Unscripted

by Natalie Aaron

  “No, no, I have one coming, but thanks.”

  We both laugh, and then it turns silent.

  “So Nancy lives in that building too? You must be having so much fun.”

  “It’s really good to have her here, but I’ve missed you.”

  “You have to know,” Zoë says earnestly, “I never meant to hurt you or our friendship.”

  “I know you didn’t.”

  “I can’t believe how long it’s been since we’ve talked. And all over a stupid apartment.”

  “You know it wasn’t just about the apartment. Things haven’t been right for a while.”

  “I know, but I have to tell you, I was hurt because I thought you were always taking Jeff’s side. And then when I started dating Douglas, I felt like you were totally judging me.”

  “I know, I’m sorry. But I wasn’t totally judging you.”

  “No?”

  “It was more like seventy-five percent judgment.”

  “Eh, it felt more like eighty-two.” Zoë laughs. “I love you, let’s never fight again.”

  “I love you too. Never again.”

  “So, are you working now I hope?”

  “Yeah, I’m starting next week, thank God.”

  “Good, because if not, I was going to pack up all your shit and move you in with Douglas and me.”

  “I may just take you up on that one day. So how are things? You know, with you guys?”

  There’s a long pause and a slow sigh. “They’re really good. He makes me happy.”

  “Then I’m happy for you. I really really mean that. I want you to be happy. That’s the most important thing.”

  “I feel the same way. Are you happy?”

  I look around the apartment and smile to myself. “Yeah, I’m getting there. I’m definitely getting there.”

  I glance at my watch and realize Zoë and I have been catching up for two hours. I seriously need to start getting ready. Though I don’t want to end our conversation, I know I’m going to need extra time to work with my hair and makeup.

  I told Zoë about my plans with Will today (along with ashamedly admitting my pathetic crush on him). Thankfully, I avoided any mocking from her but am pretty sure that if we were on steadier ground there would be a few “I knew its” thrown about.

  “What are you going to wear?”

  “Waaa, I don’t know.”

  “Just be casual, but pretty at the same time. Simple, yet a little sexy. And wear your hair down. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. And please, no cargos.”

  “Yes, Mom,” I drone. “I know. You taught me well.”

  I’m early. Incredibly dorkily early. Thirty minutes early to be exact. Will suggested that we meet at Susina Bakery, a cute cafe on Beverly that has delicious croissants, pastries, cookies, quiches, paninis and one of my favorite desserts of all time, the Chocolate Peanut-Butter Mousse cake. It’s only a ten-minute drive from my house, but I left forty minutes early, just to make sure I wouldn’t be late. And Susina is small; if you get there at the wrong time, you’ll have to fight to get a table.

  There’s a Starbucks next door, but it’s not a good alternative. It only has three tables, and the lollygagging writers usually claim them. Plus, when I suggested we meet at the Starbucks by the Second Time Around offices, Will said he wanted to go somewhere new. So I figured I better get here early and stake my claim. Can’t waste precious moments standing around holding to-go cups and hovering over tables.

  So here I am. I have my pick of tables, found parking across the street and now have thirty minutes to kill.

  I’m actually glad we didn’t meet by work since I’m wearing the exact same outfit I wore for the failure that was Operation Paycheck Pickup. Lisa would probably pop over for her venti iced skinny vanilla latte, barge in on my special Will time and then spend twenty minutes criticizing my apparent lack of wardrobe.

  I pace in front of the glass display case, momentarily hypnotized by the smell of sugar and the pretty pretty goodies. Maybe I should eat a piece of cake? It will give me something to do. Ooh, then I won’t have to scarf in front of Will. I bet Lisa wouldn’t order a giant piece of yummy chocolate cake on a date with Will.

  Whoa there. This is not a date, you delusional freak. It’s coffee, with Will, a work friend you keep up with and meet every few months, like Grant.

  I nix the cake idea, because with my luck, I’d drop a big glob of it on my shirt and have to explain to Will why I have smeared cake on my chest.

  So I’ll get a table. Right corner, demi-booth, no interlopers around. Mine. I feel a little lame sitting here with no beverage, but I can’t have any evidence of my early arrival.

  I pull out my compact mirror and check for makeup smears. All clear. I guess I could call Zoë or one of the girls for a diversion, but if they give me a pep talk about Will, I’ll get all flushed and anxious. I need to maintain a calm, cool façade for this.

  Fifteen minutes later, Will shows up. There must have been no traffic on the way from work. Man, now he’s going to know I’m here early too.

  Oh, look at him. He doesn’t look as rumpled as usual, but still Will-licious. He’s wearing khaki pants, a black, fitted sweater with a white T-shirt underneath.

  I wave from the table and stand up as he approaches. Hug? No hug? Handshake?

  Will reaches over and gives me a quick hug. God, he smells amazing. No cloying cologne, clean-shaven, smooth cheeks…

  “Hi,” I say as I sit back down. “Gosh, I hit no traffic on the way here.”

  Do shut up please.

  “It’s good to see you.” Will looks into my eyes.

  Butterflies start beating the hell out of each other inside my stomach. What am I, fifteen? I need to hold it together.

  “You too. You want to order? I know you’re in a bit of a rush.” I motion to the display case and stand up.

  “Not really, I have about an hour before I have to head back. We have a cut going to the network tonight.” Will doesn’t budge; he stays seated and waits for me to sit back down.

  “Oh good. So how’s that all going?” I edge into the corner of the demi-booth and fold my hands on the table.

  “Brutal. They bumped up the airdate. We’ve been editing around the clock. And there’s a new regime at the network, so the exec really wants to put his stamp on the show. You wouldn’t believe the notes he’s giving. Nightmare. Be glad you picked production.”

  Hmm, that’s not even close to Lisa’s version of paradise in post.

  “Sorry, you must be exhausted.”

  Here, come rest your head on my lap.

  “I am.” Will runs his fingers through his hair.

  I want to bring up Lisa, but I know I can’t. “So, how’s Lisa handling it?” Crap! What is the matter with me?

  Will tilts his head and grins. “Are you concerned about Lisa? Interesting.”

  “I was just curious, since it’s so stressful for everyone…”

  “I didn’t really think you enjoyed Lisa’s, uh, management style.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, does anyone enjoy Lisa’s management style?”

  “No comment.” I laugh.

  Will doesn’t enjoy Lisa’s management style? In your face, you skeletal Barbie from hell. Wait! Was I wrong this whole time? Are they not dating? If they were, he never would have made a comment like that. That’s not Will’s style.

  “So, do you know what you want?”

  “What?” I ask dumbly.

  “To eat,” Will says slowly, still smiling.

  “I always get the brie sandwich,” I say as I start to stand up.

  Will gently pushes my shoulder down. “I’ll get it. What do you want to drink?”

  “Oh. Thanks. Um, just an iced coffee.”

  “Guard the table.”

  I sit up straight, nod my head and try to look stern.

  A few minutes later, Will returns with our drinks. “Thanks,” I say as he places the iced coffee in front of m
e.

  He turns away, walks to the sidebar and brings back two raw-sugar packets and a carafe of cream. He waits patiently while I pour a dollop of cream into my coffee, and then returns the carafe to the sidebar. I automatically rip open the sugar packets and dump them into my glass.

  He’s so freaking sweet and perfect I can’t stand it.

  “So, how’s Grant?” Will asks, taking a sip of his iced tea.

  “I have no idea.” I twirl my straw absently. “He’s been off gallivanting in Costa Rica since the show fell through. If I had to guess, I’d wager that right now he’s drunk and shacking up with a pretty local. Or two.”

  Will wrinkles his brow. “That uh, sounds like him. The quintessential ladies’ man…”

  “That’s definitely Grant. Don’t ever tell him though, his head is already too big.”

  Will places his elbow on the back of his chair. He’s just looking at me. It’s disconcerting.

  “Have you heard from Katie and Ryan?” I ask as I sink back into the demi-booth, taking my iced coffee with me.

  “Ah, you will be sad to know that Katie and Ryan have parted ways.”

  “Weren’t they technically not even supposed to be a couple until after the show airs?”

  “You can’t stop young love.”

  “Like Romeo and Juliet. So, what’s the official word from the show?”

  “After the finale, they’ll give interviews together, in love and still engaged but haven’t yet set a date. Then I suppose in a few months’ time they’ll come out with an official statement saying they’ve parted ways, but assuring America that they are still the best of friends.”

  “And by America, you mean the ten people who are actually going to watch the show.” I can’t believe I just said that. What is wrong with me? Did I offend him?

  “Excuse me, my parents are going to watch. That brings us up to an even twelve,” Will says with chuckle.

  I shake my head. “I’m sure we are going to have tons more viewers, at least fifty.”

  “Now, don’t get greedy. Fifty will ensure a season two, and no one wants that.”

  “Do you?” I ask.

  “Do I want another season? It would be great for my resume, but do I want to do this again? No. Will I? Yes, if I have to.”

  “So what is it that you want to do?” I ask before taking a very affected and dainty sip of my coffee.

  “I feel like, at a certain point, if it’s not your show, your production company, you’re just a chump killing yourself to make money for other people.”

  I’m both surprised and relieved to hear Will voice my exact thoughts on our chosen careers.

  “We’re suckers. I know so many people who are leaving or thinking about leaving. But I have no skills, Will. None. What else can we do?”

  “Well, I’m going to try to sell shows.”

  “Ooh, tell me some of your ideas.”

  “I don’t want to bore you, we have better things to talk about.” As the waiter places our sandwiches on the table, Will unrolls his napkin and places it on his lap, his eyes never leaving my face.

  Ugh. I’ve put him in the awkward position of having to tell me no. Obviously, he can’t share his ideas with me. You can’t trust anyone in this town.

  “Scratch that,” I say, taking a bite of my sandwich. “I know you can’t tell me. Next thing you know, I’m stealing your idea and pitching it to CBS. But that’s exciting, Will. I’m happy for you. If anyone can do it, you can.”

  “What it must be like to be inside your head,” Will muses as he takes a bite of his sandwich. “Abby, of course I will tell you my ideas, I just thought you were being polite.”

  “Oh. No. I was being the opposite of polite. Well, not the opposite really… Okay. Just tell me one.”

  “All right, but let me preface by saying, I am under no illusion that these are brilliant ideas. I just need to sell one show to get my company off the ground.”

  “I know, I know. Go on.” He’s nervous. I’ve never seen Will nervous before. It’s adorable. Yikes. I’m in deep.

  Will wipes his lips with a napkin. “This is one of those ideas that is so simple, you can’t believe it hasn’t been done. Did you ever watch American High?”

  “Where they followed the high school students?”

  “Exactly, so it’s American High for college. Or, The Real World set in a dorm. Campus life revealed.”

  “You’re right. I can’t believe no one has done that. That’s a great idea.”

  “We’ll see. I have two meetings lined up with colleges next month, once I get one on board, my agent will start setting up pitches.”

  “If you can get a good dorm to agree, that show is as good as sold. That reminds me of this hilarious thing I found on the internet. There is an actual school in England for psychics. I think they call it spiritualist training. People live there for months, attending classes on remote viewing, contacting the dead, healing, paranormal investigating, all sorts of crap. It’s Harry Potter for freaky grown-ups,” I say as I finish off the last of my sandwich. “By the way, you have to hire me when you sell your show or I’ll say it was my idea and sue you.”

  Will’s lips are paused on the rim of his cup. “I love that. Let’s do it.”

  “Do what?”

  “Let’s sell that show. Give me the name of the school, I’ll contact them and see if they’ll let us film there.”

  “Really? You think that would sell?”

  “Absolutely. If the school is game, and they give us access to what we need, why not?”

  “What if it’s just a bunch of people sitting around, pretending to talk to ghosts?”

  “Even so, don’t you think that could be good TV? And after their classes, we follow our ghost hunters and psychics into the dorms. Who knows what the hell is happening behind those closed doors.” Will fakes a shiver.

  “You’re right. I’d totally watch that. So, you’d really want to do this together?”

  “I suppose I could just steal the idea, but then you’d sue me. I’d win of course, but it would be an inconvenience,” Will says with a deadpan expression. “Yes, let’s be partners. What do you think?”

  Can’t think. Will and I are going to be partners.

  “Sounds good.” I clasp my hands together and place them on the table. “I’ll email you the link to the school when I get home.”

  “Good. I’ll check it out and contact them this week.”

  “Now all you have to do is convince them that we have no intention of making fun of them.”

  “Making fun of them? Certainly not. This will be an unbiased, fly-on-wall depiction of life at an institution of learning,” Will says grandly.

  “So it will be indirect mocking. Up to the viewer’s discretion.”

  “Exactly.”

  “You better hope they don’t use the psychic whammy on you to divine the truth.” I laugh before finishing the last of my iced coffee. “Tell me another idea.”

  “Cake first. What do you want?”

  “I’m really full, I shouldn’t…” I say half-heartedly.

  “How could we come here and not have cake? Don’t make me eat alone.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be rude.” I pull my wallet out of my purse and stand. “But let me get it, you got lunch. What do you want?”

  “You decide. I’m sure I’ll love whatever you like.”

  After a few minutes, I return with my beloved Chocolate Peanut-Butter Mousse cake and a slice of the Berry Blossom, a spongy delight filled with berries, white chocolate mousse and some kind of liqueur.

  I try to restrain myself with the Chocolate Peanut-Butter Mousse Cake, but I suspect Will only gets in a couple of bites before I scare him off with my aggressive spoon antics.

  As we eat our desserts, Will tells me two more of his ideas, both of which I can see as TV shows. Not satisfied with my compliments, Will pushes me for my opinion, and listens attentively as I offer suggestions. As we bounce ideas back and forth, Wi
ll’s ideas suddenly begin to shift into our ideas. And I can’t believe that he’s actually taking advice from me.

  Twenty minutes later, I begrudgingly offer the last spoonful of Berry Blossom cake to Will, but he gestures for me to take it. He looks at his watch and frowns.

  “Unfortunately, I have to head out. I wish things weren’t so crazed right now,” he says as he rubs the back of his neck.

  “I understand. This was really fun,” I reply, suddenly feeling shy.

  Will smiles at me and stands. “I’ll call you about getting together again soon. We need to start putting some of these ideas to paper.”

  “Oh yeah, definitely. Well, I’m free all weekend, if you want to get together. To work.”

  Free all weekend? You loser.

  “Okay,” Will says, looking amused. “Friday night after work? We can get a pizza and flesh out the rest of the ideas…”

  “Friday it is,” I say enthusiastically, much like an excited puppy about to pee itself.

  “I’ll call you later this week.” He pats my shoulder and walks away.

  Why didn’t I stand up for a hug?

  “Bye, thanks for lunch,” I call after him.

  “Thanks for eating all of my dessert,” he says without looking back.

  After ordering a latte for the road, I walk out to my car, floating on a sugar-and happiness-induced haze. I can’t wait to tell Zoë the news. Granted, it wasn’t the stuff of my office fantasy, but it far exceeded any expectations I had for our little coffee date. I place my cup on top of a newspaper box, root around my purse for my phone and dial her number.

  “Well?” she answers, without saying hello.

  I feel a squeal coming on. A ridiculous, girly squeal.

  “Hi,” I say quietly. I fight the urge to do a full body shake, ignoring the little electric pulses zapping through my limbs. “Hi,” I say again. It’s all I can manage.

  “Jesus. Why are you being so freaky?”

  “He’s just so…wait, we’re partners!”

  “Back up. Partners?”

  “Yes. He’s pitching shows, and he told me a few of his ideas, and next thing you know, I’m giving him suggestions, and then suddenly we’re partners and meeting for pizza, and oh, Zoë, he’s just so amazing.”