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Ivy hesitated. And for the first time, she wasn’t honest with Drew. “No. It’s not. It’s an amalgam of lots of things I witnessed as I grew up. But that’s okay, right?”
“Of course. You’re a writer. You’re supposed to make stuff up,” Drew said, and then he revealed that he’d sent it to his financial partners. If that was okay. Ivy told him it was. She thanked him. They said goodbye. Her phone rang again a few minutes later. It was Drew again.
“I never do this. And I don’t want you to think this is creepy, but would you want to go to a premiere with me tonight? I have an extra ticket.”
Ivy said sure. Unclear if it was business or a date. She had to figure out what to wear to a premiere. There wasn’t time to go out and buy something new, and there wasn’t any extra money in her bank account anyway. Ivy decided to wear her go-to meeting outfit: black jeans, a nice blouse, and her black ankle-length lace-up boots. She sucked in her stomach, wishing she hadn’t eaten an entire bag of popcorn last night. The salt was definitely adding five pounds, or at least it felt that way. Her hair looked thrashed and she wished there had been time to get a blowout, but she reminded herself that she had no money in her budget for hair that month. She told herself that writers didn’t need to look good, but she only half believed that. She had no idea she was about to be hit with anotherwhammo, a huge turning point in her life.
Drew picked her up in his Audi convertible with the top down. They talked shop. Ivy relaxed as she realized it wasn’t a date after all. They drove to Hollywood, and they pulled up to the valet. The premiere was at the famous TCL Chinese Theatre. Lights were shining. The press were everywhere. Photographers snapped photos of everyone who walked the red carpet. Drew touched her back to guide her, and Ivy was suddenly awestruck. He led her around the crowd (the crowds always seemed to part for Drew), and Ivy realized she was about to walk the red carpet. The cameras flashed. Ivy was caught up in the moment. The crowd screamed. Ivy, always the fangirl, turned to see who it was and did not look where she was going. She tripped over her own two feet and fell on the red carpet. The photographers did not miss it. That photo was still on the internet. Ivy looked up and, backlit by the spotlights in front of the Chinese Theatre, Drew smiled warmly, extended his hand, and helped her up.
They sat in their seats. Drew waved to some friends. The friends were wondering who Ivy was. “A great new writer,” he announced to everyone. Ivy was liking this Drew guy. A lot. But then he said, “I’ll be right back. Do you want popcorn?”
“Always.” Ivy smiled.
The movie started. People cheered at their own names in the credits. Drew had not come back. About ten minutes into the movie, Ivy knew she hated it. She was resentful. How did something like this get made? She suffered alone through the two hours and twenty minutes. Drew never came back. And she never got her popcorn. The movie ended, and Ivy followed the crowd to the after-party. Her name was on the list. She found Drew at the bar, talking to some friends. Some very pretty blond-haired, long-legged friends. Actresses! Drew grinned and waved her over. Ivy waved goodbye and walked out of the party. He chased after her, catching up with her in front of the theater on the now-quiet street. She was looking at Lucille Ball’s handprints.
“Ivy, where are you going?”
“Home,” she sighed.
“I’ll drive you.”
“To Upstate New York? I’m done with this. I’m done watching bad scripts get made. I’m done being stood up, even if this isn’t a date! I am done with you. And I am done with this town! It’s given me nothing but a broken heart.” Ivy walked away.
She had taken two steps when she heard Drew say: “That’s too bad because I just sold your script,When Joseph Met Mary.”
Ivy stopped and looked at Drew, her face a question mark.
“That’s what I’ve been doing for the last two hours. I’ve been on the phone. My finance people loved your script. It matches our brand. It’s set up. I already called your agent.”
Ivy found herself flying into Drew’s arms. Crying. Happy. Drew was laughing and teasing her. Then somehow at that moment—their lips found each other as she stood on top of Lucille Ball’s footprints.
Ivy didn’t remember much after that. They went back to the party and celebrated. She woke up the next morning in Drew’s Downtown Los Angeles loft. He was already hard at work on his laptop. The first thing he said was, “What do you think about Amari Rivers for the lead?”
