In the light of morning, with my hair sticking up on one side in tangles, I knew I couldn’t spend another night there. It would be a hotel or Sara’s. So there were a few things to be done. I emailed work from Wyatt’s tablet and took the day off to deal with renter’s insurance and sorting out a new phone and living situation.
The HR response offered me three days per my contract, and they were very sympathetic. I still wanted to accomplish the essentials in one day and be back in the writer’s room tomorrow. I didn’t want to look like I was slacking off when I just started, and in my absence, they might make Cerinda a stand-up comedian or something.
First, I’d get cleaned up and get a new phone. Then I’d contact my insurance agent and Sara. I always felt better with a good plan in place. Wyatt wasn’t even awake yet when I left. It was easier not to wake him and discuss my plans—they were mine. He’d only argue and say I should stay with him. It would be easy and comfortable and insidious. I didn’t want that life, didn’t want to live within his borders. So I owed it to myself to get out and thank him for letting me crash on his couch when I picked up my stuff later. He was kind enough to let me stay. I’d be kind enough to leave.
With a new phone in hand and the assistance of a nice salesperson who retrieved my contacts from the cloud, I felt much more secure. My insurance agent happened to be Sara’s brother-in-law, who had given us an incredible deal on coverage. Sara’s sister Trish had even come over and helped us take pictures of our stuff and catalog it. She had put together a book for her husband of their household contents to use as a model for clients on how to document their insured belongings, and they used our apartment for the example of keeping track of what’s insured on your rental. So clothes and shoes and sports equipment and kitchen things were already on file with photos at the insurance office. I owed Trish a bottle of wine for all the trouble she’d saved me by taking all those pictures to use in the insurance office. The agent started paperwork on the incident while I got the fire report faxed to his office. By the time I was done with that, Sara was calling me to see if I was okay.
“Trish called and said there was a fire. What happened?”
“I’m okay, but everything else is toast. I had my computer, thank God. I’m really lucky your sister did all that work documenting our stuff when we moved in because everything’s recorded and accounted for.”
“Yeah, you were lucky she talked us into doing that. I’m just sorry I wasn’t home. It was Andrew’s dad’s birthday, so we drove down for dinner and stayed over.”
“It’s okay, it’s fine. I could’ve called you if I wasn’t so stupid. I couldn’t remember your new number, and it never occurred to me to call anyone but you or Wyatt.”
“So Wyatt came to get you?”
“Not exactly,” I said, embarrassed. “I called the guy from the elevator because I had his card, and my brain had completely short-circuited.”
“You called JOSH MASON?” she boomed. I cringed.
“Jesus, Sara, I can hear you. You don’t need to shout.”
“I am allowed to yell when you called Josh Mason about your house fire. Oh God, please say he showed up in fireman pants and boots and suspenders and no shirt. And the hat. The fire chief hat. Please.”
“That’s sick, no.”
“Don’t ruin this for me. Tell me he got sprayed with the hose so he was dripping wet when he rescued you. That he picked you up in his bare, insanely muscular Thor arms and carried you off to have sex in the fire truck.”
“Sara, you’re insane.”
“I’m insane? I’m not the one who calls a top Hollywood actor when my house burns down.”
“You make a fair point,” I laughed, “but who would have sex in a fire truck? How would that even work? It’s all equipment and like ladders and hoses and probably axes and extra boots and things.”
“I could make it work with Josh Mason. I would climb right up on that ladder, baby,” Sara said.
For a second, I pictured it. It was so ridiculous, but I couldn’t ignore the heat pooling low in my stomach, the pull I felt. It had been a long time since I felt that pull in my body.
“Sara, no one had sex. Not with a fireman or an actor or anyone else. Josh was nice about coming to get me. He took me out for soup. He didn’t even like drop me off at a mental ward for stalking him or anything.”
“He got you soup?”
“I was upset, and instead of just dropping me at your house, he took me for soup.”
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “Andrew’s family’s great, but you’re my family. I wish I’d been here to be with you. You have to come over after I get off work. Please. You’re staying with us. No arguments. You could’ve been hurt or worse. I love you, Ab.”
“I love you, too,” I said, feeling choked up. That’s how it always was with Sara and me—we joked and laughed, but we were close as sisters. The truth was I’d felt the loss of her as a roommate more strongly than I’d felt the loss of Wyatt after our breakup.
“I’ll make dinner,” I offered.
“That sounds amazing. I’ll see you tonight,” she said.
I felt so much better just from talking to her.
I sent a bottle of wine to Josh via Caitlyn’s office. It wasn’t exactly a LaTour vintage, but it was a nice wine, and I wanted to thank him without being intrusive. Especially since I had a little bit of shame hangover from calling him in my hour of need. I had a latte and called my parents to fill them in. I didn’t want to tell them until everything was well in hand because they’d worry. I knew I could handle anything life threw my way, especially with the help of my friends, but they worried about their little girl living in the big city enough without thinking of me in peril of death by fire. Mom took the opportunity to tell me my high school English teacher was retiring so I could come home, get that job and supervise the yearbook, too.
My sweet mom, always hoping I’d come back to Iowa and live the life she wanted for me. She’d be perfectly happy to have me teaching reluctant teens to appreciate To Kill a Mockingbird and coming over for dinner on Sundays. If I could get married and start popping out grandchildren—preferably twins with cutesy names like Taylor and Tyler—she’d be over the moon with joy. I love her so much, but I couldn’t live the life she’d choose for me. I knew what I wanted—to write for film—and that was what I was going to do. House fires and hard ass writing teams be damned.
I went back to Wyatt’s to thank him and say goodbye. He was working from home, as usual, a cup of coffee at his elbow. He looked up when I came in. He was Wyatt—cute in a sandy blond, boy-next-door way. He was still wearing his Green Lantern t-shirt that he’d slept in and a pair of jeans he’d probably gotten off the floor.
“Did you go to work?”
“No. I called in. By contract, I get three days for a natural disaster or act of God.”
“I figured you couldn’t stay away from that building. You were always so obsessed with getting into scriptwriting,” he said with a rueful smile.
“I’m really glad to have my new job. It’s writing. The pay is better. It’s exciting.”
He may have frowned like excitement was a bad thing. I wanted to pat him on the arm and reassure him I wasn’t asking him to bungee jump, I was just talking about a job where I typed on a laptop. He closed his computer and gave me his attention. He was always good at that.
“You know you can stay here,” he said.
“I do know that. Thank you. You’ve been wonderful to me. In fact, you always were. I can’t thank you enough for taking me in last night. I’ve talked to Sara, and I’m going to stay with her and Andrew until I find a new place. I was going to have to find a new roommate anyway, because of my student loans and stuff, so this gives me a chance to start fresh. Maybe find someone who’s advertising for a housemate. There’s bound to be somebody who needs a roomie.”
“Have you thought about selling your car?”
“Yeah, I have. But I haven’t crunched the numbers on
how much I’d spend on Uber and stuff to see if it makes sense.”
“I always said that the car was just a headache. Getting a parking spot, paying insurance. Every place delivers anyway, so there’s no reason to have one.”
“Not everyone works from home,” I reminded him. “Going out can be fun.”
“You say that, but I’ve seen no proof of it,” he said. He wasn’t even teasing. I smiled a little pityingly.
“I appreciate your help.”
“I’d do anything to help you. You know that.”
“I know. That’s partly why I’m going to stay with Sara. I like you too much to take advantage of your kindness, and you and I both know this leads nowhere good.”
“Give Sara and Andrew my best,” he said.
“I will,” I told him. I gave him a hug and took my stuff.
Once I’d Ubered to my car and loaded it, I went to Sara’s. She unlocked the house remotely, and I lugged my stuff inside. It was a pretty townhouse, everything white with accents of sea glass green and light blue. I’d been there before a few times, but this was my first visit since Sara moved in. I could see her stuff everywhere—the silver seashell dish where she kept her keys, the blue wineglasses she lined up on the counter, and her stack of Hallmark movie DVDs on the shelves. I did some yoga stretches and took a shower, then checked my work emails and made some notes on the shared script doc we were working on. When Sara got home, I had made a salad and was working on the rest of the meal.
After we ate, I sat down at my computer and started to write an essay. It relaxed me and helped me focus. I got into that good flow where the words come easily and feel right. I stopped thinking about the fire and what I’d do next. I just wrote what had happened to me in an elevator, and how that guy, that famous man everyone recognized, had come to my aid.
I messaged a contact at TMZ about submitting it, and within an hour, I had an acceptance and a generous payment. It wasn’t Solange-beats-up-Jay-Z video footage money, but it was plenty. And I planned to donate it to a charity of Josh Mason’s choice in his honor. Then I watched a couple of season one episodes of Ancient Crowns and took a few notes the way Josh had suggested.
By seven the next morning, my inbox was full of interview requests, and one of the producers from work had called to say she was thrilled that I had my name in the news linked positively with a huge star. It would put the show’s title in print all over the web and whip up more excitement for the coming season. Anything that got our series to trend online was always welcome, and feel-good was better than scandal. I told Sara I’d meet her for shopping after work because I wanted to head into the office after all. I felt excited because of all of the positive responses to my essay, and I wanted to ride that happy wave through a successful day at work. Dressed in my tan pantsuit and hair pulled back, I drove to work.
When I reached the writer’s room, I was one of the first to arrive. I set out the muffins I’d picked up at a bakery to share and opened the shared doc. Only Randolph was there, and he was on the phone. He nodded to me, and I was absorbed in reviewing a scene until he spoke to me.
“So, you got a crush on this Mason kid?”
“What? No. He was a Good Samaritan and deserved the credit for it. With all the negativity on the airwaves, I thought it would be a nice counterpoint,” I said, a little annoyed at the idea that he thought I was trying to get in Josh Mason’s pants with a flattering article.
“It just seemed out of character for you to do a freelance piece. You had said most of your experience was in editing, and you seemed like you looked down on content creators online.”
“I have in the past. I think I thought I was better than them because I could move some commas around. But there’s a certain rush to getting your message out to the public that quickly.”
“It’s good that you know how lucky you are. The producers are happy you’re getting the show in the news even tangentially because it keeps us in everyone’s mind. Now we have to deliver some episodes. I assume all is well after the fire?”
“Well, I’ve lost just about everything, but I’m alive and have a place to stay,” I said, feeling a little cranky about it. “Listen, I know we got off to a rough start, somebody obviously saw something in me worth hiring me for. I know there’s a learning curve, but I’m used to solo jobs. I won’t be silenced about my ideas, and I know I have a valuable contribution to make.”
“Abby, can I be honest with you? You’re a know-it-all. Every man in this place is at the top of his game and has paid his dues. You’re young and new and loud, and when you insist that your ideas are better, it’s insulting. The truth is, we know more than you do about writing for television and about courting an audience over the run of an entire series, sometimes for a decade or more. You helped out with two episodes and think you’re a hotshot now.”
“Wow,” I said. “That was honest.”
“We have a pecking order. We put out the tasks for the week. We claim them in order of seniority, not who is first and loudest. Just because you created a character, you have no ownership over him. The show belongs to the network and so do we. It’s not about you or your vision. It’s about the product we’ve been hired to create. We work together to create dramatic tension and suspense—things you know how to do—to keep people desperate for the next episode. It needs to be subtle enough and layered enough that people rewatch it while they wait for the next one and go online and argue about Easter eggs and clues. That’s our job. Not trying to nab the glory,” he said.
I nodded. I understood what he meant, but I still thought he was condescending. I got up and got a muffin. It was easily the best part of my morning. The rest of it was spent sitting in a story meeting, trying not to talk. If I listened more, if I seemed to take note of their suggestions, maybe it would help me fit in. I slumped in my suit and kept checking hits on my TMZ article. It had been picked up by several outlets and was still trending. My agent called and told me I had a radio interview scheduled for four about the Josh Mason story. I felt good about it, and about bringing attention to Ancient Crowns well. Maybe that would endear me to my writing team.
I went into an office to take the call and spoke about the fire and the evening with Josh. I didn’t go into details of what we’d talked about or anything personal, but I made sure to reference the restaurant where we got the soup and the way he had been so sweet to the firefighter about his wife. I highlighted his thoughtfulness and how responsible he was, how generous. The DJ seemed intent on joking about Josh Mason’s sex symbol status, but I shied away from that.
“A lot of what we talk about concerning sexual abuse and objectification of women in the film and TV industry is treated with the seriousness it deserves, and I’m grateful for that. But I don’t think that excuses treating a man as though his value is only as a sexual object either. Yes, the actor Josh Mason is conventionally attractive, but that wasn’t what was worthwhile and meaningful about the brief time I spent with him. It was his kindness and dependability and strength, the fact that he is very much the kind of man you would want fighting at your side or watching your back. I think the way he has been portrayed does him a disservice. Not that I think a guy making twenty million a movie is being persecuted,” I said, “but that I had the opportunity to dispel this pretty-but-dumb image that’s grown up around him since he broke out in Say It with Flowers. I think maybe he played that role so well and captured the humor in a way that made us put him in a box like we had an idea of who he was.”
“So, you’re his personal advocate now?”
“No, I’m just a lucky girl. I wasn’t hurt in the fire. A gorgeous movie star rescued me. I’m staying with my best friend. I had good renter’s insurance, and my job offered me time off after the fire, but I can’t stay away. I’m working with the amazing writing team on Ancient Crowns, and I actually binged some season one episodes last night after I posted the article about Josh Mason. Because the brilliance of the show is that so much of the groundwork for th
e future was laid in those early seasons. I have to go back and absorb it and look at the finer details to see what I missed. Because these guys—they’re legit. It drives me nuts sometimes because they’ve been playing the long game, and they know how this unfolds. I’m rewatching and going, ‘damn I should’ve seen that coming—they gave me hints!’ ” I said.
“Now, there was some skepticism at the station about the veracity of your story, so we looked up the firefighter, and he’s been kind enough to send us the audio of the recording Mason made for his wife.”
“Why would people think I was lying? If I was lying, I would say I ran into him at someplace ordinary that didn’t make me look like an idiot who doesn’t know anyone’s phone number,” I laughed. “I would’ve said he told me that women with flat stomachs are overrated and he prefers funny writers with curves. Then he fed me plums, and we made plans to sneak away to Cabo San Lucas together.”
The DJ thanked me for my time and ended the interview.
I felt good about what I’d done and ready to face the firing squad again when my phone rang with Josh Mason’s info on the screen.
“Hello?” I said. “Let me guess, you’ve been in a flood, and I’m the only person you know who can bring a boat?”
“No, but that would be a good line if I ever need it. I just wanted to thank you for the article you wrote. It was unnecessary, but it was kind of you.”
“I wanted the truth to come out. You said yourself that you’re seen in a limited way because of your roles. This could do a small part in helping you break out of that, shift your image to a little more mature.”
“It’s good PR. Let me buy you a drink to thank you.”
“Let’s get this straight, Mason,” I said. “You don’t ever need to thank me for anything. You helped me out immensely and didn’t even make a big deal of it. So if you ever need a favor, you just let me know.”
Pretend Wife Page 4
