“You wrote it?” I ask. Back in law school, Trip couldn’t write to save his life. Or his GPA, as the case may be.
“Well,” he says, “I’m in the process of writing it. But we already have a deal in place. And now, we’ve got our stars attached!”
“Who’s going to play Jack?” Jack asks, Scottish accent all but gone.
“Who’s Jack?” Trip asks.
“Douglas,” I say, correcting Jack. “He means Douglas. Who’s going to play Douglas?”
“It’s hard to find someone who can do a convincing Scottish accent,” Ava says. “That’s the real obstacle we’re having now.”
“You really just need someone who can fake a Scottish accent,” Jack offers and I grab at his knee under the table. Unfortunately for me, this does not have the intended effect. He thinks I’m flirting, and so he grabs at my waist.
Sometimes it’s a real curse to be so darned irresistible.
“Is the point of this dinner to ask me if you can make a movie about me?” I ask. “Because, you can’t. I mean, I’d prefer it if you didn’t do that.” After all, I know my rights. And the second I get home, I will log onto my computer to find out just exactly what they are.
“I don’t have to ask your permission to write a movie about you,” Trip says. “Remember, I went to law school, too, and so I know that I don’t have to ask your permission for this. You’re not famous.”
Thank you, Trip, for reminding me of that very, very obvious fact.
“Well, how do you know I won’t sue you?” I ask.
“You’re not going to sue me,” he says, laughing at the mere thought of it, “but anyway, even if you do, the studio has a team of lawyers.”
“Well, that’s good to know,” I say. “Because it sounds like you could have a lawsuit or two on your hands.”
“Well, I thank you for your concern, Brooke,” Trip says. “But what I’d really love to do is to interview you. Get some more background information for the script. Whaddya say? For old times sake?”
“Um,” I eek out. “No, thank you.”
And really, I don’t want to do it. And it’s not just because Trip is my ex-boyfriend. And it’s not just because Trip doesn’t know the whole story behind my attendance at his wedding. Actually, those are pretty good reasons in of themselves, aren’t they? Yes, they definitely are….
But, more importantly, it’s because he’s writing a movie about my life. And not about the good parts, either. I’m sure he doesn’t have a scene about all of the charity work I do here in the city. Well, okay, fine, I don’t have a ton of time for charity since I work fourteen hour days regularly, but I do attend my fair share of Black Tie charity events, so that should count. Or, say, he could write a scene about the time I helped that blind lady cross Lexington that day at lunch. That would be nice. But, I just know that that’s not the kind of movie he’ll be writing. No, he’s going to be writing a movie about a sad single girl in New York City. Instead of scenes that showcase her fabulousness, he’ll be writing scenes where she obsesses endlessly about going to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding. Instead of scenes that show how hard she works at her big-time law firm, there will be scenes where she does silly thing after silly thing in a fruitless attempt to keep her dignity ever so slightly intact, and instead ends up looking like a fool. No, thank you!
And, also, when I think about what I spent this evening on hair and make-up alone, I just cannot afford having to see Trip on a day to day basis. Case closed.
I don’t really know what’s said for the rest of the dinner. It barely registers who paid the bill or if we even paid the bill at all. I’m in a daze for the rest of the time and all I can think is: my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about me.
Jack shuttles me into a cab and I open the window to get a gust of cool air as we head uptown.
“So,” Jack says, turning to face me, “do you think they’ll offer me a part?”
Chapter Three
“Wow,” my best friend Vanessa says.
“I know.”
“Wow.”
“I know,” I repeat.
“Wow.”
“Okay, you’re going to need to say something other than ‘wow.’”
“I can’t think of anything else to say,” she says, and sinks into her chair. We’re at Bernard’s Gourmet on Third Avenue for lunch. I needed to convene a special counsel to discuss the fact that my ex-boyfriend is making a movie about my life. And that it’s starring his gorgeous movie star wife. You’d really think that a big-time Hollywood agent and his movie star wife would have better things to do with their time than to ruin my life.
But, no.
“Maybe I should be flattered,” I say, taking a bite of my Cobb salad. “I mean, clearly, my life is so interesting that Trip thinks the entire movie-going public of America wants to know about it.”
“Don’t forget Europe,” Vanessa says, her gorgeous mocha skin looking pristine, despite the heat outside. “American movies play overseas, too.” She takes a bite out of her hamburger and I silently curse her for the fact that she can eat whatever she wants and I gain weight if I even look at a hamburger. Maybe this is owing to the fact that she’s five foot eight, and a marathon runner who religiously runs 6 miles a day, but still. And more important than the fact that she’s thin, she’s so gorgeous that if her ex-boyfriend made a movie about her life, they’d probably be asking her if she’d consider playing herself.
Yes, Vanessa is tall and gorgeous and thin. I have no idea why I’m friends with her.
“And Asia,” she adds. “Don’t forget about Asia.”
“Okay, I won’t. So, my ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of the single most humiliating moment of my life.” I say. “No big deal, right? I’m sure that this is the sort of thing that happens to lots of women out there every day.”
“I’m sure it happens all the time,” she says. I can tell she’s lying by the way she self-consciously smoothes her hand over her short hair, but I don’t care. It still makes me feel better.
“And being friendly with an ex really isn’t that big of a deal, is it?” I ask, taking a bite of my salad, only allowing myself the tiniest bit of dressing. I mean, so what?”
“So what, indeed,” she says and dips one of her French fries into the ketchup.
“I mean, so what if my ex decides to take the most embarrassing moment of my life and turn it into a major motion picture starring his new wife?” I say, taking another bite of salad, this time abandoning the dressing altogether. “And, so what if said new wife has to gain twenty pounds just to play me? I mean, so what?”
“So what!” Vanessa says, slamming her fist down on the table, and I can practically hear a choir rising up in the background.
“Just because I’m not married and I’m not royalty and I’m not an Academy Award nominated actress, I’m still fabulous anyway, right?”
Oh please. As if you wouldn’t be fishing for compliments the day after you found out that your ex boyfriend was making a movie out of your life.
“Fabulous enough for them to make a movie all about you and your crazy adventures,” Vanessa says, motioning to the waiter for refills on our diet iced teas.
“Yes,” I say. “That’s right. I’m fabulous.” I smile at Vanessa. Sometimes I forget just how truly fabulous I am.
“Did you convince yourself on that one?” she asks.
“No,” I say, looking down at my Cobb salad and then scooping up a forkful of bacon. I silently decide that you don’t have to stay on your diet on the day after you find out your ex-boyfriend is making a movie out of how pathetic your life is. “Did I convince you?”
“Nope,” she says, and goes back to her fries. “But, one good thing to come out of this is the fact that Trip knows everything about you going to his wedding. It’s all out in the open, so you don’t have to hide any secrets anymore.”
The secret. I’d nearly forgotten about that. You’d think that once your ex is making a movie about your life, it
can’t get worse.
But, you’d be wrong.
“Right,” I say, grabbing at a stray napkin that’s on the table. I tear it into two pieces and then into four. Vanessa regards me.
“Oh, no,” she says.
“What?” I ask, tearing the napkin in my hand into eight pieces.
“So, he doesn’t know?” she asks and I keep my eyes firmly planted on the floor. “You haven’t told him that you actually brought a fake date to his wedding?”
“About that…”
“That Douglas broke up with you on the eve of his wedding, so you brought Jack instead and made him wear a kilt and speak with a Scottish accent?”
“I was there,” I say, “you don’t have to remind me what happened.”
“But Trip doesn’t know any of that?” she asks, staring at me with such intensity that I can feel her eyes burning into my head.
“No idea,” I say, without bringing my eyes up to meet Vanessa’s.
“Then what the hell is the movie about?”
“A girl who goes to her ex-boyfriend’s wedding,” I say, taking a sip of my iced tea. “Apparently, that’s interesting enough in of itself to turn into a movie. You don’t even need the fake kilt part.”
“Brooke,” she says, employing the same tone she’d use in speaking to a small child.
“Well, I don’t see why I should have to say anything,” I say, scooping more bacon onto my fork and dipping it into the dressing. Then I take another bite and pile bacon onto blue cheese and dip that into the dressing.
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t tell Trip,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. Um, is she kidding me?!
“You don’t see why I wouldn’t?” I cry out, my voice an octave higher than I intend it to be. “Well, for starters, it makes me look like a huge loser—”
“But you have Jack now,” Vanessa says, cutting me off. “Nothing matters anymore now that you have Jack. He’s what’s important. Not some silly semblance of your pride that you’re trying to protect.”
And she’s right. When I think about Jack and how lucky I am to have finally found love, I can’t help but feel silly that I’m still obsessing over the fact that my ex got married before me. The first thing that I’m going to do tomorrow is to call Trip and tell him everything. That Douglas broke up with me right before his wedding, so I brought Jack instead. And that, in order to keep my dignity ever so slightly intact, I made Jack pretend to be Douglas, which meant that he had to don a kilt and a fake Scottish accent and I had to wear a fake engagement ring, but that none of that matters anymore since Jack and I are together for real and it’s wonderful and it’s everything I always wanted but never realized was right in front of me because I was too busy thinking that all the wrong things were important. But, now I’ve got my head screwed on straight, and I’m engaged to an amazing guy. I will call Trip immediately and tell him all of these things.
But first, I’m going to steal some of Vanessa’s French fries and order myself a hamburger.
Chapter Four
“Well, this is unexpected,” I say, as Trip saunters into my office. I think, but don’t say: and unwelcome. First, I silently curse Trip for showing up unannounced. Then, I silently curse my assistant, for not announcing that he’d arrived.
You see, today’s the day I’m supposed to be coming clean to Trip about the fact that I brought a fake date to his wedding—the wedding that he’s making a major motion picture about—but he’s shown up unexpectedly and I’m not really mentally prepared to tell him the truth just yet.
Maybe I should ask him to come back on a day where I’ve had time to go to the spa to get a massage, manicure and pedicure? Maybe even a facial. Or even a scrub. Yes, I’m sure a scrub would do the trick. Surely then I’d be more relaxed and more prepared to admit the fact that I was too embarrassed to tell him that Douglas broke up with me on the eve of his wedding, so I made Jack dress up as a Scotsman and pretend to be Douglas? But I ask you: is there ever a good time to tell your ex-boyfriend that your man broke up with you on the eve of his wedding, so you made your best friend dress up as him and come with you to the wedding?
Wine. I was going to need some wine before I do this.
“Is now a good time?” Trip asks, settling into one of my leather visitor chairs, his stance indicating that he didn’t actually care whether or not it was, in fact, a good time for me. I slip off my real engagement ring and reach into my pocketbook to try to find the fake ring I wore to Trip’s wedding. “I thought we could bat around some ideas for the screenplay.”
The fake ring is nowhere to be found. I decide to forgo wearing any ring at all. After all, no ring would be better than wearing a different ring he’s seen before, right? Although wouldn’t it be great if you could have more than one engagement ring and then just wear whichever one matched your mood? Maybe I could get that started as a trend…. Focus, Brooke!
“You mean the screenplay you’re writing about my life,” I say, looking him dead in the eyes.
“I mean the screenplay about my wedding and how I invited my ex-girlfriend,” he says, returning my gaze. “See, Brooke, it’s really my story to tell.”
“Isn’t Ava the star of the movie, not Leo?”
“Well, yes,” he says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket.
“So, then, it’s really her story to tell,” I say, folding my arms across my chest. “It’s the ex-girlfriend’s story.” I couldn’t help but smile at my little victory. I always was a better litigator than Trip.
“Look, Brooke. I just need something more to really make the story solid,” Trip says. “So, help me out, would you? It’ll be just like in law school when we used to collaborate all the time together.”
What he means to say is: it’ll be just like law school, where we were dating, so I made you do all the work for me. Only his charm has worn off now, and the only thing I’ll be helping him to do is to leave my office.
“Where’s your engagement ring?” he asks, doing a half-stand out of his chair to get a closer look at my hand. Which has the effect of making me immediately cover my left hand with the right.
“Oh,” I say. “That. Yes, well. It’s at the cleaners. I mean, the ring cleaners. You know, the jewelers. You know what I meant. Since when are you so interested in jewelry?”
Must get the ex-boyfriend out of my office, stat!
“So, were there any other complications in being an unmarried girl going to your ex-boyfriend’s wedding? Anything else you haven’t told me?”
“No,” I say, with a clipped tone, turning to my computer. I begin to check my email, hoping that he’ll think that I’m too busy to talk to him and just leave.
An email pops up on my screen:
From:“Vanessa Taylor”
To:“Brooke Miller”
Subject:Do it!
Did you fess up to Trip yet???
Vanessa Taylor
Gilson, Hecht and Trattner
425 Park Avenue
11th Floor
New York, New York 10022
*****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE*****
The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht & Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance.
That girl’s timing is uncanny. I look over to Trip, sitting on my visitor’s chair like a sad little puppy, his pad out, ready to jot down any words of wisdom I may spew out.
“I just feel like I’m missing something here,” Trip says, tapping his pen against the side of the pad. “What the script really needs is something to bring it all together. It needs more comedy. More of a love story.”
“How’s this,” I say, throwing him a bo
ne. “I did lose my luggage at LAX when we flew in for your wedding. I didn’t have a dress to wear, so we had to spend the whole day shopping, trying to find a replacement. Use that.”
“Right on, right on,” Trip says. Even though he’s originally from Connecticut, he certainly has adapted to being a left-coaster. If he says ‘bitchin’ I’m kicking him out of my office.
“Okay, so great,” I say, standing up. “If I think of anything else, I’ll call you!”
Trip stays planted in his seat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t mean to be bugging you. It’s just that there is so much pressure on me to make this thing great. It just needs a little oomph. Something to make it stand out from all of those other romantic comedies out there. This means a lot to me. And to Ava.”
And just like that, I begin to soften. I was so busy trying to one-up Trip that I forgot that there are things that I actually like about him. His determination. His stick-to-it-ness. For a moment, I remember how devoted he could be to something he believed in. Which is probably what makes him such a great agent. Seeing him work so hard at something really makes me feel like I want to help.
I try to formulate the words—how exactly do you tell your ex that you brought a fake date to his wedding?—and just as I am about to tell him the truth, the thing that will make his movie truly great, he says:
“That’s it. I just figured it out.”
“What?” I ask, curious to hear what fabulous plot point he’s come up with. See, Trip was right—collaborating can be fun!
“Why you’re not wearing your ring,” he says. “That’s it. I’ve figured it out.”
“Figured what out?” I say back very quickly, suddenly squirming in my office chair. This will be so much more embarrassing if he’s figured out what I’ve done before I get to fess up to him and maintain at least one tiny shred of dignity.
“You’re pregnant!” he says, jumping up from his chair and running around my desk to give me a hug. “That’s why you’re not wearing your ring! I knew you looked a bit bloated today. But, you’re pregnant, aren’t you? Aren’t you?!? You can tell me.”
Hollywood Punch Page 2
