Scared Scriptless (6 page)

I stare at the screen for several seconds. And then I turn my phone off and stash it in my bag so quickly you’d think it was on fire.

I belt out the lyrics of Mumford & Sons as the song blares through the speakers of my car. To my right, the dawn sun is casting a yellow glow over the Pacific and empty highway stretches before me. It’s beautiful. There’s something very peaceful about being on the open road at 6:00 a.m. And if the traffic stays light, I’ll be home in plenty of time to get to the restaurant for my mom’s surprise party at 1:00 p.m.

The flat California desert disappears into gorgeous green hills and farms, the farther north I drive. I love how different the views are every hour on this drive. It’s always a surprise to see what’s around the bend. Likewise, with my iPod on shuffle, I have no idea what music is going to play next. One minute I’m listening to Michael Bublé croon his latest and the next I’m transported back to ninth grade, head-banging to Trent Reznor. But the best part of this windy six-hour drive is that it leaves plenty of solitary time to think, which this morning mostly consists of me replaying my rather strange date with Craig last night.

We met up for drinks at the Mexican place near my house, but just like last week he seemed distracted—there, but not there. As I munched on the nachos we ordered, I mentally added to
my list of “possible reasons why Craig is so distracted”:
#7. He doesn’t want to date me anymore; #8. Family issues; #9. He has a secret wife he never told me about, like on the
Dateline Exclusive
I watched way too late last night.
The possibilities were endless. As it turned out, it really wasn’t anything especially surprising. At the end of the night, as we’re standing at my door, he turned to me and said, “Look, Maddy, I know, I’ve been distracted the last week. I’m sorry. It’s not you. It’s just, well, things are a little crazy right now. Hogan is talking about needing to bring in some new blood. He’s talking about making some changes on the development side.”

I couldn’t help but make a face—changes at the top make everyone nervous.

“Don’t worry about me. I’m fine.” He took my hand and started playing with the braided string bracelet my mom made me the last time I was home. Luckily it’s a pretty tame version of her many artistic endeavors, so I’m happy to humor her and wear it, although jewelry is not usually my thing.

“Then why all the secret meetings?”

“Ah, so people are talking.”

Damn it, I wasn’t supposed to reveal that, but he didn’t press me for details.

“The good news is that Hogan is excited for the future of HCP. He isn’t just coasting on the success of
The Wrong Doctor
. He wants more. I just…” He hesitated, and probably out of habit more than worrying that the random strangers at Casavega care about our conversation, he leaned in closer. “I want Hogan to give me a chance to run Development too.” He gave my hand a squeeze. “I know I can count on you to not say anything to anyone about this. I want to get my ducks lined up and then go to him with a proposal.”

On the one hand, I was thrilled that he confided in me. On the
other hand, I’m uncomfortable thinking that he probably never would have told me his plan if he knew about my relationship with Hogan. I kept meaning to tell him about it, but how do I do it now? I don’t want Craig to think I actually have any influence over Hogan, because I don’t. But I don’t know how to tell him now without him thinking I’ve been keeping something from him.

As if I have conjured him with my thoughts, Craig calls.

“Morning, Maddy.” Craig’s voice rings through the Bluetooth speaker of the car. He still has his morning voice, which I decide I like. Very much. It’s kind of husky and understated, without his usual polish.

“Hey, you. Did you just get up?” The clock on the dash reads 7:48.

“No, I’ve been up for about twenty minutes. Just watching last night’s
Sports Center
. How far are you? Did you really get up at five-fifteen?”

“Well, five, actually, and I was on the road by five-thirty.” Yup, I have this super annoying habit of waking up about ten or fifteen minutes before my alarm goes off. Almost every morning. It hurts because I could really use the extra ten minutes of shut-eye. But I know if I set my alarm for ten minutes later, I wouldn’t be able to sleep for worrying that would be the one morning I wouldn’t do it. “I got to see a beautiful sunrise, and I’m making good time.”

“And I haven’t even made coffee yet. You inspire me, Maddy. I need some of your energy.”

I don’t know if it’s energy, per se. I do think it’s that I was raised getting up early to hit the slopes when they open, or to get on the lake for the best conditions or before the crowds. And now working in TV, we’re either up at “Oh-dark-thirty” or we don’t start until 10:00 p.m. and we’re filming all night, and I’m back in bed well after the sun comes up. The good news is that I can
sleep anywhere, any time. The bad news is, never for long and very restlessly. I’m always afraid there’s going to be a problem with someone on the crew or cast, so I have to leave my phone on all night. When we’re in production, I’m like a doctor—always on call. One of the best parts of going home is the naps. I can’t wait to sneak in a few, under my mom’s quilted afghan (another of her hobbies) on our old couch.

“So, you’re back in town on Monday, right?” Craig asks.

“Yep, I’m sure next week is going to be crazed after the holiday weekend, but maybe we can do something next Saturday, in the morning? We could go for a walk up to the Griffith Observatory.” Given Craig’s anxiety levels these days, he could use some time in nature, as opposed to some overcrowded brunch spot in Santa Monica, which is what I imagine he would suggest.

“Aren’t you going to be hiking at home? You want to go again?”

“Well, it’s not really a hike, more like a nice walk, but don’t knock it till you try it, mister.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Okay. I’ll hike with you. It’ll be fun. Listen, that’s my other line. Have a great time in Wolf. Text me when you get there.”

“Okay, I will. Have a good weekend, Craig.”

Apparently he’s already disconnected because Adele’s voice comes through the speaker as the iPod comes back on.

My car eats up the miles into the Sierras. Through the desert I have to set the cruise control to avoid speed traps. But now that I’m into the mountains, I like to actually drive this part and pay attention to the terrain. Soon enough, my exit appears and then I see the cheesy wooden sign that says W
ELCOME
T
O
W
OLF
C
OUNTY
, P
OP. 4500
. The knots in my shoulder muscles automatically ease up a bit. I’m home.

Filled with giddiness and nostalgia, I make my way across
the main road through town. The strip is dotted with inexpensive motels and fast-food places that were built when I was a kid. The town hit a boom in the ’90s when tons of fancy houses were built near the slopes, and all these hotels cropped up to satisfy the weekenders. But it’s starting to look a little run-down already.

When I get to the intersection of Main Street and Old Forge Road, I am shocked to see that Terry’s craft store, Crop Till You Drop, is boarded up. I went to school with Terry’s daughter, Jill. It was open when I was here last April. I guess it didn’t survive the off-season this year. That seems to be happening more and more frequently with all of these beloved mom-and-pop shops. The economic downturn has hit Wolf County harder than I’d thought. I make a mental note to call Jill while I am home and check in.

It’s just after noon but I can’t go home yet and ruin the surprise—my mom has no idea I’m even coming—so I decide to pay Brian a quick visit first. I pull off onto Pine Cove Road, a street I know as well as my own. I rode my bike here after school pretty close to every day, until I saved up for my first car—a used Jetta I was ridiculously proud of—and then I drove over pretty much every day. I pull up in front and knock on the door. I hear a dog barking and then what sounds like a stampede. Twin four-year-olds appear at the door, still squabbling over who gets to open it this time.

“It’s my turn, Luke.”

“Ow! Stop it! It was your turn last time!”

“Hi, Luke. Hi, Liam.” I kneel down and hug Brian’s children close. Behind them is Brian’s wife, Lily.

“Maddy, you’re early! I didn’t think we would see you until the party! Come on in.” She pulls both boys off me. I look around the warm, cozy living room that looks as if a cyclone has just passed through.

“Lily, so good to see you.” We hug, and Lily smells like milk
and honey. In the TV version of my life, I would surely despise Lily, the woman who scooped up my ex months after we broke up. And there was probably a week or so, ten years ago, that I did. But then I realized (or rather, my brothers didn’t hesitate to spell it out for me) that I left Wolf and Brian. What was he supposed to do—pine away for me for years? Well, okay, that would have been nice for my ego, but the more generous part of me wanted Brian to be happy. And the truth is, Brian had waited for me. We did the long-distance thing for a while, still thinking that I would eventually return and we’d settle back into the life we’d had before. But when I got offered my first major promotion, script supervisor for a network show, we both realized there was no going back for me. To be offered this job, working on a network show? It was a huge opportunity. One I wanted.

“More than you want a life back here?” Brian had asked.

“Yes. More than that,” I admitted. What else could I say? He deserved my honesty. But I knew I had to let him go. Fast-forward ten years, and I am standing in the kitchen he and Lily inherited from his parents, which Lily has given a makeover straight out of
Real Simple
magazine.

“I love what you’ve done, Lily. The mosaics on the backsplash are amazing.”

“Oh, thanks. I did them all myself,” she tells me as she hands me a bottle of water from the fridge dotted with the twin’s artwork.

Of course she did. Lily does things like make mosaics and apple pies and organic baby food. But she’s so damn sweet, you can’t hate her for it.

“Come on, let’s go out back. Brian has been out here all day working on that damn dirt bike of his,” she says, rolling her eyes affectionately. The first time I heard Lily curse was when I knew
she and Brian were going to work out. The sweetness is sincere, but she’s feisty too. “He’s going to be so happy to see you.”

We head to the backyard where the twins run to Brian, screaming, “Daaaadyyyyy” at the top of their lungs. Lily hands him a beer and kisses his forehead. Taking in their easy affection, I look around at the swing set, the trampoline, the white picnic table, and Weber grill perfect for a family of four. It feels like I am stepping into exactly the life I thought I wanted back then, and I feel a quick pang of nostalgia thinking about the road not taken.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in!” Brian comes over, wiping the grease from his hands, right onto his T-shirt. Same old Brian.

“Hi, friend.” We exchange a good squeeze, and somehow I don’t mind that I might end up with motor oil on my T-shirt. Brian immediately starts quizzing me about the drive, work, and my life. I know it’s just a matter of time before he says, “
And the men, Maddy? How are they?
” with a raised eyebrow. Now that he and Lily have settled in so well to married life and parental bliss, they are both determined for me to find the right guy. It’s sweet, but annoying. I do love telling him the stories of what guys are like in LA. We have laughed until we cried over the ridiculous things that are considered “normal” in Hollywood. But he’s still on me about the men I date and refuses to believe there aren’t any “real” guys in the entire city. Hopefully I can ward off the romantic inquisition until after I have had a few glasses of wine at the party.

“So is your mom going to be surprised?”

“Hopefully. The plan is for Matthew to call her to say his Jeep broke down in front of Pete’s Tavern, and ask if she can come pick him up. When she does, we’ll all be there. You guys are coming,
right?” I take in Brian’s greasy shirt, realizing I am not the only one who needs to freshen up soon. Although for Brian, freshening up is trading one concert tee for another. I can’t help but think of Craig’s $125 Burberry T-shirts.

“Of course, we wouldn’t miss it. We can all head over together. I just hope no one saw you pull in here. You know the phone tree would spring to life immediately once someone spotted our local celebrity.”

“Oh right, my celebrity status. Don’t worry, daaahling… I’m still the same old Maddy From the Block,” I say with a Rita Hayworth old-Hollywood lilt. “Anyway, I am glad I got to see you before I face the wolves.” A little local Wolf Humor, but not that far-fetched. Once I’m at the party surrounded by my parents and their friends and everyone who’s been “auntie” or “uncle” to me, I will be deluged with questions about my life and demanded to tell my Hollywood tales.

After many fantastic stories from Luke and Liam about four-year-old life in Wolf, I make my excuses and head out. Mike, Matthew, and I agreed to meet at Pete’s Tavern at 1:00 p.m. to go over everything. Since reception is so spotty up here in the mountains, I know better than to keep them waiting. Sure enough, they are standing on the street waiting for me as I pull up to the coffee shop, and my heart soars at the sight of them—my brothers, loyal, irritating, lovable protectors. Mike envelops me in a bear hug before I can even get out of the car, as if it had been decades since we’d seen each other, rather than a few months. Which, I’ll be honest, I love. My older brother doesn’t express himself a lot, but when he hugs me tight and says, “How ya been, kid?” I know he means “I love you, I missed you, and if anyone is not treating you right, I will kick his/her ass.”

Matthew is next, looking charming and adorable with his long floppy hair. He’s just moved back home after a year in China
teaching English, followed by two in Portland, bartending and substitute teaching and, “you know, rocking out”—whatever that means. Now he’s back in his old bedroom, strategizing his next step. He loves teaching and is amazing with kids, who worship him and his effortless coolness. He’s waiting to hear if he got a placement at our alma mater Brook Haven High (home of the Wolverines, obviously). It’ll be hysterical that he’ll be working alongside a few of the same teachers who had us way back when.