Chapter 3 - Elijah #2
Still, I am grateful to have scored this parking space, but I have to leave all four windows cracked open.
I pay fifty billion dollars a year for my son to go to the best private school on the westside of LA, and it smells like they’re feeding him salami and hard-boiled eggs for lunch.
I text my assistant, asking her to order me leather seat deodorant if that’s a thing, because I don’t think fresh air is going to clear that stench.
I’m very glad he didn’t release the Kraken at his friend’s party, but I might have to buy a new car.
Elaine immediately replies, reminding me that she’s at home sick.
As if I don’t remember that she has ruined my entire life by falling ill at the worst possible time for me.
On top of this, my development executive is on maternity leave, so I am entirely on my own, with no one I can vent to while pacing around my office.
When I get to my production company’s offices on the third floor, there’s an early-twentysomething temp in an oversized suit sitting at Elaine’s desk, talking on his cell phone and staring at the computer monitor.
He’s a totally different temp from the one who was sitting there yesterday, and I don’t like his pointy, entitled face.
He ends the call he was on without saying goodbye, stands up, offering me his hand to shake.
“Mr. Abrams,” he says. “It’s an honor. Welcome. ”
Why is he welcoming me to my own office?
“I’m Peter—”
“I need you to get me Blu-rays of every live-action Christmas movie we have available on the lot, ASAP. Family comedies only. Not It’s a Wonderful Life. Not Love Actually. No musicals. Nothing starring Ben Affleck. Blu-ray, not DVD.”
“Got it,” he says, rocking back on his heels.
And I can so tell he does not get it.
Before I can make a break for it, he picks up the printed-out script that was on the desk, holds it out to me with both hands, offering it to me like a charcuterie board. “And in case you’re looking for a script about—”
“I’m not. You need to leave.”
“Excuse me?”
“This isn’t going to work. You need to go home.”
“Do you still want me to order those DVDs for you?”
“I wanted you to order me Blu-rays from the studio library. Do you know how to do that?”
“No, but I can—”
“No, you can’t. I need you to leave so I can concentrate.”
“Okay, should I leave my script here, or…?”
“Nope.” I’m already calling Elaine before I’ve closed the door to my private office.
What kind of monster tries to hand his script to a producer as soon as he walks in?
Amateur. If it’s a good script, just leave it in the men’s room and it will find its way into the right hands eventually.
These fucking Gen Z temps think they’ve made the ultimate effort just by leaving the house.
“Please don’t tell me you’ve fired another one,” Elaine says as a greeting.
“I need you to get me another temp.”
“That was the seventh one this week. You have to pay an extra fee every time the temp agency sends you a new one.”
“It’s not my fault that not one of them has lasted more than an hour.”
“Elijah. I got an email from Accounting yesterday. You can’t afford to waste the company’s money on temp fees when your deal is almost up.
” She lowers her voice, even though she’s at home alone.
“Even if you’re hoping to get the job at Streamflix, if you’re being extravagant with your budget it doesn’t look good on paper. ”
She’s right.
Dammit, she’s right.
But she also should have told me this sooner, so I could have paid out of pocket.
It’s not like I can’t afford it. I just don’t like spending my own money on idiots who waste my time.
That’s what producer deals are for. “Fine. I’ll manage without an assistant over the holidays. You sure you’re still sick?”
She has another coughing fit and then a sneezing fit, and I suffer through both fits.
“You okay?” I ask. And I do want her to be okay. Not just because I can’t do anything without her, because I genuinely like her and want her to return to the office ASAP.
“Not exactly.”
“I’ll let you go in a minute, but while I have you on the phone… I ran out of the sticky notes I like. Where are you hiding them?”
“I’m not hiding them. They’re in the supply closet. That’s why it’s called a supply closet—it’s where we keep the supplies.”
I open the door to the outer office and make sure that horrible temp is gone before walking out. “Okay, talk me through this.”
“Chris Hemsworth on a cracker, will you let me die in peace?!”
“Don’t you dare die until I get this movie made, Elaine.”
“Well, that’s sweet. Are you in the supply closet yet?”
“Hang on.”
“Oh, I am hanging on by a thread, young man. Don’t forget to use a ream of copy paper to keep the door open.”
“Why?”
“Because of the funky door-jamb thing.”
“Why didn’t you get it fixed?”
“I get them to fix it every month, and it always goes back to the way it was—it’s an old building!”
“Why is everyone here an idiot except us?”
“How kind of you to include me in your plight of superior humanity. Did you hold the door open with the copy paper?”
“Why don’t we just get a real door stop?”
“Christopher Walken on a crabcake, why do you have to make a federal case out of everything?”
“Yes, a ream of copy paper is holding the door open. Now what?”
“Now grab another ream and shove it up your—” She has a coughing fit and then the line goes dead.
Well, now what am I supposed to do? Look for the sticky notes by myself?
I don’t have time for this. I have to reread the worst script anyone has ever read and figure out how to turn it into a family comedy so I can hire a screenwriter to rewrite it within one month.
But I need the good sticky notes. And I don’t see them.
When I hold up my phone to call Elaine back, I see that I’ve got a bunch of text notifications from my Lazy Wingmen text convo. My fellow That’s So Wizard alumni. Those assholes. Maybe one of them will help me with this piece-of-shit screenplay.
SHANE MILLER
Abrams. You busy? We’re at that coffee place you hate on Sunset. Come join us.
NICO TODD
There’s a woman here who’s giving Michelle Pfeiffer circa Grease 2 vibes. Blonde bangs, hot, and she looks even meaner than you.
ALEX VEGA
I just asked her if she’s interested in meeting a man with a job who probably won’t talk to her very much. She’s into it.
ME
Hey, do any of you assholes want to rewrite a shitty Christmas script for me, or just help me out with producer notes?
SHANE MILLER
Why aren’t you more fun to text with?
NICO TODD
You really don’t get how this works at all, do you?
ALEX VEGA
Is that the Shark Brothers one? Is it as bad as I hear? I’ve been dying to NEVER read it.
SHANE MILLER
Hey, Abrams. You’re gonna raise the roof at Barry’s thing tomorrow, right?
ME
That’s an interesting and annoying way of putting it, but yeah. I will stop by.
NICO TODD
Should we ask the angry blonde if she wants to be your date to that? I’ll tell her you usually drive the speed limit and almost never yell at waiters.
ME
I never yell at waiters.
ALEX VEGA
That’s what makes you beautiful.
ME
So none of you are going to help me with this script?
SHANE MILLER
Exactly.
ME
Assholes.
SHANE MILLER
Hey, man. If you want to talk about it, call me. Really.
ME
The script?
SHANE MILLER
No. The tomorrow thing.
ME
Nope. See you tomorrow.
Well, tomorrow might not be too terrible. I’ll stop by for a couple of hours. If I hate it, I can just tell everyone I have to come back to the office to work on this horrible script because I have a deadline. I mean, I’ll definitely hate it, but maybe I’ll have fun.
I just have to get through today without Googling her.
I just need to stop myself from thinking about her pretty face and that smile that lit up the world and the insane thick, curly blonde hair and that ass that wouldn’t quit and… Nope.
I just have to get through this season without thinking about how for a few unbelievable minutes she was almost mine.
And then I lost her.
Because it wasn’t meant to be.
And I might actually be able to do that if I can just find the fucking sticky notes I like.