Hello, Hollywood! (19 page)

I bit back the tears to speak my heart. “I’m not laughing right now.”

“Is it hot in here?” He tugged at his collar, then walked over to check the thermostat. “Feels like it’s ninety degrees.”

It was hot in here, all right, and getting hotter by the moment. “I get it that men have led the way in the industry. And I realize that most sitcom writers are males in their twenties and thirties.”

“This is a male-dominated industry,” he said. “You can’t expect perceptions to change overnight. That’s probably why that reporter assumed I wrote the funny episode, Athena. Because he’s biased. He made an assumption.”

“This whole conversation is ridiculous. This is the twenty-first century. Women have come a long way, baby.”

“With a long way yet to go.” He shrugged. “Look, I’m not saying I agree with the perceptions. I feel your pain. I knew a lot of comediennes back in Vegas who fought to get noticed. Always felt a little sorry for them because the guys seemed to have it so much easier. I’m not saying it’s fair. I’m just saying that’s how it is.”

I found it hard to be angry with him when his beautiful brown eyes gazed at me with such tenderness. After a moment, he gestured for me to sit on the divan. I reluctantly took the place next to him.

“You want to pattern everything after
The Dick Van Dyke Show
, right?”

“Well, it was just an idea to arrange the office—”

“No, I get all that. And I was an idiot to change the room around. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

Wow. Felt good to hear him acknowledge that.

“I just want you to think about that show for a minute, since it’s apparently one of your favorites. Three comedy writers sitting in an office, cranking out jokes for
The Alan Brady Show
.”

“Right.”

“Rob, the brains, Buddy, the clown, and Sally, the one who typed the scripts and occasionally came up with an idea that they ended up tossing. Do you see now what I meant about perceptions between the sexes? It’s been this way all along.”

Ouch.

“Again, I’m not saying that’s what I believe. I’m only saying that’s how women have been perceived. Sally’s role in that show was to act as a buffer between Rob and Buddy, and to bring an occasional bit of drama with her off-scene romance with nerdy Herman Glimscher. She was never meant to be the driving force of the team.”

Okay, now I really wanted to punch him.

“You might as well relax,” Stephen said. “I’m going to clarify what I mean in a second. And none of this is meant to be personal.”

“Well, it feels personal.”

“I’m on your team, Athena.” He reached out and put his hand on my arm. I shrugged it off. “The only reason I’m telling you any of this is because I think you’re better than all of us. You’re better than Bob, you’re better than Paul, and you’re light-years above me. You’re the best comedy writer I’ve ever met, and I’m not just saying that because my heart is involved.”

Okay, well, those words softened me a little. So did the concern in his eyes. This time when he reached to touch me, I didn’t pull away.

“Athena, it kills me to see you have to work so hard to get noticed. It also kills me that people make assumptions that leave you feeling wounded. I wish I could change that. I’m working to change that.”

My heart—crusted over just seconds before—began to melt.

“These false perceptions about women in the industry are like a wall that needs to come down. You can speak to that mountain, and it’s going to topple.”

Only one problem—right now I didn’t feel like speaking to any mountains. I just felt like going home and crawling under the covers.

“I think it’s better if we change the subject,” I said at last. “Honestly? I think I just need time to absorb everything that’s happened.”

Stephen moved to the chair behind the desk and leaned his head down. After a few seconds of silence, he looked up, his eyes locking with mine. “I can’t believe all of this has happened right now, when we should be celebrating our nomination. You know what this means, don’t you, Athena?”

“No, I have no idea.”

He sighed. “We’ve just skipped Step 10 and have moved directly to Step 11 in the plotline of our relationship.”

Ugh. Tell me you did not just say that.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to fill me in, Mr. Plotter. I’m a seat-of-the-pants kind of girl, remember?” Okay, my words sounded a little snippy. Still, I couldn’t help myself. How dare he interrupt such a tense conversation to talk about writing? What was I, some sort of homework assignment?

“Step 11 is the ‘Ultimate Test,’” Stephen explained. “This is where we see if we’ve got the goods.”

“I see. So this step determines if we’re going to make it?”

“According to the class I took.” He raked his fingers through his hair. “It’s a natural part of the progression of the relationship. The big gloom. The supreme ordeal. Whatever you want to call it. That point in every story where it looks like things can’t possibly work out. That’s where we are, isn’t it?” He smiled. “Helps to see it in perspective, right? Besides, this is where we find out what we’re made of.”

“I can tell you what I’m made of. Jell-O.”

“Jell-O?”

“Yes. That’s what my insides feel like right now. Jell-O. So there’s no point in thinking I’m going to have some terrific rebound and prove that I’ve got the goods—as a character in some script you’re writing, or in real life. I’m just a girl. A girl with issues. I get jealous and I get angry. And right now I’m a little of both.”

“There’s no point in being jealous. I’m getting attention from the media, but it’s undeserved.”

“That’s the part that has me a little angry.” I sighed. “But being angry is unreasonable, so I’m also a little angry at myself for getting angry. Does that make sense? I should have a better handle on things. I need to get control of my emotions.”

“There’s another step on the plotline for that,” he said. “Where the hero or heroine faces his or her inevitable flaws and challenges.”

“Stephen.” I put my hand up. “I appreciate the fact that you’ve studied this whole plotting thing. Seriously. It’s good to know how to lay out a story. And maybe it’s helpful for you to point out where I am in my journey. But some things can’t be plotted. I have a feeling I’m off the plotline altogether, the way I’m feeling right now. So enough with that already. Give it a rest.”

His expression shifted to one of regret. “Sorry. I’m on a learning curve here, so this whole thing about plotting is just for my sake. Maybe I’m taking it all too literally.”

“I hate to be a plotting party pooper, but I’m getting a little tired of trying to figure out where I am and where I’m going. Can’t we just say that we’ve hit a major bump in the road and leave it at that?”

“I’m going to smooth out this bump. I promise. My agent’s going to own up to what he’s done, and that story will be rewritten. We’re going to get past this. The hero and heroine always get past the hurdles if they’re meant to be together.”

If they’re meant to be together? How should I take those words?

I squared my shoulders, ready to put this behind me. “It’s fine. Really. I’m probably just being overly sensitive. I am a woman, you know. And women are emotional beings. Right?”

“I never said that.”

“No, your agent said it for you . . . not in so many words.” I pulled the laptop onto my knees. “Anyway, we have a lot of work to do, so we’d better get to it. Should we wait for Paul or just dive right in?”

“I need to leave a little early today, so we’d better get to it.”

“Leave early?”

“Yeah. I . . . well, I’ve got an appointment this afternoon.”

I didn’t ask what kind of appointment, though curiosity almost got the better of me. If I didn’t watch myself, several things might get the better of me today.

All the more reason to take my hands off and just let God be God.

The next couple of days were tense at best. Paul came and went from the office, acting more than a little suspicious. I was dying to ask him about his date with his ex-wife but didn’t dare. I knew he wouldn’t want to share anything so personal with Stephen in the mix. Likely he wouldn’t feel like sharing something so personal even with me in the room. The guy had always been private.

And speaking of private, Stephen’s actions left me feeling unsettled. On Wednesday we faced another dispute, this one related to the show. It came in the middle of fine-tuning the following week’s episode.

“I just feel we need to think outside the box,” he said. “We’ve given Angie and Jack a lot of conflict, but nothing with any lasting consequences.”

“Consequences?” Paul shook his head. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking they need to be put to the ultimate test—something that would challenge both their marriage and their business.”

“What sort of challenge?” I asked.

“Someone they love and trust—either the kids or the seniors they represent—could abandon them. Leave them in the lurch. Maybe they could actually lose the talent agency. Maybe they would have to start over.”

“Lose the talent agency?” Paul groaned. “Are you kidding?”

His idea floored me, and not in a good way. “That talent agency is the foundation for the show. If we take it away—”

“I’m not talking about taking it away. Just saying we should spend an episode or two exploring the what-ifs. What if Jack and Angie lost everything they thought they needed to survive? Then what?” He paused. “That’s life, you know. We put all of our energies into something, and sometimes that very something crumbles around us.”

“This is a comedy,” I reminded him. “We’re going too deep. This isn’t a nighttime drama. It’s a
sitcom
. Situational comedy.”

“It’s all a matter of how we handle it.” When Stephen turned to me, I saw tears in his eyes. “The lines between comedy and tragedy get blurred sometimes. Relationships get tested. And if we take them to the valley in their relationship, the only place to go is up. In other words, the resolution is on its way.”

Funny. Right now it didn’t feel like the resolution was on its way. It just felt like my loaf of bread was unbaking. If such a thing were possible.

I thought about a conversation I’d had with Kat about mountains and valleys. The deeper the valley, the higher the mountain. That was the theory, anyway. Maybe I needed to go through a few valleys to appreciate the mountaintops.

Or maybe I just needed to go crawl under the covers.

I shrugged off my thoughts and told Stephen we’d talk about it again tomorrow.

Ironically, he didn’t show up for work on Thursday. Friday found him absent too. I’d missed a couple of calls from him, but there were no messages on my voice mail. Very odd. He was clearly avoiding me.

Okay, I’d been aloof too. How could I dive back into our relationship with so much hanging over us? Recovering from the article in the newspaper had been tough enough, but other media sources had picked up on it and were all sharing the tale that Stephen had been responsible for the famous episode. Seemed like every time I turned on the television or read a magazine, I heard the story again. By Friday the media sources were singing Stephen’s praises as if he’d been the head writer of the show for years. Go figure.

As I struggled to know how to deal with all of this, I found myself reminded of that stupid twelve-step plotter. If we were really on Step 11, as Stephen said, there was only one step to go—the resolution. I knew from my years of writing comedy that the resolution was always the best part. Happily ever afters came during this final stage.

Only one problem with this theory—then what happened? Once we resolved our problems and forged ahead—if, indeed, that’s what happened—then what? Did the whole crazy twelve-step thing start over again? If we got married, did we go back to Step 1? I wasn’t sure I could take it, to be quite honest. Felt too much like a merry-go-round.

On Friday afternoon I ate my lunch alone in the office. The others were out in the studio, wrapping up the filming of this week’s episode. I could hear the roar of the audience through the sound system. Obviously they were enjoying themselves. If only I could have said as much for myself. No, with the way I felt right now, spending the afternoon alone was for the best. I didn’t want anyone to try to talk me out of my doldrums.

After the filming, Kat showed up. “You busy?” she asked.

“Not really.” I gestured to the empty office. “Just going over a few notes.”

“Missed you at the filming today. Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” I shrugged. “Just needed some time to myself. Didn’t want to be around people.”

“I see.” Her brow wrinkled. “Where are the guys?”

“Paul is acting strange, and Stephen . . .” I shrugged. “He’s off, being famous.”

“Being famous?” She took a seat on the divan. “Do I detect a hint of jealousy?”

“I’m not sure
jealousy
is the right word. I’m just confused. Or maybe
conflicted
would be a better way to say it. It’s complicated.”

“Care to elaborate?” She reached for one of my sweets and popped it into her mouth. “Mmm. This is great. I still say you’re the best baker I’ve ever met, Athena.”

“Keep that in mind when I open my bakery.”

“You’re opening a bakery?”

“It was just an idea I once had. I thought maybe it could be a backup plan if I ever lost my job here.”

“Wait.” She paused and stared at me with wide eyes. “Are you serious? You think they’re going to let you go? We were just nominated for a Golden Globe.”

I rolled my eyes. “Apparently you don’t read the paper. According to Stephen’s agent, I didn’t play a role in writing that Snidely Whiplash episode. And maybe now that network executives think that, they won’t want to keep me around.”

“Of course you helped write it. You wrote most of it, from what Stephen told me. And I don’t know why you’re suddenly worried about your job. You’re under contract. They can’t just let you go. Right?”

“They can wiggle their way out of that if they want to.” I sighed. “Do you ever get the feeling you’re just not wanted or needed? Like you’re . . . superfluous?”

Okay, that was a dumb question to ask the star of a weekly sitcom. This whole show revolves around her. Of course she feels wanted and needed.

When Kat’s expression turned sad, I wished I hadn’t asked the question.

“I felt that way for years after my dad left,” she said. “Rejection is a terrible thing to deal with. And it hurts even more if you don’t know why the person is rejecting you. Makes you question yourself in a thousand different ways. So . . . yes, I know what it feels like.”

Ack. I felt like a heel for stirring up such a tough memory. Still, she’d struck a nerve. “Lately I feel like I’m not needed around here. I know why Rex hired Stephen, but I still have to wonder if everyone thinks I’m . . . well . . . boring.”

“You? Boring?” Kat’s laughter shattered the near silence in the room. “Is that some sort of joke? You’re crazy and wild and wacky and tons of fun. Where in the world did you get the idea that you’re boring? You’re not boring. Far from it, in fact.”

“Thanks. I needed that.”

“Honestly, Athena, I think you question yourself too much.” Kat reached for another pastry. When I gave her a funny look, she giggled and said, “Hey, I’m eating for two now, remember?”

“Oh, have as many as you like.” I paused to reflect on her words, then decided to share my heart. “There’s this strange misperception that humor writers are funny people.”

“Are you saying you’re not?”

“Well, I do think we have an exaggerated sense of humor, but I guess what I’m trying to say is that we go through rough patches in our own lives. It’s not like we’re just sitting around making a joke out of everything. And we can’t perform on demand. We’re not court jesters.”

“Though you would look great in the costume,” she said with a wink.

“I’m just saying that comedy writing is tough work, especially when your personal life doesn’t give you much to laugh at. Or about. Ya know?”

Kat gave me a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, Athena. I always think of you as this happy-go-lucky girl. For as long as I’ve known you, you’ve been the one bringing a smile to everyone’s face. So seeing you down and upset is throwing me off a little. I don’t know what to do with this.”

“I am happy-go-lucky most of the time. But coming up with comedy sketches week in and week out is tough. Being funny is hard work.”

“I’m going to remember that.” She grinned. “Being funny is hard work.”

“You’re not taking me seriously.”

“I am. And honestly, I couldn’t do what you do. The world is twisted enough without having to add a punch line.” Her eyes narrowed as she stared at me. “But I think there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, first of all, I have a theory about Stephen Cosse. Maybe it’s one you’re not going to like, but hear me out. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I think you’re unnerved when you’re around him.”

“Well, of course I am. In walks this comedian, and my job is suddenly irrelevant.”

“I’m not talking about your job here. That’s not what I mean. I think you’re unnerved for a completely different reason.”

“O-oh?”

“I think things between the two of you are getting serious and you’re scared.”

“Why would I be scared?”

“I don’t know, but that’s a good question. Why are you scared? Don’t you like the idea of your relationship growing and changing into something more?”

“Of course I do. I’m all about change.”

“No you’re not.” She pointed to the room. “You freaked out when he changed the furniture. And your bedroom has been the same since you were seven.”

“Hey now, that’s not my fault. My mama—”

“Your mom told me that she offered to have the room redecorated years ago, but you turned her down.”

Ack.
Mama, you traitor.
“Well, Strawberry Shortcake is coming back in.”

“Sure she is.” Kat shook her head. “And what about your food habits?”

“My food habits?” The girl had to go messing with my food?

“You’re very limited in what you eat. I don’t know if you realize it or not, but Greek and Italian . . . that’s about it for you. Don’t you find that odd? You never eat Mexican. Never eat Chinese. See what I mean?”

I sighed, realizing I’d been caught in her trap. “Okay, I admit it. My life has been the same . . . forever. For as long as I can remember, everything has been the same. I can tell you what every day of the week is going to look like. I bring leftovers on Monday, and we pound out a new idea for the following week’s episode. On Tuesday we take our rough draft and fine-tune it. On Wednesday we present a cleaned-up version of the script to Rex and the rest of the crew.”

On and on I went, talking about how my week was laid out. “On Saturday I work with Mama and Babbas at the shop and spend time with family. On Sunday we all go to church and have a fantastic meal after, then snooze the afternoon away so that I have the energy to wake up on Monday morning and start the whole process over again. See what I mean? My days are mapped out.”

“Plotted.” Kat pursed her lips.

“W-what?” Surely she did not just use
that
word.

“You’re a creature of habit, Athena-bean. Stephen Cosse has interrupted your habit in more ways than one, and you don’t know where things are going. And when you hit a few bumps in the road, you freak out, not because you haven’t been through bumps before, but because there’s someone else involved now. He’s grabbed a piece of your heart.”

“I might be a little predictable, but I’m not a creature of habit. Not really,” I argued. “And as for him grabbing a piece of my heart . . .” My words drifted off.

She gazed directly into my eyes. “I think you see that things are moving quickly, and you’re losing control. You’re excited by the change but a little nervous because you’re not calling the shots. Did I hit the nail on the head?”

“The only thing I’m concerned about right now is that people will think I’m not doing my job. There’s a misperception out there that I’m not the driving force behind this show. Because of that misperception, I could lose my job, which would be totally unfair.”

“I’m not sure why this keeps going back to your job. I’m not talking about your job. But what you just said is wrong, anyway. You’re
not
the driving force behind this show.” She gave me a pensive look.

“Oh.” My shoulders slumped forward. I felt defeated. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded. I really didn’t. I guess I’m just worried people will think I’m slacking off.”

“Why do you worry so much about what people think about you?” she asked.

“Don’t you?” I shook my head. “C’mon, Kat. It’s impossible not to worry about that. We live in Hollywood. We work in Hollywood. Everything is about perceptions.”

“The only perception that matters is God’s. And right now I have a feeling he’s working out something inside of you that you’re not even aware of. Of course, that’s all mixed up with your growing feelings for Stephen and the fact that your life as a single woman could be coming to an end.” She grinned. “Honestly? I think you’re hearing wedding bells.”