Chapter Six
By the time Isabel pulled up to her apartment, it was past eight. Her neck ached and her brain had taken a holiday from the intense dialogue rewrite. She was worn out and highly interested in a dark foamy beer, five of which were in the door of her fridge like welcome little soldiers. As she trekked in from the parking lot, laughter emanated from the courtyard, and her muscles relaxed as she realized she was home.
“It’s the new girl,” a voice said as she approached.
“Isabel, right?” another voice asked quietly.
As she rounded the corner, she saw Autumn from the coffee shop and Hadley, who liked to read, sitting on the green-cushioned couches. Without even thinking, she collapsed in a heap next to Autumn. “Isabel would be correct. Or Izzy. Or Iz. I’m real, real flexible.”
“Izzy is fun,” Autumn said. “You strike me as an Izzy.”
Hadley grinned. “You do. Long day?”
“Longest ever. I’m getting a beer. Anybody up for one?”
“I’ll join you. Yeah,” Autumn said. “Had hates beer,” she added, to which Hadley nodded emphatically.
Isabel frowned. “That’s a shame.”
“It’s not. It’s awful,” Hadley called after her as she dashed inside for a couple of beers. When Isabel returned, Hadley hooked a thumb her way and turned to Autumn. “Izzy here is a writer for Thicker Than Water. Did she share that little tidbit with you?”
“That show about the family? The one Celeste wrote for?” Autumn asked. “Get out. That’s impressive.”
Isabel held up a hand. “You might want to table that admiration. I’m pretty low on the totem pole. As in, I’m the girl waiting in line to be on it.”
Autumn shrugged. “You’re what? Twenty-five. You’re right on track.”
“Eight,” Isabel corrected. “I’m twenty-eight, and that’s old lady status in Hollywood-speak. Case in point, my boss is only four years older than me and already an executive producer and showrunner of one of the most popular shows on television and has been for more than four years.”
“Taylor Andrews,” Hadley said. “If she writes it, I’ll watch it.”
Isabel reflected on Taylor, the way she’d run the meeting with such finesse. She kept the writers moving, accepting and rejecting ideas summarily and without hurting anyone’s ego. She knew what she wanted and how to achieve it, which was inspiring. What’s more, her team seemed to really respect her. “She’s good. The real deal.”
“So, you’ll be writing episodes?” Autumn asked. “And if so, which one will the character inspired by me be appearing in? Small business owner with a heart of gold meets a stunning woman with a mysterious past.”
Isabel grinned. “A slam dunk. But as of now, I won’t be writing my own episodes. I don’t have a producer title, so I’ll be used for things like research, script rewrites, or brainstorming.”
“Still incredible to me,” Hadley said, pulling her blond hair into a ponytail and giving her head a shake. “So, are you in love?”
“With Taylor?” Isabel asked automatically.
“No.” Hadley laughed. “I just meant in general, but Taylor Andrews is certainly fair game in regard to the question.”
Autumn leaned in to Isabel. “I should explain that Hadley collects information on the love lives of practically everyone she meets. She’s a wide-eyed romantic.”
“And Autumn exaggerates,” Hadley said, and drank from her Evian bottle. “I’m a naturally curious person who happens to like a good love story.”
Isabel nodded. “Got it.”
“So, you’re gay?” Autumn asked Isabel.
Wow, just like that. “Am I wearing a sign or something?” Isabel asked.
“Not at all, but it would have made this easier.” She shrugged. “You just leapt to the Taylor conclusion way too quickly, so I thought it was a possibility. I hope you don’t think I’m prying. You can tell me to back the hell off and I won’t be offended.”
“I don’t think you’re prying.” It honestly wasn’t a big deal. “I date women, yes.”
“So do I,” a broad-shouldered guy with blond hair said as he passed. His hand went up for a high five and Isabel obliged.
“Who was that?” she asked once he’d passed.
“That would be Barney,” Autumn said. “He’s a tool, but we like him anyway.”
“We do,” Hadley said, nodding. “He lives next door to you. Use him for chores. He loves it. So, you’re not, then?”
“Not gay? No, I am. Very, very gay.”
“Not in love,” Hadley clarified.
“Oh, definitely not in love. Unless you consider vintage video games a relationship.”
“Which ones?” a voice called from behind them. They turned to see the surfer girl heading their way.
“All of them,” Isabel supplied. “But Adventure ranks pretty high, as do Circus, Centipede, Ms. Pac-Man, and Burger Time. But I’d give them all up for the Cyclone pinball game. I search them out as if it were my life’s work.”
“Look out,” Hadley said, grinning widely. “I see a Gia/Izzy bonding moment on the imminent horizon, and it makes me happy.”
Gia strolled to the couches wearing trunks and a bikini top, and Isabel wondered if she was cold beneath the night air. She certainly didn’t seem to be. “Ms. Pac-Man high score?”
Isabel looked skyward. “I don’t want to brag or anything, but we’re talking over 100,000.”
Gia sat on the arm of the couch and smiled down at Isabel. “Where have you been all my life?”
Isabel laughed. “I think there’s a tournament in our future.”
“Name the time and place.”
Autumn raised her hand. “Can I ask a question? What is the difference between Ms. Pac-Man and Pac-Man? I’m sorry if I seem daft.”
“Well, she has a bow,” Isabel deadpanned.
Gia jumped on. “And the ghosts move in random patterns on this one.”
“Yep. Too predictable in Pac-Man.” Isabel shook her head in judgment. “I mean, where’s the challenge?” She pointed at Autumn. “Oh, and Clyde-the-ghost has transitioned to Sue which, in my opinion, is super progressive for the eighties.”
“Gotcha,” Autumn said, glazing over and exchanging a look with Hadley. “While I’m happy you two have found each other, I’m opening tomorrow and should probably head home.”
“It’s not even nine,” Gia pointed out.
“And while you sleep in, I’ll be on the road at five thirty.”
Gia winced and accepted what was left of Autumn’s beer. “I always forget that part. Sorry ’bout that.”
Autumn stood. “I will see you all in the morning for coffee.”
A chorus of “you better believe it” and “I wouldn’t survive otherwise” were her answers.
Isabel looked up at Gia. “So, you’re a surfer?”
“I am.”
“One of the best in California,” Hadley said. “She’s a real-life celebrity.”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Gia said, waving off the categorization.
Hadley grinned proudly. “I would. Tell her your ranking.”
Gia didn’t say anything.
“C’mon. I want to know,” Isabel said, and took a pull of her beer. “Tell me.”
“I’m currently eight.”
“In all of California?” Isabel asked, because this state had a million female surfers. She’d passed them in droves on her way to work.
“In the world,” Hadley countered. “She’s number eight in the Women’s World Surf League.”
Isabel’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”
Hadley pushed forward. “Last month, she was seven and sometimes she’s nine, but you get the general idea.”
“So you’re really good, then.”
“I do okay,” Gia said. She didn’t seem to be the type to toot her own horn, which was admirable. Hadley was all too happy to do it for her, again proving her big heart.
“She’s amazing.” Hadley put her hair back in the ponytail. Hair shuffling seemed to be her thing. “And often on the road during certain parts of the year.”
“Oh, so a tour?” Isabel asked.
“The Samsung Championship Tour,” Hadley told her. “Which is as good as it gets. I’ll take you to watch her practice sometime when you’re free.”
“If you don’t mind,” she said to Gia.
“Nope. Maybe we’ll even get you on a board.”
“For laughs? Because that’s all it would be.” Isabel grinned, as she was beginning to enjoy her neighbors, a first in her life. “Just tell me when. In the meantime, I have to feed my cat and myself in that order.”
“Night, Izzy,” Hadley said.
“Night, you guys. And you, I’m very impressed with,” she said, pointing at Gia as she walked to her apartment.
“Thank you,” Gia said smiling.
“And you know, you’re pretty great yourself,” Isabel said, pointing at Hadley. “I’m not leaving you out. We have a beach date.”
“Counting on it,” Hadley said sincerely. “Get some rest.”
Fifteen minutes later, Fat Tony ate slowly from his dish as Isabel lay flat on her back on Celeste’s couch, staring up at the ceiling with a bowl of ramen on her stomach that she was too tired to eat. Her thoughts drifted to the interplay of the story meeting, the script she’d spent the afternoon polishing for Scruffy, and last but certainly not least, the subtle sway of Taylor’s hips as she’d left Isabel with her assignment.
She had no business ruminating on that last part. No business at all.
Somehow, that didn’t stop her.
*****
The following Tuesday, the clock in Taylor’s kitchen read 6:05 when she emerged from her bedroom, dressed and ready for work in a T-shirt, blazer, and heels. Mornings were hard for Taylor, who required a little extra time before her ambition, not to mention her lucidity, floated back down to her from her night of slumber. Perhaps she was slow to wake up because sleep was scarce these days. But then, when had it ever been bountiful? She’d been slogging away in LA for the past ten years, working extra hours to prove herself in the world of television, widely dominated by men. She’d burned the midnight oil and then some, simply trying to keep up.
She took a fortifying sip of the coffee she’d brewed purposefully strong and watched as the California sun peeked from the horizon, casting ribbons of orange, pink, and red. Her home in the Hollywood Hills was inarguably her proudest possession and had cost her a good portion of her savings. Not only did it boast jaw-dropping views that left her guests envious, but the higher elevation had her feeling as if the house was her own little escape. Plus, because it was her first purchase post-divorce, the place felt innately…hers.
“Raisin!” she called to her dog, who was last seen snuggled up in his dog bed, paws tucked beneath him. “Time for the car!” That did it. Almost instantly at the word, she heard the clicking of his little paws on the hardwood and then his sleepy little face appeared around the corner. Raisin eyed her to be sure the promise was legitimate, and when he saw her extract his blue leash from the closet, he leapt into action, racing and twirling like a lovable maniac. She had to maneuver his excited little body in creative ways just to get him into his harness.
“Who’s ready to go make a TV show? This dog is.” Another twirl until, not sure what to do with himself anymore, he flipped onto his back in surrender. She ruffled the fur on his soft belly as he squirmed.
Distantly, she registered the repetitive vibration of her phone where it rested on the kitchen counter, but she’d learned not to jump at the sound or she’d never stop. When you’re the executive producer, a myriad of people need things from you at all hours of the day and night. Some of those people would have to wait.
With Raisin ready for the commute, she snatched her phone and bag and headed to the door. She glanced casually at the readout to see that the most recent message came from Aspen.
I’ll be wearing the blue scarf today. The one you think matches my eyes.
Taylor closed her eyes, and her soul sank. She’d learned many lessons during her time in television, but none rang truer than what she’d learned from getting involved with Aspen Wakefield: Don’t sleep with people you work with. Do. Not. Especially when that person is vitally important to the success of your show. The relationship between her and her lead actress had only lasted four months, but oh, had it been a fiery four months, in more ways than one. Aspen was beautiful, smart, and successful. She also required a hell of a lot of attention and came with a temper she unleashed when she didn’t get enough. Aspen also didn’t seem to remember that the relationship had ended when she made out with a woman in the bathroom of a restaurant during a dinner party in Malibu. And now Taylor found herself in a difficult spot. She had two goals on that front: 1. Keep Aspen happy. 2. Keep her at arm’s length. If she could accomplish both, she’d keep her show on track and her sanity in check. As for the text, she’d see Aspen at the table read that morning. No need to respond and encourage her further.
Taylor was routinely fifteen minutes early to the table read, and strategically so. If that week’s director had any concerns about the script, she wanted to hear it right off the bat, so she and her staff could look for fixes during the read. It also gave her a chance to say hello to the actors, as those deliberate check-ins often served to head off problems before they could start. She made her way to the soundstage and joined the small group that was already gathering around the long table the cast would read from while the creatives listened. Assistants prepped each chair with notepads and bottles of water.
“Luke, how are you?” Taylor smiled widely at the actor who played Thomas, the same character Isabel Chase thought should be paired with Lisette. While the concept sounded ludicrous at the time, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. Maybe Isabel saw something she’d missed.
“Taylor,” he said warmly, as he took her hand. “I’m great. Excited to hear what you all have in store for us this week.”
“You’re about to find out. And pucker up,” she said, by way of a hint.
Luke laughed. “Aha. Things are moving along with Karen, then.”
“Full steam.” There was, in fact, a scene in this episode where Thomas surprised Karen, Lisette’s younger sister, with flowers on her front porch after a rough day in court. While the coupling had been conceived as endgame, the probably stupid notion of a Thomas/Lisette pairing hung over her like a pushy little alarm clock that she couldn’t seem to snooze.
Luke stepped forward. “Hey, I know you’re busy, but I’d love to bend your ear about some thoughts I had about Thomas’s trajectory next season. It might be somewhat, I don’t know, premature, but if you have time.”
“My door is always open.” It was her standard reply to the actors, whom she very much valued. She wanted them to know she welcomed their input, though it didn’t mean she’d use it in the end. She had to focus on the bigger picture.
“Great. I’ll stop by next week.”
“I look forward to chatting.”
She turned in time to see Isabel approach the craft services table and pour herself a cup of coffee. Today, she sported a low and loose ponytail, a slim-fitting plaid skirt, and a black top. Taylor had no clue why she paid attention. Except that she sadly did and hated her lecherous self. While the entire writing staff wasn’t required to attend the table reads, many did, and she’d specifically wanted Isabel to sit in and learn the ropes. Taylor crossed the room and joined Isabel, pouring a second cup of the day for herself. She should buy stock in coffee the way she fiendishly blew through it.
“Surviving your second week?” Taylor asked, as she reached for the creamer.
Isabel looked over at her, and pink dusted her cheeks.
Taylor stifled the thought that it was cute.
“Yeah, it’s a faster pace than I was expecting, but I’m holding my own. At least I think I am.” She lowered her voice. “Do you think I am?”
Taylor smiled. “I do. And this read-through will be educational as well. Sit next to me so I can guide you through it.”
“Okay, sure. That’d be really helpful. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Taylor believed strongly that understanding the larger mechanism of the show and how it all happened helped shape a writer’s work. When they got to see it all play out, they tended to grasp that the show existed on a budget and under the thumb of the network. Taylor was a big believer in not only utilizing her writers, but developing them for the business of television. She wanted them to walk away from this job ready to conquer the next one.
“Did you happen to get a chance to look at that dialogue rewrite from last week? Just wondered if I’m on the right track. Scruffy handed me his most recent draft to tweak.”
Taylor opened her mouth to answer and was halted by the hand that snaked around her waist. “Now, this is a nice look for you,” Aspen said. “The jacket says power, the T-shirt says creative.”
“I think I was just going for dressed and out the door.” Taylor delicately stepped forward and extracted herself from Aspen’s arm, feigning a search for sweetener. Not only was the contact unprofessional, it was long past its expiration date.
“I don’t believe we’ve met before,” Aspen said, eying Isabel. “Aspen Wakefield. I play Lisette.”
“I know.” Isabel beamed the way everyone who met Aspen did. “A pleasure to meet you. Isabel Chase. I’m the new staff writer. I’ll try not to blow anything for you.”
Aspen’s eyes lit up. She had a way of making people feel important, which wasn’t a horrible quality. “A new member of the Water family! We’re so happy to have you. Taylor is the best boss anyone could ask for. You’re going to love it here.”
Taylor suppressed an eye roll at Aspen’s compliment, because there was always an ulterior motive. “I don’t know about that,” she said conservatively. “But I do have an eye for talent.”
Isabel bowed her head in thanks.
“Shall we?” They adjourned to the table, and the reading commenced. Throughout, she vacillated between watching the actors as they read and listening with her eyes closed. The script they were reading that day was one she wrote personally, and this was the first opportunity she’d had to hear the actors give voice to her words. There were several clunky lines that were apparent right off the bat. She made notes in her script to rework them ASAP and silently pointed them out to Isabel, who nodded. She was wearing that perfume again, and it reminded Taylor of those fresh fruit salads her mother would make on hot summer days. There was something comforting in that.
They approached the third act of the episode in which Lisette advises Thomas to go to her sister, that she desperately needs him. Only now a new subtext rose to the surface, the selfless Lisette once again sidelining her own feelings for someone else’s, this time her younger sister. Taylor had her eyes closed as she listened to the words, but they flew open as the scene progressed. She watched the actors who sat side by side, and damn it if they didn’t set off a few million fireworks. How had she missed this?
She turned wide-eyed to Isabel, who nodded knowingly.
As they walked back to their building later, Taylor turned to her. “I can’t believe it, but you were right. There’s something there.”
Isabel nodded. “And there are many different directions you can take it.”
“We can take it,” Taylor corrected. “We’re all on one team.”
“Right. Right. We.”
“Write up some ideas and send them my way. Preferably by tomorrow morning. If I’m going to drop a few clues in this week’s script, I’ll need to get the rewrites done quickly.”
“I’m on it.” Isabel nodded and headed off to her cubicle, seemingly energized by the validation. Taylor couldn’t help but smile to herself as she headed back to her office to look at this week’s script with new eyes.
“You have a visitor,” Scarlett said as she passed. “I told her you were booked but—”
“Aspen?”
Scarlett nodded apologetically. “She doesn’t take no for an answer.”
“No, she doesn’t,” Taylor said, knowing all too well. “Raisin?”
“Asleep on my foot.”
“I’m sorry. I can take him.” She moved to Scarlett’s desk, until Scarlett held up a hand.
“I actually kind of like him there.”
Scarlett was good people. Taylor smiled at the soft snore emanating from the floor. “If you don’t see Aspen exit my office in five minutes, call my desk line with an emergency.”
“Way ahead of you.”
Taylor sighed, gulped in some air, and opened the door to her office, ready to play nice with Aspen for a few minutes before shipping her back to the set. But Aspen was nowhere to be seen. That’s when she saw that her desk chair faced the window. The blinds had been closed. “Aspen? Scarlett said you—”
“Close the door,” Aspen said. At the sound of the click, the chair swiveled around to reveal Aspen wearing the same pencil skirt from the read-through, a pair of heels, and nothing else.
Taylor blinked and quickly faced the wall. “Aspen, what the hell? C’mon now.”
Taylor heard her stand and then the clack, clack, clack of her heels on the floor. “You used to love it when I surprised you in your office.”
“That was different. We’re business associates now. And you’re naked.”
“We’ve known each other a long time now, Taylor. You’re telling me we’re not friends?”
She felt Aspen’s fingers run down the back of her jacket and she closed her eyes. “No, we’re friends.”
“Good. Nothing has changed if you think about it. Turn around.” Taylor reluctantly did as she was asked, thinking through how to delicately handle what she’d just walked into. Setting Aspen off was the last thing she wanted to do. They had a day of work ahead of them, and it was in her best interest to not summon Hurricane Aspen if she could work around it. Embracing that plan, she focused on Aspen’s face, on her mouth anywhere but—dammit. She hated herself for looking. Aspen’s body hadn’t been the problem. She was gorgeous, heaven sent. She was also selfish, manipulative, and maybe even a little crazy. Aspen smirked at Taylor’s misstep, knowing her power.
“It’s okay to look. You can touch if you want to, too. I remember how much you like them.”
No, no, no. As Aspen moved closer, Taylor stepped around her to the chair where she retrieved the discarded blouse. “A lot has changed, Aspen. You know that. And it’s important, for the sake of the show, that you and I keep our relationship in perspective.” She held out the blouse and waited what seemed like a year before Aspen accepted it and slowly slipped her arms into the sleeves, leaving it unbuttoned. Perfect. Taylor couldn’t help but wonder what she’d done with her bra.
“All I’m saying is that we have fun together, and you know it.”
Taylor flashed to Aspen hurling glassware at a wall just two months ago. “Tons. But now we have a job to do.”
Aspen flashed a smile. “If we must. This week’s script is très juicy. I really love it when you write the words I’m going to say.”
“Yeah, well, it’s my job.”
A knock at the door. A knock? Scarlett must have forgotten the logistics of the plan. “Come in,” Aspen called.
“What? No,” Taylor said, but it was too late. The door flung open and there stood Isabel, laptop in hand. She looked from Taylor to Aspen to Aspen’s unbuttoned and parted blouse.
“I can come back. Apologies.”
“No apology necessary,” Aspen said, buttoning her blouse.
“Impressive,” Isabel said, and stared at the floor.
Aspen laughed. “Why, thank you. I’m late for rehearsal. Taylor, we’ll talk later.” Isabel stepped back and Aspen breezed past, looking every bit satisfied with herself.
Taylor did what she did best and remained calm in the face of shame. “What can I help you with?” she asked Isabel, who must have a million wild questions racing through her brain.
“Oh. It was just…I wanted to ask…” Isabel shook her head. “I honestly don’t remember, because that was…not what I expected.”
“No, I’m sure it wasn’t. Well, let me know if you do remember. I have a lunch with the network.”
Isabel nodded several times and headed off down the hallway.
For whatever reason, Taylor couldn’t let it go. She hated what Isabel had just walked in on. Not only did it look bad, it was a wildly inaccurate representation of the truth. She couldn’t let it stand. “Isabel, wait.” She caught up with her halfway down the hall.
“Yep?” she asked.
Taylor shook her head as she tried to settle on the appropriate words. “What you saw back there was not at all what it looked like, I can assure you.”
“Got it. We can just forget all about the boobs. Really.”
“I appreciate that. But it matters to me.”
Isabel’s features softened and Taylor felt herself relax. She took note of the interesting cause and effect. “Okay.”
“Full disclosure. Aspen and I used to date. We don’t anymore. She hasn’t exactly moved on, and maybe I’m saying too much, but for whatever reason, I needed you to know.”
Isabel nodded and held Taylor’s gaze. “I appreciate you trusting me with that information. Exes can be tricky. Especially ones that get naked in your office looking the way she does. Are you sure you want it to be over, because I might be overstepping, but…”
Taylor quirked a smile. “You don’t hold back, do you?”
“I really should. My mouth gets me in so much trouble.”
“I had a suspicion.” They smiled at each other. “Do you remember what it was you came to ask?”
Isabel shook her head. She had an amazing smile, and from what Taylor could tell, it came in a variety of forms. Who knew so much could be communicated with a smile selection? She felt her cheeks heat, prompting her to glance away, hoping that little detail went unnoticed. “Right. Well. I better head to lunch, then.” She turned and headed off down the hallway on unsteady feet, leaving Isabel probably wondering why she was cursed with such a lunatic for a boss.
“Taylor!” Scarlett called out as she approached the building with Raisin in tow. “Oh my God. Raisin woke up and I took him for a potty break and completely forgot about our plan.”
“I’ll kill you later rather than sooner, but only because I have to get to lunch.”
Scarlett threw a glance over her shoulder to be sure no one was in earshot. “Was it bad?”
“If you call a naked crazy woman in your office bad, then bad. Very bad. No more granting her access to my office when I’m out. She cannot be trusted.”
Scarlett’s jaw went slack as she followed Taylor to the parking lot. “Taylor, I’m so sorry. I won’t let her in again. It’s just that when she wants something she’s just so…”
“Presumptive?”
Scarlett pushed her glasses up on her nose. “I was going to say scary. She happens to terrify me.”
Taylor knew all too well. “Just make up an excuse. Tell her my office is closed for fumigation. That the Secret Service is scouring it for hidden recording devices. Literally anything.”
Scarlett nodded. “I can do that.”
“Oh, and Isabel walked in on the whole thing.”
“You should really fire me,” Scarlett explained in horror.
“I wish I could, but you know where all the bodies are buried.” She bumped Scarlett’s shoulder in solidarity.
A ghost of a smile appeared. “That’s true. I have that to cling to.”
Taylor knelt and pulled Raisin into her arms. “After lunch, you’re coming with me, mister. No more cheating on me with Scarlett. I don’t care if she’s extra nice to you.” Raisin whined softly and rested his head on Taylor’s shoulder. She, in turn, became a puddle of goo on the sidewalk. “I think someone’s ready for his afternoon snooze.” She kissed his warm cheek and handed him over to Scarlett. “See you in an hour once the network has been officially schmoozed.”
An hour later, however, Taylor felt she had done anything but. After saying a few hellos to familiar industry faces, she’d settled into a table by the window at Cecconi’s in West Hollywood. She loved the restaurant with its leather-backed turquoise chairs and perfectly spaced dining area. Gerald arrived shortly, and it appeared he’d gained even more weight than the last time she’d seen him. His stomach pulled further outward and his shirt size had not been adjusted. He’d always been a stubborn bastard, but she worried for his heart. To no one’s surprise, he ordered his standard bourbon and Coke and paired it with a marbled ribeye. For lunch. Knowing he hated to drink alone, she’d gone with the lighter choice of a Chardonnay and the salmon special.
“We should do this more often,” she told him, once their drinks arrived.
He nodded. “Always good to see you, sweetheart. You know I have a, uh, high regard for you and your show. You’re my ringer.”
Things went downhill from there. After the tiniest bit of chitchat, he leveled the news.
“We’re moving Water to Mondays at ten effective next month.”
Her glass of Chardonnay went still midway to her mouth, but only temporarily. Taylor played it cool as always, sipping slowly, knowing how important it was to never show any signs of weakness. “Is that so?” Moving the show from its prime spot at nine on Thursday would prove disastrous. Not only was Monday an undesirable time slot, but the less dedicated viewers wouldn’t go out of their way to seek them out when they went missing on the schedule. It was a lose-lose, and a pill she was not about to swallow.
“I’m sure you’re not surprised,” Gerald said. “We’re into a fifth season on Water. It’s an important show for the network, but we have to keep our eyes on the future. You, uh, understand the old TV game.”
“Sending us out to pasture a tad early, don’t you think, Gerald?” She said it with her most serene smile firmly in place.
He tossed back a slug of bourbon. “Have you seen the early numbers?”
“I have. It’s just a blip. We have a big season ahead.”
He chuckled dismissively. “Well, you’ll have to have it on Mondays. It’s a, uh, done deal.”
The telltale stammer had yet to evaporate, which meant there was more to this whole thing. She sat back in her chair and regarded him, searching for clues. She met his stare and didn’t back down. She could play ball if that’s what he wanted. “Nothing’s a done deal in this town and you know it, so cut the bullshit, Gerald, and put it on the table so we can tussle over it here and now. What is it you want?”
He eyed her and she knew she wasn’t wrong. “Sister Dale.”
“The stupid nun show? What about it?”
“It’s tanking.”
“You’re damn right it’s tanking. Unless you have Sally Field and a time machine, a primetime series about a convent was never going to find a solid audience in a world of grande Frappuccinos and Twitter feuds. Who greenlit that anyway?”
“It’s Ted’s daughter’s show.”
And there it was. Theodore Larkin was the president of WCN and apparently didn’t have a problem with nepotism. In an unfortunate coincidence, she knew his daughter, Lyric, from high school. She was precocious, out of touch, and entitled. She also had a mean streak of which the high school version of Taylor had been the target for years. “I see,” she said conservatively. Taylor didn’t hate anyone, but Lyric topped the “not a friend of mine” list.
Gerald drained his bourbon and Coke. “It needs a patch job. Someone who can step in and get the narrative back on track. Tutor the kid on how to speak with directors. Show her some things.”
“You want me to swoop in and save it.” She closed her eyes. The concept of dealing with Lyric Larkin was hell on a stick, but stepping away from her own show to do it was what body-slammed her. “Tell me you’re kidding. Gerald, you and I both know that I’ve worked too hard to babysit.”
He waved her off. “It’s temporary. Get the show back on its feet and ride off into the sunset as the hero who saved the network.”
She sat forward. “I don’t care about being a hero, and the network can take care of itself. I have my own show to run.”
He shrugged. “So you go back and forth. Let Scruffy take the wheel in your absence.”
“Like hell.” She sipped her wine slowly. She would not let him see her unravel. “No one gets along with Scruffy. It’s his goal in life to taunt others. I’d come back to World War Three.”
“Then the girl producer. What’s her name?”
Taylor sighed. “She’s a woman, Gerald, with grown children of her own, and I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.” She pinched the bridge of her nose.
“Look at it this way. You come out smelling like roses, Taylor. Save that floundering show and you prove there’s nothing you can’t do. You’ll be writing your own ticket.”
She met his eyes calmly, all the while dying inside. “When do they need me?”
He handed his credit card to the waiter. “Yesterday.”
And just like that, she watched her perfectly choreographed life flutter away like shredded tissue in the Santa Ana wind.
*****
Isabel rolled her shoulders, pumped and ready to get to work. In less than two weeks working on the show, a suggestion she’d made was taking off, and she didn’t want to lose momentum. This was her shot and she was not about to blow it. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and popped on her baseball cap, a ritual that seemed to help her focus. Staring at a blank canvas (in this case, the wall of her very gray cubicle) helped her mind tumble into the land of make-believe.
She spent time exploring the ins and outs of the characters as she’d come to know them. Lisette was levelheaded and kind, which, in the scheme of things, could be boring. If she were to prey upon her sister’s boyfriend, she’d face an intense internal conflict and draw ire from the other family members. Plus, forbidden love could be hot. Viewers would be outraged but wouldn’t be able to look away. The smartest route was to put Thomas with the younger sister, make her the happiest she’d ever been in her entire little-sister-life, all the while back-channeling a sparks-laden relationship with Lisette behind the scenes, leaving Lisette the choice to deprive herself or break the highest code of honor there was.
She made notes throughout the afternoon—not scenes per se, as she wasn’t tasked with writing those yet, but details of what potential scenes might be comprised of.
Just after eight, she leaned back in her desk chair with one hand on her aching neck and one on her keyboard. Time to call it a day. She was proud of herself and some of the proposals she’d come up with and looked forward to sharing them with Taylor…whose light was still on. Well, look at that. She glanced around as she exited Cubicle Village, which was a ghost town. Dare she knock?
She did. She dared.
“It’s open,” she heard in response to her double knock. She swung the door open to find Taylor shrugging into her blazer. Her makeup had faded from the long day, but her friendly smile hadn’t. God, she was easy to like.
“What’s up?” she asked Isabel, her tone just as friendly as the smile.
Isabel lost her train of thought, blinded once again by her over-the-top attraction to Taylor, and the way Taylor’s eyes shone brightly when she really looked at you, like she was right now. She blinked to refocus, because those eyes… “I was going to see if you had a second to talk Lisette and Thomas.”
She hesitated. “I always have time to talk story, but I have to get out of here. It’s been one of those days where nothing really goes right.”
Isabel flashed to the scene she’d interrupted between Taylor and Aspen earlier. “Don’t give it another thought, boss. We can chat tomorrow.”
Taylor glanced up, seemingly amused. “Did you just call me ‘boss’?”
Isabel nodded. “I did, yeah. I’m sorry. Did that sound flippant? I’ve been told I can come off flippant when I don’t mean to be.”
“That’s okay. Sometimes I can come off as judgmental when I don’t mean to be. Like now.” She eyed Isabel as if circling around an idea. “Would you be up for a drink while we talk shop? I need to get off this lot. Two birds.”
“Sure. I’d love one.” She pointed at Raisin, who sat in his dog bed heartily chewing on a giant rawhide bone twice the size of his face. “Would he?”
“I know it’s surprising, but Raisin’s not a big drinker. He is, however, excellent at sitting outside. There’s a spot across the street, Bo Jangles, and it’s a nice night.”
Isabel grinned. “I’m in. Let’s do it.”
Taylor grabbed her keys. “I’ll meet you there in ten.”
Turned out Taylor was right. While Isabel hadn’t been outdoors since early that morning, the night had shaped up to be serene with only a touch of a chill in the air. A cocktail would chase it away rather quickly.
As they waited on their drinks, Taylor turned to her. “What were you doing with yourself before accepting my offer?”
“Is this still part of the interview?”
Taylor winced. “Sorry. No. I was honestly just curious. Let me try again.” She made a show of loosening her shoulders, rolling her head around. “So, what was your last gig, or whatever? No big deal.”
Isabel laughed. “That was an awful impersonation of casual.”
“Hey!” Taylor said, joining her in laughter. “I should at least get some points for effort.”
“Fine. But maybe don’t ever do that again. You just be you. Put together and smart.”
“So? What was it? Your last job?” She rested the side of her head on her fist and Isabel felt the butterflies.
“I’m afraid, with all due respect, I can’t tell you that.”
“CIA?” Taylor deadpanned.
Isabel laughed at the unexpected leap. She wasn’t aware of Taylor’s humor, but then again, her scripts were laced with tons of it. Made sense that it would transfer to the real-life woman. It was charming and a nice surprise. “I wish.”
“Me too. We’d have built-in research on a future storyline.” She stirred her whiskey sour and Isabel couldn’t help but notice her hands, slender and feminine.
“Well, now I’m filled with regret.”
“Don’t be,” Taylor said dismissively. “We’ll find a way, even if we have to enlist Scruffy on the fly.”
“I don’t think he’s happy about my joining the staff.” The words were out of her mouth before she’d carefully weighed the wisdom of such a confession. She didn’t want to seem needy or weak. In fact, she wanted to project the opposite.
However, Taylor didn’t balk. “Scruffy’s an asshole. To everyone. It’s just how he was born. He happens to be a talented asshole, so we keep him. But if you’re looking for advice—”
“I am.”
“Give it back to him in spades. It’s what he responds to.”
“Now that, I can definitely do.”
“From what I’ve seen, you can. So now tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Isabel asked.
“What you were doing before coming out to LA.” There was smiling, lots of eye contact, and a playful back and forth. Were they flirting? Isabel was fairly confident they were. It felt like the best kind of drug. “You’ve made a secret out of it, so I can’t resist. I’m like Nancy Drew with a bone when it comes to people’s backstories. It’s the character writer in me. So, dish.”
Isabel smiled at the imagery and knew there was no way around the truth. “It’s humiliating, but I’ll tell you.” She sighed. “While you were running television as we know it, I was waiting tables in New Hampshire until the next writing gig came around the mountain. The former ensures the latter by design.”
Taylor looked intrigued yet uncertain. “You might have to explain that one to me.”
“Well, if I took a job I could tolerate, I’d get complacent. Lose my drive to make it as a screenwriter and lay up with the tolerable job. Food service is hell, however, which forced me to keep the writing momentum going.”
Taylor sipped her drink delicately. “That’s admirable, Isabel. I envy that kind of hunger. How’s the drink?”
Isabel set down her Chianti. “It’s smooth.”
“Mine is already working.” She gestured to her glass, her eyes widened, signaling the strength of the booze. “They don’t hold back here.”
“Good.”
Taylor laughed, and it was melodic. “Why good?”
“So, when you’re slightly on the tipsy side, I can bend your ear with all of my industry questions and not feel as foolish. Plus, it also helps me get to know you better.”
She studied Isabel. “You’re fearless, aren’t you?”
“I’m not. But I’m good at pretending.” She flashed on her most recent panic attack before shoving it aggressively from her mind. Not now. Not when she was having such a nice time. “What I am is ambitious and sitting across from someone I admire.”
“You’re sweet.”
She shook her head. “I’m honest.” Isabel decided to seize the opportunity. “What made you want to executive produce as well as write?”
“Now who’s the interviewer?” Taylor rested her chin on her palm, and Isabel stopped breathing for a moment as goose bumps prickled her skin.
“It’s only fair.” Her thought was interrupted by Raisin, who chose that moment to yawn loudly and at a very high pitch. She and Taylor chuckled, as did the occupants of the neighboring table.
Taylor reached down and gave his head a pat. “Raisin has had quite a day.”
“He did. He spent half of it asleep in my lap.”
Taylor’s eyes went wide. “He did?”
“Don’t worry about it. He seems to like my lap. Plus, it was the most action I’ve seen in months.”
Taylor nearly spat her drink across the table, which made Isabel laugh and hold her hand out to make sure she was okay. Taylor sputtered into a coughing fit, pounded her chest a few times, and finally sat back in her chair, wiping her eyes. “You have to warn a person.”
“Sometimes they just fly out of my mouth.”
“I’m learning. And you know what? I think I like that about you, Isabel Chase.”
“Finally.” That’s when Isabel noticed something remarkable. The piercing green eyes that had captivated her over the past two weeks were now distinctly gray. How in the world had that happened? Those eyes alone had her coming apart, her skin humming pleasantly, her whole body warm.
“But, to answer your question…”
Right, there had been a question.
“The executive producer title ensures I have the last word. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a control freak.” As the waiter passed, she signaled him for a second. “I try not to be when it comes to the writing staff, but the network is another story. I need it to be my show, my way. And if you get your own show one day, fight tooth and nail for that title. There’s nothing worse than an EP who doesn’t share your vision.”
“Trust me when I tell you that I’m jotting notes.” About so many things. Taylor had the hint of a dimple on her right cheek and a freckle just to the side of her eye.
“While we’re on the topic of work, I want to apologize again for earlier. Mortified does not begin to cover the feelings that came out of that…scenario.”
“We’ve already done the apologizing. We all have exes. Some are just more famous than others.”
“That’s true,” Taylor said, deflating.
Isabel dipped her head. “Hey, I didn’t mean that as a hit.”
“Yeah, well, if you’re still taking notes, that’s another. Don’t sleep with the people you work with. Especially if they’re more powerful than they are stable.” Well, that was an unfortunate revelation.
Isabel lowered her voice. “Aspen’s not stable?”
“I exaggerate.” Taylor’s second drink arrived and she took a moment with it. “She’s less than predictable. That’s a better way to explain her.”
Isabel had always been good at reading people, and the look on Taylor’s face suggested she was backpedaling from perhaps too much honesty. “Fair enough.”
“I can’t believe I ordered a second. I never do that, which says something about my day.”
“How long were you together? If you don’t mind my asking, and I fully realize you might.”
“Four months.” She shook her head. “I knew it was an awful idea after two.”
“I once had an ex steal my identity, if that helps. My credit has still not recovered.”
Taylor covered Isabel’s hand with her own. “Bless you.” When she pulled her hand back, the air between them was thicker. They’d both noticed that touch, the spark, and the smiles had all but faded. Isabel was confident that alcohol had stolen the safety of inhibition, and if this were any other woman, she’d go out of her way to take this one step further. But she wasn’t stupid. Taylor Andrews was out of her league and had just announced she’d sworn off work-related romance.
“We’re going to be friends, aren’t we?” a slightly tipsy Taylor asked with a shy smile.
Isabel nodded. “I think we are.”
“This ex, did he go to jail?”
“She did not. She journeyed into the world to ruin the lives of many more to come.”
Taylor paused as if something important had just occurred.
Another long silence ensued. Taylor sat back and Isabel smiled, reaching down to pat Raisin on the head. The street lamp to their left buzzed and the table nearby laughed. Isabel was enjoying herself. And though she wasn’t positive, tonight felt significant.