Let's Stay Together (7 page)

“That Erika James is a
mess,
Randy,” Miss Smith said. “You should be glad she didn’t take the part.”

Lauren bristled briefly but regained her composure.

“Randy, I have told you a hundred times that my script was from the late sixties and early seventies, but did you listen?” Miss Smith asked. “You didn’t. I told you it was a slice-of-life piece. That’s the way we talked back then. That’s the way we talked about white men back then. We weren’t trying to be politically correct. We were just telling it like it was. I told you it wouldn’t work for a modern audience, but you’re as stubborn as your father was.”

Lauren looked from Miss Smith to Randy.
Wow. There’s a strong resemblance. I only thought he was extremely tan, like every other director in Hollywood. That’s his mama? Well, no wonder he’s fighting for her script!

“You’re . . .” Barbie whistled. “You’re Randy’s mother.”

Miss Smith nodded. “My son is trying to break me into show business.” She smiled. “The entire first season is true, and it ends with me. That’s your character, Lauren. It ends with me meeting Randy’s daddy and having Randy.”

“You met Randy’s daddy at a flea market in Hell’s Kitchen,” Lauren said.

“No, at a Jimi Hendrix concert, actually,” Miss Smith said. “The Hollywood Bowl, nineteen sixty-eight. I take a few liberties with the truth here and there.”

What is going on?
Lauren thought.
How does a Hendrix concert at the Hollywood Bowl turn into a hookup at a flea market in Hell’s Kitchen, New York?
“So . . . you have a full-length movie script from the late
sixties
and early
seventies
that Tumbleweed is trying to pass off as a modern sitcom.”

“Essentially, yes,” Randy whispered. “I’ve helped Mama modernize it somewhat, but it obviously still needs some work.”

“
You
helped modernize it?” Lauren said. “I thought that
she
was the expert.”

“I made that part up,” Randy whispered.

“Wow,” Lauren said, and she started to pace. “Let me get this straight. You want me to play the part of
your
mama in a modern television show that actually takes place in nineteen sixty-eight.”

“Right,” Randy said.

I wasn’t even born yet!
“And I wasn’t your first choice,” Lauren said.

Randy shook his head. “I originally wanted Erika James.”

“Why?” Lauren asked. “She can’t act.”

“I know,” Randy said, “but she would have stuck to the script.”

Which is true. Erika James can’t think for herself.
“Erika James couldn’t
read
the script. So why was I your second choice?”

“Well, after all that’s happened,” Randy said, “I assumed you’d be desperate.”

“What?” Lauren yelled. “I’m not desperate.”

“You’re not?” Randy said. “Your agent sure made you sound desperate.”

I need to talk to Todd again.
“What exactly did he say?”

“Just that . . . ,” Randy said. “Well, that you might not be thinking straight, because of what happened with Chazz, and that maybe, you know, you—”

“Wouldn’t care or notice if the script was straight pus, as a result,” Lauren interrupted.

“Um, something like that, yeah,” Randy said.

“Wow,” Lauren said. She sat on the edge of the table. “Miss Smith, no offense, but your son and my agent must share the same brain cell.”

“I tried to get him to sell my script to Sony,” Miss Smith said, “but he was so sure it was a better fit for television.”

It isn’t even a better fit for fiction,
Lauren thought.
It isn’t a better fit anywhere.
She looked at Barbie. “What do you think?”

“What do
I
think?” Barbie said. “I don’t feel qualified to judge any of this.”

“But you’re a pro,” Lauren said.

“Thank you, Miss Short,” Barbie said, “but I have only ever done toilet paper and J. C. Penney commercials until this, so I don’t feel qualified to give my opinion.”

Lauren laughed so hard, she nearly split the size 7s. “Am I being punked?” She looked at the camera operators. “Are you all still filming?”

“No one’s filming,” Randy said.

“I must be out of my mind,” Lauren said.
I should have quit after the first reading.
“I, uh, I have to go now.”

“Yeah,” Randy said. “It’s been quite a day. We’ll start fresh tomorrow. We’ll postpone the promos until tomorrow.”

“You misunderstand me,” Lauren said. “I have to go, as in go
away
from this place forever.
That
kind of go.”

“Why?” Randy asked.

“Well, for one, my agent actually thought I needed to do this show,” Lauren said. “I don’t. I don’t need to do anything at this point in my ‘career.’ And I definitely don’t need to do this . . . bad joke. This show is like backed-up sewage waiting to be sucked down a drain.”
Even Patrick would agree with me there. He’d even appreciate the analogy.
“It has a literal stench about it. I also have to go before anyone can connect me in any way to this show. You aren’t seriously still thinking of putting this disaster on the air, are you?”

“We’ve got a full green light,” Randy said. “Or we did when you signed on. I’m not so sure now.”

“What?” Barbie shouted. “I gave up a Windex commercial for this show!” She jumped to her feet. “Now I bet I can’t even get a mouthwash commercial. Thanks a lot, Miss Short.”

“I’m the only one leaving, Barbie,” Lauren said. “You could inherit my part.”

“You just heard him say that if you leave, the show’s off,” Barbie said.

“He says he’s not so sure,” Lauren said. “That means—”

“I
know
what it means,” Barbie interrupted. “I have a master’s degree, you know. I dropped over eighty grand on my MFA at USC, I got a few commercials, and now
this
is what happens when I finally break out. Thanks a lot.”

I need to control some damage here.
“Randy, I think Barbie should have my part. In fact, I think Barbie could carry the entire show. She certainly has talent. And I don’t think she’ll need a friend to advise her at all.”

“I
told
you, Randy,” Miss Smith said. “I
told
you that
I
didn’t have any best friend like her in sixty-eight. I was one of the few sisters testing the waters on the other side, so to speak.” She turned to Lauren. “And you know what my son tells me? ‘Well,’ he said, ‘just talk to yourself while you’re writing, then.’ Is that crazy or what?”

Everything about this day has been crazy,
Lauren thought.
From the three-layer white makeup to these tight-ass jeans to the surreal, time-warped absurd drama going on in this room.
“Before I go, may I make one last suggestion?”

“You’re really leaving?” Randy asked.

“Yes,” Lauren said.

“The first time I get to direct something big, I lose the leading lady,” Randy said. “I’m doomed.”

“Let me make my suggestion first, okay?” Lauren turned to Mike, who was the last remaining sound technician. “Have you been recording all this from the beginning?”

Mike nodded. “I’ve been testing all the mikes. I heard some stomachs rumbling.”

Barbie smiled. “That was me. Wanna get lunch?”

“Sure,” Mike said.

“Girl,” Lauren said, “I’m trying to save the show. Flirt later.”

“Sorry,” Barbie said.

“Call me crazy, but . . .” Lauren shook her head. “Okay, I
am
crazy.” She sighed. “I want you all to listen to the entire recording of everything we said here today, because
that
is your show—including this last little exchange between Mike and Barbie.”

Lauren looked at several sets of blinking eyes. “I’m serious. I don’t know where you go from there, but trust me, the show we put on in here today was insanely funny. It was even smart. The comedy was intelligent. Can you imagine what just happened as the pilot for a new show? The critics won’t know what to do with it at first, and then one of these critics will write something like, ‘It’s so out there that it’s cutting edge. They’re breaking new ground. They’re on the cusp of a new comedic art form.’ ” She laughed. “And I expect to get a writing credit for it, because I just ‘wrote’ at least half of the pilot.”

“She’s right,” Randy said. “It is kind of funny.”

“And edgy,” Barbie said.

“Yeah.” Randy turned to Miss Smith. “Mama, how would you like to be on television?”

“Will I get to meet your daddy again?” Miss Smith asked.

“Sure,” Randy said. “You know, we could have you narrating the show, and we could even film your first meeting with Daddy at the Hollywood Bowl, too.”

Oh,
now
they get a budget.
“And whatever you do, Miss Smith,” Lauren said, “do not, I repeat, do
not
wear any other hat than that one. That hat will be your trademark. You’ll start a new fashion trend.”
Or set fashion back fifty years.

“So I can stay?” Barbie asked.

“Of course,” Randy said, drifting over to Mike. “Start it from the beginning.”

As the “real” show began, Lauren slipped away, put on her own clothes in her dressing room, kicked the size 7s into a corner, and left Tumbleweed Studios.

 

 

When she returned to her apartment, she raced to boot up her laptop, found Patrick’s e-mails among the hundreds, and read his letter with amazement, talking back to the screen.

“Oh, Brooklyn can’t be that bad, can it?” she said. “It’s a shame about that dolphin, though. Maybe it wanted to see Brooklyn once before it died, and Brooklyn was on its bucket list.” She laughed. “A dolphin with a bucket list. I am losing my mind.” She smiled. “I
was
an awesome mime. Oh, and you left me a smiley.”
He has me feeling like a teenager!
“The Brooklyn Academy of Music didn’t hire you because you were too manly, Patrick. Oh, and you want to decipher my lips. You think I’m young! I don’t have a secret, and I’d never do a mud bath.
Aha!
I
was
a writer today, and the world
did
fall apart. I felt like ripping out my teeth today, too. Why hasn’t anyone ever winked at you? And here you are, winking at me!”

She immediately replied.

10

P
atrick didn’t believe it at first, but because it involved Hollywood, he eventually accepted Lauren’s story.

He didn’t, however, believe Lauren would be interested in hearing about his day. “ ‘How was
my
day?’ she asks,” he whispered.
When’s the last time anyone ever asked me that?

Patrick wished he had an exciting story to rival Lauren’s, but there wasn’t much to tell. It was another typically dysfunctional day in the life of an underpaid, overworked handyman.

11

T
his man is a trip,
Lauren thought.
I wonder how old he is. He sounds . . . older. Should I bust out and ask him? He has to know how old I am already. It’s only fair.