First Stop, New York

by Jordan Cooke

  Twelve

  Michael Rothstein’s House in the Hills—4:30 P.M., the Following Saturday

  Corliss and Anushka stood outside the front door. Anushka, wearing couture Lagerfeld, looked Corliss up and down.

  Corliss was horrified. “I’m completely underdressed, Anushka. I can’t believe you said ‘It’s casual’ and then you show up in that.”

  “Don’t bust a gasket, Cor, it was the first thing I saw in my closet. Besides, you look cute as hell. That cotton candy–colored top is totally hot.”

  “I look like a bottle of Pepto-Bismol next to you.”

  Just then, the front door flew open. Inside the foyer stood a gorgeous Chinese woman in a floor-length Badgley Mischka gown.

  “Anushka Peters?” The woman looked horrified.

  “Yeah, were you expecting Hilary Duff?”

  The woman smiled broadly, shook her dainty head violently, and air-kissed Anushka on both cheeks. “Don’t be silly, you look divine.” She took in Corliss. “And whom do we have here?”

  “Hi, I’m Corliss Meyers. Anushka’s date.”

  “Lesbians?” the woman asked with interest.

  “Nope,” said Anushka with a big smile. “Good old straight gals.”

  The woman frowned a little. “What a shame. Lesbians always bring a certain élan to a party.”

  Anushka grabbed Corliss’s hand and winked. “Who knows? The night’s young.” Corliss rolled her eyes.

  “Charming! I love open-minded guests. I’m Mingmei Rothstein,” she said as she swished her dress back and forth a little. “Welcome to my home.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mingmei. What an amazing gown,” Corliss said with a sinking feeling. “I didn’t know the party was formal…”

  “Heavens, no. We’re very casual today,” Mingmei said, now twirling in circles. “This dress was the first thing I saw in the closet.”

  Anushka leaned in to whisper to Corliss. “Can you imagine the second thing?”

  Corliss whispered back, “I am going to kill you.”

  Anushka coughed to cover Corliss. “So you’re Michael’s wife?”

  “It’s true,” said Mingmei, twisting her lips as she said it as if she all of a sudden smelled something bad. “Do come in. Everyone’s out on the lanai.”

  Corliss could feel Mingmei’s disapproving stare.

  “You’re sure I’m dressed okay?”

  “Of course, Corliss,” said Mingmei as she took Corliss’s arm. “You look like that terrific medicine I need to take whenever I eat Indian food.”

  The Lanai—Continuous

  Corliss emerged into a battery of camera flashes.

  “What the—?” She shielded her face with her hands—and the flashes suddenly stopped.

  “Don’t mind them, Corliss,” said Mingmei. “They thought you were someone.”

  Mingmei was beginning to bug Corliss.

  Anushka made her entrance. The flashes went off again. She smiled her million-watt smile and spun on her heel. There were so many flashbulbs, everything went completely white for an entire minute. All Corliss could see were Anushka’s teeth and eyes and fingernails.

  “Enough,” cried Mingmei to the photographers, spreading her skinny arms wide. “You must now let our guest and her rather underdressed lesbian assistant enjoy the party.”

  Corliss had to laugh.

  “Now come this way. All your little friends are right through here.”

  Mingmei took them under a portico dripping with trumpet vines. They came out the other end, where Mingmei deposited them on the lanai. A spectacular slate patio, cantilevered over the Hollywood Hills, it looked like something out of Tuscany.

  Corliss stopped short. In front of her was a crowd of about four hundred people—all dressed in tuxes and gowns. “I thought you said it wasn’t formal…”

  “Formal, casual…thrift shop. Who cares?” said Mingmei, now officially evil. “Enjoy, girls. I’m moving on.”

  Mingmei floated into the crowd, swooshing her gown this way and that.

  “Phew. Glad she’s gone.”

  Corliss turned to Anushka for support, but Anushka had just spotted Justin Timberlake smoking a clove cigarette over by the sturgeon bar. “Justin, yo!” She dashed over, stranding Corliss not two minutes into the party.

  “Great,” said Corliss, glancing around. She looked back through the portico, trying to figure out if she could escape without anyone seeing her.

  Just as she was about to make a dash for it, someone tugged at her hand. She looked to her right—but there was no one there.

  “Down here,” came a familiar voice.

  “Legend?” Corliss lowered her eyes. He was wearing a tiny tux and bow tie. “What are you doing here?”

  “Getting my party on.” He shrugged.

  She was actually happy to see the tiny terror. “You look so cute.”

  He shrugged again. “Firth thing I thaw in my clothet.”

  Corliss couldn’t help herself. She picked Legend up and planted a big wet one on his face.

  “Yeuuuuchhhh,” he said, pushing Corliss away. “Come on. Thereth thomeone here who wanth to thee you.”

  Far Corner of the Lanai—Continuous

  Max stood looking out over the hills with his patented million-mile stare. He was dressed in a charcoal gray Paul Smith tuxedo, set off impeccably with flat silk piping and matching gray silk tie. He looked like a gazillion dollars.

  Legend deposited Corliss in front of Max and motored off. Corliss panicked.

  “Wait, Legend!”

  “I’m going in thearch of the burgerth and weenieth,” he said, shaking his pudgy rear end at them as he wandered fearlessly into the crowd.

  “He’s something else, isn’t he?” Max looked at Corliss kindly.

  “Hi, Max,” Corliss said tightly. She figured she’d make some small talk and be done with it. But her mind buzzed like a hive of cranky bees. Just being next to Max made her nuts. “You’ll have to excuse what I’m wearing, Max. Anushka led me to believe this was a potluck picnic.”

  Max chuckled. “That’s what’s great about you, Corliss. Faced with all evidence to the contrary, you still believe whatever people tell you.”

  Corliss tried to count to ten. But she couldn’t. Every feeling she’d ever held her tongue about—Max, The ’Bu, her freaky internship—did backflips in her stomach and then traveled, at warp speed, up through her throat where they coiled like a storm, morphed into words, and catapulted with the full force of nature out her mouth. “Is that supposed to be some kind of crack, Max Marx? ’Cause let me tell you one thing—no, two! Or maybe twelve. First, you’re right! I’m a good person who believes in people! And where did that get me? Slaving away on your bogus errands that had nothing—nothing!—to do with television, the show, or anything resembling any sane person’s sense of reality! And I have a good idea about what that is because you’ll recall you constantly exploited my knowledge of abnormal psychology!”

  A waiter with a plate of new potatoes and roe whizzed by with a look of horror on his face.

  “And I don’t care if I do scare the waitstaff. I’ve been holding this in too long!”

  “Corliss, before you go on—”

  “No, Max, after I go on!” She was unstoppable. “That’s when you can talk! Up to now it’s always been after you went on and that’s why now I get to finish before you go on!”

  She realized she was losing the thread. She took deep breaths. She was finally standing up for herself. To someone who’d intimidated her since the first minute they’d met. It felt awesome.

  “The thing is this, Max Marx: I worked harder than anyone on that show, and you know it. I was a devoted and loyal member of the team. For God’s sake, I even showed up the day after I was fired to deliver scripts! I’m either a total doormat or the paragon of competency!”

  “Corliss, I—”

  “And as for the blog, well, I can’t believe you’d think I’d ever betray you like that. As a matter of fact
, I knew I’d see you here, so I printed out every blog entry, with date and time, and then I printed out the TNT report that I kept and compared the two with times and dates to show that I was off doing your dirty work when a lot of that blog stuff was posted online, so I couldn’t possibly be the person who wrote it!”

  She swiped a wad of papers from her back pocket and thrust them at Max. “I used three different colored highlighters to cross-reference dates and events so you could review it at a glance.”

  “Corliss, that’s not necessary.”

  “Oh, I think it is, Max. Because you know why? I want to prove to you that you’d be a fool not to rehire me if the show gets picked up. If for no other reason than I work for free.”

  “Corliss, please—”

  “There, I said it. You need me, Max Marx. Like the desert needs the rain. And this”—she pointed to the parched hills around them—“is the desert! And I am the rain!”

  Corliss was exhausted from her speech. She even got a little teary. But not because she was sad. Exactly the opposite. She felt like she’d just taken the most amazing mud bath of her life. Her skin tingled and the inside of her head felt like a thousand production assistants had just scrubbed it with tiny happy brushes. Who ever knew that being courageous could be so exhilarating?

  “So, Max, do you have anything to say?”

  In response, Max took Corliss’s hand and started to lead her through the throng. “Come with me, Corliss. I want to show you something.”

  A Screening Room in Michael’s House—Continuous

  A cheer went up when Max entered with Corliss. Michael Rothstein and the cast—all dressed to the nines—were lounging on comfy couches around the room.

  Corliss beamed. “Oh my God! You’re all here!” Everyone except Anushka, who’s probably in some closet with Justin.

  “Down in front!” barked Michael Rothstein. “If my wife finds out we’re in here, she’ll do something that involves a big knife and one of my prized body parts.”

  JB let out a whoop as Corliss approached the couch. Trent was too busy trying to feed Tanya popcorn.

  “Stop that, Trent,” said Tanya, pushing him away. “Hey, Corliss!”

  Rocco, as usual, kept his nose buried in some obscure Russian novel.

  “And Rocco! Dostoevsky?” Corliss asked.

  “Close. Turgenev.”

  “Wow. It’s so good to see all of you.”

  “Have a seat, Corliss,” said Max with a little smile on his face.

  “Come on, people!” barked Michael.

  Corliss scampered to a couch in the back.

  Max stood against the wall, nervously running his fingers through his hair. “May I say one thing, Michael? Before we start?”

  “Okay, but be quick about it, Marx!”

  Max cleared his throat. “I know my methods during production were a bit unorthodox.”

  “A bit?!” interjected JB. “You made unorthodox look orthodox!”

  Tanya put her finger to her lips. “JB, shhh.”

  “Anything for a pretty lady,” JB said, quieting down.

  “Wonderful,” said Max, picking up where he’d left off. “As I was saying…a bit unorthodox, but maybe ultimately effective. Because I have good news. Very good, in fact. May I, Michael?”

  “Sure, but get on with it.”

  “Okay, then.”

  Everyone leaned forward. Even Rocco seem intrigued by Max’s tone.

  “The ’Bu has been picked up for a full season order of twenty-two episodes.”

  You could have heard a pin drop. And then the room exploded. Trent chest-butted JB and sent him flying across the room. Rocco dropped his book in amazement. Tanya jumped so high, she almost hit the ceiling.

  “Oh my God,” said Corliss.

  “And I hope,” continued Max, “that my invaluable number-one assistant, Corliss Meyers, will do me the great honor of forgiving me my terrible behavior—and coming back to the fold. With, of course, a proper salary.”

  Corliss ran to Max, almost tackling him in a hug, screaming her head off.

  “What’s the matter with you people?” said Michael, picking a piece of lint off his pants. “You expected anything less? Now calm down with the screaming, oy.”

  Everyone calmed. But they were reeling.

  “So nice, good, happy,” continued Michael. “Are we done with the speeches now?”

  “Yes,” said Max, smiling at Corliss.

  “Good, let’s start the screening.”

  “Shouldn’t we find Anushka first?” Corliss asked.

  But the lights in the room had already started to dim. As everyone settled in, a panel in the ceiling opened and a screen lowered. On it appeared a logo that said, simply:

  The ’Bu

  PILOT EPISODE

  EXT. A CHURCH HIGH IN MALIBU CANYON

  A SEAGULL makes lazy circles around the steeple. We FOLLOW IT for a moment before we…

  TILT DOWN

  To an OLD STONE CHURCH. A flock of MOURNERS, dressed in the chicest black, mill about the entrance as a gleaming CHERRYWOOD CASKET is carefully tucked into a JET BLACK HEARSE.

  PUSH IN CLOSE

  On TESSA and TRAVIS. They are both trying to be brave, but as the hearse pulls away down the hill, Tessa bursts into tears. Travis pulls her close and she weeps into his shoulder.

  TESSA

  I can’t believe she’s gone.

  TRAVIS

  Don’t cry, Tessa. She wouldn’t want us to be sad. She’s gone to a better place.

  TESSA

  Why didn’t I die in that fire?

  TRAVIS

  (caressing her hair)

  Don’t even talk like that. You know I’d be lost without you.

  TESSA

  What else can I say? You know how many times I said I wished she wasn’t around anymore!

  TRAVIS

  That’s only because of what was happening between us. And how jealous it was making her. There’s no way you could have known that something so horrible would happen to her.

  TRAVIS’S POV

  The HILLS above them, scorched from the fire. Lifeless, desolate. RAMONE and OLLIE appear at their sides. Ollie stifles sniffles.

  RAMONE

  Ollie’s taking this pretty hard.

  OLLIE

  She was like a big sister to me.

  TRAVIS

  We’re all taking this hard, Ramone. You’re the only one who doesn’t seem moved.

  Everyone turns slowly to Travis.

  TESSA

  Travis, don’t be like that.

  RAMONE

  How can you accuse me of not caring? (he wells up)

  Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? It’s all my fault…I was so angry with her.

  Tessa opens her arms and pulls Ramone into a tight embrace.

  CLOSE UP on his clenched fist, which clutches Alecia’s singed charm bracelet. Travis glares at Ramone, obviously jealous of the attention Tessa is paying him.

  TESSA

  Don’t blame yourself, Ramone! Her blood is on all of our hands…

  Somewhere Inside Michael Rothstein’s Mayan Temple—6:32 P.M.

  : The

  ’Bu-Hoo

  Well, kiddies, The ’Bu pilot had its first screening tonight. At Goth Roth’s place high in the hills. Unscheduled, unpublicized, uncut. Oy, as the Rothster himself would say. First, da good news.

  CUE SOUNDS: drumroll, fireworks, hot sweaty monkey love

  It’s a hit.

  SEE KEY WORDS: mesmerizing, astonishing, stimulating in a funny place down there.

  But! And it’s a big but (tee-hee!)…

  Beware spoiler…

  A certain troublemaker who tripled the network’s insurance rates and slowed production to a dead man’s crawl (any ideas, people?) dies in the episode.

  WHA-WHA-WHA-WHAT??

  That’s right, DEAD. As in never coming back. As in burned to a cinder in the spectacularly filmed canyon fire. As in I see dead starlets
. And without even one of those fab death scenes to play! You know the kind, where all the characters who always hated this character get to say how much they really loved this character. And this character gets to cry and wail and reach for the fading light in the sky above as it all goes dim, dimmer, dimmest…

  Nothing, nada, zip.

  But it’s not like she didn’t deserve it.

  ‘BU-HOO-HOO.

  Whatever. Life goes on. The ’Bu goes on. And MBK goes on, too.

  LINK TO: my big butt moving toward the nearest wet bar

  Lates, Bu-sters!

  Yours Bu-ly,

  MBK

  Sunset Tower Pool—8:42 P.M.

  Corliss could see Anushka stretched out on a chaise at the far corner of the patio. Her head was mummified in a monogrammed Sunset Tower pool towel, but her awe-inspiring body was unmistakable.

  The sun was just setting. As Corliss approached, Anushka sat up and unwrapped her head. “Oh, it’s you, Cor. Thought it might be another one of those filthy rich middle-aged guys who are always giving me their cards.”

  “Sorry to disappoint.”

  Anushka chuckled a little. “Yeah, I likes me a silver fox every now and then.” She looked out to the sunset, letting the soft light hit her just right. She looked beautiful. “So what are you doing here, Cor? I thought you and Mingmei would be BFFs by now.”

  “I couldn’t stay at that party, Anushka.”

  “Yeah—sorry I even made you go. Now I know what it feels like to be fired. You don’t want to hang out with the peeps who’ve done the firing. Whatevs.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “Mingmei told me at the sturgeon bar. She handed me a cracker with two hundred dollars’ worth of beluga mashed on top of it and said, ‘I love that you die in the pilot episode.’ I practically spit caviar all over her couture. Then I left.”