Chapter Twelve #2
what I’ve just said. Like they can’t grasp that I genuinely want to contribute
to the show with more than my looks.
But I keep talking. “I’m a talented actress, and I’ve never
had any complaints on any other show or movie I’ve done. I deserve to at least
have my ideas listened to rather than immediately dismissed.” My heart is
pounding so hard I’m almost sure they can hear it. I’m trembling and starting
to sweat.
“Ella, look, you’re a pretty girl and a good actress,” Max
says. “No one’s debating that. But on this set, our writers are the ones
writing, okay? Not you, not anyone else on the cast, just them.”
It’s a lie. All the male actors make changes and suggestions
all the time, and none of them gets called into the office for it.
I go to comment, but Aaron holds up a hand to stop me, his
huff of annoyance a clear sign that he’s done listening.
“Bottom line is,” Aaron says firmly, “you’re holding up
production. We still have several episodes to go to wrap up the season, and
we’re done with your distractions. You’re fired.”
For a moment, I only stare at them, unsure whether I should laugh,
be angry, relieved, or try to convince them to change their minds. The decision
is made for me when they turn and start talking to each other as if I’m no
longer in the room.
And with that, I leave.
Everyone on the set, from the other actors to craft
services, heard me getting called to the office, and I swear everyone’s still
standing around waiting to know the outcome. But I walk with purpose back to my
dressing room, pack up my belongings, and head out to my car. Naturally, by the
time I get there, someone’s waiting to take my security badge, so I can’t get
back onto the lot tomorrow.
I hand it over with a smile.
As I get into my rental car, I realize I’m still shaking. I
grip the steering wheel so tight that my knuckles turn white, and I can’t see a
thing in front of me because tears are waiting to fall.
So, I let them.
Only…I’m not sure why I’m crying. I’m not sad about getting
fired. It’s genuinely for the best. But I know I’m disappointed that it came to
this. That I was essentially forced—no, bullied—out of a job.
Oh, how I hate bullies.
I want to yell, scream, and cry at the unfairness of it all.
I don’t understand why people are the way they are or why they do the things
they do. All I wanted was to do the best job and make the show better. Make it
something I could be proud of. And where did it get me? Nowhere.
Swallowing hard, I shake my head before wiping away my
tears. This is not the way I want anyone to see me or how I want them to
remember me. So, I give myself a few minutes to calm down. When I finally pull
away from the lot, I realize I’m not just leaving a sound stage, I’m leaving
the dream of this show being my big break.
Now, it’s over.
I want to call Christian, but I know he’s at the stadium
right now. I’ll have to wait until our call later tonight to tell him what went
down today. He’s deep in baseball mode, and I hate the thought of burdening him
with this. He’s spent so much of his life hyper-focused on his game and career,
I’m not sure how he’ll handle having to worry about someone else.
Even if that someone is me.
I want to call my mom, but I know I’ll turn into a
blubbering mess and shouldn’t be driving when that happens. She’ll try to tell
me how it’s all for the best, and that something amazing will come along, but
right now, I know I won’t believe her.
Even though she’s usually right.
And I want to call Jen and let her know that I’ll be coming
back sooner rather than later. I need to decide whether to go to LA or St.
Louis first. I have to let my agent know what happened and have her start
looking for roles and auditions.
Suddenly, my to-do list is a mile long, and I’m overwhelmed
all over again.
But I push it all aside as I drive to the hotel. I turn on
the radio and find something upbeat to sing along to. The universe must know my
pain because my favorite song, “The Middle” by Jimmy Eat
World, comes on, and I take my first calm breath since things went sideways
earlier.
There’s a slight shift in my mood, and as I start singing, I
believe in the words.
I sing like no one could hear me, because no one could,
letting the words push the ache out of my chest. It is a reminder I cling to
every time things fall apart: that it takes time, that being stuck doesn’t mean
being finished, and that somehow, things will straighten themselves out.
I’m not fully there yet, but I know this role, this TV show
isn’t the end for me. Leaving Workin’
for Laughs is just a temporary speed bump. I’m going to bounce back from
this, and even without hearing it directly from my mom, I know in my heart that
something else will come along.
So, I sing loudly as I maneuver through the Atlanta traffic,
thankful for everything I have instead of focusing on the loss.
Because, as the song says, everything’ll be all right.
I end up going to St. Louis first because I feel like
I need the time with Christian more than anything else. My agent is lining some
things up for me, so I know my career is being handled, and having time with my
husband is what matters most.
I want us to have time to live like a married couple. And
really, the timing is perfect because Easter is next weekend, and I want us to
start making our own traditions.
Although I’m not quite sure how that will go since the
Archers have a game on Easter Sunday. Still, I’m hoping we can go to brunch
before Christian has to leave for the stadium. It’ll be fine. We’ll be
together, and that’s all I want.
Well, that and a normal life where we’re together more than
we’re apart.
That’s not too much to ask, right?
My first week in St. Louis is wonderful.
Mostly.
It’s a lot of working around his schedule—and his schedule
is brutal. To say that my husband lives, breathes, eats, and sleeps baseball is
an understatement. And because we are living together now, I’m seeing things I
didn’t see before.
For one, he’s a much pickier eater than I ever realized. I’m
literally learning exactly what he eats—down to the brands he prefers—so I can
cook for him. I even reach out to his mom for some recipes.
On the flip side, he makes us breakfast every day, so… Who
can be mad when you get pancakes every morning?
Pancakes aside, the conversation Christian and I had right
before I experienced my first baseball season comes to mind.
“Okay, here’s the thing that is…well…most people only
see the fun and glamorous side of the game. They think it’s all sitting in the
stands and cheering with the wives and girlfriends and families and then
hanging out and celebrating after it. But it’s not. It’s a long
season—especially if we make the playoffs—and sometimes it’s going to be very
lonely for you. Once spring training starts, all the time we’ve been spending
together is over.”
It was different when I was filming, and we were together
for only short periods of time. Now that I’m here—and I know I’m going back to
LA for some auditions soon—I truly understand what he was trying to tell me.
Every day is like Groundhog Day. We sleep in for as
long as Christian can because he needs to rest his body as much as possible.
When we get up, he makes us pancakes and bacon, and we watch TV for about an
hour. Then he begins his game-day routine with an Epsom salt bath and stretches.
Then he cooks the lunch he will take to the field with him to eat later. He
leaves for the field no later than 1:00 p.m.
After he leaves, I go to the grocery store and get something
to cook for dinner, then I go to the stadium for the game. I usually eat