Winter Jacket: Finding Home (11 page)

The first step in crafting an episode-long script was the treatment—a narrative that tells what happens in the episode from beginning to end. No scenes. No dialogue. No long descriptions. This was only a two-page document, but eventually when I worked on the full script, I’d have to be director, cinematographer, and writer all rolled into one if I was going to pull it off.

“She must have a lot of faith in you.”

“Or she’s crazier than we thought,” I retorted.

I had warned Troian when she’d first offered me the job that I was no screenwriter. I didn’t know the formatting or shorthand jargon or how much detail to put into the narration. I was an English teacher who wrote short stories.

“Were you always a good teacher? Or did that come with time?” Hunter pointed out.

“No. I know you’re right,” I sighed. “I need to give this some time and I’ll figure it out.” I worried my lower lip. “There’s just so much that’s brand new all at once: new job, new co-workers, new house, new part of the country.”

“It’ll become normal soon enough,” she optimistically remarked.

“Probably,” I hummed in agreement. “And I got hit on today.”

“That sounds encouraging,” she smiled. “Were they at least cute?” She was either really good at hiding her jealousy or she was that confident in our relationship.

I made a noncommittal noise. “Too much stubble for me.”

“Man or bearded woman at the carnival?” she asked.

“This guy named Guillen. He’s another writer on staff. He’s a little smarmy,” I said, making a face. “The kind of guy who uses the same tired pickup lines on every woman he hits on and then acts like a wounded puppy when it doesn’t get him results. Our intern Sonja told me he used the same lines on her when she first got hired.”

“Sonja, huh?” Hunter repeated. “That’s a pretty name.”

“Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

A pale blonde eyebrow arched on my laptop screen. “Do I have to come out there and mark my territory so this Sonja girl knows you’re not available?”

“I miss you.”

“Don’t distract me,” she scolded.

I laughed. “She’s pretty—
everyone
out here is pretty. But no one is you, Hunt. You know I would be a fool to cheat on you.”

My words seemed to satisfy her, if only moderately. “As long as you know it.”

“I’m throwing Nik and Troian a bachelorette party. Please tell me you’ll come.”

“When is it?”

“I don’t have an exact date yet. Sonja told me about a strip club that has a night designated for gay ladies every week, so I have to check their schedule.”

“Oh she did, did she?” Hunter remarked. “Is Sonja the local lesbian strip club expert?”

“No, but she works with some women who moonlight as strippers.”

Hunter’s eyebrows crunched in confusion. “Wait, this is the same Sonja who works with you, right? So does that mean you also work with part-time strippers?”

“No, no. She has a second job with a private entertainment company. They’re like paid to be pretty and serve beer. She was telling me how she and her girlfriend broke up because she wasn’t okay with her working with a bunch of strippers in their bikinis.”

“Have
you
been hanging out with strippers in their bikinis, too?”

“No. Well, I take that back. There was one party, but I didn’t even want to go. I’m not explaining this right,” I grunted. “It doesn’t sound good, but it’s totally innocent, I promise.”

“Relax, Ellio,” Hunter soothed. “You know I trust you. I just like giving you a hard time.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to worry.”

“I’m sure,” she insisted.

“So do you think you can make it out for the bachelorette party?” I asked again.

“I’ll do my best, baby; no promises though.”

“Okay,” I conceded. I knew it was a long shot, but I hoped it worked out.

“That reminds me,” she thought out loud. “I need to put in a request to get time off for their wedding. Mid-November, right?”

“I’ll make them get married tomorrow if it means I get to see you,” I smiled.

Her heavy sigh rattled through the speakers of my laptop. “Is it December yet?”

“Almost,” I replied.

It was only August, and December seemed like light years away. I hoped, but also dreaded, that the months would pass by quickly. Before long, the time to make a decision about my future would be upon me. Was I a writer, or was I a teacher? Could I cut it in Hollywood, or did I belong back in Minnesota?

“Come outside with me,” I instructed as an idea came to mind.

“With my laptop?”

“Sure, why not?”

“But I’m in my pajamas,” she protested.

“Then put on a jacket or something. Just trust me.” I grabbed my laptop and brought it out onto my modest balcony.

The images on the laptop screen momentarily scrambled and froze, and I heard muffled noises like footsteps and doors opening and closing. “Are you outside?” I asked when the picture began to settle. “Do you see the moon?”

“Yes,” came Hunter’s voice.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like the moon,” she said. “It’s almost full—maybe in another day or two.”

“When I was little, my dad traveled a lot for his job,” I began. “It was probably a big factor in my parents’ divorce: distance didn’t make their hearts grow fonder.”

“I don’t think I like this story,” she murmured.

“Give it a chance,” I implored. My parents had had an amicable divorce, but I honestly couldn’t remember much from it; I’d been too young or they’d shielded my and sister and me from the brunt of the ugliness. “My mom might not have missed my dad, but I did,” I continued. “So when he was on one of those business trips and I was having a bad day, my mom would take me outside and tell me to look at the moon. She’d say that it was the same moon that my dad was looking at, so whenever I felt sad or lonely because he wasn’t there, I could find the moon and know he was looking at that same exact sky.”

“That’s really sweet. I didn’t know your mom had it in her.”

“She stole the idea from a cartoon about a mouse who gets separated from his family when they emigrate to America.”

“Still though, it’s a nice thought.”

I puffed out a deep breath. “Yeah, it is.”

“You never talk about your dad.”

“I used to never talk about my mom either,” I pointed out. “I have a family, but we’re not like yours. You guys are like the Walton’s with all your family dinners and board games.”

“We’re not that bad,” she chuckled in defense.

They
were
that bad—maybe worse—but I wasn’t going to argue with her about it.

“I’m going to do it,” Hunter said with finality.

“Do what?”

“Look at the moon whenever I miss you.”

“If I did that, I’d never come inside,” I remarked.

“You’re a sweet talker, Professor Graft.”

CHAPTER SIX

I sat down in the chair opposite Troian’s desk and slid a two-page document across the table’s surface. My friend looked over her reading glasses at me. “What’s this?” she asked.

“The treatment for my episode.”

“So soon?” She picked up the paper and held a page in either hand. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can just throw together, you know.”

“I’ve spent every free moment working on that thing,” I defended. “I didn’t ‘throw it together.’”

“Well let’s hope it was worth all that time,” Troian snipped.

“God, you’re in a mood,” I observed. “What’s wrong?”

“Jane,” she growled. “Fucking Jane.”

“What did she do this time?” I still hadn’t met the woman, but I was in no hurry to do so.

“She’s demanding a meeting tonight.”

“Tonight?” I practically squeaked. This was going to ruin everything. Nikole and I had planned the surprise bachelorette party for that evening. “Why can’t it wait until morning?”

“Who the hell knows,” Troian scowled. “And she wants to meet at some club, so it’s going to cost the studio an arm and a leg just for a meeting we could have for free tomorrow morning. Valet parking. Overpriced drinks. And then I’m sure she’ll need a taxi to get home.” She made a frustrated noise. “I don’t have the time or the money for this.”

“Where is she meeting you?”

“Some place called the 323. I haven’t looked it up yet. It had better be in the Valley.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my grin under control. Nikole was a genius.

“Do you want me to come along?” I offered.

“To a network meeting at what’s certain to be a trashy club?” Troian gave me a strange look. “Weren’t you the one who said that wasn’t your scene?”

“I admit I was a tad overwhelmed at the party on the boat, but if this is going to be my new life, I should start making more of an effort to
make
it my scene.”

Troian rubbed her hands over her face. “If I get through this season without Nikole divorcing me for negligence it’ll be a miracle.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. Nik’s in it for the long haul.”

I called Nik as soon as I left Troian’s office. “Your woman is freaking out about having to meet up with Jane tonight. Brilliant idea.”

“Hey, it’s not my first rodeo,” she said with a chuckle.

“I volunteered to go with her tonight; I can text you when we’re close to the club.”

“Fantastic. Good thinking. You make sure she actually shows up tonight, and I’ll take care of everything else.”

“What
is
everything else?” I pressed. I had been trying to pull details about the party from Nikole ever since we’d come up with the idea, but she continued to keep me in the dark.

“Don’t you worry your pretty head about it. Just make sure Troian doesn’t suspect anything.”

I took off from work a little early that day so I would have time to freshen up and change clothes before it was time to go out. I got Hunter on the phone while I examined my wardrobe for something appropriate to wear to the bachelorette party. I really needed to go shopping soon. My college professor wardrobe was inappropriate for most evening events in Los Angeles.

“I really wish you were going to be there tonight,” I spoke wistfully. “It won’t be the same without you.”

“Me, too, baby. I had hoped it would have worked out, but I just wasn’t able to swing the time off. But hey, we’ll be seeing each other soon enough.”

“Yeah, in like a month,” I sighed in complaint.

“I’m sorry, Ellio.”

“No. It’s not your fault. I know you’ve got a job and responsibilities and can’t just take off on a moment’s notice. Maybe I won’t even go tonight,” I sighed, touching the uninspiring clothing in my closet. “I’m not really in the mood.”

“Not in the mood to see attractive women take off their clothes?” Hunter scoffed.

“You’re the only woman I wanna see take off her clothes.”

“You’re full of lines these days. I think all of that Hollywood schmoozing is rubbing off on you,” she teased.

“It’s not a line,” I insisted. “I miss you.”

“I miss you like crazy, Ellio. But I want you to have fun tonight.”

“I’ll be thinking of you the entire time.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

I heard a sound in the background, like a muffled voice. Before I could ask what it was, she was hurrying me off the phone. “I’ve got to get going though, sweetie. Call me when you get home tonight?”

“It’ll probably be really late,” I warned.

“I know. But I want to make sure you didn’t go home with a stripper.”

“Fair enough,” I laughed. “I love you. Talk to you soon.”

Troian picked me up at my apartment on her way home from the studio. She still wore her outfit from the workday, but I had changed into a pair of dark skinny jeans and a scoop-necked tunic. I would have worn something a little fancier knowing we were on our way to a bachelorette party, but I hadn’t wanted to spike Troian’s curiosity since she didn’t know the real reason we were headed to this specific club.

She complained about Jane and the out-of-the-way meeting our entire drive downtown, and her exasperation continued when she pulled up to the curb in front of the 323.

“Jesus Christ.” Troian slammed her car door as she got out of the vehicle. “It’s a strip club.”

I exited the passenger-side door with less aggression. “What makes you think that?”

“There’s no windows on the joint, and the bouncers look like Andre the Giant.”

Two men with broad shoulders and no necks flanked the entrance to the club, checking IDs.

“Huh,” I said, feigning ignorance. “You might be right.”

It was still early in the evening, and the sun would be up for a few more hours, but we were plunged into darkness upon walking inside the club.

“Yep,” I breathed as my eyes adjusted to the light change. “It’s a strip club.”

The 323 wasn’t terribly large. At the center of the club was an elevated stage with three dancer poles. Two minimally-clothed women occupied the stage, spinning and twirling around their respective poles in a choreographed striptease. Sonja had been right to recommend this place; female patrons surrounded the base of the stage area and fed tips into g-strings and thongs.

Surrounding the main stage were small circular tables large enough for only two or three patrons. Cocktail waitresses in white tank tops and tight black boi shorts navigated the floor, serving drinks and connecting dancers to eager patrons.

It must have been some kind of themed night that evening because all of the staff, even the cocktail waitresses and bartenders, wore Mardi Gras-type masks. Some were elaborately decorated and covered the wearer’s entire face while others only covered the woman’s eyes and nose.

Troian continued to grumble and swear under her breath when we had our IDs checked at the door and had to pay a cover charge. “Let’s find Jane and get this over with,” she mumbled. “I have an understanding partner, but not
that
understanding.”

“So I take it you won’t be partaking of the local fare?” I teased.

“Are you?” she challenged.

I held up my hands. “Hell no.”

Troian scanned the bar for the creative consultant, which was a fruitless task because unless Jane coincidentally found herself at the same club as us that night, there would be no meeting.

“I wonder if she’s even here yet,” Troian thought out loud. “Showing up late to a meeting she scheduled seems like a very Jane thing to do.”

A woman who wore tiny shorts and a top that amounted to little more than a bra walked up to us. “Can I interest either of you ladies in a private dance?”

Troian barely acknowledged the woman and continued to look for Jane. “No thank you,” she politely declined

A second woman joined her co-worker. Straight brown hair with blonde highlights framed her delicate facial features. She wore a simple outfit of black halter and black leather micro shorts that looked sexy, but not overly trashy on her thin, athletic frame. With her platform shoes, she was a few inches taller than me, which meant she practically towered over Troian.

“How about a joint dance?” the second woman proposed. “It’s like a couples massage with less clothing.”

With their shoulders pressed together, the two dancers seemed to form an impenetrable wall. Something about the interaction felt staged, like Nikole had arranged for us to be detained at the entrance.

Not wanting to ogle the woman’s exposed flesh, I looked up and met her startlingly green eyes. Contacts, I assumed. “We’re fine, ladies, but thank you for the offer.”

“We’re just here for a business meeting,” Troian explained.

“There’s nothing wrong with mixing a little business with pleasure,” a familiar voice spoke over the club’s sound system.

The women in front of us parted to reveal Nikole standing behind them. She looked practically giddy, and I couldn’t blame her. She’d pulled off a masterful stunt.

The look on Troian’s face was priceless. “What are you doing here?”

“Giving you that bachelorette party that you insisted you were too busy for,” Nik said.

I could see the gears churning in Troian’s head as she tried to catch up. “There’s no meeting with Jane.”

“Smart
and
pretty,” Nikole remarked. “I’m one lucky lady.”

We were greeted with cheers and cat calls as we crossed the strip club to a bank of tables and corner booths near the back of the bar, filled with a few work colleagues and even some friends from Minnesota. I recognized Nikole’s sister, Veronika, who was also Nik’s matron of honor in the wedding. I had met her a few times over the years and we waved and said our hellos.

Everyone who should have been there had been able to come—everyone but my girlfriend.

Troian continued to look flabbergasted as we sat at one of the corner booths. “Did you know about this?” she asked me.

“I found the club. Nikole did everything else.”

Troian shook her head, but her expression was unreadable. I couldn’t tell if she was upset or impressed. “That woman.”

Nik pushed a well glass across the table toward me. “I got you a drink. You’ve got some catching up to do.”

I picked up the glass and smelled its contents. “Is there alcohol in here?”

Nikole flashed a white smile. “Of course not. That would be against the law.” California law prohibited the mixing of alcohol with complete nudity, so the bar should have only served soda, juice, and energy drinks.

I took a tentative sip and felt the distinct burn of vodka hit my tongue and the back of my throat. “Yup,” I wheezed. “No alcohol.”

A beautiful, statuesque woman walked up to our table and stood in front of Troian. “Dance?” she offered with a smile.

“Pass.”

The woman’s grin grew larger. “Sorry, sweetie, but I was told you didn’t have a choice.”

Troian sat up straighter in her seat. “By whom?”

The dancer pointed at Nikole. “Your future bride.”

Troian whipped her head in Nik’s direction. “You bought me a dance?” she hissed.

“It wouldn’t be a bachelorette party if you didn’t get a lap dance.”

Troian, miraculously, allowed the dancer to pull her to her feet. My friend narrowed her eyes at Nikole. “This isn’t over,” she warned as she was dragged away.

Nikole smiled, nonplussed, and continued to sip her mixed drink. “Have fun,” she sing-songed.

I couldn’t help my laugh when Troian was out of earshot. “You know she’s going to get you back.”

“Don’t think you’re getting off so easily,” Nikole smirked. “I got a dance for you, too.”

“No way.” I wrinkled my nose. “Remember how well that turned out last time?”

Nearly a year ago I had come out to California with Troian and Nik. Hunter and I had been on a break because I had been acting like an idiot, self-conscious about our nearly decade age difference. My friends had thought a lap dance from a blonde stripper they thought looked like Hunter had been a good idea, but I’d run out mid-performance.

“You were all angsty about Hunter back then,” Nikole excused. “I’m sure this time will have different results.”

As if on cue, a brunette woman approached our table. “I hear you need a dance,” she said to me, hands on slender hips.

“I’m not sure about
need
,” I said with a shake of my head.

“Go on,” Nikole urged. “It’s my party, and if I say you’re getting a lap dance, then you’re getting a lap dance. Don’t make me turn into Bridezilla,” she threatened.

“Fine, fine,” I grumbled as I stood up and straightened my legs.