Hello, Hollywood! (10 page)

“What do you mean?”

“If a show doesn’t do well, the actors don’t get blamed. The producers don’t get blamed. You know who gets blamed.” He walked toward the Super-Gyros bag and stuck his hand inside, coming out with a tray of cookies.

“Yeah.” I couldn’t help but sigh.

“The writers,” we said in unison.

“This is the most unstable business in the world,” Paul said. “Should’ve followed my dad’s advice and become a cop. I’d definitely have better job security if I worked in law enforcement. At least we know there are always going to be criminals.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

Thinking about criminals made me think of Mean-Athena, for whatever reason. Thinking of my aunt caused my thoughts to shift to Milo. Why had he come to the States, really? To carry out my aunt’s wishes, sure, but there seemed to be something more. He seemed lonely. In need of friends.

Thinking of Milo reminded me of Zeus, and thinking of Zeus reminded me of the lovely smile on Brooke’s face. Of course, thinking about Brooke reminded me of Stephen, and thinking of Stephen made me wonder where he was. When he saw the mess someone had made of this office, he would probably flip. It would take us all morning to get things back in place. Ooo, those kids! Just wait till I told Rex what they’d done this time!

I went to sit on the divan, almost forgetting it had been moved. “You really have no idea why the furniture is off-kilter?” I asked again.

“Nope.”

I grabbed a pencil and began to roll it around in my hand. “It’s just so strange.”

A noise from outside the door interrupted us. Sounded like a herd of buffalo heading out to pasture. Paul made the mistake of opening the door. Sure enough, buffalo—er, children—sped by, followed by their teacher.

“Sorry about that,” she called out. “We just finished our classes for the morning, and the kids are ready for recess.”

Paul nodded and closed the door. “Can’t imagine how they do recess in a television studio.”

“I think you just witnessed it. They run laps in the halls. And I have a sneaking suspicion . . .”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, they’re on the run from us because we’re on to them about the furniture.”

“Likely.” He stretched and winced once more.

We sat in silence for a moment, and I thought about this week’s episode. A couple of ideas flitted through my brain, but neither of them were keepers.

After a couple of minutes, Paul’s voice rang out. “You’re doing that thing again,” he said.

“Thing?” I looked up. “What thing?”

“Where you tap your pencil on the edge of the sofa.”

“Oh, I tap my pencil?” I glanced at it. “I had no idea.”

He rolled his eyes.

Should I remind him that he had a few annoying habits too? For instance, he slurped his coffee. And that eating with no utensils thing was getting old. Oh, and then there was the falling asleep and snoring when he should be working thing. That one really took the cake.

Calm down, Athena. You’re worked up about other things, not Paul.

Minutes later, one of the primary things I’d been worked up about walked into the room. Stephen. I wanted to ask him all sorts of questions about his award—and about that reporter—but all of my preconceived ideas faded as soon as I saw him in that beautiful blue shirt. Wowza. He looked like he’d come straight from a photo shoot. Maybe he had. Maybe he’d be on the cover of
People
next month. My imagination went into overdrive as I envisioned him standing in front of cameras, prepping for a photo shoot.

Goodness. Could I possibly be any more fickle? Up one minute and down the next. I might as well apply to be an elevator operator. Half the time I had my head in the clouds.

Focus, Athena. Focus. He’s looking at you.

Stephen seemed frazzled. I’d never seen him like this, and it piqued my curiosity. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Sorry I’m late.” He tossed his laptop bag on the chair and shook his head. “Some reporter in the parking lot stopped me and drilled me full of questions. I feel like the O.K. Corral after the shootout. I’m bled out.” He offered a weak smile. “But at least I’m still standing. He didn’t take me down.”

“I can’t believe that guy was still here. I told him to take a hike. How did he get onto the lot, anyway?”

“Oh, I’m sure he paid off someone at the gate. I used to get a lot of those guys in Vegas.”

“So, I hear something is stirring. What’s going on?”

“It’s no big deal, really.” Stephen paused, his shoulders sagging a bit. “I was just nominated for an award. I guess the reporters want to know about it, is all.”

“Right. I heard something about that. But what kind of award? Fill us in.”

“The Comedy Awards.” He shrugged. “My agent called last night to tell me. I was pretty surprised.”

“Whoa.” The Academy Awards of the comedy crowd. Maybe I’d underestimated this guy.

Paul cleared his throat and said something I couldn’t quite make out.

“Stephen, that’s great,” I managed. “Congratulations.”

He reached into the Super-Gyros bag. “It’s a good thing, for sure. I could use this boost in my career right now. Less than a year ago, I wasn’t even sure I’d have a career in comedy anymore, so this is good.” He grabbed a jar of olives and opened it. Popping one in his mouth, he pointed to the room. “What do you think of the new design? Spent three hours last night getting it done.”

“What?
You
moved the furniture?” So much for blaming the kids.

“Yeah. Hope that’s okay.”

“But we had a
Dick Van Dyke
theme going on in here,” I said. “Just got the furniture the week before you got here, so it’s all pretty new to us. We set the office up just like the one on
The Alan Brady Show
. We thought it would be inspirational.”

“Right.” He nodded and took a seat, still holding the olive jar in a firm grip. “Just seemed too . . . perfect.”

“Perfect?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “Every time I get into a room where everything is in an exact place, I just feel like switching things up. I strive for imperfection.”

“I see.” Only, I didn’t. Why would someone strive for imperfection? And what was wrong with keeping the office like it was?

“Let’s keep it like this for a while,” he said. “See if it stirs up our creativity.” He pointed to a new picture on the wall, one he’d taken of Zeus. “Thought that might inspire us.”

“It inspires me to call Animal Control,” I offered.

“It inspires me to call my ex-wife and check on the dog she got custody of,” Paul added. A wistful look passed over him. “Man, I miss that dog.”

I got a chuckle out of that one. The laughter seemed to relieve the tension in the room, helping me breathe easier.

“You guys ready to get to work?” Stephen asked. “I came up with a great idea over the weekend. One that involves several of our new cast members. The older ones, I mean. I think you’re going to love it.”

Pressing back the sigh that threatened to erupt was the easy part. Holding my tongue was tougher. Seemed like this guy was buzzing with ideas. Oh, they were mostly good, but where did he get off thinking he could lead the way? Wasn’t that the job of the head writer? And who’d given him permission to move the furniture? Talk about presumptuous.

Determined to get some work done, I settled deeper into the sofa. Nothing about its current position felt right. In fact, it threw off my equilibrium and my creativity. Paul took his place behind the desk, which had been moved to the far side of the room. I could tell from the look on his face that he wasn’t having any of this, but he managed to keep his mouth shut just the same.

Ironically, he was the only one keeping his mouth shut. The next hour or so was filled with people stopping by the office to chat, starting with Jana. She stepped inside the room, her arms loaded with costumes.

“Hey, Athena, I just wanted to run this by you.” She held up a frumpy-looking floral dress in a hideous shade of green. “We’re thinking Kat should wear this in next week’s episode.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. You know that one scene where Jack and Angie dress up like old people and visit the retirement center?”

“Oh, right, right.” I gave the dress a closer look. “Looks okay to me.”
And since when do you run costumes by me?

Jana looked Stephen’s way and shuffled the costumes from one arm to the other. “We’re thinking about this shirt and bow tie for Jack. What do you think, Stephen?” Her eyelashes—were those fake?—fluttered wildly. Good grief.

He looked up from his work. “I guess so. Didn’t really picture him in the bow tie, but what do I know? I’m no expert on costumes. I really don’t know much about them.”

“You don’t?” She draped the costumes across the back of the chair and sidled up next to him. “Oh, you don’t know what you’re missing. Costuming is the very heart of the show. I mean, think about it. You writers come up with an
amazing
script, and then the actors take it and do their part. But the folks in the costume department play a role too. There wouldn’t be a show without us.”

“We’re grateful for that,” I threw in. “I know we couldn’t do it without you.”

“We have to be creative too.” She spoke to me but looked at Stephen, inching her way a bit closer. “What if you wrote a great, funny scene—something lighthearted and fun—and we dressed the character in a stiff, complicated outfit that didn’t suit the scene? It’s important that we catch the vision and run with it.”

I’m catching your vision, all right, girl.

She scooted closer still. “We’re on the same team, you know. You guys are the peanut butter and we’re the jelly.” Her eyelashes took to fluttering once again. “What good would one be without the other? You know what I mean?”

Yes. I know exactly what you mean. And I’m feeling a little nauseous.

Stephen offered a weak smile. “Guess this wouldn’t be a good time to tell you that I’m not crazy about PB and J.”

She chuckled. “That’s okay. I’ll come up with another analogy. You just keep writing those brilliant scenes and I’ll keep dressing the characters. Deal?”

“Deal.” He nodded and shook her hand.

Me? I was too busy being upset at her line that he needed to keep writing brilliant scenes. Had Jana forgotten that there were other writers involved? Paul and I had feelings. We needed encouragement too.

No sooner had Jana left than Nora arrived with some sketches. Hopefully she could lift my spirits. She always managed to put a smile on my face.

“Just wanted to talk you through how we’re going to age Jack and Angie in next week’s episode.” She spoke to me, so I expected her to take a few steps in my direction. Instead, she placed her sketches down on the coffee table and turned to Stephen. “I think you’re going to like this. It’s going to be so much fun aging Kat and Scott. Can’t wait to show you projected images of what they’re going to look like as elderly people. And you’ll love the wigs we’re using. Actually, Scott’s is sort of a hairless number. He’s going to be nearly bald with tiny wisps of hair.”

I tried to inch my way into the spot next to her on the sofa, but I couldn’t get a close look because she and Stephen remained hunched over the sketches.

“It’s going to be great, Nora,” he said. “I think the audience is going to love this scene, and it’s going to be even better because of you.”

“Thanks.” Her cheeks turned strawberry-sherbet pink. “Just doing my job. You make it so much fun, Stephen. You really do. I was hoping you would like this.”

Good grief. Since when do you run the sketches by the writers?

I rose and walked over to the desk, where I took a seat and began to play solitaire on the computer. After a few more minutes, Nora finally left. I was tempted to lock the door but decided people would get the wrong idea. Still, how could we get anything done if co-workers kept interrupting?

Tia entered the room about three minutes later, just as we’d finally started to get into gear. I groaned inwardly. Surely our director—a consummate pro—wasn’t smitten with Stephen too.

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said. “But I want to run some ideas by you guys. In case I haven’t mentioned it before, that retirement center scene is brilliant. Just the ticket. And I want to make the best of it, so I’m thinking about a couple of interesting camera angles. Let me talk you through what I have in mind.”

She stood in the center of the room, looking much like a conductor leading an orchestra as she shared her enthusiastic plan for how the scene would be shot. I knew a little about cinematography, but she lost me somewhere between wide-angle shots, aspect ratio, and focal length. Stephen seemed to understand every word. At one point he rose and joined her, putting his hands up in some strange gesture to represent a camera angle.

“We used this approach with my HBO special,” he said. “And I really believe it made all the difference. It’s innovative, but innovative is good. I’m one for change.”

No joke. Look at the furniture.

Of course, he’d changed more than the furniture, hadn’t he? Already he’d shifted the entire strategy for the show. Without asking me. The head writer.

As he and Tia rambled on and on, I found myself thinking about Brooke. Wondering how she felt about all of the changes her dad went through. Chances were pretty good the preteen just wanted things to slow down, not keep whirling out of control. She’d been through enough shifts in her young life already.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I almost missed Tia’s exit. Only when she hollered, “See you on the set,” did I jar back to attention.

“Man, this place is more crowded than Grand Central Station today.” I sighed, wondering if we’d ever get anything done.

“No kidding. But I like their ideas. All of them.” He gave me a funny look. “Can’t you sense it?”

“Sense what?”

“Things are stirring. Changing.”

Paul grunted. “They’re changing, all right.” His gaze shifted to the pen in his hand.

“I love it when that feeling of excitement is so thick you could almost cut it with a knife.” Stephen’s face creased in a boyish smile. “And if we feel that way, imagine how the viewers are going to feel when these new episodes begin to air. I’m telling you, things are on the move. In a good way.”