Scared Scriptless (14 page)

I’m annoyed at myself for being so nervous right now. I’ve sat on this couch a thousand times; the print hanging above the desk is a gift from my parents, for God’s sake. And yet it is taking everything in me to not pace back and forth, pick imaginary lint off my dress, bite my fingernails, or all three. Then a part of me realizes that I kind of like the butterflies in my stomach. I like that it means I really care about how this turns out. As much as I like working as a script supervisor, this is new and exciting… a challenge. And when I think of what it could mean for Wolf, the stakes feel so high. Thinking about those stakes sends me right back into another tailspin of anxiety. I don’t need this pressure, and creative stuff like this has never been my strong suit. I don’t have a freaking artistic bone in my body, and now I want to create a TV show? Who am I kidding? And what if the show doesn’t work?

“He’s going to love it.” Craig’s voice jolts me out of my spiral of self-doubt. I almost forgot he was sitting next to me.

“Yeah, I think you’re right,” I say with false confidence. Yesterday, we went over and over all the elements of the show via e-mail. We worked through several different possible formats, but we have a good, well-thought-out concept. Objectively, I know it’s good, but that didn’t stop me from lying awake last night, playing out the million reasons why this won’t work. For someone who’s never considered herself creative, I was pretty impressed by the
extremely imaginative ways I pictured this meeting bombing. Everything from Hogan kicking me out for offending his ears (unlikely) to an earthquake knocking the whole building down (it could happen).

“I watched the video at least ten times yesterday. For a quick rough cut, it’s good. If I do say so myself.” Craig repeatedly taps his laptop. Though he’s been giving a good show, his fidgety behavior makes me realize that he is nervous too. All of a sudden I have compassion for his situation. The stakes are high for him too.

“Great. I made a copy of the video on DVD so we can leave it with him. Oh, and I also made extra copies of the write-up,” I say, digging the crisp folder out of my bag.

“If he takes his time to think about it, we’re golden.” Craig has worked with Hogan for years; he knows him as well as I do. “Hogan never makes snap decisions, so the best thing we can expect is for him to think it over. It would be better not to push him for an answer right away. Just let him mull it over.”

“Okay…”

“We don’t want him to feel pressured into giving an answer right away. And I think it’s better to talk just broad strokes. We want him excited about the overall idea before we start talking about the details of budgets and below-the-line details. Okay?” As Craig keeps talking, he seems more in control.

“Well, I’m sure he’s already thought through the basics, right? Based on your initial talk with him? This should just confirm that we have the right direction for the show, and then we can figure out the budget from here.” I did some quick and dirty number crunching last night, so I have a rough idea of what we’d need. I also hashed out a very rough shooting schedule, so we have all our ducks in a row.

“Right. Maddy, here’s the thing…” He trails off. I can tell
Craig is gearing up for some sort of practiced speech. He has that even tone that I’ve come to know as his “Hollywood” voice.

I wait for him to continue.

“We really have something special here.” Craig looks at me with such conviction. What does that mean? He isn’t saying it lightly; I can see he really means it. And all of a sudden I wonder if he means us… our relationship? Or are we still talking about the show? I start to stutter a response when Hogan throws open the door.

“Maddy! Craig! I had to get that call done so we could have some time to talk. I can’t wait to hear what this is all about.” And then he disappears back inside. Wait.
What?!
I am now frozen in my seat. Craig gets up and takes two steps toward Hogan’s inner office before he turns back to see the shock followed by horror on my face.

“God, Maddy… I know… you thought… okay, listen.” He squats down in front of me so we are eye level. In a low voice he quickly explains, “So Hogan didn’t really come right out and say he was interested in reality TV. And we don’t exactly have the green light here.”

I stare at him, mouth agape.

“But this is a good idea. He’s going to love it. You know Hogan…” Craig’s voice switches to wheedling. “Sometimes he can have his head in the sand about moving forward. I wanted to have everything a little more buttoned up before I came to him. Now he’s going to see how perfect it is.”

Finally my brain starts functioning again. “How dare you?” I spit out at him in a whisper. “I’m not going in there. I’m not selling Hogan anything he doesn’t want to do. That’s insane!”

“Maddy! Craig! Come on, I don’t have all day,” Hogan bellows from the interior of his office.

“You’ve come this far. Wolf needs this. You said so yourself.
Give Hogan a chance to change his mind. I know you can get him to see what a good idea this is.” Craig knows better than to touch me, so he rises and starts to walk toward the office doors. He looks back at me. “This isn’t even about me, really. You can hate me right now if you want, but you know your family needs this.”

And the worst thing is, he’s right. I can’t let Craig’s political games stop me from at least trying to make a go of this show. It would actually help my family, my community.

“You are unbelievable.” As far as witty comebacks go, I know it’s not the best, but it’s true. I hold my head high and sail past him into Hogan’s office holding the DVD we slaved over and the write-up of the show.

Hogan envelops me in a big hug, and I tightly embrace him back. I have no idea how this conversation is going to go, and I hate that. One thing I do know: I’m furious with Craig.

I walk out of Hogan’s office in a daze, while Craig lingers to talk about some
Wrong Doctor
business. I know I participated in the rest of the conversation, but it’s all blurry to me now as I walk back to the elevators and wait for the ding. He lied to me. I still can’t wrap my head around it. People tease me about my first impression thing, but I have always trusted my gut. And for the most part I’ve been right, so I feel completely blindsided by what Craig has done. And I really don’t know how to handle it.

I hear the heavy footfalls of a man rushing down the hallway as I board the elevator. Oddly, I don’t care whether or not Craig makes it. I don’t press the hold button for him, but it doesn’t occur to me to hurry to shut the doors either. At the last second his hand slides between the closing doors and triggers the motion sensor to reopen them, but I still don’t react. It’s just the two of us in this extremely confined space. And I know he’s talking to me. I can hear his words, and a distant part of my brain is cataloguing what he’s saying, but I just can’t react to it right now. I don’t look at him. I stare at the doors, waiting for them to open. He steps in front of them. His face comes into sight. He seems genuinely upset, but right now I don’t care about his excuses or explanations.

By the time I get to my car, he’s not following me anymore. As I start the engine, I realize that I’m angrier at myself for not seeing through Craig’s lies than I am at Craig for lying.

I flash back to Hogan’s ill-disguised shock at the purpose for our meeting. The look on his face was like a slow-motion sequence.

“HCP doesn’t do reality TV. I told you that when you suggested this a few weeks ago, Craig. Why are you guys pitching me this?”

“It’s a good idea, Hogan. I thought if you could just see the great footage we got, you might be persuaded. And think about what it could do for Wolf County.” Craig didn’t hesitate to use his newfound knowledge of Hogan’s connection with my hometown to make his case.

Different moments in the conversation keep flashing past me as I put the car in drive and head home on autopilot. To Hogan’s credit, he agreed to watch the video we created and read the pitch materials and keep an open mind. Finally he turned to me. “Are you in, Maddy? You know my concerns, but you also know Wolf. And if you think this a good idea, I am happy to be proved wrong. But you’d better get it right.”

I could feel just how livid Hogan was at Craig for going behind his back and pushing this idea. I was livid, too, but I decided in that instant that I was more embarrassed for Hogan to know how fooled I had been by Craig. I couldn’t stand losing Hogan’s respect on top of it, so I decided to weather the storm.

“Hogan, it’s a good idea. Avoiding the world of reality TV isn’t going to make it go away. It’s the future. You may hate how Craig went behind your back, and you can be mad at me for being a part of this. But all of that doesn’t change the fact that it is a good idea and there’s a way to do this right. I do think you should give us a chance.”

Craig had the nerve to pat my leg as I said this, and it was all I could do not to smack his hand. I couldn’t bear to look over at his beaming face. Just because this is working, doesn’t change
the fact that he duped me… and Hogan. I’m sure he thinks I am doing this for him, but I’m doing this for me. For my family and my home. In the end, Hogan gave us the green light and I’m going to run with it. But not before I give Craig a piece of my mind.

Upon arriving home, I hunt down my MacBook, which after I tore my living room apart, is sitting on my bed. The bed Craig and I slept in two nights ago. A fresh wave of rage inspires me to unleash the e-mail I’ve been composing in my head for the last twenty minutes. It appears Craig has beaten me to it, since the first thing I see in my inbox is an e-mail from him with the subject line:
See? We Did It!! Forgive me?!

Is he serious? I change the subject line and my fingers start flying over the keyboard.

The truth is, I don’t know how I am ever going to trust Craig again. This is exactly what I get for mixing work and my personal life. All I wanted was to keep things simple, and now they are more complicated than ever. But I know that firing off an angry e-mail probably won’t help matters. This is a conversation we should have face-to-face, when I am calmer. So, after staring at the screen for a while, I delete the e-mail and then restlessly wander into the kitchen. I am so relieved that we have a day off today; there is no way I could face being on set. I can deal with Craig and
The Wrong Doctor
tomorrow. Today, I decide, I am going to treat myself to a rare afternoon of lounging on the couch and regrouping.

It’s 1:15 by the time I grab some carrots, slather them in extra crunchy peanut butter, and collapse onto my shabby chic sofa. I’m hoping the History Channel has some gruesome show about World War II that will distract me from my problems. The TV is still on NBC from when I was watching last night’s
Tonight Show
interview with Billy Fox. Before I can wipe the peanut butter off my hands to grab the remote, the commercial ends and Hope Brady is on the screen, flashing a badge and grabbing some grubby-looking dude in a twist hold, keeping the pressure on until he collapses to his knees at her feet. I am immediately transported back to my college dorm, where my girls and I would gather around the TV in the lounge and watch
Days of Our Lives
every single day.

I watch the scene with relish, wishing I could do something like that to Craig right about now. I stuff another carrot into my mouth as the scene changes and there’s Adam Devin right there on the screen. I’m surprised to see him since he’s been working with us for almost two months. How could he still be airing on
Days
? Their shooting schedule must be incredibly far ahead. The mechanics of production schedules momentarily distract me from the scene unfolding, where Adam’s character, Grayson, is talking to a clean-cut, cop-looking guy in an outdoor balcony set. I haven’t caught an
episode of
Days
in years, but I immediately work out that Adam’s character has hurt a lot of people in Salem, especially Sabrina.

My phone rings from the kitchen counter and I let it go to voice mail. A few seconds later it rings again and then again. Finally, I go to check it, worried that it could be an emergency on set, but nope, it’s just Craig calling. Seven times to be exact. I ignore all of the voice mails. I still don’t want to hear his lame excuses. Without thinking too much about it, I put Craig out of my mind and start writing a text:

My thumb hovers over the
SEND
button. It’s definitely the first time I’ve initiated anything with Adam that couldn’t be defined as “professional courtesy,” but what the hell? So I hit
SEND
and toss my phone down on the coffee table just as
Days
returns from commercial break. Soon Adam/Grayson reappears, entering a lovely restaurant where there seems to be a wedding reception taking place. I recognize Megan Keef, who used to play Annabelle on
Black Mountain Valley
and is now apparently playing Sabrina. Grayson hesitates for a moment and then starts cutting through the crowd toward her. The dramatic music tells me something big is about to happen. Given what a disaster my own love life is right now, I’m all too happy to get lost in this soap drama. Sabrina sees Grayson approaching, and before he can even speak, she leaps to her feet, clearly ready to tear into him about something. He tries to take her hand, but she jerks away and shoves his chest. She goes to slap him and he grabs her wrist just in time. All of a sudden, the chemistry and tension between them is through the roof. Then the music changes and there is the familiar downbeat of a tango. Sabrina narrows her eyes at Grayson and he smiles and releases her arm. He pulls a rose from the convenient bouquet nearby and offers it to her. She stares at the flower as if it might bite. Grayson bows
gracefully and extends the rose again. “Dance with me,” he says, which also clearly means “I love you” and “I’m sorry” and “I don’t care who watches me make a scene over you”… it says everything.

Sabrina takes his hand and stops in the middle of the dance floor, where they perform a spectacular tango together. Adam pulls it off flawlessly. It’s sexy and romantic, and I am more entranced than I like to admit when my phone beeps at me, signaling an incoming text. It’s from Adam:

I’m smiling as I write him back:

I don’t even have time to put my phone down before it beeps again:

I wonder what that means. Looking at the clock, there can be only one more act in today’s show. Right out of the commercial, we’re back with Adam and he is down on one knee, pouring his heart out to Sabrina.

I can’t help but wonder how much of that speech Adam ad-libbed, and if they have a script supervisor somewhere tearing their hair out trying to keep up with his changes. And even now, a part of my mind is still dwelling on my own drama. Perhaps Craig should ask one of our script writers to help him craft his apology to me since he so clearly sucks at it.

Sabrina is suitably moved, but right when she’s about to speak, a loud brash yell intrudes on their moment and, wait,
Adam comes barreling into the room. He’s playing twins! The two Adams get into a heated argument and… a gun is pulled… Grayson collapses to the ground. Okay, I did not see that coming. I immediately set my DVR to record tomorrow’s episode, and then pick up my phone again to text Adam.

It’s not like I don’t see Adam on set, acting every day, but for some reason, it’s bittersweet that I caught his last episode on
Days
. I start writing a reply:

Then I reread it and come to my senses. The last thing I should be doing is flirting with Adam right now. Flustered, I swipe my finger across the screen to delete it. I need to snap out of this momentary insanity and get back to business. After my little soap escape, the memories of the morning come flooding back. Hogan green-lit our sizzle reel, which means Craig and I have to deliver. At this point, the idea of working with Craig makes my stomach churn, but I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it. Right now, I should be spending this afternoon doing research. I turn off my phone and get out my notebook.

Four hours later, I’ve watched eight different reality shows (how many
Housewives
franchises are there?!) and have polished off a takeout order of chicken tikka masala (aka, “the usual”) from Gardens of India.

Inspired by my research marathon, I furiously make notes about the show:

1. Pick 5 main “characters” that really work, focus on their stories
   
2. Find a romance (Matthew and Jen?)
   
3. Interviews? (I like the format, but don’t want it to seem overly produced or have them end up griping about each other all the time)
   
4. No catfights
   
5. What’s the main cause of the show? (Save the mountain? Save the town? Revealing what life is like in a small country town?)
   

I get into the zone mapping out story lines and making lists of production opportunities and potential shooting schedules. Right now I don’t want to think about the faceless person who will get to be in charge of running the show and have the final say for all these things. As I flip pages in my notebook, I wistfully fantasize about myself at the helm:

Fade in: gritty makeshift office

Camera starts on the beautiful snowfall through the window, pans to rugged cramped space that is ground zero for the production team. We hear off-camera dialogue as the camera sweeps the room to land on a beautiful, if clearly exhausted, dishwater blonde, midthirties.