“You’ve been invited to join Fred Appleton during his morning hike in Griffith Park.” I didn’t have time to protest. “Now, don’t get agitated. I’m assured it’s just a one-mile loop at an easy pace, so even exercise-shy people can endure it.”
I guess the implication was that I was exercise-shy and completely out of shape, and that may besomewhat marginallytrue. But I still got offended. And I still wasn’t completely following what Beatrice was telling me. I wasn’t even fully awake.
“Elena, I know it’s a bit early,” Beatrice conceded.
“So you realize that calling me before 10 a.m. on a Saturday isnotnormal?” Had I not been so fucking asleep, I would have also wanted her to know that it was completely uncool of her.
“Fred is moving to New York, flying there tomorrow actually. And he’d love it if you could join him for a walking meeting. He promised to honor my deadline. You still have till 5 p.m. today to decide about joiningNYC Misconducts, but he’d love to chat with you this morning,” Beatrice explained, trying to maintain a reasonable tone.
“When?” I asked, resigned.
“His daily walk starts at 7 a.m.,” my agent said. When she realized I was about to revolt, she added, “Even if you decide not to work onNYC Misconducts, he still knows plenty of people and is a good friend to have. You may not know who your next showrunner is going to be, but I’m sure Fred could introduce you to anyone in town.”
Aargh!
…
Seven minutes after hanging up with Beatrice, I was picked up by a smiling Uber driver who looked much more aware of his surroundings than I was. There was no chance I’d be driving in the state I was in. I was still wearing yesterday’s clothes—no, I hadn’t undressed when I got home the night before and now it came in handy because I literally had no time for anything. I was still very much unshowered, unshampooed, and un-everything. I had brushed my teeth, but that was all the effort I’d put in. The truth is, I hadn’t even put much effort into that. I may have fallen asleep on the bathroom sink while brushing.
Oh, and I was pissed. With the world. With my parents for having uprooted us so many years before. I was sure I’d be a model citizen if we’d stayed in Barcelona (or at least for sure a person who showered every day. People were big into grooming in Europe, no?). I was pissed with the city of Los Angeles for having good traffic only during early mornings on weekends when I was always invariably sleeping. Pissed with Beatrice for waking me up. With Fred for being a fucking pain in the ass who couldn’t takeNo, I don’t want to work on your TV showfor an answer. But mainly and most ardently, I was pissed with David for being a conniving, insufferable liar who’d gotten me addicted to sensational sex and had turned out to be a suspicious and sloppy non-killer and a careerist of the worst kind.
I was still fuming when the Uber driver dropped me off at the meeting point Beatrice had so generously sent to my cell phone. It was an empty parking lot in the heart of Griffith Park with nothing in sight but a presiding fig tree at its center, a neighboring golf course, and the skyline of downtown Burbank and the San Gabriel mountains in the far hazy horizon. I don’t think I can reiterate enough how much the place was the middle of fucking nowhere.
I thanked my driver and left the car reluctantly.
I checked the time on my cell phone: 7:01 a.m. Fred was late. Because who is early for a 7 a.m. meeting? Not a screenwriter if you’ve met one in your life. We’re always fashionably late, unfashionably dressed, and carrying a cup of coffee. Which reminded me: Why hadn’t I stopped for some coffee?
While I was waiting for Fred, I did what any other high-functioning millennial does if faced with the horror of having to kill some time: I immersed myself in my cell phone.
I was about to open Instagram to check some videos of cute kitties to soothe my temper and then I remembered I’d left my sister’s place the previous night and never bothered telling her that I wasn’t going to be there when she got home. So I texted her, knowing well that she was way smarter than me and always remembered to silence her cell phone before bed. I had been violently woken up. I didn’t want to do the same to a dear relative.
Fought with David yesterday. Don’t ask him to tell you about it. I want you to have my version FIRST
He’s a master manipulator!!
Also, he’s wanted for murder but don’t worry. I wouldn’t have left him with you if he was guilty. I ran all the events of Wednesday night in my mind again and there’s no chance he killed Henry.
I can’t go over them with you because it’s a bit awkward
Btw, I’m already awake because Fred Appleton wanted to meet me for a “walking meeting”
I hate Hollywood
I guess I’d been really immersed in the one-way message conversation with my sister because I didn’t see Fred arriving, parking, and getting out of his car.
“What a beautiful morning,” he told me out of nowhere, and I almost dropped my cell phone from the fright.
“Morning,” I grumbled in reply as I judged his iced Erewhon latte. Out of absolute spite and pure prejudice, I assumed it had to be packed with sweeteners and not strong enough. Also, who drinks cold coffee in February?
“I was so glad to hear you wanted to join me for a walk this morning,” Fred said, and I think, for the first time in years, I genuinely wished my parents would have never moved to Los Angeles. For one, I know for a fact no one has any kind of work meetings on Saturdays in Barcelona, no matter the time let alone seven in the fucking morning. But also, there I would have been able to forgo the niceties and simply say what I wanted to say:I never wanted to be here. You requested my attendance.
We headed for the steep dusty trail, and I realized this wasn’t going to be an easy walk. And I wasn’t wearing the right shoes, clothes, or attitude.
As I tried catching up with Fred’s power walk cadence, which was definitively no easy pace, I made up my mind. I had it with Hollywood. I had it with California. I had it with everyone. I was moving back to Barcelona where I’d be able to sleep in on weekends and actually bathe on the beach during summer. I was so immersed in my inner ideal future life in Barcelona, I didn’t hear anything Fred was telling me.
“Elena, are you feeling okay?” he finally said.
“Uh, sure.” I snapped out of my Barcelonian fantasy, which wasn’t as much a desire as a sort of pretend daydream. “Just incredibly sleepy. I worked until late last night and my agent called me early this morning. I had no clue this meeting was happening.”
