Chapter 26 Owen
OWEN
“Martin Hancock’s office.” Martin’s assistant always answers the phone sounding like a bored asshole who thinks you’re an asshole for calling him.
So I always try to sound like an asshole who thinks he’s an asshole for making me talk to him. “Hey. Returning his call.”
“Lemme see if I can get him.”
“Great. Can’t wait to find out.”
“Fantastic. Please hold.”
Asshole.
Now I have to pretend I understand Australian slang and sound like the guy who didn’t have shower sex with my manager’s favorite niece the other day in New York.
“G’day. How ya goin’? Just checkin’ in.”
“G’day! I’m good. Everything’s good. Nothing to report, really. Everything’s going well.”
“Oh yeah? Had a squizz at your notes on the pilot script. They’re really funny. I think the next draft is the winnah. They should be able to hire a writing staff and get things goin’.”
What the fuck is a squizz? Sounds like what his niece did to me in the shower.
“Cool, yeah. Actually, Frankie helped out with those notes. The other day. At the airport.”
“She did, eh?”
“Yeah, just…you know. We were talking. She gave me a few ideas for things. She’s really, really funny.
Really funny. I think she’s a really funny comedian.
She’s good at stand-up, and she’d probably do really well on a writing staff.
I was thinking maybe she could open for me one of these nights.
I know you’ve booked all the opening guys already, but y’know.
If someone gets sick last minute or something. She could be the pinch hitter.”
“Uh-huh. She’s working out for you, then? As Sam’s nanny?”
“Yes. Definitely. She’s working out for Sam, yes. She’s great with him. He thinks she’s great. I don’t get to spend as much time with her, obviously, as Sam does. But she’s great. And really funny.”
“Aw, shit… Tyler—get off the line.”
“Yes, sir.” There’s a click when the asshole assistant hangs up.
“Shit. Owen. Did you root my niece?”
“I don’t… I’m not sure what root is, but I don’t think I did.”
“Yeah, you did.” I can hear him scrubbing his tanned, stubbly face. “Shhhhit. Okay. I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming. I didn’t think she was your type.”
“I… I was just saying how funny she is.”
“Okay. Listen. You didn’t tell me anything. All right? I don’t know anything.”
“I didn’t tell you anything.”
“Do not tell anyone in the business that you’ve slept with her. Not even your brothers. You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
“I didn’t… I haven’t…”
Shit.
“I have issues with nepotism, okay? I mean, it’s just comedy, I know.
It’s Hollywood, not the White House. I know that, mate.
But for you, even… This is your first solo tour and your first TV deal.
You don’t want to look like you’re thinking with your dick.
And if you’re angling to give Frankie her first big break, it’s bettah for her if it doesn’t look like you gave it to her because she gave you a ripper gobby—ya know what I mean? ”
“I don’t know what a ripper gobby means, no. But that’s not why I want to give her a break. I just think she’s funny and talented.”
“Yeah. She’s funny. She’ll get her big break one way or another. Look, I have clients who are attractive female comedians, and it’s hard enough for them out there without having to deal with rumors that they got to where they are by bangin’ their way to the middle.”
“I know. I definitely don’t want her to have to deal with that. I just wanted to make sure you’re cool with—”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Got it.”
He sighs. “Ask Frankie if she’s got a writing sample.
Do not send it to me. Do not tell her I know about the two of you.
If she’s interested in a writer’s assistant job for your show, send it to Barry Weiner.
Do it soonah rathah than latah. Do not tell him she’s your kid’s nanny, and definitely do not tell him you’re havin’ a naughty with her. Ya got that?”
“Understood.”
“Right. You’re my client and I will always protect your interests. But if you fuck things up for her, I will cut off your balls and shove them up Howie Mandel’s asshole. Call me if you need anything.”
He hangs up, leaving me with the actual worst image I’ve ever had in my head.
That did not go the way I thought it would.
But his advice is good. I think. I certainly never thought of any of those things he mentioned. Guess that’s why he gets ten percent of me.
ME: BTW don’t tell anyone in the business about me and Frankie.
DYLAN: I only told my buddy Sir Patrick Stewart, and he won’t tell anyone. He’s a vault.
ME: Shut up, Dylan.
MILES: Shut up, Dylan. And I’m a fucking attorney. I actually am a vault.
DYLAN: Shut up, Miles. Actors can be vaults too. I still haven’t told anyone about your third nipple.
MILES: I can actually sue you for slander, asshole.
ME: Thanks for not making this about me, assholes.
MILES: Poor little middle child.
DYLAN: Haven’t told anyone about your tiny penis either, Owen.
ME:
I take a deep breath before opening the sliding door from the bedroom to the rest of the suite.
Sam’s and Frankie’s eyes are glued to the big screen, and I can tell from the music score that something’s about to get attacked by a shark.
Two seconds later, they both grimace and shout at the screen and then high-five each other.
They’re so fucking cute together I can just feel every single one of my sperm cells jockeying to impregnate that woman.
But that can’t happen.
Not yet anyway.
“Hey, Fawthah!” Sam says when he sees me. He’s been obsessed with the Boston accent ever since we got here last night. “Whaddya doin’ in theyuh? Tawkin’ on the phone, or what?”
“My boy’s wicked smaht.”
Frankie gets up from the floor and messes up Sam’s hair. “Hey, you want a chawklit bah or somethin’ from the minibah, kid?”
“Yeah! Sumthin’ with nuts!”
“And buttahscawtch?”
“Yeaaaahhhh!”
I follow her over to the minibar. She smells good, and I want to stick my face in the crook of her neck and just inhale her for like half an hour or the rest of my life maybe.
But she’s going to take Sam out to the Museum of Science in a bit, and I have to do a couple of interviews and then the show.
And I have to figure out how to help her without fucking anyone over or pissing anyone off.
She watches me while picking out a Snickers bar. “You okay? You look perplexed.”
“Yeah. Just thinking about the sitcom.”
“Trying to come up with more funny words for…” she lowers her voice, “schlongs?”
“Always. I just wish it was a cooler show. I mean, would you want to watch it?”
“Of course I’m going to watch it.”
Fuck, I want to kiss her. I want to kiss her for, like, half an hour or the rest of my life, probably.
“Even if you weren’t obsessed with my schlong, I mean.”
I get an exaggerated eye-roll and a surreptitious elbow to the ribs for that.
“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with cheesy family sitcoms. Your show will make people happy.
It will make them laugh because they’ll get all the jokes.
It will make them go awww and feel comfortable about life and keep them company when they’re at home alone.
It’s entertainment. Don’t overthink it.”
Well, shit. She might want to work on my show after all.
“Says the heckler who criticized all of my tweets.”
“Not all of them. And maybe that was entertainment for me.”
“So do you have a writing sample?”
“What do you mean?”
“Like for a half-hour sitcom? Anything in script form.”
“I wrote an episode of The Suite Life of Zach and Cody where Zach and Cody find out there’s a big orgy going on in one of the hotel suites and they get laid. I was drunk when I wrote it. It’s disgusting but also very sweet and funny.”
“That is something I need to read immediately. Do you have the file with you?”
“Yeah, I brought my laptop. Why?”
“Can you email it to me? I just… I know you’ll need a job again once we’re back in LA. I can’t promise anything, but if you’re interested, I was thinking I could put you up for the writer’s assistant gig.”
I can’t read the expression on her face at all because she’s totally expressionless.
Then she gets all teary-eyed, looks down, and whispers, “I really wish I could kiss you right now.”
“Me too.”
“Thank you. I mean, I know it’s a long shot, but I’d really appreciate that.”
“Good. Well, send me that script, and we’ll see. They aren’t hiring just yet, but definitely before we get back to LA.”
“Okay.”
“Frankie!!! The hammahhead shawks! The hammahhead shawks!”
“Be right there!” She nudges my arm and affects a Boston accent again. “I gotta blast.”
“Wicked pissah.”
I want to do so many things to her that are disgusting but also very sweet and funny for half an hour or the rest of my life.