“See, you could have just replied withlots,” I said, “and I would have understood your meaning if you’d used that one word instead of five hundred.”
“I didn’t use five hundred words, I used, like, ten,” Elliot snapped. “And I know what you mean, but sometimes one word isn’t fitting for the occasion.”
“And sometimes it is.” I jabbed my screen. “Like in Act One, Scene One, it is veryfitting.”
He shook his head ruefully. “I just don’t know how we’re going to get this done.”
“Well, we have to.” I was out of a job if he and I couldn’t find a way to work together. And if I was out of a job, I was going to be out of a home when Bex and Dan set up house together.
“We can’t even have a conversation abouthowwe will do this, let alone actually do it,” he said despondently.
“And that’s the problem,” I said. “Like RJ said, if we can’t get along, we can’t write.”
Elliot smirked. “You want to become bosom buddies?”
“Please keep my bosom out of this,” I said.
He laughed then and, for a fleeting second, the tension around his eyes vanished. He looked carefree, different. “I’ll try my best.” Then his face dropped. “Sorry, that sounded a little creepy.”
An email pinged loudly into both our inboxes with the headingUpdate:Inter-PGA Baseball Final.Curious, I clicked on it. “What’s this?”
“Oh God.” Elliot tilted his head back, rubbing his face. “A nightmare is what it is.”
I scanned the email, which was advising everyone that the start time of the Brightstar/Perspective Pictures baseball game had to start at 4.30 this afternoon instead of 3 due to maintenance issues.
“Every year, all PGA-registered producers and their teams enter a baseball tournament for charity,” Elliot explained. “We crashed out in round two against T-Street.”
“T-Street?” I repeated, “as in, Rian Johnson’s company?”
Elliot grimaced. “You can imagine how that went down.”
“Why don’t we go and watch the final?” I suggested. “Like, a bonding trip.”
“You want to socialize with me?” Elliot said. “Of your own free will?”
“I think we need to try. You said it yourself; we can’t even have a conversation without scrapping.”
He tutted. “That’s a radical interpretation of the phrase I actually used.”
“See, right there!” I cried. “You could have just saidI didn’t say that, and I’ve had known what you meant.”
His face hardened. “What time is the game?”
Chapter Thirteen
When Riley had learned I was dragging Elliot to the baseball game, she’d instantly roped in a few other people from RJF to come too. And I was glad she had; Elliot was distinctly grumpy about being forced to attend a social event with his colleagues, especially when he’d learned Ralf was coming. But I didn’t care. I’d never watched a baseball game and after a tough but shorter-than-expected day clashing with Elliot, I was excited to do something after work that wasn’t jetlagged moping in my apartment. I was groggy but determined to push through.
The baseball game was taking place on a pitch in Prospect Park, a dreamy, wooded green space located in an upmarket Brooklyn neighborhood. The pitch itself looked exactly as they did in the movies, a green diamond encircled by sand with painted markers for each base. There were a ton of spectators too, some with picnic blankets and snacks, others crowding onto the bleachers lining one side of the pitch. As our group ambled towards the action, Elliot lagged behind, partaking in a conference call concerning RJF’s latest TV show.
“Everyone’s here,” Ralf murmured in my ear as we approached. “The who’s who of film production.”
“Do you think Rian Johnson is here?” I asked, unable to hide my excitement at the idea of being in close proximity to him.
“Nah, he’ll be in LA,” Ralf said confidently. “He’s over here a lot but he wouldn’t come for this.”
“Do you know him personally?” He’d spoken as if he had.
“Ah, just to say hi to,” Ralf said. “My dad was an exec at Disney for years, distributed a lot of Rian’s product.”
