First Stop, New York (16 page)

It was the executive producer of the show. Max’s palms started to sweat. He reached behind himself for his director’s chair and sank into it.

“Michael, how good to hear from you.”

JB wandered in front of Max and spun around to show him how oily he’d become. Max swatted him away.

“The thing is, kid,” Michael began. “Do you mind if I call you kid?”

Max’s throat locked in fear, but he managed to say, “Of course not, Michael.”

“Great. The thing is, kid, we’re getting some complaints.”

“Really,” said Max in the tiniest voice. “From anyone in particular?”

“Well, for starters, the Writers Guild. Apparently you’ve fired seven writers.”

“Is that unusual?”

“Let me just say this, their severance packages alone have upped our budget half a mil. No good.”

“I see.”

“Thanks for the Kabbalah water, by the way. Nice touch. My wife’s into all that mystical BS, but I pray to another God—the God of UBC!” Michael roared at his own joke. “And do you
know what the God of UBC likes?”

“Uh…high ratings?” muttered Max.

“Sure, sure. But that god also likes a budget that doesn’t balloon and a product that comes in on time. Your daily expenses are through the roof. More important, we need to show the other executives here some footage by next week.”

“Next week?” squeaked Max, as his life flashed before his eyes.

“Yeah, is there a problem with that? Just a few scenes. The best stuff you got. I’m looking for real ‘wow’ content. Stuff when you see it, you go ‘wow.’”

“Of course, no, right, next week. No problem. I usually have my assistants remind me of the schedule. A few scenes with, uh, wow-ness.”

“Be honest with me, kid. Is there trouble you’re not telling me about?”

“No, not at all!” Max said, his voice leaping into the stratospheric registers of Mariah Carey. He looked in his BlackBerry at his reminder to “NEVER RAISE VOICE.”

“Now that we’ve gotten rid of the troublemaking writers, we are having a little trouble with some of the actors,” he said, whispering again. “But nothing I can’t handle.”

“I don’t like to spend the money, but if it’s going to cut costs in the long run, then fire them. Your contract stipulates all hiring and firing of creative staff, kid. Go crazy.”

“But I couldn’t possibly—”

“Sorry, kid, I got Keira Knightley’s manager on the other line. Check you later.”

The line disconnected. Max’s jaw went slack. JB
returned swollen like a beach ball.

“Dear God, what happened to you!”

“I forgot to remember that I’m allergic to coconut oil.”

Max put his head in his hands. “Where’s Corliss?”

“Here, Max,” she said, looking like she’d overheard everything.

“Can you please call the nurse to the set?”

“She’s, uh, visiting her mother in Long Beach today.”

Max looked despondent. “In that case, we’ll have to stop…again…until JB goes down.”

Corliss’s Condo at the Beach—8:32
P.M.,
That Evening

Corliss had created enchantment. In the dining area of her condo, at least. Two long, tapered candles poked out of her uncle Ross’s sterling silver Jonathan Adler menorah and the table was set with sparkling Baccarat goblets, flawless Lenox china, and gleaming Oneida silverware.

“If you harm any of this fabulous table setting, Corliss,” Uncle Ross had warned, “we will immediately file an insurance claim and buy something much nicer.”

Corliss had decided on a simple meal for her Trent seduction: slow-roasted shoulder of lamb, baked new potatoes tossed with peas, and steamed broccolini. JB had coached her the entire way, then ducked out when Trent finally lumbered up the walk. Corliss had told Trent to come by for some rewrites, but when he got there she said they weren’t ready and asked him if he’d like to stay for dinner. He now sat across from her, looking as adorable as any mouth-breathing surfer/actor could possibly look. If not a little sad.

“You’re not touching your lamb, Trent. And I like, um, my men to, um, be lamb touchers.” She’d wanted that to sound seductive, but it just came out weird.

Trent made a face like a little boy who’d lost his favorite toy. “Sorry, Corliss. But we talked about this. My, like, heart, like, belongs to, like, Tanya. No offense, but I thought I’d be having dinner with her tonight and she canceled.”

“I know how much you like her, Trent, and I respect that. It’s just I haven’t seen you two together lately, and I just kinda wondered if…”

“Wow, this lamb is totally slammin’.” He’d taken the littlest bite of it.

“Really? Can you tell with that tiny taste? Here, have some baked new potatoes,” she said as she passed him the bowl.

Trent chose two of the dinkiest potatoes and then used the silver tongs to serve himself precisely two stalks of broccolini. “Dang, Corliss, you’re a good cook.”

Corliss tucked her hair back behind her ears and tried to look humble. “It’s totally my pleasure, Trent Owen Michaels. And I really do respect your feelings for Tanya.”

Trent sighed. “Yeah, well, you’re right about me and her. I don’t know what’s with her lately. She’s, like, all nowhere to be found. And when I, like, call her, it, like, always, like, goes to, like, voicemail.”

Even though Corliss had been conscripted to keep them apart, she felt a little bad for Trent. Could it be that Tanya was starting to cool on his legendary charms?

“Hey, even though you’ve been sorta creepy—hanging around for no reason at all when I’m trying to have time alone
with Tanya, and then trying to, like, destroy our relationship through cooking so you can have me to yourself—maybe you’re just trying to be nice.”

“I am,” said Corliss, sending up a silent prayer of thanks that Trent was as dumb as a bag of hammers.

“Yeah and, like, Tanya’s like a little kid half the time. But I can tell you’re more, like, mature.”

A piece of new potato was stuck to his cheek. Corliss pointed it out. He wiped it away.

“See, Tanya never would have told me if I had food on my face.”

“That’s terrible. You need someone to look out for you.” Corliss felt she might finally be getting somewhere. “So you think I’m mature?” She rested her chin on her knuckle and tried to look mature. “What else do you think about me, Trent?”

Trent reached across the table and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “I think you’ve finally achieved full babe-a-licious status.”

“Huh,” Corliss said, batting her eyes. “I don’t know what to say, Trent.”

Trent’s eyes glazed over. It was a look Corliss had never seen before. Something about it scared her.

“I know what you could say, Corliss.”

“Wh-what?”

Trent leaned across the table, dragging his T-shirt into the gravy pot as he whispered in Corliss’s ear. “You could say dessert is being served on your naked body.”

Corliss leaped from the table. “Ow, wow, um, nakedness and wow…You know what, Trent? I’m thinking no dessert!
Like, I forgot to buy it! It was a long day and, well, I got busy! You better go!”

“Huh? I thought—”

“No thinking! Thinking no good! No naked dessert! I mean dessert!” She ushered Trent from the table and led him quickly across the room to the door.

“But didn’t you want me to—? I mean, I’ve been going crazy lately, with Tanya disappearing, not to mention her being a virgin for Jesus and everything.”

“No, Trent. Nothing, really! No wanting anything!” She deposited him on the stoop. “Night-night, Trent, you’ve got a little lamb in your front incisor.” She tried to show him where with her pinky.

“But—?”

She shut the door in his face and leaned against it.

Trent’s voice came from the other side. “But Corliss—what’s an incisor?”

Corliss started to hyperventilate. Eventually she heard Trent move away from the door. She tried to calm down but her head was spinning.

That’s it! I am not going to become a hooker for Max Marx, for the hottest new show on television—for anything! And tomorrow I am tendering my resignation. If I’m too much of a wimp to tell Max in person, I’ll send him an e-mail. I don’t care! I swear to God this time! It’s over for Corliss Meyers and The ’Bu!

The Beach—11:13
A.M.
, the Next Morning

The sky was slate gray and the sun was missing in action.

As the entire production ground to a halt, Max paced and paced, making deep grooves in the sand, stepping in and out of his Cole Haan flip-flops. The cast stood off to the side, tugging at their too-tight bathing suits, frowning as they waited. Behind all of them, to the delight of absolutely no one, was pudgy little Legend Marx doing cartwheels in the sand.

“Watch me do cartwheelth!” he kept saying, even though everyone kept ignoring him.

Max’s assistants stood at the ready with organic pomegranate juice. Corliss was out in front, trying to determine the right time to approach the maestro and tender her resignation. As everyone waited, Trent sidled up to Corliss and whispered in her ear.

“Sorry about last night.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Corliss whispered back, trying to downplay the disaster of the previous evening.

“Like, I came on way too strong, right?”

“No, there was no—shh—coming on—shh—strong or—”

“The thing is, Corliss, I’m, like, totally over Tanya and now, like, totally into you.”

“
What?!”

“
Who is whispering?”
hissed Max, scanning the crowd

“Max,” said Corliss, seeing her opening. “There’s something I really want to talk to you about, finally and once and for all.”

“Corliss, I’m not talking to you now. You sent me a blank e-mail this morning and I had to open it and think about why it was blank, and it wasted very valuable time.”

“Max, please listen. What I wanted to say in the e-mail was—”

Legend cartwheeled by, spraying Max with sand.

“Corliss,” Max said, picking sand from his tongue, “didn’t I tell you to take Legend farther down the beach?”

“You did, Max, and
that
part of my job is one of the reasons why we need to—”

“Corliss, cease. I’m almost at my wit’s end with threatening messages from the network every five minutes and”—he turned to everyone—“please just stand by until the sun returns!”

Anushka raised her hand like a good little girl. “But, Max, can’t we just sit in our trailers until it does? We’ve been out here a long time already and my boobs are killing me with this high-tech bikini top. I mean, it’s so much better than those Hefty Cinch Saks I used to wear. This thing lifts, separates, and shoots these boobers to the stratosphere.” She demonstrated. “But they’re
exhausted.
And you don’t want them exhausted for the next scene, right?”

JB chimed in. “I’m exhausted just looking at them.”

Rocco clamped a hand over JB’s mouth. Max rubbed his temples.

“Can I say something?” said Tanya, sniffling and raising her hand. “I’m going through a real emotional time right now because I’ve been reading that blog and it says things about me that are just stinky nasty bad and about, like, people I thought agreed with me about Jesus and my chastity, but it turns out—” But she burst into tears before she finished.

Max threw his hands in the air. “Enough about that blog! We all just need to put it out of our minds and remember that there’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

“Cartwheelth, cartwheelth!” interjected Legend.

“And, Max,” Tanya continued, “your comment to one of
the crew members about me existing in a ‘talent-free’ zone got back to me! It was really hurtful.”

“She’s sensitive to criticism,” said Trent to everyone. “That’s often the case with really great-looking people like me and Tans.”

“
Tanya,”
she corrected him. “And don’t try to get back in my good graces, Trent Owen Michaels! You condo-hopper!”

“But you’re the one who’s been really cold to me lately!” Trent looked like he might cry.

Max closed his eyes. “Please, the two of you. And Tanya, for God’s sake, I never said you existed in a talent- free—”

“Cartwheelth, cartwheelth!” shouted Legend, spraying Max again.

“Legend!” shouted Max, spitting sand. “Corliss, why aren’t you doing your job?”

“Because, Max—”

“I can take Legend for a walk, Max,” said Anushka, looking angelic.

Max looked stunned. “You would?”

“No!” shrieked Tanya. “
I
need time away from the set! I’ll take Legend for a walk!
Me, me, me!
” She jumped up and down in the sand. Legend joined her.

“And
me, me, me, Maxth!
”

“Quiet…quiet…QUIET!” Max was standing on his tiptoes with his hands balled up into little fists. His voice was now girly again. “Tanya, you’ve become like Anushka, and Anushka, you’ve become like a pod person! My head is splitting open and where is the one whose name I can never
remember who writes the scripts?! Corliss, go find him!”

Corliss hung her head…and then ran off.

“Cartwheelth, cartwheelth!” resumed Legend, vaulting between Trent and Tanya.

Rocco stepped forward. “May I say something, Max?”

Max threw his hands in the air. “Why not? Everyone else has.”

“What’s happening here is approaching a full scale insurrection. You’re condescending to the cast and contemptuous of the crew. You refuse to assuage our insecurities because you’re too busy worrying about your own. And I’m sorry to say, as a result, this ship is moored in the harbor.”

Everyone froze. There was no sound but Tanya sniffling.

“Rocco,” Max said, swallowing his embarrassment and proceeding coolly, “I appreciate your thoughtful assessment of the situation. I’ll certainly take it into account as we move forward.”

Anushka turned toward JB and whispered. “He only kisses Rocco’s butt because of his famous family.”

JB said, “Jesus H! Who is this family of yours, Rocco, that everyone is always talking about?”

“That can wait till later,” said Max, watching helplessly as the remains of his power was leeched away.

“No, Max. Everyone might as well know now. It’s bound to get out soon.” Rocco looked at each of them. “DiTullio is my mother’s maiden name. I don’t use my father’s name ’cause I don’t want to ride on my family’s coattails.” Rocco took a big breath. “You might as well know.
It’s
Bellucci
.”