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Acid churns in my stomach all the way through breakfast. I can barely manage my oatmeal or my cup of coffee. I keep looking at Ryan for a reaction. Is he mad at me? Does he know? Does he suspect something happened between me and Luke? How could I do this to him? Ryan takes care of me. He would never do this to me.
Oh, please, misery doesn't absolve you. If you're so wrecked with guilt, confess. Or, at the very least, don't fuck Luke again.
A call from Corine pierces the silence. She's glad I came to my senses. She's excited. She's practically counting the dollars she'll make. We set up a meeting with the showrunner, Laurie House, for this afternoon. She seemed nice. Perky. A perfect distraction from this whole mess.
I spend the next hour poring over the script. It's better than the two page scene I used to audition. It's funny and smart, and Marie Jane is more nuanced than the slutty cheerleader on Together. She lusts after alcohol. She lusts after fame. She lusts after the hot 17 year old Catholic boy across the street.
But, like the slutty cheerleader, Marie Jane likes to take off her clothes. What if she's supposed to be model shaped? I was never a size 2, but I was a little thinner before treatment. I know what TV is like. They ax the lead actress if they don't think men will want to fuck her. But maybe things are different with a woman in charge. Or maybe they will throw me into Spanx and a push up bra, adjusting my fat into the most desirable shape possible.
***
Laurie and I meet at a cafe in Santa Monica. She's self-effacing and funny. “Gosh, you're so pretty in person,” she says, immediately trying to curry favor. “Your agent sent over a package. Audition tapes, scenes from that show you were on-”
“Together,” I say.
“Yeah, what a piece of shit. No offense. It's not like I didn't work on a few shit TV shows,” she laughs.
“The pilot is great,” I say.
“Network loves it, but our star dropped out. And we go into production in a week.”
“So you're totally desperate?”
Laurie laughs, “Yes, but you still deserve it.”
“I got a lucky break.”
“Maybe, but who gives a fuck? My first job was a diversity hire. You know, this TV bullshit where the network ponies up for a staff writer's salary as long as the staff writer isn't a white dude? So, here I am, competing with a few other 'minority writers', and I get it because I'm 'easier on the eyes' than the non-white dudes.”
“Really?”
“Am I that ugly?” she laughs. She's not really. She's cute in that nerdy, smart kind of way.
“You're trying not to look 'conventionally attractive.' That's why you wear those big glasses—they're adorable by the way—and the high-top sneakers and the loose t-shirt. And that's why the only makeup you have on is man-repelling purple eyeliner. Right?”
“Oh, poor, gorgeous Alyssa Summers,” she jokes. “Do people think you're all looks and no brain?”
“I'm used to it,” I say.
“And who cares what they think, right? This town is the worst. Everyone pretends they love you. They pretend you have a yes, and then you never hear from them again.”
I nod. I used to deal with that kind of thing, when I went on more auditions and met with more producers for possible roles. “A bunch of phonies,” I say.
“Yeah, like I need someone to pat me on the back. I'm sure you don't give a fuck if I liked you in Mahogany… Which was how I so rudely ended your audition, wasn't it?”
“I forgive you,” I say. “After all, you did give me the job.”
“Right. That's all that matters. You don't want my praise. You want your paycheck. Right?”
“Right,” I say. “How did you find out why you got your job?”
“One of the producers and I would go drinking together. Or, more accurately, stay in drinking together. He confessed everything. Didn't take much prying either.” She pulls her long hair into a ponytail. “So, who cares? I deserved the job, and I was fucking great. And then I was great at my next staff writing job, and then I got promoted, and then, some 10 years later, I'm here. So who cares if you got a lucky break with a desperate producer? I still think you're going to rock it.”
She certainly has high expectations.
“The pace for this is insane,” Laurie continues, “we need you to do a chemistry read with the rest of the cast. Nothing you haven't done before. Then, you'll get your contract. We'll make everything official. But you're definitely getting the job. We go into production in a week and a half. There's no time to find another star.”
“Lucky me.”
