Page 57 of One-Star Romance

But recently an email from him had landed in her inbox, asking for a “pick your brain” coffee the next time she was back in New York. She hadn’t yet learned how to say no to those requests. Besides, it was nice being in a position where she could help others.

And, okay, fine, she liked the idea of Conor craving her approval for a change.

“You’re not running the whole thing yourself, are you?” he asked.

“Oh, no. They hired an experienced showrunner for that, thankfully.” She straightened her shoulders, strove to appear entirely calm about the turn her life had taken even though sometimes she still couldn’t believe her luck. “But I’m second-in-command in the writers’ room, and an executive producer on it as well.”

“Man, it’s inspiring that you get to do this work. How did you make it all happen?” he asked, scratching the gray at his temples.

She pictured herself from his point of view, her hair shiny and blown out. (She could afford nice hair care products now!) Sophisticated. She’d become the kind of person who wore blouses tucked into tight leather pants. Satisfaction burned in her.

“Would you say it was mostly connections?” he continued as she opened her mouth to speak.

“Well,” she said, and cleared her throat, “connections certainly played a part. And so much of the industry is luck. But you also have to do the work on your craft so that when you’re in the right place at the right time, you’re ready to step up.” Apparently she’d also become the kind of person who very seriously said “your craft.”

“Are your connections solely on the network side?” Conor asked, scratching his chin. “Because I think my work lends itself more naturally to streaming. It has an auteur, complex, almost filmic tone, if you know what I mean.”

“Mm. Wow. Yes, we took ours out to networks first since Tyler wanted to go big and broad with the comedy. I don’t know how much you’ve watched of it—”

He nodded in an evasive way. “I don’t have regular TV anymore.”

“Right,” she said, then sat through another interminable half hour, during which Conor rerouted the conversation to talk in depth about the script he was working on, clearly hoping that she’d be so blown away by the brilliance of “it’s a Kafkaesque look at working in a big-box store, revealing the rot at the heart of the American experiment” that she’d have no choice but to connect him with her agent. Why had she ever been so desperate to keep this insufferable man entertained? Finally, blessedly, her phone dinged.

“And it would be incredibly punk rock having this show about the evil of big corporations on Amazon Prime, you know? Tricking the biggest corporation of all into spreading the message.”

Natalie held her phone up. “I’m sorry, but I have to go to a housewarming party, and my ride’s here.”

“Sure. But first, what do you think of the concept?”

She rose to standing. “I know it’s only network TV, but Superstore has been doing smart, interesting commentary on the big-box store for a while now. And as for the rest of your vision, I’m afraid I don’t quite get it.” She grabbed her coat and gave him a blinding smile. “But best of luck.”

Then she walked outside and over to the black car idling at the curb, opening the door and sliding onto the seat. “Thank God that’s over.”

“Damn, no fun?” Tyler asked, sprawled out next to her. “Then it’s a good thing we get to party!”

On the turnpike, Natalie looked out the window as they passed a billboard for Stoat & Sons and then, behind it, a newer, shinier billboard advertising Meant 2B, Tuesday nights on CBS. In the foreground of the picture, Tyler mugged, a himbo unintentionally leaving destruction in his wake. In the background of the shot, two women watched—one with adoration, another rolling her eyes.

“I think we should make a TV show,” Tyler had said on the phone last year, the night that Natalie had been crying on the train.

“Of your memoir?”

“No, Apartment 2F! Don’t you think it could make a great sitcom? Two roommates, the kooky boyfriend who comes in and screws things up? We make Dennis a lead. I play Dennis. You help adapt it.”

It was all so completely strange, Natalie couldn’t stop herself from laughing. “I never pictured it as a sitcom.”

“Really? I think it’s perfect for multicam! Anyway, my agent says that because Yeo, It’s Tyler! is doing so well right now, we’ve got to act fast to capitalize on the Tyler-ssance.”

“I’m sorry, the Tyler-ssance? Like the Renaissance?”

“Oh.” Tyler paused. “Yeah. That’s what he meant.”

“I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. I’m so flattered, but are you sure about Apartment 2F? We could come up with something different, something original.”

“Nah, it’s gotta be intellectual property. Everyone’s into IP now! So, what do you say? Can I set up a time for you to talk with my agent?”

Strangely, in that moment, Natalie pictured Rob, the way he’d called her out at the wedding over her cruel portrayal of Angus. Could she really put that on television? (Assuming the show made it through the development process. Even with stars attached, plenty of projects failed. This whole moral dilemma was probably moot.)

But she could change the character of Dennis. Change the circumstances, the details, make him unrecognizable. Tyler didn’t have Angus’s energy, not in the slightest.

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