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Authors: Alison Sweeney

Tags: #Fiction / Contemporary Women, #Fiction / Romance / General

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BOOK: Scared Scriptless
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Scene 002
Ext. Billy Fox’s mansion—night

Billy Fox was surprised to hear from me at 9:00 on a Friday night, but he was the first call I made as I pulled out of Soho House.
Pitching is like acting
, I remember the agent in the elevator saying. So why not call the best? Billy will have tips, or at least a good pep talk and a giant glass of Pinot. And luckily enough, I catch him before he heads out for the night. I give him a brief rundown of my evening and my predicament, and he tells me to come right over so we can strategize. Luckily, it’s not far, but with Friday night West Hollywood traffic, it’s still forty minutes before I pull up to his gated home in Hollywood Hills. I punch in the gate code he sent me and whistle as the gates pull back to reveal a gorgeous Mediterranean-style villa. It looks like a transplant off some Tuscan vineyard, not an American McMansion. I park next to a long row of bright green hedges and notice there’s another car already parked on the landing. I wonder if Billy’s bought another BMW or if he has a guest and I’m horning in on his plans. The door swings open as I walk up.

“Maddy. Glad you made it. Come in; I opened some wine. You could use it.” He hands me a glass, kisses me on the cheek, and ushers me inside.

“I saw another car. Am I ruining your plans? I won’t stay long. I just need—”

“Since he can’t get invited anywhere on his own, I was going to let him tag along with me tonight.” I turn around to see Adam
taking off his jacket and throwing it on a chair. “But of course I canceled the second Billy called. I thought he would need help saving the day.”

“If you had a thought, it’d die of loneliness,” Billy retorts in full Texas twang.

The way they verbally spar reminds me of my brothers. Being surrounded by their friendly, encouraging faces, I finally start to feel like maybe this can really work.

“Did you tell Adam what happened?”

“Yeah, an abbreviated version. Why don’t you fill him in?”

I sit down and with a fortifying sip of wine, tell them both the play-by-play, starting with showing up at Craig’s house and all the way to Hogan’s send-off at Soho House.

“We need to make sure Craig is out. For good.” Adam speaks up after I finish my monologue.

“I think Hogan saw to that. I mean, he fired him. That’s pretty ‘out,’ right?”

“No, Adam’s right. But one thing at a time.” Billy looks at Adam. “Let’s get Maddy ready to pitch this. What do you say?”

Adam nods and focuses on me. “Okay. Have you ever taken improv classes?”

I shake my head.

“Any acting? Public speaking?”

Again, no.

“That’s okay, it doesn’t matter. What do you think, Billy? She should just pitch it, right? We’ll be the network. Just do it once, and we’ll see where we are.”

They sit down on a sofa and stare at me, slightly hostile and expectant.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Billy laughs. “Buyers are tough customers. You’ll have to win them over. Ignore the uninterested faces and do your thing.”

“Okay…” I hesitantly stumble through a brief explanation of what the show would be about. I stop talking, and they continue to stare at me. “Um… should I tell you about the format too? Like the technical stuff?”

“Go ahead,” Adam says formally. I guess we’re still acting.

“Well, we think the show is best in a one-hour format. We have several story lines based on the people we discussed that we would thread through each episode… but uh… I think each episode would focus on one theme… whether it was a specific event or a storm or well, things like that.”

“Is that all?” Adam asks, still in the role of mean network guy.

Billy hits him in the arm. “Stop being so hard on her. It’s her first run at this.”

“Dude. It’s almost ten o’clock. We need to fast-forward this. She needs to sleep and get to Manhattan Beach. We don’t have time to workshop it.” Adam looks at me. “Besides, she can do this.” He hops up and pulls a notebook out of his backpack. “I’m writing down the bullet points that I thought were the best parts of your first run-through. We need to work on your confidence. You know what you’re talking about. You believe in the show. We just need to see that more. That’s what sells people. If they’re going to give you their money, trust you to make a show, they have to see that you believe in what you’re doing. Here, let’s start with these.” Adam tears off the piece of paper where he has impressively summed up all the main talking points I had wanted to get across in my pitch.

I look over the list and start again. This time, I’m not more than a couple sentences in before Adam is on his feet.

“Hold on, hold on. This girl can memorize, right? Maddy knows our dialogue better than we do most of the time. Let’s play to her strengths.” Adam grabs the paper back from me and starts peppering me with questions about the show. The Gordons, Pete’s
Tavern, the blasters, Mike, etc. We talk through each story line and the right way to show the variety, the drama, everything the show has to offer. And we write it all down. By the time we’ve polished the “script,” I already have it mostly memorized. Every minute that goes by, I start to feel more confident.

“Hello? Where are you guys?” A female voice comes floating through the foyer.

“Hey! Sophie! We’re in the game room.” I look around. We’re in a game room? I notice the billiard table for the first time. There’s also a vintage Pac-Man machine against one wall. My eyes catch Adam’s and we share a thought—of course Billy has a game room.

“Sophie? Your publicist?” I ask Billy.

“I asked her to come,” Adam offers. “To help you present the exact image you want tomorrow. You gotta look the part, right?”

Having met Sophie Atwater several times on set, I can only imagine how it will feel to have that confidence and enthusiasm turned toward me. Sophie comes around the corner loaded down with clothes stacked up to her chin. Both guys leap up to relieve her of her burden.

“Thanks, guys. Hot male clients are good for something, after all.” She laughs. “Adam filled me in, Maddy. I think we should start with the right outfit.”

I don’t know how actresses do it—they can have half a dozen wardrobe fittings per scene. After the third outfit change, I’m exhausted. And it’s a little bit odd to come out and do this fashion show thing with each outfit. Modeling them for Billy and Sophie somehow seems almost normal, businesslike, but I can feel Adam’s eyes on me as he examines each new choice. And it’s not in a creepy way, just a little intense, like he’s soaking in every inch of me. My cheeks heat up just thinking about it.

“Do you need help in there?” Sophie calls from the hallway.
I smooth out the skirt of an adorable knee-length fitted dress. The waist hits me perfectly, and the beige tone complements my skin. The best part is this little black detail at the waist and hem that offsets the simplicity and makes it feminine. This one is my favorite.

I walk out and stand in front of Sophie, who lights up when she sees me. What is it about trying on clothes together that bonds women? Her opinion right now is so important to me.

“Oh my God. It’s perfect.” She grins and pulls me into the living room, where I hear the rumbling of the guys’ voices stop as we get close.

I step into the room. Sophie braces my hand and instructs me to stand on my tiptoes, so we can see how it’ll look in heels. I flinch at the thought but dutifully rise up onto the balls of my feet.

“Perfect.” Billy high-fives Sophie. “You did it. That’s why you get the big bucks, huh?”

They laugh together but I don’t hear what they’re saying. I wander down the hall to take in my reflection in the full-length cut-glass mirror in the front hallway. I rise up on my tippy toes again, trying to imagine how tomorrow is going to go. I also wonder if I can really risk doing it in high heels, or will I just fall flat on my face and ruin everything before I can even get the chance to give my pitch?

“You look beautiful, Maddy.” Adam leans against the wall next to the mirror, watching me. So much for not blushing.

“Thanks, Adam. I feel good about this one.” I look down at myself, feeling pretty and incredibly self-conscious all at once.

“You should,” he says simply. “It’s exactly right.” He glances down at my feet, reminding me I’m still balancing on my tiptoes.

“Thanks so much for helping me out tonight,” I say, trying to subtly return to my flat-footed five-eight. I very rarely feel petite,
but even separated by several feet, Adam’s taller, broad frame makes me feel very feminine.

“I’m glad I got the chance to help you. I guess it’s safe to say things with Craig are done?”

“Oh… I didn’t know… you knew?” I stammer, caught off guard by his boldness and the fact that he knew it was Craig all along. So much for trying to be discreet.

“Yeah, Billy let it slip. Well, after I fed him a bottle of Jack. I wanted to know who my competition was.” He’s grinning now, and the heat in my cheeks has turned into a full-body flush. “He also told me that if I was lucky enough to get a chance with you, and I messed it up, he would, quote, ‘kick my ass with the sharpest spurs on his snakeskin boots.’ ” Adam’s impression of Billy’s Texas twang is as dead-on as Billy’s of Adam’s Brooklyn accent.

“So? Will I be lucky enough to get a chance with you now?”

“I… um… well… it’s just that…” Oh my God, I have not been able to form a complete sentence in the last five minutes. But turns out, I don’t need to because Adam pushes away from the wall to come toward me. I hold still as he reaches out to adjust the necklace around my throat. It’s a delicate diamond solitaire that Sophie is generously lending me since it’s “perfect” for the dress. It was a gift from her husband, Jacob, so it’s all the more touching she’s letting me borrow it for good luck. He centers the charm on my clavicle and then gently traces his finger along the delicate gold chain to where my shoulder meets my neck. His hand spreads out there, and I feel its warmth seeping into my skin, muddling my brain. So much so, that it isn’t until I actually feel his lips on mine that I catch on that he’s kissing me. I can’t even react right away. He slowly starts increasing the pressure of the kiss, directing it to turn into something stronger, more passionate. He now has a hand tilting my face up to meet his more fully and the kiss grows stronger. I lean into him and feel my
heart beating against his chest. Every nerve ending I have is exploding with sensation as I feel him press me against him. He is still leading this embrace, and somehow my arms reach up around his neck and I am just hanging on for the ride, my body quivering and my mind complete mush. He slows the kiss, pulls back a bit, and looks me right in the eye. Then he comes close to kiss me again on the lips, a gentle “this isn’t over” kiss. He’s now holding my shoulders as he gives us both a bit of breathing room, which allows me to realize I haven’t taken in oxygen for quite some time. Only I don’t think that’s the reason I’m light-headed.

One good, deep breath turns out to be a mistake for two reasons: (1) It comes out sounding like a contented sigh, which makes Adam smile knowingly, and (2) I inhale his aftershave, which only makes my head continue to spin.

“Go get ’em, Maddy. You’ve got this.”

Scene 003
Int. Manhattan Beach Hilton—morning

Between the kiss with Adam, replaying yesterday’s turn of events over and over in my mind, and the nerves about today, I didn’t sleep at all last night. Finally, as the sun came up, I stopped trying to sleep and just took a long hot shower, which was somewhat calming. Then I drank a venti cup of coffee on the drive down here, thinking of everything that could go wrong, which was not calming at all. Luckily, Wanda had a great detour that allowed me to avoid the insane traffic issues on the 405, so I got to Manhattan Beach with plenty of time to spare.

The printout Craig’s assistant e-mailed me of Craig’s schedule for today is shaking in my hands as I stand outside the doors of my first pitch meeting. I force myself to take deep breaths and look at my notes again. Sophie told me to take five deep breaths every time I felt nervous. It was exactly what she advised her client who made an appearance on
The Tonight Show
last week, two days after being caught in a threesome on a video that went viral. If it worked for him… I’m about to take in another cleansing breath when a harassed-looking intern-type kid pokes his head into the hallway, surprising the air right out of me. “Where’s Craig?”

“Um, he’s not here,” I choke out. “I’m here for the pitch.”

“Okay, well. Whatever.” He heads back into the room, holding the door open behind him, the only indication that he is expecting me to follow him into the suite. World-Weary Intern gestures for
me to head through another door off the foyer. Who knew hotels had rooms like this? I can’t help but look around at the expansive layout. It’s bigger than my first apartment.

There are three men and one woman, all in clearly expensive suits, talking among themselves. I stand there awkwardly, not sure how to get their attention. I picture Adam last night in Billy’s living room and what he would say about my current predicament.

ADAM

Take charge of the room. Make them pay attention to you.

I clear my throat. The executives pause in their conversation and look up at me with barely disguised irritation. My stomach shrivels up.

ADAM

(wincing slightly)

It’s okay. Shake it off. Tell them who you are and why you’re here.

Good advice from Adam’s voice inside my head. Now I have to put it to action.

“Hi, I’m Maddy Carson. I’m here to pitch you my show.”

“Where’s Craig?” asks Executive on the Left, with the slick Italian hair, looking down at his iPad.

“He’s not working on this project anymore.” I barely avoid tripping over that vague answer.

The female executive looks confused, and I clearly see all four of them lose interest in the space of a second.

“And you are…?” she asks me.

“Oh, like I said, I’m Maddy Carson.”

“Yes, I know, you said that.” She looks and sounds exasperated. “I mean, who you are? What shows have you done?”

“Um, well, I work on
The Wrong Doctor
…” I see them perk up a bit. “I’m the script supervisor.” Is it my imagination, or did they deflate?

“So you have no experience selling or running a show?” This time it’s the guy with glasses.

“Well… no, not exactly. But I—”

They cut me off before I can even finish, which irks me at first but is actually probably a blessing since I don’t know exactly how to convince them of my credentials. Even though it seems hopeless, I continue to stand in front of them. Frankly, I’m not even sure how to leave. Tail-between-my-legs isn’t my style, but I can’t see another way out, so I’m stuck with my pride. Standing tall but silent.
The Good, the Bad and the Ugly
theme music plays in my head. After endless excruciating seconds pass, the guy on the right caves. He seems the youngest of the four. “So, let’s hear your pitch,” he says in a chipper voice, as if nothing happened.

I take a deep breath and smile. “This is a show about America. It’s a show about getting by when times are tough. It’s a show about heart. Let me introduce you to Wolf County…” I go through my whole spiel. I pass out the handouts I made, prop my iPad up on the coffee table in front of them, and play my sizzle reel. They politely lean in to get a view of the screen, but when the video ends, they sit straight and offer semi-sincere smiles, asking no questions. After another awkward pause, one of them says, “Thank you.” And like that, I am dismissed.

I keep my shoulders straight all the way to the hallway, but once the door closes behind me and I’m sure I’m alone, I wilt against a door. It took all my willpower to tough that one out. They can’t all be that brutal, can they?

The next room seems much more cheery. It’s for one of those female cable networks—bright pink logo and four women in fantastically glamorous outfits laughing and, if I’m not mistaken, drinking champagne when I am escorted in. As they size me up, one of them compliments my dress. I silently thank Sophie Atwater.

“Go ahead when you’re ready,” a woman with short spiky blond hair directs. Her slim figure is accentuated by cigarette pants and a fitted black cashmere sweater.

“Oh, okay. Well, I’m Madelyn Carson. I’m representing Hogan Chenny Productions today. And I am really proud to be here to pitch you our new reality show.”

“Let’s hear it,” the blonde says.

“This is a show about America…” Again I get through my presentation relatively flawlessly. As I pull out my iPad, I notice the women exchanging glances. I focus on the blonde, clearly their leader, for some idea of what’s going on here.

“Sweetheart, thank you for your pitch. It sounds very exciting, really. But I’m going to stop you. We don’t need to see the presentation. Your show really isn’t right for our network. It’s just not what we’re looking for at this time.”

The other women nod, and as I look around, they actually don’t seem bitchy, just honest. Well, okay.

“Thank you for your time.”

The blonde gets up and walks me to the door of their suite. She holds the door open and as I pass through, she says quietly, “It’s a good pitch, but slow down. It’s not speed dating.” She smiles at me and then the door shuts in my face.

And so it goes… room after room.

Some rooms are nicer than others. The reactions range anywhere from crickets—complete silence followed by a “we’re not
interested”—to polite applause and even one “Oh, I go skiing there every winter! I love Wolf, but it’s not really the right show for this network. Sorry.” The worst is when I play the sizzle reel I sweated over and worked so hard on and fought for, and I watch executives check their smartphones and even take calls while it plays.

Going from room to room, pitching these people is physically and emotionally exhausting. And having been around actors long enough, I know I’m still not doing it exactly right. I still sound too forced, like I’m repeating something I’ve memorized. Which is exactly what I’m doing. I take a minute and brace myself against a doorjamb near my next appointment with new appreciation for how much harder “acting” is than I realized. It’s a humbling thought as I take a bite of a half-eaten protein bar I found in the bottom of my purse. It’s now 3:00 p.m., and I haven’t eaten since… I can’t even remember when. Before the whole Craig thing happened. I couldn’t eat at Billy’s since I was so busy trying on clothes, perfecting my script… and kissing Adam. Thinking about Adam, that kiss, I feel the blush creeping up my cheeks. I haven’t had a moment to think about it all day. I have no idea what, if anything, it means…

A head pops out of the doorway. “Craig? Are you here?”

Ugh. I wish there was some way to get ahead of this. The ghost of Craig Past is haunting me at every meeting, as I have to explain his absence over and over.

“I’m here,” I call out. “Maddy Carson.” I shake hands with the intern as we walk into the room and make a point to remember his name—Louis. Over the last six hours, I’ve learned if I give the intern some attention, some respect, they’ll reciprocate and introduce me with more enthusiasm to their bosses. “Sorry, Craig’s not here. I’m representing HCP for the meeting,” I explain
to the cute kid in a bow tie. I look around waiting for him to point me in the direction of the executives’ room.

“Oh, it’s just you and me,” he explains apologetically. “The gang had to leave—some sort of emergency.” He gestures for me to sit with him on the sofa against the back wall. “I’m a junior executive now, so I’ve taken pitches before.”

But we both know that I’ve been stood up by the real decision-makers. He sits patiently and waits. What the hell.

“It’s a show about America…”

I get through the whole thing and Louis hasn’t said anything, which I now know does not bode well.

“Any questions?” I ask as I fold the iPad back in the case.

“It’s a good idea, Maddy. I like it, I really do.” His tone still has its apologetic undertones, so I’m not getting my hopes up or anything. “I’m going to mention it to Angela and the rest of the team…”

“But?”

“Well… I know what they’re going to say. The stakes aren’t high enough.”

“What does that even mean?” I don’t expect him to really answer. This isn’t the first time today I’ve heard that—and it’s just so frustrating, everyone speaking in these phrases that I just don’t understand. They’re speaking English, and yet it feels like I need a dictionary.

“It means that you haven’t made me feel like I can’t wait to find out what happens next. Especially when you pitch a show, you have to have me, us”—he gestures to the empty seating area where invisible network executives are hypothetically sitting—“on the edge of our seats, imagining the endless series of dramatic moments for every episode. It’s a programmer’s dream, a series filled with cliff-hanger moments, you know?” He’s escorting me out the door, still talking. It’s not until I’m alone in the
hallway yet again that I realize I should have argued with him. There are tons of dramatic moments in the show. But it’s too late.

I am thinking about what Louis said as I dash to the bathroom before my next and last meeting. I think about ways I can make my pitch more dramatic. I am nervous to leave the script I’ve perfected, but hey, what have I got to lose if I go off the cuff a little bit? It can’t get any worse.

So in the next pitch I make sure to hype up all the dramatic aspects of life in Wolf, and how we could create very dramatic cliff-hangers. I feel my tweaks are very compelling, and I think Madame Executive of Home Living Network would agree if she heard one word I said. Her phone defeated the purpose of being on vibrate because placed as it was on the metal coffee table, the sound echoed louder and longer than a beep would have. Since it’s gone off every ninety seconds while I am talking, and she is reading and replying to every incoming e-mail, I’m pretty sure she has no idea what I’m saying. And yet I keep going, determined to finish until…

“Oh, sorry. I have to take this one.” She interrupts me right as I’m getting ready to finish. “Thank you for coming by.” She doesn’t even glance up as she answers the phone.

Beaten. I just feel beaten. Limping down the hall back toward the elevator, the high-heeled shoes I’m not used to wearing have rubbed identical blisters onto each foot. I am not really a crier, but the exhaustion, the sleep deprivation, and the humiliation of knowing that Craig would have sold this show and I couldn’t all contribute to a weight on my chest that make it hard to catch my breath.

In the hotel lobby, the quiet bar catches my eye. The pitches are over, but I see a sign saying there’s still a speaker session and cocktail hour taking place at 7:00. I have maybe fifteen minutes of quiet before everyone will be here socializing and networking,
another major part of this event. I order a vodka and soda and sip silently, wondering if I have the stamina to try again. To socialize, schmooze.

“You look how I feel.”

I glance over to see a slightly older man sitting down next to me.

“Um, thanks?” I reply, not caring that my sarcasm is apparent.

“Sorry, that was unkind. I just meant that this event can be exhausting.” I look over at him and take in his grandfather-style argyle cardigan and kind eyes, and see he wasn’t trying to be a jerk.

“No, you’re right. I never knew pitching a TV show could drain everything out of you.” I take a big swig of vodka.

“Any prospects?” He calls the bartender over and orders a whiskey neat.

“I heard everything except a yes. In one room, they green-lit another show while I sat and waited, but that’s as close as I got. I also learned today how completely shitty network executives can be.”

“Indeed.” He chuckles, sipping his drink. I swallow more vodka.

“Half the time I wasn’t even given the courtesy of their attention.” Now I’m on a roll. “I mean, isn’t that their job? The point of even being here? Why take a meeting with me if they’re not going to actually listen to my pitch?” I’m twisting my cocktail napkin into little pieces. “I would. If it were my job. I’m sure you would too. You seem like the type of person who would listen if it were your job to listen.”

“So let me hear it,” he says casually, as he scoops up some mixed nuts from a nearby bowl.

“I just meant figuratively. You don’t really have to hear about my show.”

“I want to. If you’re up for it.”

And knowing it doesn’t mean anything, except perhaps to have this random stranger agree that I’m right—everyone here are idiots for not buying my idea—I tell him about
Never Cry Wolf
.

“They say the stakes aren’t high enough? Are they kidding? They couldn’t be higher. This is a show about a community trying to survive. Everyone doing everything they can every single day, to not just earn their livelihood, but also to rely on each other, to keep their hearts and spirits up too.

“Someone today said ‘the characters aren’t big enough.’ ” I put air quotes around that preposterous statement. “You couldn’t ask for bigger, more vibrant people. They’re not just characters you can sum up or put in a neat little box. These people, like the Gordons, for example, are bigger than life. He’s into taxidermy—which is only one tiny part of this huge Paul Bunyan–type guy, who also knits, makes moonshine that’ll put hair on anyone’s chest, and stops every night to appreciate the night sky with his wife of forty-plus years. Or Pete, who is the third-generation owner of the local tavern and keeps it open all year, even when the only people who go are teetotalers who drink water with no ice and bring their own Ritz crackers. Pete cares about his community, and it’s more important to him to be there when people need a gathering place than to shut down when times are tight.” Having finally found my voice to contradict every negative comment I heard, I can’t seem to stop myself until it’s all out. I barely take a breath before going in for the next argument.

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