Was it helpful?
Did I find it helpful to be faced with the woman I’ve been trying to forget for eight years?
Is this making the holidays any easier for me to get through? The holidays I disliked when I was growing up because there was always an underlying tension at home? Not because both sides of the family celebrated different holidays—because neither side celebrated much of anything other than work. The holidays I have disliked even more for the past eight years because they reminded me of her. The woman I’ve been trying to forget.
And yet.
It was so fucking good to feel that thing. That thing I have only ever felt withher. Even if she was only there because my son asked her to be. Even if she’s only here now because she’s extorting large sums of money from me.
“Itwashelpful. And fun.”
The hesitant smile that spreads across her pretty face is a balm for my soul, the foundation upon which dreams are built and the reason she will break my heart again if I let her.
I won’t let her.
And she can see that on my face. That hesitant smile becomes a knowing grin. “So what’s the deal with this project and the deadline, boss?”
I pick up a different stress ball—the one Paxton gave me for my birthday this year. I have a basket full of them on my desk. He has given me a different stress ball for my birthday and every major national holiday every year since he was five. Purchased with his allowance. Ever since he found out about stress balls. I choose one of the squishy ones.
“Have a seat,” I say, gesturing toward the sofa and the armchairs. I myself will be pacing back and forth. She choosesan armchair and waits for me to speak. “The president of production at Streamflix is retiring next year. I’m in the running to replace him.” I pause, expecting an eye roll or snort, but I am met with only a curious gaze. “The senior VP here at this studio, Josh Steinberg, is also up for that job. My production deal with this studio is up in February. As per my contract, if I don’t get a movie greenlit before then, my option for another year on the deal won’t kick in. So my agent won’t have leverage to get me a new deal at another studio if he can’t get Streamflix excited enough about me to make an offer.”
She rubs her lips together, and I know, I know. She’s playing the world’s smallest violin. This is a high-class problem. But that doesn’t make it any less of a problem.
I continue on about my plight. “So Steinberg assigned me a project that no one else on the lot wants:The Untitled Christmas Projectby the Shark Brothers.The Shark Brothersis an alias used by the two youngest sons of the head of this studio, so it wouldn’t look like nepotism when the studio bought it for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. But everyone knows who wrote it, and no one can bad-mouth the script to anyone at the studio because it will get back to their dad. No screenwriter with a track record even wants to read the script because Steinberg has told everyone in town that it’s garbage and that any changes will be viewed as hostile by the head of the studio and also no star will attach themselves to this project the way it is.”
She’s fuming now.
“Fucking Steinberg!”
She gets it.
I like that.
“Yes. Fucking Steinberg. But it’s not true. Changes will not be viewed as hostile by the studio. It’s just that the studio wants a Christmas movie for next year and this script was not originally written as a Christmas movie. They just slapped some Christmasstuff on it and called it a day. So I need to come up with a great take and some very specific notes so I can hire a good writer to rewrite this in a month. That’ll give me enough time to attach a big star and get a green light.” I sigh. “If I don’t, I will be a complete and utter failure.”
Now she snort-laughs. “Okay. I was with you there for a minute, but that is insane.”
“Not as insane as that screenplay.” I point to the script in her lap. That script does not deserve to touch her thighs and be that close to a part of her that I very much deserve to get close to.
But I can’t think about that right now.
I hold my hands up like I’m framing a shot. “Fade in. Helicopter shot. It’s snowing in the mountains. One crappy old car is driving along the winding road. This very pretty businesswoman from New York rolls into a small town, gets a flat tire on Main Street. A ripped Ryan Reynolds–type guy in a Santa suit strolls out of the hardware store and says, ‘Welcome to the middle of nowhere, bitch! You must be lost.’ And then he pulls out the laser gun he was hiding in his pants and blows her away. Then he peels off his rubber face, revealing that he’s an alien.
“Cut to a Ryan Reynolds–Type Guy waking up in bed by himself in a nondescript apartment for recently divorced guys and there’s a plastic Christmas tree on the floor next to him that’s totally bare. It’sDie HardmeetsIndependence Daymeets a Hallmark Christmas movie written by a couple of guys who have never seen a Hallmark Christmas movie meetsGroundhog Daymeets my actual fucking nightmare.”
I don’t stop pacing, but I finally look over to see her reaction.
She looks like she’s about to take flight.
“Okay, here are my notes,” she says, holding the script to her chest. That script does not deserve to be anywhere near her perky, amazing tits. “I have no notes!” she exclaims. “Thatis brilliant, and I would pay one hundo dollars to see that in a theater.”
I scoff. “Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay. But they won’t give it a green light unless it’s a four-quadrant family Christmas comedy. With heart.”
She shrugs. “It will bring in every single family of fifteen-to-fifty-eight-year-old men worldwide, and I happen to know that’s every movie studio’s favorite demographic.”
