Chapter 4 New York, New York #3
Forty minutes later, AJ sat crammed in the corner booth at McManus with Dave, Xiaobo, Toni, and Noah Drew, who was somehow here. At this table. On this planet.
She wasn’t quite sure how this had happened.
She remembered stepping onto the chair, and she had flashes of the scene that followed as though from outside herself—Noah’s eyes raking up her body as he compared her to the sun, her hand on his cheek as she dismissed talk of the moon.
She remembered bowing and Dave saying “The fuck!?” and Ian motioning for her to follow.
Now Ian was at the bar getting a round, and Toni was interrogating AJ about her performance. “I have never seen you act like that.”
Toni hated surprises. Her first reaction to anything new or unexpected was usually alarm, even if she eventually grew to love it. AJ wished the squashy green booth would swallow her whole.
“And how do you two know each other?” Toni pressed, nodding between AJ and Noah.
For a split second, their eyes connected. His were warm and familiar in a way that intensely pissed AJ off. As if they just…lost touch. “We took an improvised Shakespeare class together,” said AJ stiffly. “A long time ago. At the Magnet.”
Noah raised his eyebrows and nodded once, cementing the lie. Good. Why was he even here?
At that moment, Ian returned with a pitcher. As he poured them each a beer, he began his explanation without ceremony.
“You’re here because you’ve just been cast in an unscripted Astronauticals prequel. Congrats.”
AJ, Toni, Dave, and Xiaobo all gaped. Only Noah did not seem surprised.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” said Dave. “Even if I am just a brain in a jar?”
Ian laughed. “Remember how Fox tapped Em Tyner to do an Astronauticals project a while back?” he said. AJ and Dave nodded. Toni shifted in her chair—her interest in sci-fi was limited to the bond she shared with her dad over Back to the Future.
Em Tyner was one of AJ’s favorite show creators. She loved Haunted High; she loved all his WB shows. She couldn’t wait to see how he’d spin Astronauticals into a major network drama. From what she’d read, the prequel was going to be a lot darker than the original.
“Well,” said Ian. “The gist is that Em’s changing his approach to work around the strike.”
Right—no writers. AJ was confused. “Why not just wait until it’s over?”
Ian took a sip of his beer. “They can’t. Fox’s license on Astronauticals expires in February. If they don’t use it before then, they’ll lose the new show and all the residuals revenue.”
“So, wait, they want to make a show during the strike?” said Dave. “How?”
“By using improvisers,” said Ian, looking meaningfully around the table.
“A few cast members who signed on for the scripted version are carrying over—Noah, here, for one. But we’re swapping out the majority of the actors for improvisers who can script themselves.
The idea is that you’ll all get a role and a backstory, and we’ll set you loose in a—mostly—contained environment. ”
“Like a…murder mystery party?” said Xiaobo.
“Exactly,” said Ian.
AJ blinked in disbelief. Shows like The Office incorporated a fair amount of improvisation, but they still had full writers’ rooms working behind the scenes to make everything coalesce. Then again, the original Astronauticals had been improvised. Maybe Ezell’s ghost had intervened.
“We’re going to film it like a docudrama and cut it into an arc after,” said Ian.
He laid out the timeline—a month filming on a soundstage in L.A., with a few other locations sprinkled in. They’d start next week.
“Em’s out there already adjusting the set,” said Ian. “It’s going to be an incredible experience.”
Xiaobo was reeling. “I thought this was an audition for the summer showcase.”
“You could have given us a heads-up,” said Toni archly.
“No one knew—apart from Noah,” said Ian. “I wanted to see who played well to an audience—this seemed like the most expeditious way. With the studios shut down, it’s not like we can do test screenings. Not to mention we have no time.”
AJ sat back, stunned.
An Astronauticals prequel. A month in L.A. A chance to work with Em Tyner.
“I mean, where do I sign?” said Dave, and they all laughed. “This calls for another round.”
As he and Xiaobo headed for the bar, Noah ducked into the restroom, leaving AJ, Ian, and Toni.
“I still don’t understand,” said Toni bluntly. “How did this even happen?”
Ian’s cheeks reddened as she stared him down. “Em was my roommate in college,” he said. “We go way back.”
AJ nodded. “And now he wants your dirty bag of unscripted tricks?”
“Basically,” said Ian, taking off his glasses to clean them.
Just then, Noah reemerged. As AJ watched him accept a drink from Dave, she thought of how promiscuously he’d played tonight. He’d been letting Ian see him with all possible candidates. AJ’s stomach rolled. Was that why he’d followed her out? Was that why Ian had chosen her?
AJ searched Ian. “What am I doing here?”
“Seriously,” said Toni, an edge in her voice. “AJ’s a writer.”
Ian held Toni’s gaze. “I knew she could handle it,” he said firmly.
Then he turned to AJ. “We’re going to shoot this whole thing in continuous action—We’re not going to be able to call ‘cut’ when we don’t like something.
We need a plant, someone who knows story and the original show, who can edit in real time or who we can send in in a pinch. That’s you.”
“I could see that,” said Toni, giving AJ’s arm a pinch before getting up to join the others at the bar. When she was safely out of earshot, Ian leaned forward. “By the way, NautiGurl, you’ll get a producer credit and a screen credit.”
AJ’s jaw silently dropped. A title with no “associate” in front of it. A role—something her family might actually understand. Both useful in an application packet for SNL or a late show.
Plus, who was she kidding. This was fucking Astronauticals.
“Don’t worry about the acting,” Ian reassured her. “It’s a very, very minor part.”
The next square on AJ’s path flared to life in neon.
A few minutes later, she ducked outside for a bit of fresh air. Alone, she laughed out loud. She thought back to her seventeen-year-old self writing Astronauticals fan fiction. If only she could tell that girl that one day she’d be a part of an Astronauticals prequel…
That girl would have run to the back room to tell Noah.
AJ had thought of him when the Em Tyner show had been announced. Fans loved a cameo, and he was Eudora and Ezell’s nephew—but if his casting had been made public, AJ had missed it.
She had never thought she’d see him again. Seven years without a word, and now they were going to be in a show.
It was too much to take in.
As if on cue, the pub door opened and Noah emerged onto the sidewalk.
“Hey,” he said, his eyes fastening on to her with something akin to relief.
“Hey,” said AJ.
As he stepped forward, his hair fell across his brow in this careless Noah way, and AJ was instantly seventeen again. Suddenly she couldn’t breathe.
“I had no idea you knew Ian,” he said intently. “I can’t believe that we—”
“No,” said AJ, almost inaudibly.
She could still remember the first time he’d called them that—we—at the SFSB meeting, when he’d volunteered them to ask Eudora about the panel. It was infuriating. AJ still knew it all, everything they’d ever done and said.
Even after all these years. Even after he’d discarded her.
Noah’s face paled as he took in her anger.
Because AJ was livid. It wasn’t right. None of it. That she should earn this opportunity only to be faced with him. That after all this time, she could still feel him, still scent him like a dog with its master. That as much as she wanted to, she could not fully despise him.
AJ forced herself to meet his eyes. He might have slipped past her defenses onstage, but out here, in the real world, they were done.
“There is no we,” she said as much to herself as to him. “We are nothing.”
Noah’s eyes glistened. “AJ—” He reached for her.
AJ leveled her gaze at him, and he instantly dropped his hand.
“I’ll see you. I guess.”
She went back into the bar and didn’t look at him again.