Page 1 of The Spirit of Love
PartOne
Chapter One
“Thereshe is,” my favoritesecurity guard says Monday morning as I pull up to the gate at CBS’s Radford Studios. “Ms. Fenny Fein,director. Look out.”
“Big day,” I tell Rockwell, reaching through my car’s open window to fist-bump him, like I do every morning. Only this morning, nothing feels ordinary. Everything feels new.
It’s a plumeria-scented, turquoise-skyed, warm September day in Los Angeles, an auspicious forecast to kick off the next phase of my career.
Rockwell leans forward, scrutinizing me. He gestures at my air-dried, wavy, above-the-shoulder blond bob, then at my unglossed, still-a-little-sunburned-from-last-weekend lips. “Did you do something different with your…?”
“Indeed I did, Rockwell,” I say. “I did something very different.”
“You’ve got that boss glow, Fenny. Go in there and get what’s yours!”
He opens the gate, and I wave as I drive through.
Rockwell ispartlyright: I am here this morning to get what’s mine, to finally fulfill my long-held dream of directing my very first episode ofZombie Hospital, the TV show whose rungs I’ve been climbing for the past seven years.
Today’s the day I officially move out of the writers’ room and into the director’s chair. I’ve loved writing onZombie Hospital, but once a script is complete, a writer must let go of all she’s done, surrendering her pages’ destiny to the actual shoot—which can change everything about a scene. To direct is tobethe show’s vision, to make its destiny, to call the shots that add up to its soul.
IsZombie Hospitalcampy and absurd? Hell yes, and that’s why we love it. Is it also hilarious and arch and occasionally resonant with the big question of why we’re all here on Earth? It is, andthat’swhat gets me up in the morning. That’s what makesZombie Hospitalmy home.
After seven years, one hundred fifty-four episodes, three agents, much schmoozing, and a lot of late-night prayer, I finally get to direct. I feel a little apprehensive, a lot validated, and three hundred percent ready to step into my new role. But the glow that Rockwell mentioned back at the studio gate? I believe that comes from somewhere else….
Have you ever had an orgasm so powerful it rattled the marrow of your bones?
It’s one of those if-you-know-you-know experiences, and seventy-two hours ago, I hadnoidea. I would have face-palmed at such hyperbolic language, because I take language seriously.
Cut to now, when I’m attempting to operate a vehicle withactualrattled bone marrow. As I wind my way through Radford’s forty-acre lot, my mind slips back in time to this past weekend. I know that, technically, I’m here in Studio City, driving this familiar route to my familiar trailer…but inside? A part of me is also stillthere.
In a cabin at the edge of the world. Draped in magic. Fireside. With Sam.
Sam. Who I met this weekend at the beach. A giddy smile lights me up as I slam on the brakes in the middle of the lot. I can’t remember the last time it was this much fun to think about a guy. I bust out my phone and open a new browser window to see when I can catch the next ferry back to Catalina Island. Back to his cabin, his arms. If I leave after work tonight…There’s no ferry that could get me back in time for call tomorrow. But then, what evenistime in the face of that crinkly thing Sam’s eyes do when he smiles?
A car horn honks.
“Hey, lady!” a male voice calls from the car I’ve trapped behind me. “Important people back here, trying to get to important places!”
In my rearview mirror, I see that my car is blocking Jake Glasswell’s Lucid Air and I laugh. Jake is the host ofThe Jake Night Showand engaged to one of my best friends, Olivia Dusk. And he is clearly fucking with me.
“Sorry, Glasswell!” I call out my window, putting my Kia EV9 back in Drive, shelving my erotic wanderlust for another time. “I’m moving.”
“Fenny. Hold up, I was on my way to find you.” Jake climbs out of his driver’s side door, opens his trunk, and pulls out a bouquet of zombie-shaped silver helium balloons. “These are from Liv and me.”
I put a hand to my heart, touched, as he helps me stuff the unwieldy balloons into my passenger seat. “Thank you, Jake.”
“Least we could do to celebrate the new Scorsese in town.” He winks.
“You do know Liv and I despise Scorsese, right?”
“Yeah, yeah.” Jake beams his dazzling, ratings-reaping smile. “I still think you’d like his early work—”
“I’m more focused onmyearly work at the moment.”
“Of course,” Jake says. “Hey, how was your trip to Catalina? Did you get that rainstorm you were after?”
I did get that storm…and then some. And although the mere mention of Catalina sets my bone marrow rattling again, I can’t dish to my friend’s fiancé about my naughty weekend.
