Page 69 of Lucky 22

We’re both chasing the lives we worked so hard for, tryingto meet in the middle where we can. Since the wedding, the longest stretchwe’ve had together is two weeks. More often, it’s a handful of days before oneof us is back at the airport, promising it won’t be long this time.

I know the season won’t last forever, but knowing thatdoesn’t make it easier to live in. Balance sounds simple in theory. Inpractice, it feels like learning to walk a tightrope while missing the personmeant to steady you.

And on top of that, I am struggling with my role on Workin’ for Laughs. I show up every day,but I’m starting to notice a pattern. After several more attempts to give myinput on the characters I’m playing, I’m getting less and less speaking time.I’m practically a piece of the scenery now.

Is it worth not making waves just to have your name on ashow?

That question comes back to me more times than I can count,and I’m fighting hard to say that it’s worth it. Is it?

I mentioned being bullied a lot when I was younger. As I’vesaid, I always marched to the beat of my own drum, and that started at a youngage. While I was growing up, my classmates used to do all kinds of mean thingsto me, from name-calling to stealing my homework. It’s something that’s nevergone away. Obviously, I don’t think about it obsessively, but I’m thinkingabout it now because it’s kind of how I feel on this production.

Bullied.

Bullied into submission.

Bullied into not making waves.

Bullied into being someone I’m not.

Is it worth not making waves just to have your name on ashow?

No. No, it’s not.

And that’s when I know it’s time for me to stand up, say mypiece, and let whatever happens, happen.

If I were a writer, I would have written the scene likethis:

A talented, underused actress walks onto the set. Shereads her lines and delivers them as they’re written, but then…she realizes thescene needs a little something more.

“What if I wore something a little less revealing, andinstead of just lying down on this workout bench and showing how this exercisemachine works, I use my physical comedy skills, just like Lucille Ball, andturn it into a whole bit. I can take something simple and make it hilarious.Can I show you?”

The writers listen to her great idea, let her try it,and then all collaborate to make it the funniest sketch possible.

It went like this: I walked onto the set, read mylines, made the suggestion, and was told to just read what was written—thescene didn’t need anything else.

Once rehearsal wraps, I’m summoned to the executiveproducers’ office—Max and Aaron. They have last names, but they’re alwaystogether, and everyone calls them by their first names, like a matched set. Itry not to lean into stereotypes, but they do very little to disprove theHollywood-producer variety—the kind who prefer women who are agreeable andquiet. They like me well enough…as long as my ideas stay unspoken.

Apparently, I’ve been a little too generous with myopinions.

Standing outside their office, I draw in a slow breathbefore knocking. When they call me in, I’m no longer sure what I’m feeling. Ionly know that whatever this is, it won’t be simple.

“Won’t you have a seat, Ella?”

I smile even as I shake my head. “I’d rather stand.”

They give each other surprised looks, while Max sits on thecouch and Aaron takes the chair behind the desk. “Listen, we understand thatyou’ve had a lot of opinions about your scenes, but the writers are fantasticat what they do, and they understand the tone of the sketches we’re doing.Every time you offer a suggestion, you’re undermining their work.”

“I’m not trying to undermine anyone. It’s about wanting tomake a sketch the best it can be, and I know I have more to offer.”

“Everyone here really likes you, Ella. You’re a great girl,but…we’re almost done with the season, and we don’t want an actress withopinions. We just want an actress who will do what we tell her to do.”

“But I have been doing what you tell me to do. Ijust think I can enhance what we’re doing without it being seen asundermining anyone.”

At first, they just stare at me like they don’t understandwhat I’ve just said. Like they can’t grasp that I genuinely want to contributeto the show with more than my looks.

But I keep talking. “I’m a talented actress, and I’ve neverhad any complaints on any other show or movie I’ve done. I deserve to at leasthave my ideas listened to rather than immediately dismissed.” My heart ispounding so hard I’m almost sure they can hear it. I’m trembling and startingto sweat.

“Ella, look, you’re a pretty girl and a good actress,” Maxsays. “No one’s debating that. But on this set, our writers are the oneswriting, okay? Not you, not anyone else on the cast, just them.”