“I’m fine,” I insist, trying not to be mortified, wedging my thumbnail between my teeth.
“She doesn’t speak up for herself,” Rich tells Jenny about me. She tries not to cringe when she hands me the floss.
I use it in full view of the producing team, and finally the seed dislodges.
“Thanks,” I mutter.
“Fenny is very grateful, Jenny,” Rich translates.
As his assistant retreats, Rich makes no attempt to hide the fact that he’s checking out her ass.
My lip curls and I manage to lock eyes with Adele across the room, who shakes her head in disgust but says nothing. I know we have to pick our battles, but honestly, why is he allowed to be the instigator of so many of them?
“So, here’s what’s jiggling,” Rich says to me, interlocking his hands on his desk. “I have some truly incredible news.”
“It will knock the cover off your balls, Fenny,” producer Ben chimes in. Ben never lets anyone forget that he was once drafted by—and played one season for—the Minor League Baseball New Hampshire Fisher Cats, because he speaks in baseball metaphors eighty percent of the time. At least, I hope this one’s a baseball metaphor.
“Okay, what’s the incredible news?” I ask.
“We got Jude de Silva!” Ben practically shouts, knees out in deep plié, both hands clenched in fists.
I look to Rich. “Who’s Jude de Silva?” The name rings a bell, but…
Rich looks at Ben, and the two of them share a laugh like they’re embarrassed for me. “Uh.Shane Is Scared?Brujo of the Maypole? Only the breakout classic on everyone’s lips at Cannes last year.”
“Ugh, I hatedBrujo of the Maypole,” I say. And I watched that movie on an airplane, which everyone knows drastically lowers one’s threshold for entertainment. The movie was not only in love with itself, it was so nihilistic I felt the climax was making fun of me. But what does this have to do with our show?
“Jude de Silva,” Rich says, “is the auteur behind two of the most unflinchingandhilarious horror films of the decade.”
“Scorsese can’t do an interview without raving about the guy,” Ben adds.
I roll my eyes. “And?” There’s a part of me that knows what’s happening, and there’s a part of me that refuses to believe it.
“He’s going to step in and direct this season while you punch up the scripts,” Rich says with a smile that makes me want to puke.
“It’s a joke, right?” I stammer. “This isn’t real.”
“It’s unreal how lucky we are,” Rich says. “Truly blessed to have Jude joining us. The guy’s a genius.”
“And don’t worry,” Ben says. “He’s fully caught up on the character arcs.”
“Fully,” Rich agrees. “Jenny wrote this great one-sheet to prep him—”
“A one-sheet?” I hear myself say.Zombie Hospitalhas a five-hundred-page series bible, a comprehensive collection of meticulous character backstories, setting choices, and enough futureplotlines to launch a dozen spin-offs. It’s essential information to everyone on this show and damn compelling reading to boot. I know because I’ve written most of it.
“Jude read the one-sheet,” Ben continues, “and an hour later…I mean, I defy anyone to speak with more authority on the characters. He gotallthe humor. I mean, stuff I didn’t even know was funny—”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m still a little confused.”
“Fenny,” Kelly speaks bluntly from her position on the wall. “Jude de Silva is replacing you.” She sighs. “You’re not directing anymore. At least, not for the first three episodes. You’ll be rewriting the scripts to Jude’s approval.”
There’s a moment of silence in Rich’s office as I wait to wake up from this nightmare.
Rich takes a long, loud slurp of his nitro latte. The reality of my situation lands. I might as well be back in line at Starbucks.
“I’m supposed to shoot in thirty minutes!” At least I don’t sound like I’m about to weep. I sound furious, on a war path, like I’m about to tear out Rich’s hair plugs.
“Things have changed, Fenster,” he says. “It’s not coming from me, I promise. This was dropped in our lap by the network. But don’t worry, next season has your name all over it.”
