“I’m neverwrong.”
“Not usually, but you’re wrong aboutthis.”
She is mostly wrong about this. I need to look good because there will be a lot of agents and producers and executives at this wedding. Not that I’m going to schmooze—I don’t schmooze—but I want to feel confident, and at this juncture, the best way for me to feel confident is to look good. Yeah, I said it. It may have been two years since my script was on The Black List of Hollywood insiders’ favorite scripts, but I’m wearing a six-year-old A-list dress that I can barely fit into and I will charm the socks off of anyone who wants to talk to me (except ScottBraddock).
It wasn’t in my budget to buy a new dress for this occasion, not even a “gently-used” one. I will probably be the poorest guest at this event. The script of mine that sold to a studio sold for a modest price in Hollywood terms, but to a girl from Idaho it was a fucking fortune. For a gal from Idaho who was living in Los Angeles, the net profits have lasted me two and a half years, and that’s only because I budget very carefully and I’m good at sticking to my budget—despite Maya’s insistence that I should splurge every now and then to “show the universe that you trust in its abundance and that it will always provide for you.” In about five months, barring any unforeseen financial disasters, I’ll have to go back to waiting tables. That wouldn’t be the end of the world, but if Scott Braddock ever walked into my restaurant and sat in my section and tipped me with his trust fund money, I would be forced to stick a fork in his hand and then move back in with my parents inBoise.
Maya is staring at me. “You’re still thinking about him, aren’tyou?”
I realize I’m scrunching up my face and holding my breath and making fists. “There's just something about his smirky face. I can't tell if I want to punch it or kiss it until hecries.”
“Wow. You are going to have such hot sex withhim.”
“Shut up I would never. Like literally if I got drunk and super horny and he weretheonly single guy there I’d sooner hump acactus.”
“There's a prettypicture.”
I laugh to myself and pull out myphone.
“You're typing that to yourself to use as dialogue in a script, aren'tyou?”
“You don't know me! Yeah, Iam.”
“It's not thatfunny.”
“Yeah you're right.” I delete it. “Don’t let me getdrunk.”
“Just superhorny?”
“Seriously. Maybe there will be a nice sexy handsome single young producer ordirector…”
“Yeah and maybe there will be unicorns and sexy vampires who can go out in broad daylight. Trust me, lady. A hot screenwriter in hand is worth more than a mythical sexy young single producer or director in yourbush.”
“He’s not in my hand and he’s definitely not getting into mybush.”
We turn onto Loma Vista in Beverly Hills and I can see the entrance to stately Greystone Mansion and all of the BMWs and Teslas and Priuses headed towards it. I take a deep breath. Laurie Metzger and Jeff Bloomgarten have rented out the same grand location that was used inThere Will Be Blood, which is appropriate because—Scott Braddock. I’m already exhausted from thinking abouthim.
“I just hope they didn’t seat us at the sametable.”
“Of course theydid.”
“You can let us off here,” I say to the driver. It’s a mild, sunny April day, and I’d like to air out my armpits on the walk up to the grounds. I believe the ceremony is going to be outside. The drive to Beverly Hills from our place in the Northeastern hipster region of Los Angeles took a little longer than expected—it always takes longer than expected to get anywhere from anywhere in Los Angeles—I can’t believe I haven’t learned that yet. The ceremony should start in about fifteen minutes, so it’ll give us enough time to scan the crowd and choose seats as far away from you-know-who aspossible.
Men are already doing double takes when they see Maya walking up the hill. She’s wearing a simple dusty rose A-line dress, but with her legs and those nude ankle-strap stacked heels, she looksstunning.
“Will you do me a favor and lighten up and have a little fun today? You’ve been working your ass off all year and it’s gotten younowhere.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s not a judgment on your writing ability, Erin, it’s just that this business that you’re in sucks balls and you take it so seriously and you’re so hard on yourself, it’s like—what if you do end up being the most successful screenwriter of all time—is that all you want for yourlife?”
“Kindof.”
“That’ssad.”
“That’s not fair. You work your ass off too, but when you do it, it looks like more fun because you’re making beautiful clothes and modeling beautiful clothes and seating beautiful people to dinner, meanwhile I just sit at a computer and listen topodcasts.”
“Well, maybe we both need to lighten up and have a little fun today.” She takes my hand and squeezes it. “I have a really good feeling about things. There’s something in theair…”
