me into working out. I’m excited to see what Stephanie’s done and all, but the idea of sustained physical exertion does not appeal. But seeing that I’ve lived off fat and sugar over the last few weeks, I allowed my arm to be twisted.

  I guess I also said yes because I really want to keep myself busy. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t stop obsessing about Will. I think I’ve analyzed everything he ever said to me, every look he ever gave me, every smile he shot my way, and it all amounts to nothing. The whole situation sucks, and it’s time to erase him from my head altogether.

  “Hey, so what are you doing tonight?” asks Nancy as I lock up.

  Hmm. That wasn’t just casual. That was pointed. Nancy has something in mind.

  Be afraid.

  “I don’t know, I have a lot to do around here, and I need to really get my resume in order, and I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’ll probably just go to bed early.” I pause for a moment and relace my sneakers. “What about you?”