Page 2 of The Spirit of Love
“It was…unforgettable.”
“Sounds like a good story,” Jake says, with a look that tells me he’ll hear it thirdhand from Liv later. “Well, knock ’em undead today—whoops, Liv says I’m not allowed to use that joke anymore.”
“You’re really not,” I confirm.
Jake walks back to his car and gives me a wave as he drives off to his side of the lot and I drive off to mine.
Radford Studios is a labyrinthine lot of eighteen soundstages, where dozens of shows are filming at any given moment. Jake’s talk show films on Soundstage 9,Zombie Hospitalis across the lot on Soundstage 2, and my sister Edie films the weather for KCAL-9’s evening news over on Soundstage 18. Sometimes, when Jake, Edie, and I are all at Carla’s Café at the same time, the studio commissary feels as tight-knit as a high school cafeteria. I cruise past New York Street, where the exterior scenes ofSeinfeldwere filmed. I pass Steve Harvey, fastening a cuff link onhis way to shootCelebrity Family Feud. Then at last, I wind around to the enormous soundstage whereZombie Hospitalhappens.
The first scene I’m shooting today takes place on the Hospital Roof stage. Shot before a green screen, our team of CGI artists will make it look like a bullet-ridden high-rise in a postapocalyptic downtown. The crew has been here for hours, installing lighting, testing sound, and troubleshooting everything that could go wrong once cameras roll. Even after seven years on this show, it amazes me how many peopleZombie Hospitalemploys, how many hands cash its paychecks, how many families rely on its continued success. Whenever I feel annoyed about changes to my scripts, I remember my big, weird family. And today, more than any day before, they’re depending on me.
I pull into my parking spot and take in the new white rectangular sign proclaiming in gothicZombie Hospitalfont:
Fenny Fein, Director
I close my eyes, not because I don’t want to stare at that sign for hours, but because closing my eyes lets me feel my sister with me. Edie and I are so close sometimes my brother-in-law calls us symbiotic. Right now Edie’s at her Silver Lake home on the other side of town. She’s probably wearing our mom’s old pink bathrobe, strewn with half a dozen burp cloths, navigating the daily mayhem of three kids under three. But she’s thinking of me, too. I can feel it. And she’s proud.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Edie. Hard to say exactly where I’d be. When I doubt myself, Edie assures me that I know everyZombie Hospitalcharacter’s backstory, side story, and future story, having been a part of the show since showrunner RichStark took a chance on me out of film school. I’ve worked my way up from production assistant to script coordinator to capital-W Writer to Director. I’ve studied the geniuses—Barbra Streisand, Maya Deren, and Agnès Varda—and watched Mira Nair’s and Jodie Foster’s MasterClasses. I’ve absorbed all media available by, on, and adjacent to Greta Gerwig. I’ve prepped and re-prepped, storyboarded and un-storyboarded every inch and instant of the scenes I’ll be shooting today. If there’s an angle I haven’t considered, it doesn’t exist. I’ve interviewed six intimacy consultants, all of whom I’d like to bring with me on future dates. Now all that’s left for me to do is kick off my new career direction with that single, thrilling word:
Action!
Taking out my phone to text Liv, I manage to get myself completely tangled in the balloon bouquet I’m wrestling out of my car.
Me:Best balloons, thank you love!
Olivia:This is Lorena. I’m on Liv’s phone. Screw the balloons, tell us about your orgasms…
I tap the exclamation mark response. Lorena is Olivia’s mother, and cohost of their advice podcastCall Your Mother, which saw a sudden surge in popularity last year when Liv proposed to Jake during one of their recording sessions. What had been a cult favorite among a couple dozen fans turned into a subscribership much wider and more proportionate to Liv and Lo’s gifts.
For some reason, Lorena follows her text with a GIF of Jeff Goldblum smirking from his seat at an award show. Like I won Most Orgasms on a Beach.
Of course, she’s referring to the vibrator Olivia gave me on Friday before I left for Catalina Island, back when everyone, including me, assumed I was embarking on a simple solo camping trip to center myself before this week’s shoot. I haven’t yet told my friends what really happened at the remote campsite called Two Harbors. Sam simply cannot be summed up in a text. That story will have to wait until tonight, when I meet Olivia, Lorena, and our friend Masha at the bridal shop for champagne and Olivia’s final wedding dress fitting.
A hand reaches into the balloon bouquet and pulls me out.
“I need you.”
Meet Aurora Apple,Zombie Hospital’s leading lady and one of the most charismatic, incompetent snobs ever to strike a pose. In Hollywood’s game of No Degrees of Separation, Aurora used to cohost Jake’s daytime talk show—pre-Olivia, back when Jake and Aurora both lived in New York. Sometimes I think the entire entertainment industry is just one big show mixed together.
Aurora is a nightmare, but she’s our nightmare, so I do what I can to help her. She doesn’t know how to refill a prescription, use a dryer sheet, or issue holiday bonuses to her numerous staff—she keeps both an erotic masseuse and koi-fish-whisperer on retainer. But train a camera on Aurora’s face, and she’ll pause the earth’s orbit with her pitch-perfect line delivery.
“So,” Aurora says, “if someone were to leave their THCgummies in their scrubs, and someone else’s piece-of-shit dog got into them, should someone call a vet? Also, for my scene today, is this right: I’m supporting the kid’s transition back to humanity, but also, from a medical perspective, I’m like, skeptical?”
I take them in order of importance. “I’ll send Tank to urgent care,” I say, referring to Aurora’s on-set rival, Miguel Bernadeau’s Pomeranian. “As for your scene, yes, you’re right—that’s a very nuanced understanding of your character’s dynamic with Buster.”
“Thank you!” When Aurora beams, it’s so dazzling that you almost think the nightmare’s over. She takes my arm in hers, and the two of us, and my balloons, waft toward my trailer. “One more thing.”
I await her next inane demand, but Aurora surprises me. She holds out a small wrapped box.
“Good luck today!”
“What’s this?” I’m stunned. For the entire year she’s been on set, Aurora has treated me like the assistant I used to be six years ago, even though she joined the show well after I’d moved up to full writer. When I lift the box’s lid, I find a Swarovski diamond director’s clapper board with my name etched on it.
“This is so nice. Thank you!” I hug Aurora, incredulous.
“You thought I wouldn’t remember. But I did.”
“Aurora?”
