First Stop, New York

by Jordan Cooke

  Malibu Beach—Dawn, the Next Morning

  Corliss yawned. JB, who stood next to her, waved his hand in front of his face. “Jeez, Corliss. Ever heard of Listermint?”

  Corliss wasn’t in the mood. “My breath is fine, JB. It’s my lack of courage that’s stinking up the place.”

  “‘Lack of courage’ is a funny thing to call morning breath.”

  “Cut me a break, JB. It is morning. And I’m cranky. I don’t know how to tell Max I don’t want to be his assistant anymore and my throat is sore from screaming at the top of my lungs at the top of a Ferris wheel for fifteen minutes straight.”

  “Wow. I’d say ‘interesting,’ but I’m too fascinated by what Max is doing down the beach.”

  Corliss squinted. Her new contact lenses had arrived, but she hadn’t put them in yet. She was too scared because it involved touching her eyeballs. She’d tried to all morning, but she kept thinking about all those dead fish on ice at Whole Foods.

  Corliss dug her old glasses out of her bag and threw them on. A hundred yards off she could see Max stamping his feet in the sand and tearing up the latest script.

  “Uh-oh,” Corliss sighed. “Max is making confetti again.”

  “Making confetti—I like it. It makes Max’s breakdowns sound so festive.”

  “Excuse me, JB, I better head over to see if I can diffuse this with my psychological insight.”

  “Sure, isn’t that what all future-ex-assistants do?”

  “I told you, JB, I’m conflicted!”

  JB saluted and Corliss headed over to where Max stood ankle-deep in script confetti.

  “What is it, Corliss?” Max said as she arrived. “Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a note session?”

  “Just wanted to see if you could use some help.”

  Max pinched the top of his nose with his thumb and forefinger and counted to ten. “Corliss, with all due respect, you can work miracles but you cannot tell me how to gain back the two days I’m already behind this week.”

  Rocco sauntered up. “I think I could be of assistance, Max. Hi, Corliss.”

  “Hi, Rocco.” Corliss noted that Rocco looked especially dreamy this morning. His olive skin had become a deep brown since production began and his inky black hair kept catching the wind.

  He’s like a rock star crossed with a hair model crossed with the statue of David.

  “You help me?” Max said to Rocco with none-too-thinly veiled contempt. “You’re an actor. How could an actor help Max Marx?”

  “Well,” said Rocco in his lulling baritone, “first, I’d try to convince you to stop referring to yourself in the third person.”

  Ouch.

  “Excuse me?”

  “It’s pretentious.”

  Corliss closed her eyes and waited for the carnage to begin.

  “And I might be offended by that actor comment, Max, if I didn’t have other ambitions outside of acting. I also want to direct.”

  Corliss opened her eyes. She couldn’t believe it. “You do?” she asked.

  “You do?” Max echoed.

  “I do. And one thing I’ve learned as I’ve witnessed the production slipping loose from your grasp—”

  Max’s nostrils flared bigger than they ever had before. “Slipping?”

  “Yes, Max. And what I’ve learned is you could save a lot of time by taking two scenes that take place in different locations and rewriting them so that they take place in the same location.”

  “What do you mean?” Max said, looking away.

  But Corliss didn’t have to think about this idea for even a minute to know it made complete sense. Oh my God, this Michaelangelo statue is brilliant.

  Rocco continued, the picture of calm confidence. “You dress the set differently so it doesn’t look like the same location, and you use another camera angle to insure the illusion. That way we’d save time by not having to set up the lights twice, not to mention having to transport the actors from place to place.”

  Max looked at Rocco strangely. Corliss was blown away. She didn’t know how Rocco was coming up with this stuff.

  “For instance,” he continued. “The two scenes we’re meant to shoot this morning: If you set the suntan-lotion accident on the beach instead of on the boardwalk, you can keep the same setup from the scene where Travis gets bitten by the hermit crab. You’d save at least an hour by not moving production.”

  Max’s nostrils got big, then small. Then big, then small. Then big and small and big and small and big and small really fast. Corliss had by now learned to read Max’s nostrils and she knew this series of movement meant one thing: that Rocco’s suggestion was amazing, but that Max would sooner die than admit an actor had one-upped him.

  “Rocco,” Max said finally. “I would really appreciate it if you returned to your trailer to comb out your hair and read one of those strange Russian books you like so much.”

  Rocco shrugged and headed to his trailer.

  Corliss knew she had to get Max to act on Rocco’s brilliant advice—but she also knew Max’s ego disorder kept him extremely defensive and closed off. She’d diagnosed him as having a borderline personality that was also perhaps a bit delusional. But she then diagnosed herself as someone who didn’t understand why she even cared anymore! She knew this much: Something about helping out, no matter how degrading, made her feel alive. And, again, she felt the great pull to make the lives of all the mentally disturbed people around her easier. Max being exhibit A.

  I’ll sort through my own psychological problems later. Max needs someone like me—even if that someone is obviously nuts herself.

  Corliss stood up tall. Resolve felt good. Excellent, in fact.

  So, now, how do I convince Max to swallow his pride and do what Rocco said? It came to her in a flash. I got it! Appeal to his grandiosity.

  “Max,” Corliss said in her best, most reassuring babysitter voice. “There is no question you are filled with brilliance.”

  Max pouted.

  “And expert technique.”

  Max cocked his head.

  “And a masterful vision for the future of television.”

  Max smiled and rolled his fingers so that Corliss would say more.

  “But isn’t it possible—just maybe a little—that Rocco’s suggestion is good?” Corliss moved in close so that she could whisper. “I mean, you wouldn’t have to tell anybody it was his idea.”

  She could see Max pondering this. “You know, Corliss, once again you impress me with your reasoning. And you’re right. There is a long history of directors stealing actors’ ideas without giving them the credit.”

  “Well, I didn’t exactly mean—”

  “And I want to be a part of that history. So I’ll take Rocco’s suggestion—but I’ll also do it my way.”

  “Er, that’s not exactly what I had in mind, but what do you mean?”

  Max’s other assistants arrived and stood in a semicircle waiting for Max’s orders. They made mean faces at Corliss, which they’d been doing all week. Max led Corliss away from them.

  “I’ll shoot the two different scenes in the two different locations as planned, and then I’ll shoot them in the same location from different angles, as Rocco suggested. That way I can compare the two ways to see whose is better.”

  “But, Max, won’t that take twice the time?!”

  “Corliss, I can’t talk right now. My accountant is communicating with me on my Bluetooth, and hearing his voice mixing in with your voice is really aggravating.” Max pressed his Bluetooth close to his ear.

  “But, Max—”

  Max held up his hand to silence her. “Meanwhile, Corliss, much as I hate to do this after your kind reassurances, I need you back on Trent and Tanya detail. Last time I saw the two of them, Tanya was manscaping Trent’s underarm hair.”

  “But, Max—”

  Max held up his hand again. “Bluetooth wins out over Corliss!” he shrieked.

  Pacific Coast Highway—7:47 P.M.

&
nbsp; “Bye, Corliss!” yelped Tanya, flipping her phone shut.

  “Did you have to tell her where we are?” asked Trent.

  “Trent, it’s Corliss’s job to help Max keep track of the cast in case we’re needed.”

  “Even when we’re, like, socializing?”

  Tanya rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. She stretched out in the passenger seat of Trent’s silver Porsche Boxster convertible, wearing a Marc Jacobs miniskirt and one of Trent’s plaid Ben Sherman polos. The setting sun was blasting stunning pink arcs over the ocean—but Trent couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  “Eyes on the road, Trent Owen Michaels.”

  Trent was taking Tanya up the coast to a romantic dinner at a little hideaway in the canyon. He really wanted to do something special for her, to show her he wasn’t just some stereotypical surfer dude.

  “Where are we going again?” she said distractedly.

  “You’ll see.”

  She didn’t answer.

  She’s doing a lot of not answering lately. What’s with that?

  Trent was worried. Tanya was different than she had been the first few days of shooting. He didn’t know what to do with her these past couple of days. Everything he said around her felt completely stupid.

  “I really appreciate the time you took with my underarm hair, Tanya.”

  Tanya made a little face. “Well, to tell you the truth, it was getting way out of control.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Totally. I had some free time between takes yesterday so I did a little comparison of hot guys’ underarm hair up and down the beach. Yours was, like, way bushy on the pit meter.”

  Dang. What’s with her?

  “I really appreciate when you tell me how to improve myself, Tans.”

  Tanya made another little face.

  That face is exactly like the one my mom made whenever I farted at the dinner table.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Trent, ‘Tans’ is Anushka’s nickname for me. It’s something really special between us and, like, I’d really prefer to save ‘Tans’ for Anushka.”

  This one hurt. But Trent played it cool. “Okay, that’s cool. Whatever.”

  Trent turned on the radio to cover the silence. Maroon 5’s “Makes Me Wonder” seeped into the car.

  “I love Maroon 5 ’cause they really know all about a dude’s pain.”

  “Is something wrong, Trent? You’re all pouty-poo.”

  “Oh, yeah, um…Guess I’m just a little, um, pouty-poo because I haven’t seen so much of you lately.”

  “But, Trent, I’ve got my vocal coach, my trainer—and my coaching sessions with Anushka. I think they’re really helping, even though Max said today that I’m ‘totally beyond the reach of talent.’”

  “But maybe you’re spending, like, too much time with Anushka.”

  “Trent, she’s the Anushka Peters. She’s a-MA-zing! She’s also got a lot of info on a certain someone whose convertible I’m often driving around in.”

  Trent’s heart raced. “What? Who is that?”

  “You, you big dope. Apparently you have quite a history with the ladies.”

  It was exactly what Trent had feared.

  That’s why Tanya’s been cooling on me. She knows all about my player past. I am going to kill Anushka.

  “Yeah, well, don’t believe everything Anushka says. People change.”

  Tanya didn’t seem to be convinced. “It’s not just Anushka. That blog called you a player. And, like, said other things. I wonder who’s writing it? I bet it’s JB—he’s always attached to some computer.”

  “Forget that stupid blog, forget Anushka. Look, I’ve been thinking, let’s do something that doesn’t have anything to do with The ’Bu. A picnic or something. Head up to Griffith Park with a blanket, look out at the city. I don’t know, do something sexy—but, like, something Jesus would approve of.”

  Trent was just about to tell Tanya how he really felt about her. Just about to spill it all. That he’d fallen for her exactly because she was so different from all the girls with fake tans he’d ever played. That she was special. That he felt they really had a true meeting of the minds.

  That’s when Corliss pulled up in the next lane in her Mazda rental.

  “Hey look, Trent, it’s Corliss!”

  Of course it is.

  “Hey, Trent! Hey, Tanya!” Corliss called from the next lane.

  “How crazy is this?!” yelped Tanya. “Hey, Corliss!”

  “Hey, you two! Can you pull over? I think I have a flat tire!”

  Trent called across Tanya. “You can’t have a flat tire and be going sixty miles an hour, Corliss.”

  “WHAT?”

  Tanya called to Corliss. “Trent said that you can’t have a flat—”

  “WHAT?? There’s too much wind and I can’t hear you. Can you pull over?”

  “Trent, we should really pull over and help her out.”

  Trent knew he had no choice but to do whatever Tanya asked of him. “Your wish is my command.”

  Seven

  Anushka’s Trailer—8:26 A.M., the Next Morning

  Anushka whipped through the pages of the latest rewrite, searching frantically for her lines. A huge bottle of smartwater was tucked between her legs and Amy Winehouse’s song “Rehab” was cranking from her Bose speakers.

  “Alecia, where the eff are you?” she said as she searched page after page. Finally, on page fifty, she found Alecia’s first appearance. She took a big swig of her smartwater and read, frantically dragging one perfect fingernail under each line.

  There was a knock on the door. “I’m busy!”

  Tanya stepped up into the trailer. “Hey, Anushka, sorry to bother you. But I’d really appreciate it if we could have another coaching session.”

  “Tanya, I’m busy looking over my lines.” She shook the script at Tanya and took another gulp of smartwater.

  “I’m soooo sorry, Anushka, but Max still isn’t giving me any direction. He just said, ‘Whatever you’re doing, do it less horribly.’”

  “Tough tan lines, Tans. Hey, wait a minute.” Anushka had spotted something in the script.

  “What is it?”

  “This rewrite. It says here that Alecia gets a makeover from Tessa…”

  Tanya jumped up and down and clapped. “That’s my character!”

  “Bring it way down, Tans.”

  “But we get a scene together!”

  “Yeah, great, whatever. But the really good news is it looks like the burlap sacks they’ve been putting me in might be a thing of the past.” Anushka read on, more excited as she went. She tossed the chenille throw she’d been lounging in off of her hard, slim bod and paced the trailer as she read.

  “Wow, Anushka. Have you been working out?”

  “My trainer is on call 24/7. I haven’t eaten anything except seaweed crackers since last Tuesday and my body fat index is negative ten.”

  “I can, like, see little muscles around your ribs.”

  “I’m cut like a deck of cards, Tans.” Anushka turned around to give Tanya a chance to appreciate her buns of steel.

  “Wow,” said Tanya, giving her own butt a sad glance.

  “Yup, America is going to tune in to The ’Bu and realize Anushka Peters is back. She’s front, too, if you know what I mean,” said Anushka, turning around and puffing up her Class A chest. “The only question is why.” She closed the script and thought.

  “Why what?”

  “Why did Max decide to glamour me up again?”

  There was another knock on the trailer.

  “I’m busy!”

  Corliss opened the door and stuck her head in.

  “Sorry to bother you, Anushka. Max needs you on set. Hi, Tanya.”

  “Hi, Corliss,” said Tanya, waving. “Where are your glasses? You’re looking cuter every day.”

  “Thanks, Tanya. I’ve finally gotten to the point where I’m able to figure out how to put my contact lenses
in without thinking of dead fish at Whole Foods.”

  “I think about dead fish at Whole Foods, too!”

  Anushka looked back and forth between them, waiting for them to shut up.

  “Just staring at you with their big dead eyeballs! Ewww! It makes me feel creepy-crawly all over!” Tanya wriggled around in torment.

  Anushka turned off Amy Winehouse with a flick of a remote. “Excuse me, ladies, what don’t you understand about ‘I’m busy’?”

  Corliss and Tanya fell silent.

  There was another knock on the door. Anushka shouted at the door.

  “I’M BUSY!”

  But it didn’t stop Petey Newsome from sticking his head in. He held a bouquet of tulips. Suddenly the place was packed tighter than a can of tuna fish.

  “Hi, Anushka, Tanya.” When he spotted Corliss, he smiled so big that his mouth pushed against his Dumbo ears. “Hi, Corliss. These flowers were a prop used in the last scene. They were just going to throw them out, but I thought, hey, I bet Corliss is a tulip kind of girl. Was I right?”

  Corliss looked way embarrassed. “Me? Tulips? Oh, I’m really more like a carnation kind of girl. Those big pink ones that kind of puff up like—”

  Anushka had had enough. “Okay, everybody out. This is not a halfway house for freaks and geeks.”

  Tanya pouted at Corliss, who pouted at Petey, and they all turned on their heels to go. “Just wanted to make sure you got the rewrite, Anushka,” said Petey, stepping down from the trailer. “I thought you’d be pleased.”

  Then it hit Anushka. “Hold it right there, writer.”

  Petey stopped. Corliss and Tanya toppled into him.

  “And hold it right there, Corliss.”

  “I’m mashed between Petey and Tanya, I don’t think I’m going anywhere.”

  “Well, unmash yourselves and everybody sit down.”

  The three unmashed and moved slowly back into Anushka’s trailer.

  Anushka put her hands on her bony hips and sized them up. “Okay, don’t think I don’t know what’s going on here. This guy here does a rewrite that has Tanya’s character, Tessa, giving my character, Alecia, a makeover.”