Chapter Nine
Taylor luxuriated in the feeling of being back on home turf. She’d even brought snacks for the script meeting, hot little pigs in a blanket. Okay, she’d ordered pastries for the meeting, but the thought was there, right? People would appreciate that. She made a point to arrive in the writers’ room first and smiled and greeted each member of her staff as they filed in. Why was she nervous and obsessively grasping at the sleeve of her suit jacket? She never did that.
Kathleen and Isabel walked in with their heads together in a quiet chat. She hadn’t seen Isabel since their cafeteria run-in some weeks back. She looked…amazing, and seemed more sure of herself and in control—that is, until she met Taylor’s eyes and her smile faltered. She offered the briefest of nods before heading to her chair at the table, her cheeks coloring noticeably.
Conversely, Kathleen made her way to the front of the room to greet Taylor. Normally, her gray hair was pinned neatly into a bun. Today, a handful of strands fell haphazardly from the pins, as if escaping a house fire. “Am I glad to see you,” she said quietly, as the other writers made small talk.
“Oh, come on. It can’t have been that bad.”
Kathleen frowned. “I had no idea how much you did around here. I come with a newfound respect. Over these past few weeks, I’ve barely had time to sleep.”
“You’re sweet. I’m just a phone call away if you need anything. I mean that.”
“I didn’t want to bother you.”
Taylor smiled sweetly. “I’d much rather you bother me than be blindsided with a script I’m not on board with.”
Kathleen hesitated. “I anticipated that. Give me time to convince you.”
“I’m willing to listen.” But she carried lingering doubt. Kathleen had returned Taylor’s email the night before and had been quite receptive to the criticism. However, to her credit, she’d held her ground and they’d agreed to table the discussion until the script meeting.
“How are things on Sister Dale?” Kathleen asked as she took her seat next to Taylor.
She met Kathleen’s gaze. “It’s a shit-show, no pun intended, and it’s sucking my soul into a never-ending oblivion of dreck. Shall we begin?”
Kathleen offered a curt nod. “Let’s.”
After a few welcome-backs from her staff, Taylor kicked off the weekly script meeting in which they’d critique the most recently completed script, in this case, Isabel’s. The staff would have already read the script with the goal being to suggest improvements, point out roadblocks, and make sure the storyline advancements fit with what the other writers had been (and would be) writing in the future.
“It’s bold,” Scruffy said, kicking them off. “It’s not something I would expect from Lisette, which is both positive and a shot in the foot.” He ran a hand up and down his beard thoughtfully. “We might be showing our footprints.”
“So, you think it’s heavy-handed,” Taylor said. Validation already. This was going well. More of this, please, so she could safely back them away from this pitfall.
“I didn’t say that.” He glanced at Isabel. “The cub over there has brought us a script that’s either brilliant or a disaster. I haven’t decided which.”
Isabel nodded, but said nothing.
Lyle sat tall with a burst of energy. “I’m just gonna say it. I hated it. I hated it a whole lot, and then I loved it. Finally, the Goody Two-shoes sibling is shaking it up. It’s time.”
“I had the same reaction when I first heard the direction Isabel wanted to take this episode,” Kathleen said. “But it seems to me that she’s right. We’d already agreed on the Lisette/Thomas storyline. This episode just speeds us along.”
“Right about what?” Taylor asked, feeling flabbergasted by her team’s response and more than a little defensive. Maybe more so because having been away for the past few weeks had her feeling like an outsider.
“This is the time to go balls to the wall,” Isabel said, finally speaking up. “That’s what I told Kathleen, and it’s a sentiment I stand by. The show has played it safe for years now, keeping Lisette on some pedestal while her siblings cause all the trouble.”
Taylor jumped in. “And will you stand by it if this is our jumping the shark moment and our numbers fall even further?” A pause as she glanced around the room. “Yeah, I didn’t think so.” She took a seat, frustrated that she didn’t see what her team did. Faced with a moment where she had to decide whether to lead or delegate, Taylor took the hard line. She scanned the faces of her staff. “I think we have to reshuffle. Cedric, we’ll move your episode, 409, in place of Isabel’s. It will require some minor rewriting for continuity, but it’s what’s going to happen.” She saw Isabel out of the corner of her eye fixate on her script, shrinking into herself in either anger or dejection, making notes in the margins of her pages. She offered zero eye contact, which meant she was taking this hard. She’d been sidelined on her first time out, and Taylor knew how much it must burn. Fortunately, she didn’t have the time to fixate on the feelings of a fledgling staff member, no matter how much she strangely wanted to and no matter how much Isabel’s reaction affected her.
“Let’s map it all out.” Taylor moved to the whiteboard as details of their upcoming storylines were sequenced and cross-checked. Isabel seemed to perk back up and offered several suggestions on how to make the reshuffle work. She hadn’t directed any of her comments to Taylor, however, and that said something. When they finished the restructure, the writers scattered to embark upon their respective assignments. “Isabel, if we could talk in my office?”
It took her a moment to answer, when she did her voice was clipped. “Be right there.”
Taylor didn’t look back as she exited the room, but after a slight delay heard the sound of footsteps behind her. There would be no value in sitting behind her desk for this particular conversation, so she instead sat in one of the chairs across from it. When Isabel arrived in her doorway, she gestured for her to sit in the other one. “Would you mind closing the door?”
Isabel took a seat and turned to Taylor expectantly.
“I know you’re unhappy.”
“I’m fine,” Isabel said, but there was no hint of a smile, no smart-ass remark that Taylor had come to learn was her signature. Her demeanor was flat and sharp, which said it all.
Taylor’s job, however, was to remain calm and in charge. As such, she needed to tamp down her own emotional reaction to letting Isabel down, because why the hell did it matter? She took control of her voice. “You’re not fine, and that’s to be expected. What I need you to know is that the script itself is excellent. You’re just ahead of yourself in the narrative.”
Isabel nodded, her eyes still dull. “I defer to your opinion. You know a lot more than I do.” She stood and turned to the door, seemingly unaffected and beautiful, but probably pissed off underneath it all. She opened her mouth as if she just had to say something and then closed it again.
“You can say it, you know.”
She met Taylor’s gaze. “Say what?”
“That it sucks. That I’m wrong.”
“Well, you are.” Her beautiful blue eyes flared.
Aha, there was the fire Taylor knew was bubbling beneath the surface. Somehow it felt better to have it leveled on her overtly. “It’s possible.”
Isabel stepped forward, as if with that one sentence, she had unleashed the rest, like a boulder rolling downhill. “It’s a good script and we should shoot it. On schedule. Take a chance, Taylor. Maybe I shouldn’t be saying all of this, but I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight if I didn’t. Fire me, but I have to stand up for myself on this one.”
Taylor shook her head. “I know what’s best for the show.”
“Which is why you’re in charge, but maybe you’re too close to it. I’ve been on the outside looking in for a while now, and I feel like I have a perspective that might be unique.” It was a bold thing to say, and she saw the recognition flicker in Isabel’s eyes just as she started to backpedal. “Maybe I’m naïve and going to regret all of this tomorrow, but I’m asking you to reconsider.”
What the hell? Was she actually considering Isabel’s request? Taylor sighed. She was splitting her time between shows, barely sleeping, distracted by a new hire, and really, what the damn hell did she have to lose? Her staff was on board and ratings were slipping. Maybe going out on this limb would pay off. She doubted it, but maybe.
“Fine. Let’s do it.”
Isabel narrowed her gaze as if not quite believing it. “Let’s do what?”
“Let’s shoot it. Your script.”
“No way. You’re not serious.” Isabel studied her, probably trying to assess the turnaround. Taylor passed her a look. “You mean it?”
“Believe it or not, I do.” Taylor sank blissfully into the plush leather of her chair. Now that felt good. So did letting go. She massaged her forehead with one hand. “Would you get everyone back in the writers’ room?”
“Uh, sure.” Isabel turned on her heel, seemingly mystified and probably afraid Taylor would change her mind.
Five minutes later, Taylor took the floor again. She stared at the faces of her staff as they regarded her curiously, awaiting the announcement that had them gathered once again. “Though it’s a reversal, I want to run with Isabel’s episode,” Taylor told them simply.
Kathleen nodded, a small smile taking shape on her lips. Scruffy laughed sardonically at the new turn of events and closed his laptop. Isabel accepted a high five from Candace, who then turned to Taylor.
“It’s the right call, chief.”
Taylor smiled at her. “I appreciate the feedback and your flexibility.”
Scruffy, ever the pessimist, gestured around the room. “So, we just wasted an hour, then?”
She strolled to him. “We’re an artistic mechanism, Scruffy, not a mechanical one. We’re looking to tell the best story possible.”
He shook his head and sat back in a huff. He’d get over it.
They spent the next two hours, well into the evening, troubleshooting Isabel’s script. Certain scenes needed beefing up, while others required scaling back.
“We need a line here,” Taylor said, of the action described in the final scene.
Isabel looked up at her and slid a pencil onto her ear. The action sent warmth to Taylor’s…everywhere. “Well,” Isabel said, “she’s staring across the cabin at him wantonly. My hope was that we convey it all with one look.”
“One look would be nice, but you’re forgetting about the viewer who’s multitasking, which is most of them. Knitting as they watch, making dinner, dealing with kids. We need a line.”
“She’s right,” Cedric said.
Isabel nodded and made a note in the margin of her script. “Got it. I hadn’t considered that.”
Scruffy stared at her. “Why would you? You’re a cub.”
“Shut up, Scruffy,” Isabel said and then tossed him a triumphant smile. It seemed Isabel was finding her footing with the group, and Taylor was happy to see it. Once they were back on track, the writers dispersed. Isabel, however, lingered and met Taylor’s gaze.
“Now I’m nervous.”
She shook her head curtly. “No way. You don’t get to do that. You wrote a killer script. You convinced your EP to run with it even when she said no, and now you have to stand by it, see it through, and nurse this episode into existence.”
Isabel nodded. “I just hope that it doesn’t completely tank.”
“Me too, or you’re fired.”
“I am?”
“I can joke around, too, you know.”
Isabel sighed. “You are not a person I can predict.”
“Good,” Taylor said with a smile. “I think that makes it more interesting.”
“Who? Us? We are interesting.” Silence fell, and Isabel tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “While we have a sec, I just wanted to say thank you. For giving me this shot with the episode.”
“Just doing my job.” Another pause. “Do you want to grab dinner?”
Isabel tilted her head. “Oh.” Taylor’s thoughts sped up as if on a giant hamster wheel and she had trouble settling on any of them. “Really?”
Taylor didn’t know where the invitation had come from other than an instinct she apparently hadn’t tamed. The problem was, she knew this town backward and forward, and most of the people in it bored her. Isabel didn’t. That didn’t make it any less stupid of her to acknowledge it…even to herself.
In salvage mode now, Taylor decided to go for off-the-cuff. Casual. “I figure we could talk about the episode and check the dinner box at the same time.” A lie that she would turn into the truth if it killed her. “We seem to be good at double duty.”
“So, you’re asking me to a working dinner?”
“A working dinner would be correct,” Taylor said. Then she did something idiotic and acted like it just occurred to her how such an invitation might be perceived. “Oh. Oh! I hope you didn’t think I was—no. I wouldn’t do that. I promise.”
Isabel laughed along with her at the abject lunacy, and for the first time she wasn’t just beautiful, she was cute. “Taylor, it’s fine. You don’t have to explain. You desperately want to have dinner with me. I get it. Happens a lot.”
“I have no doubt. You know, now that I think about it. It’s not the best night for me anyway. I’d just end up paying for it tomorrow if I push aside the pile of work I should be focusing on.”
The smile on Isabel’s face dimmed, and it was a shame. “Now I’m sad.”
They stared at each other. “You are?” she asked quietly.
Isabel nodded. “I vote for the dinner. Working…or non-working.”
Taylor forced herself not to swallow as the implication hit home. She’d been down this road earlier in the year with Aspen, who wasn’t even a member of her writing staff. Surely the conflict of interest was worse in this case simply due to proximity alone. Call her stupid, or a glutton for punishment, but she didn’t seem to be able to resist Isabel, who now wore a very persuasive and sexy smile. “Fine. But we should probably go somewhere close, because I—”
“Have a ton of work to get to,” Isabel finished for her. “You say that a lot.”
Taylor nodded.
Isabel nodded.
The air around them felt thick and a little bit delicious in the most forbidden way. It was dinner, not her bedroom. She was doing nothing wrong…technically.
“I get to pick the place this time,” Isabel said.
“You do?”
“Yes, and I want hot dogs. More specifically hot dogs from Pink’s. I read about the place online, and I need to give it a go. Plus, it’s only a mile from here, so it fits the prescribed criteria.”
“Pink’s,” Taylor said, not quite buying it. “As in the shack down the road with the crazy line?”
“That would be the one. I’ll meet you there in half an hour,” Isabel said, as she backed toward the door.
Taylor sighed for effect but had trouble holding back the grin. “Pink’s it is.”
Alone in the writers’ room, it occurred to Taylor that this was likely another one of those stupid decisions that always seemed to surround her personal life. When it came to television, she was golden. When it came to her love life, she crashed and burned miserably every damn time. She decided to make a plan. She’d have dinner, get to know Isabel more, and try really hard not to fall any further into this thing because it already came laced with power.
Wouldn’t be hard at all, right?
*****
“Let me have two Lord of the Rings dogs, large fries, and a beer,” Isabel told the guy at the counter. They’d waited in line for twenty-five minutes to place their order, and she was anxious to see what all the fuss was about. She turned to Taylor. “For you?”
Taylor eyed the guy. “I don’t suppose you have a salad hiding out on that menu somewhere?”
He let out a short laugh and gestured to the menu board above his head. “What you see is what we have.”
“Come on. Live a little.” Isabel bumped Taylor with her shoulder, secretly hoping it hadn’t been a bad call to bring her here. But then something remarkable happened. She watched Taylor steer easily into the skid, the way she so often did at work.
She pointed at the board with confidence. “In that case, I’ll need a Martha Stewart dog and some chili fries.”
Isabel pulled her face back. “I’m impressed. You’re getting bonus points tonight.” She gestured to Taylor’s starched white dress shirt, the one she paired with jeans and heels—the look that had her preoccupied most of the day. “We’re gonna need to be on high alert with those chili fries.”
Taylor glanced down at her shirt and waved Isabel off. “I’m a pro.”
The confidence sent a shiver across Isabel’s skin. What she wouldn’t give to see that confidence…in other venues.
They snagged a plastic table around the back of the storefront and let out a collective groan at the killer day they’d just come off. “Does it ever get any easier?” Isabel asked. She loved her new job, but her brain had never felt more taxed in her life.
Taylor offered up an apologetic smile. “It’s doesn’t. In fact, it gets harder. When you’re running your own show, you’ll look back on these days with new eyes. I promise.”
Isabel nodded, her mouth too full of a Lord of the Rings dog to answer. Didn’t matter, she was in hot dog heaven. She grabbed for a napkin and dabbed away a dot of sour cream from the side of her mouth.
Taylor laughed. “You’re digging in.”
Isabel held her palms up and made grabbing gestures at the air. It was the only way she could properly express her contentment. “Oh my God. Whoever made these is a fucking genius. Sorry, I digress.”
“I like when you digress.”
“Oh. Well, then I will forever do it.” Their chemistry was alive and well and more clearly on display than ever before. “Tell me. Were you at all skeptical about hiring me? I mean, clearly I’ve blossomed into quite the asset,” Isabel joked. “But in the beginning, what was your impression?”
Taylor sat back, and Isabel took note of the fact that she hadn’t yet touched her food. “Here’s the thing. As a writer, I want to work alongside other writers who I think will enable me to do my best work. That means creative, unique individuals. Not your typical, run-of-the-mill person.”
“Did you just call me weird? Pretty sure you did.”
Taylor laughed, and Isabel couldn’t help but grin at the sound. Taylor didn’t put on. In fact, she’d never seen her feign a laugh or any emotion at all, for that matter. What you saw was what you got with her, and it was refreshing. “Weird is a strong word. But, yes, I saw something different in you. You have an edge that doesn’t quite match your exterior. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“That I’m a no-bullshit kind of girl who looks, sadly, like a wide-eyed newbie, just off the train from nowhere, USA?”
Taylor nodded. “Yes, that.”
“Nope. First time.”
Taylor nodded at the obvious lie. “Well, it contributes to your appeal.”
Isabel had to take a moment to answer because she was again reveling in her fantastic food. She chewed, and chewed, and eventually pointed at her mouth and shot Taylor the A-OK sign. That’s when Taylor reached out and dabbed a spot of chili from Isabel’s cheek, a move that had Isabel going still, because the way she did it was affectionate and warm, as if she were enjoying Isabel’s happiness. “Thank you,” she finally managed. They looked at each other, neither in a hurry to break the eye contact that seemed to wordlessly convey so much. They’d noticed each other. It didn’t carry any heavier implication than that.
They’d noticed each other.
“So, you find me intriguing, then,” Isabel said quietly.
Taylor lifted her chin from where it had been propped up on her hand. “Did I say that?”
“I think just a moment ago, yes. If it helps, I find you infinitely more intriguing than you find me.”
Taylor stared at her. “Is this a contest? I had no idea.”
“Yes, it most certainly is. I’m very competitive when it comes to self-deprecation. No one can touch me.” Isabel gestured to Taylor’s tray. “Speaking of which, you haven’t touched your food.”
She nodded a few times. “I’m gearing up.”
“To slum it.”
Taylor balked. “Not at all.”
“Admit it. You eat at fancy restaurants like the one I used to work at, and a place like this isn’t a part of your weekly rotation.”
She leaned in again. “You think you know a lot about me, don’t you?”
Isabel blushed. This was Taylor Andrews she was sitting across from, and her own playful, cocky side seemed to have run away with itself tonight. She backpedaled. “No,” she said sincerely. “I would not presume.”
“That’s okay. I know a little bit about you, too. I had dinner with a mutual friend the other night. Stephanie?”
Isabel resisted a face-palm, her worst nightmare come to fruition. “We met once, briefly. She’s my neighbor. I wouldn’t put too much stock in anything she has to say about me.”
“No?”
“I wouldn’t.”
“Well, that’s a shame.”
Before Isabel had time to react, to kick herself for discrediting Stephanie, Taylor, wearing that starched white dress shirt, did something highly unexpected. She picked up three of the chiliest cheesiest fries and popped them in her mouth, sans fork. It was sexy, and Isabel held onto her chair to keep herself from visibly swooning. Taylor’s big green eyes went wide. “This is good,” she said, her mouth still full of fries.
“See? Gotta walk on the regular side of life once in a while. Look at the discoveries one can make. Now try your Martha Stewart before I do.” Taylor took that suggestion and fell into silence as she sampled the dog. Isabel waited for the verdict, but instead Taylor took a second bite and looked skyward in surrender. The visual said it all. “You love it, don’t you?”
“I haven’t had a hot dog in,” she thought for a moment, “twelve years.”
Isabel’s mouth fell open in joint sadness and outrage. “Why have you done this to yourself?”
“About now, I’m wondering that same thing.”
“Thank God I’m here, that I found you in time.”
Taylor dabbed her mouth with a napkin, though it was in ceremony only. She’d managed to keep herself as neat and tidy as ever. “I’m very much enjoying it.” Then she grinned at Isabel, only it wasn’t a smile she’d ever seen from Taylor. This one didn’t come with the serene confidence she’d grown accustomed to. Instead, Taylor radiated what could only be described as happiness. She seemed relaxed and youthful and content.
“You look…” Isabel was about to say “beautiful,” but the word died on her lips once she heard how it might be perceived. “Hungry. Have some more.” She slid the remainder of the hot dog closer to Taylor, then reached out and stole a fry.
“Now you’re just being cheeky.”
It was Isabel’s turned to grin. “I own cheeky. I’ve been called worse.” Moments later, Taylor stole one back showing she, too, could be cheeky. Isabel met her eyes. “Touché,” she said quietly. Taylor pumped her shoulders in victory and Isabel laughed.
When their messy trays were empty, their table littered with napkins, Taylor, more at ease than Isabel had ever seen her, made one very telling declaration. “We have to come back here.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
Taylor met her gaze. “I’m in.”