Story Girl (36 page)

chapter
54

I
T WAS A
very bad sign.

Mitch was taking forever to come to the phone.

I was hunched over in the bathroom of a Starbucks across from the Creative Artists Agency – on the slim chance that he’d want to see me immediately.

He’d emailed me two days ago. There were only four and a half words in the body of the email, but they held the possibility of a life I’d always dreamed of. Not to mention the happy face that would most surely usher in a new era for me.

FINISHED SCRIPT >>> LET’S TALK…☺

I’d emailed him back and he’d given me an exact time to call him. But that was four minutes ago and I was still on hold. I had to wonder what he was doing that could possibly be more important than this very phone call, because nothing more important had ever happened to me – in the history of my life.

Maybe he was chatting with Alan Ball or Woody Allen – but still. This was
our
time – our one tiny segment of allotted time in the multi-billion year existence of the universe. And I would guard it with my life.

I’d even banned James from this moment – telling him that I had to handle it alone. He understood and had stayed in his apart
ment practicing vegetarian recipes. But the truth was, I didn’t want him to see my insanity. Especially since we’d both agreed that
Space Boy
had re-established our self-worth. But it was such self-worth that made me want to go for it harder than ever – almost like I’d be slapping God in the face if I didn’t.

In any event, it was a good thing that he had no idea I was currently crouched in the corner of a bathroom, on the verge of dry-heaving my nerves and the tall green tea latte I’d just downed.

Oh God – the nerves. I’d always tried to keep my optimism in check, but any smidge of encouragement had always sent my hopes veering wildly out of control.

And this phone call was anything but a smidge. It was more like a healthy slice of salvation – a steady hand for a shaky target.

Perhaps I was assuming too much.

What if Mitch was mere moments from blowing away the rainbows, pulling me out of the clouds, and reuniting me with my clear-headedness? He’d politely suggest I attain my real estate license or enroll in an accounting course. And I’d have to thank him for his precious time while he’d had no problem taking mine.

Five agonizing minutes had passed, but what did he care? All he had waiting for him was a serious case of delusion.

Well I wouldn’t let him do it. No way. There would be no u-turns on this track. It was fast-forward or bust.

I’d almost convinced myself to hang up when a man’s voice rang out like a clarion call, “Hello – Mitch here.”

“Hi.” I, on the other hand, sounded like a pip-squeak.

“Ms. Johnston?”

“I’m here.”

“I finished your script.”

“Okay.”

“Some interesting elements – I really liked your use of symbolism.”

“Okay.”

“The way you managed to get it across visually.”

“Kay.”

If I possessed any other words in my vocabulary, this would probably be the time to use them – before he thought me a total fraud.

“The main character was deeply imagined.”

Deeply imagined? Shit. This could be it! Let all the choirs in heaven raise their voice in a single and triumphant exaltation. Let every angel in the kingdom soar through the cloudless sky
.

“Okay.”

“The scenes were tight.”

And it just kept on coming like a turning tide
.

“Great.”

And?

And then came the pause – the iconic dividing line; that good old fork in the road, sharper than any knife – able to split a possible fate into two separate and very distinct futures.

“Unfortunately however, it isn’t right for me.”

But I didn’t hear him clearly because someone was knocking at the door.

“Is
not
right?” I asked.

“Correct.”

“Not right at this time?”

“Not right ever.”

The angels were crashing hard. At least I was near a toilet.

“Okay.”

“However – and this is what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Now I was literally holding my breath.

“I’d be very much interested in your take on an idea that’s been swimming around in my head.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah. What do you think you could do with something like this – and here’s the premise… the epic frustrations of a modern day girl.”

The bathroom seemed to be swirling, but I wasn’t yet sure if my life was again going down the shitter.

“The frustrations of a modern day girl?” I asked.

Seriously?

“Yeah – you think you could toy around with that?”

This had to be a joke
.

“You mean write a movie around it? A script?”

“I was actually thinking of a book.”

“A book?”

“I represent movies and books. A book would give us a chance to really get to know her – her stresses and frustrations.”

“A book about a girl who is stressed and frustrated?”

“Yes. You think you could flesh it out?”

“I know I could.”

“Well, why don’t you start on it, and then get back to me when you have a first draft.”

“I can do that.”

“How long do you need?”

“Not long.”

“Good.”

“Do you have any other details about this girl?” I asked.

“She’s just really stressed and kinda confused, you know – but I figured you could come up with the particulars. Maybe she has allergies or something, I don’t know. Just make it tight. Throw in some humor – nowhere near as bleak as your last one.”

“Okay.”

“Call me when you have a decent draft.”

“I will.”

And with that, the call was over.

I opened the door to an angry woman who informed me that she shouldn’t have to wait so long to take a simple miserable pee.

Part of me wanted to enlighten her about the awesome elixir known as patience. Instead, I walked out onto Wilshire Boulevard
where the sun warmed my air-conditioned flesh. Creative Artists Agency took up a large section of the block, casting imposing A-list shadows.

Imposing and impenetrable. But I’d still caught a chance, and I was going to run it to the very end of the field. And I knew it was in me – I was the lead expert on the topic.

I made it to the bus stop ten seconds too late, but it was okay. In fact, it was more than okay. It was all material now – so bring on the aggravations.

Ninety minutes later I was home. Lucy greeted me with a quick brush against my shins – she already sensed I was revved for my mission. I’d have to quickly call James, shower, and heat up a frozen quiche. Then I’d have to disappear for a while – an extended visit back to the place I’d been struggling so hard to escape from. This time the irony was more delicious than a box of fresh pastries – but anyway – I would have no more time to ruminate on such things. There was simply too much work to be done.

And my epic frustrations were waiting.

About the Author

K
ATHERINE
C
ARLSON GREW
up in central British Columbia. She studied English and Sociology at the University of Victoria, and graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree in 1997; that same year, she moved to Los Angeles to study film and theater. She joined the Screen Actors Guild in 2000. After many years in California, she moved to Vancouver, B.C. to study anatomy and write books.

Carlson is the author of
Arrows Across Eons: Becoming Tina Turner
– a spiritual tale chronicling how synchronicity worked magic in her life. She currently resides in Alberta, Canada – safely nestled between the mountains and the prairie.