“You were brilliant,” Max said, as I opened the driver’s side door of my new car and sat down. He got in the passenger seat.
“It wasn’t just me,” I said. “It was Lyle’s idea.”
“Yeah, well, you were still brilliant in talking me into it. But I’m not sure how brilliant it is that we’re sitting in your new car with no clothes on.”
I looked over at him. “Fuck it. These windows are tinted. Let’s go for a ride.”
“Naked…”
“Relax,” I said, then gave him one of his own lines: “I’ve got this.”
TEN
I suppose some of it had to do with having just been around Grace and also hearing Krystal’s news, but more of it was coming from the talk I’d had with Max’s mom right before Christmas.
I’m talking about the drastic change in my attitude toward what I wanted in life, specifically as it relates to marriage and family.
For the longest time, I rejected the idea out of hand. It wasn’t for me. I wanted my career, wanted it badly, so badly in fact that the mere idea of starting a family was the equivalent of throwing up a roadblock on my pathway to being a successful woman in the movie industry.
Now, though, things were starting to look a little different through this new prism provided by Paula, Grace and, strange as it was, Krystal. Who would have ever thought Krystal would be in a position that I found enviable?
My thoughts only intensified the next time Max and I had our friends over for dinner.
It was a week before the Oscars, the first ever that I would be attending. Max wasn’t up for any awards, nor was he presenting, so it would be a night of pure stress-free enjoyment and partying afterwards.
As the six of us sat around the dinner table, my head was on a swivel, listening to everyone else trading stories about their first time at the Academy Awards.
“I can understand Carl going, but I still can’t believe they let in a reality TV producer,” Max teased, glancing at Anthony.
“Hey,” Anthony replied, “this is the future of television.”
Max held up his beer mug. “Right. Big difference between an Emmy and Oscar gold, my friend.”
Anthony laughed. “Neither one is pure gold.”
“True,” Max said.
“Plus, there’s much more work that goes into a reality show than a movie. Just think of the script size differences. You work with a hundred and twenty pages or so. Hell, I shoot that every week.”
They were just teasing each other, I knew. Both of them had major respect for the other’s work. This was just men being men, I supposed.
“Wait,” I said, a little hesitant to ask, but curious enough to do it. “There are scripts for reality shows?”
Monica said, “Not exactly. Anthony stretches the truth a little.”
“Okay,” Anthony said, “so they’re more like outlines. Not really scripts. You’ve seen who’s on those shows. Surely you don’t think they’re bright enough to memorize lines.”
I nodded. “Gotcha.”
“And please tell me you were also stretching the truth when you said it’s the future of TV,” Loralei said.
“God, please say it isn’t so,” I agreed.
Anthony wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Maybe the short-term future. There’s a ton of cash in it, but let’s face it, viewers are getting tired of these people. Yes, they work for me and they’re raking in ad money hand over fist, but they’re talentless bores, if you want to know the truth.”
Carl said, “As an attorney who represents some of your, uh, stars, I have to object to that generalization.”
“You saying it isn’t true?” Max asked with a grin.
Carl put both hands up, surrendering. “I’m just objecting. It’s neither my job nor within my capability to pass judgment on what’s true and what isn’t.”
Max and Anthony said, simultaneously: “Lawyer-speak.”
. . . . .
Three days later, I found myself alone in the house overnight for the first time. Max had flown to Maine to scout a location, and he asked me to stay and “mind the store,” as he put it.
Max would only be gone one day and night, so I hadn’t counted on feeling so lonely. More than lonely. The house felt empty, and so did I as I crawled under the sheets that night. The bed was way too big without him there.
First thing the next morning upon arriving at the office, I got a call from Charles Andrio, vice-president of one of the studios. We had met at a party a few months back, and later, when I told Max I found Charles kind of slimy, Max said, “The slimiest.”
“I hear Max is directing,” Charles said, through my speakerphone.
“He is.”
“Interesting. Listen, Olivia, I read the script. Love it.” He stopped.
“That’s great,” I said. “I’ll tell Max.”
“Please do. And when you tell him, also mention that I’d like to have lunch. Talk about buying it. Maybe.”
Maybe. I was seasoned enough now to know that word was nothing more than a power play. Of course it was a “maybe.” If you want to sit down and talk about something, it’s about money. You’ve already decided you like the script.
“You’re talking about buying a movie before it’s made?”
“No,” he said, “I’m talking about buying the script.”
“We’re already in casting,” I said.
“Just let him know. I think he’ll be interested.”
“I’ll be speaking with him later,” I said, “and I’ll have him call you.”
I wanted to get off the phone with this guy. He always had some kind of angle, and my first thought was that we were probably considering casting someone he wanted in one of his next movies, and he wanted to buy Max’s script so he could shelve it and get the actor himself.
When I called Max, he agreed.
Max arrived home shortly after 9 p.m. that night, and after a few minutes of mutually eager kissing, I asked him what he was going to do about Charles.
“He called me,” Max said. “I spoke to him on the drive in from the airport. I guess he couldn’t wait for me to get back to him.”
Max picked me up in his arms and resumed kissing me hungrily.
“Wait,” I said. “So what happened?”
Max shrugged. “He wants to buy the script.”
“I know, but what did you say?”