Unscripted (21 page)

“She looks like a dark Irish beauty, don’t you think?” continues Douglas.

Corey turns to look at me again. The poor boy is trapped. “Yes, she does.”

“You guys have to stop. Seriously, you’re killing me over here.”

Zoë giggles, enjoying the little game she started. “Okay, okay,” she says. “We’ll lay off for now.”

I let out a sigh of relief. Embarrassing, yes. But I haven’t laughed like that for a while. I’ll give Douglas one thing: He’s a charmer. Flattery can sometimes get you pretty far if you’re good at it, and Douglas is clearly a pro.

Bloated and finally sober, I walk over to the valet station with Zoë. I feel like I’m rolling instead of walking, since Douglas had us sample practically everything on the menu. He definitely likes to spoil his women.

“So, what do you think? He’s great, right?”

“Yep, he was really nice.”

“Is that it?” Zoë’s bottom lip protrudes. “Is that all you have to say?”

I’m not sure what to say. He’s charming, he’s worldly, he’s wealthy, he’s my dad’s age and I have absolutely nothing in common with him. “It’s only one dinner. You have to give me time, Zo. It took me a while to get close to Jeff. You can’t expect me to just switch off so quickly.”

Zoë nods her head. “I guess so. I just want everyone to love him the way I do, you know?”

“You love him?” I ask.

“I don’t know. Maybe? Yes?” She smiles shyly.

Would you love him if he were a waiter at the restaurant, rather than the owner?
Okay, that was rather harsh, but I can’t help it. What else could she see in him?

“Don’t jump in too fast. Seriously. You just got out of a long relationship with Jeff. Take some time to figure things out.”

“Oh, I will. Don’t worry,” she says, giving me a hug. “Thanks again for coming tonight. I know you’re tired.”

“No problem,” I say as my little silver Jetta pulls up in front of us.

“And that stuff with Lisa and Will. Don’t let it bother you.” She waves her hand flippantly. “Maybe you’re the one that needs to figure things out.”

“Nah, I’m fine. There’s nothing to figure out.” I smile, hug her again and climb into my car.

As I begin to drive away, my cell phone starts to ring. I fumble in my purse to find it. After what seems an eternity, I grab it, look at the caller ID window and feel an overwhelming sense of unease.

Will.

Will has only phoned me once, and that was to tell me that my producer had been in a car accident and I was going to have to take his place.
Ooh, maybe something’s happened to Lisa.
I stare at the phone for a good ten seconds before pressing the talk button.

“Hello?”

“Oh, uh, hi, Abby?”

“Hi, Will,” I say as I struggle to make a turn with my left hand onto Sunset Boulevard.

“Did I call too late?”

It’s 9:30 p.m. It’s not even too late for my grandma.

“No, not too late.”

“Good, good. So, um, I wanted to thank you for doing such a great job with the Frank reel. It looked great.”

“Thanks.”

“You know, I just figured Tom would do it himself since he volunteered, so thanks for going with him and adding that extra touch.”

What? Is he telling me that I didn’t have to go with Knit Cap last night?
Deep breath in, and release.

“I’m glad it came out okay,” I say, keeping my voice steady.

“I also wanted to let you know that the call time for tomorrow has been moved up by thirty minutes.”

“Oh. Well, I got the call sheet. Is it still 11:30?”

“Yep. Great.”

“Great. Thanks though.”

“No problem. Since you weren’t here today, I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Thanks.” Awkward silence here.
What is going on?

“So, I assume Grant told you about the impromptu elimination?”

“No, I haven’t talked to him today. There was an elimination?”

“Ah. Yeah, Katie was so pissed she wanted to give Frank the boot immediately.”

“Aw, frick and frack. I can’t believe I missed it.”
Frick and frack? What the hell was that?

Will laughs. He has a really nice laugh. “The guy was a tool. I knew it the moment we cast him. Katie was furious. You should have been here to see her kick him off. You would have loved it.”

Hmm. This is new. He’s never been this candid with me before. Wait a minute. Is this about Lisa? Is he feeling me out to find out how much I saw? Well forget it. I’m not playing.

“I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow from Grant,” I say casually. The phone goes quiet for a second. “Hello? Will, you still there?”

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that. I was, uh, just got distracted.” More silence. “Grant’s a great guy, huh?”

“Grant? Yeah, he’s a great director.”

Will clears his throat. “Yeah, great director, but cool guy too. You guys have been friends long?” guy.”

“I’d say about a year. Why?”

“Oh, no reason, just curious. I thought you guys had been friends longer. He’s a great guy.”

He just said that. So this is our conversation? Of course, he’s not going to ask about Lisa. I’ll bring it up casually, make him sweat a bit. “So what did Lisa think of the elimination ceremony?”

“She thought it was good TV,” he says dismissively.

“Good,” I say, quietly waiting for his next question. I park my car, climb out and walk toward the apartment.

“So, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” he says.

I lean against my front door. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”

“Bye, Abby.”

“Bye, Will.”

I close my eyes and hold on to the phone for another few seconds.
What was that about?

As I’m stepping out of the shower the next morning, the phone rings. It’s Zoë.

“Hey,” I answer. “I only have a sec, I have to be at work soon.”

“Douglas and I were just eating breakfast and I read something in the trades. I’m just going to say it. Matt got a development deal with DreamWorks. Seven figures.”

Muther F’er!
I want to throw the phone across the room and watch it break into tiny pieces. “Well, I guess it wasn’t just a one-time thing.” My laugh is bitter. I cringe at the anger I hear in my voice. My fingers are curled into a fist so tight that I’m digging my nails into the palm of my hand. I relax my fingers and shake my hand to get the circulation back.

“I shouldn’t have told you.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I wouldn’t want it to be a surprise.” My voice is flat.

“Just because he got a deal doesn’t mean he’ll have another hit. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means he’s doing exactly what he wanted and I’m…I’m not.” My voice cracks a little and I clench my fingers again.

“It has nothing to do with you. Call in sick. Let’s go to the spa. You need a perception change.”

“I can’t. You know sick days don’t exist when you’re in the field.” Zoë is silent. She knows I’m right.

“I didn’t think you’d be this upset.”

“It’s not just Matt,” I admit to her for the first time. “It feels like everyone I know has their shit together and I’m stuck in the same place.”

“You’re not stuck. You’re a producer now. You’ve never made this much money before in your life.”

I want to tell her it’s not about the money, but I know she’ll never understand. “God, I have to get ready for work. I’m okay, really. Can I call you later?”

“You sound awful, you can’t go to work feeling like this. You know what I do when I feel down? I dress up. It sounds silly, but it always boosts my confidence when I make that extra effort. It starts on the outside and works its way in.”

“I don’t know, it’s production. No one dresses up.”

“What about Lisa?”

Bleh. Lisa. The woman is always perfectly tailored and pressed. It’s as if she’s never pulled a pair of jeans out of the dryer after letting them sit there for days. I feel like a kid when I’m next to her. I’m sure I don’t present myself as a formidable force in my cargo pants, T-shirts and pink Puma tennies.

“Just try it for today. Do something nice for yourself.”

Maybe she’s right. I certainly can’t walk around feeling like this all day. What’s that ridiculous expression? Fake it till you make it. “Fine, you win. I’ll try it.”

“Goodie! Who knows, maybe you’ll give that bitch a run for her money.”

“Lisa? Believe me, there’s no run. I’ll call you later.”

“We’ll see. Talk to you later.”

I hang up the phone and decide to put plan Stop Looking Like a Schlub at Work into action.

Digging around the black hole that is my closet, I pull out a cute pair of last season’s dark brown boot-cut trousers, a fitted white linen camisole and a tan cashmere shrug that Zoë bought me for my birthday last year. To top the outfit off, I find a pair of stylish brown, suede wedges that I’ve only worn once. I brush off a layer of dust and slip them on. I’m pretty sure they’re comfortable, but today it won’t matter since it’s another elimination, and we’re only filming in and around the house.

I’ve also decided to go a little heavier with the ol’ makeup, applying just the right amount of charcoal liner and shadow to achieve that perfect smoky eyes look.

I do a quick 360 in my full-length mirror. I hate to admit it, but I feel better. Dare I say it? I look good. I look professional. Maybe even a little sexy? Let Matt have his success. I don’t want to be the kind of person to begrudge anyone happiness, even if he did take my heart and shove it in a blender.

Several hours later I’m being driven up to the house in the production van. As I attempt to shimmy my way out of the back (my pants are a lot tighter than I remember) the first person I see is Grant standing by the gazebo. I walk over to him with a confident stride.

“Are you quitting or something?” he asks.

“What? No! Why?”

Grant’s brow furrows as he gives me the once-over. “You look like you’re about to go on an interview.”

I stick my nose in the air. “Well, you look like a schmuck.”

Grant smiles. “Seriously, what’s with the clothes? This is production. You can come in sweats and nobody would give a shit. Hell, you
do
come in sweats!”

This is not the response I was hoping for, especially from Grant. He’s seen me at my worst, which is pretty much every day since we first met. I don’t think I’ve ever worn a pair of heels in his presence, and I’ve definitely never sported anything nearly as nice as cashmere. I obviously look like I’m trying too hard. I should have just done the heels with the makeup. Or the shrug and pants with my Pumas. This is embarrassing.

“Uhh, I have plans after work,” I lie.

“Why didn’t you just bring a change of clothes?”

Shit.

“Because, I just want to tear out of here afterwards.”

“Ahhh, I get it. Booty call at midnight. Classy.” I give Grant the finger. He starts to laugh. “All I’m saying is, you look like you’re going to be uncomfortable tonight.”

“I’ll be fine. These shoes are very comfortable. Thanks for the concern, Dad.”

“You’re just lucky Tom is back in edit. Otherwise, it’d be sexual harassment city.”

I start to push him away and he straightens up. “Okay, okay. The guys are going to start doing their pre-elimination interviews inside, so you should go in and ask Will where he wants you.”

“Okay,” I say.

“And, just so you know, the network watched the dailies from the first elimination last week and they want us to amp up the drama.”

“What do you mean?”

Grant leans a little closer, although no one is around to hear him. “We need to make a meal of it when Katie’s picking who stays and who goes. So Lisa’s teaching the guys how to emote.”

“Happy, sad, worried, mad?”

“Pretty much. I’m sure half of these dudes are wannabe actors anyway, so this shit is right up their alley.”

Wow. I’m the first one who will tell any of my friends that “reality” isn’t reality, but this should be interesting. “That’s pretty damn funny. I’m going to head in, see you later.”

“Okay, hot pants.” Grant lets out a wolf whistle as I walk away.

“Hey, stop that.”

He laughs and waves goodbye.

As I head toward the house I notice a slight tightness where the tip of the leather strap touches my toes. I don’t remember it doing that before. It’s not a scary I’m-going-to-get-blisters kind of feeling. It’s more like my feet are a little swollen because it’s warm outside. But it’s not a big deal. It’ll get cooler; these shoes are leather, and leather stretches. I’ll be fine. I am slightly concerned, however, about the distance between the gazebo (which is where all of the eliminations take place) and the house. I never realized how far away the two are from each other. I guess I never felt the distance before in my flat, rubber soles.

Inside, I find Christine standing by the stairs. She’s wearing black Juicy Couture terrycloth pants with an elastic waist, a matching hoodie and a pair of camouflage-colored Converse. She looks comfortable. I adjust the waist of my own pants with a tug so that the button isn’t digging into the same spot as before.

“Hey. You look so dressed up and pretty. Why?” she asks sweetly.

Stupid dumb shoes and lame tight pants.

“I have a thing to go to after work.”

“Where?”

Bah!

“Oh, um, my roommate Zoë’s boyfriend is just having a little after-hours party at his restaurant, Lush, so I told them I’d stop by.” Hopefully that sounds convincing enough.

“Wow, Lush. Nice.” She nods.

“Yeah, and uh, it’s kind of fancy there and everything, so you know, I just figured it would be easier to put this on at home, rather than try and find a place to change here. Because you know what the bathrooms are like, and stuff, and you know, it would just be easier and everything.”
Leave it be!
“So that’s why…” My voice trails off.

“Good point,” she says. “Anyway, we should peek our heads into the living room. Lisa’s instructing the guys on how to be more dramatic during the elimination tonight. I guess the network said they all looked bored or something during the last one.”

I tell her Grant already gave me the low-down, but follow her toward the living room to check it out.

The remaining nine guys are all sitting on scattered plush leather couches in the middle of the room while Lisa holds court. Since I can’t get too close to the action, I can only hear snippets of her lecture from the doorway. To several of the guys it sounds like she’s telling them to look
stunned. To emphasize her point, she feigns a look of shock, furrowing her brows and opening her mouth to form a small “oh.”

I turn to Christine. “Come on.”

“It’s what the network said they wanted,” she whispers.

“This is just silly.” I turn back to the living room but the meeting has been adjourned. Lisa picks up her clipboard and heads our way.

“Hello, ladies,” Lisa says. “You both well rested?”

“Hi, Lisa,” Christine chirps. “Thanks again for letting us take yesterday off.”

Ach.
Christine is
too
nice.

“No problem. I’ve never subscribed to the rule of letting my people work more than fourteen hours without some kind of break in between,” she says, looking straight at me.

It was sixteen hours, but why split hairs?

Lisa’s eyes do a slow roll from my shoes to my face. “So.” She pauses. “What’s the occasion?”

“I have a little party after work.”

“Really? We’re probably going to be here at least until midnight.” Her tone is scolding.

“Oh, that’s fine. The party isn’t even starting until 1:00 a.m. It’s at Lush,” I say breezily.

“They have to wait until all the patrons leave before the guests arrive.” Damn, I’m getting good at this.

Lisa’s eyes flicker. She probably doesn’t think I have a social life. Well, this should prove her wrong, even if it’s a fake social life.

“Sounds like fun,” she condescends. “Anyway, I need you to go upstairs and tell Katie that we’re going to be doing her interview in about a half an hour.”

“Okay,” I say, glancing up behind me at the set of long, marble stairs.

“And then come and find me afterwards. I’ll be in the production office.”

“Got it,” I reply.

After she leaves, Christine tells me she’ll check with the other producer teams to see if they need help with anything.

As I make my way up the stairs, I start to realize that these shoes are not only beginning to rub off a layer of skin attached to my toes but the bottoms are beginning to chafe, as well. Still, it’s not life threatening. If I can manage to stay in one place for a while, I’ll be okay.