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Thad stood stock-still for a moment, his pink cheeks turning a darker shade as a blush crawled down his neck into the collar of his shirt. His jaw twitched, then he set it. "Like hell I can’t," he dismissed. “I’m going to eat.”
Rhiannon made to follow, but Rick placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “Let him go. You just saw what it looks like when Thad runs out of arguments. He’s going to do it.”
"When is the appointment?"
"This evening. I'm going to take him."
"Good. Then he won’t be able to talk himself out of it."
"Or think of another argument."
Rhiannon smiled. "Yeah, he's usually good for one a day. That was it."
Rick laughed again."I noticed the roar has died down around the entryway. Is it good to be back at work and off the red carpet, no photographers chasing you?"
"Definitely. It was…an experience. I survived. It's done. Never again."
“Still got the Emmys yet to go. Simon Says might win there, so you’re going to need another dress.”
“Bite your tongue.”
"Get into production.They usher you in like the king, but you don't have to stop and talk to anyone."
"Nah. I'm a writer at heart. I get to stay home in my jammies and watch it on TV."
"You’re the head writer, in case you forgot. If you get that nom, they’ll expect you to show up dressed to the nines. But home in the jammies? That's the way to do it! But then you don't get the goody bag.I love the goody bags."
"I'll make Thad bring me one," she said, with a shrug. "Problem solved."
He laughed again. "Good on you. You've got it all figured out then.So, how's Kline?"
"I honestly don't know," she said, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sure he's fine."
"Oooh. So, it's over so quickly?" Rick tilted his head. "New wore off fast on that one. He really doesn't have a good track record with women outside his branch of industry."
"Doesn’t seem to me like he’s got a good track record at all. Anyway, his spotlight proved too much for me. It's just as well," she said, with a shrug. "Let’s just say Q1 wasn’t the best time of my life. I’m glad to have moved on."
"He's a decent guy," Rick sighed. "He tries hard. He just is what he is. Better for you in the long run, though I'm sure it's uncomfortable now. Actors like him–celebrities–do exist in a vacuum. Everything flares hotter, burns brighter, burns out faster. They are emotion junkies. They get just as high on that first flash as they would on meth. They are addicted to people, and addicted to being wanted. They’re hard."
“Sounds like the voice of experience.”
“I’ve been in this industry my whole career, and I’m friends with a lot of them. They make great friends. They’re just lousy partners.”
"Very." Rhiannon sighed. "Well, it was nice to see you again. I better grab some lunch before I end up in meetings all afternoon. Good luck with Thad's meeting tonight."
"Ciao." Rick smiled after her.“Tell the talking dress I said hello.”
She flipped him a finger and walked on to her office, where her assistant had a box lunch waiting for her. She ate quickly without even tasting the food, eyes on the production calendar on her wall.
Sweeps was coming in May, and she felt good about the episode lineup. They were running filming two weeks on, one week off until after July sweeps so the writers could keep up and respond to network requests, and she was hoping they could dovetail an Emmy nom with big summer ratings. They were doing an extended summer hiatus to accommodate network coverage of an upcoming, international sporting event, so if Thad agreed to take the indie film, he could shoot then. If he needed more time, maybe they could do a couple ofvery special episodeswhere Simon gets snowed in at a cabin in Anchorage or something. He could Zoom in his performances.
She tucked that into the back of her mind to start laying groundwork for just in case.
Several minutes later, she realized she’d been staring out the window, her mind a million miles away. She’d been thinking about her family and how much easier life might have been if she’d just married the Kennedy scion her grandmother had picked out for her and lived out her life on a porch in Nantucket, alternately gardening, shrieking at the nanny, doing charity work, and writing a column in the local paper.
If she’d done as her grandmother wished, she would have already completed her family by now, with at least three kids and two King Charles spaniels. Each milestone, engagement, marriage, childbirth, would unlock a new level of treasure that was laid out for her in her grandfather’s will. Now, it looked like she was taking the long way around to the excessive fortune, waiting for her grandmother to die rather than accomplishing all the feats of womanhood her grandfather had thought so important.
Funny how graduating from two of the top creative writing and film school programs in the country hadn’t unlocked a dime. Not that she needed her grandfather’s dimes. Her mother’s side of the family had plenty of those and she had been supporting herself on the interest from investments made in her name at birth since she’d left home at eighteen.
