Page 19 of Off Script

The two of them were sitting in a local bar called The Drunken Skunk. After they’d left the set, Jada had moped around at home. Eventually, Mikayla was able to drag her out of the house. The Drunken Skunk might not have had the prettiest name but the crowd wasn’t as rowdy as people might think. The atmosphere held that elusive blend of edginess and comfort with well-worn leather booths, cozy lighting, and yes, sometimes sticky tables.

For now, Jada could care less about a little grime as long as they kept serving her bangin’ margaritas. Besides, it was close enough to their Culver City apartment that they could stumble home. Something they couldn’t do if they had gone to one of the overcrowded spots in downtown L.A. On their arrival, Mikayla had also sent an SOS to Alia, who came promptly as pity party backup.

“It’s going to be okay.” Alia fell into the role of comforter easily. “I highly doubt he’s going to get rid of you this late into production. Didn’t you say you have, like, two weeks of shooting left?”

Alia did have a point. Since Jada wasn’t a major character, her scenes were supposed to wrap soon. Although, after today’s destruction, she wasn’t sure when they’d be back on set. Ren had promised to update everyone once he knew more. Translation: they wouldn’t find out until this battle with Mr. Collins played out.

Too tired to get into the what-ifs about continuing her role, Jada nodded in response to Alia’s question, then took a giant sip of her drink. Alia patted her on the back with indulgent affection.

“You’re a good actress, Jada. Even if he did get rid of you, you would be able to find another job. I’m sure of it.” Of course, Alia went with the logical backup plan over the doom and gloom playing through Jada’s mind. Not surprising for a woman so poised under pressure—Alia had graced the “30 Under 30” list of Hollywood’s up and coming stars.

“Hear, hear!” Mikayla added, raising her mug of beer.

“None of this was my fault.” Jada played with her straw. “I didn’t force Tristan to have sex with a young and impressionable PA, but I’m the one paying the price. He thinks he can yell at me for his indiscretions.”

“Yeah, I’m shocked. I can’t believe Tristan did that,” Mikayla said.

“That’s interesting, coming from you. Since you were hiding in one of the changing rooms, listening in on our screaming match,” Jada snapped.

“Hey! I heard Ren coming, and I had to dodge. You know he hates me. But still, I thought Tristan was a good guy, and it’d all work out.”

“Well, he’s not.” Jada nearly snarled. “He’s a self-absorbed, hot-headed lothario!”

Like the good friends they were, Mikayla and Alia allowed Jada to rant for another hour and two strawberry margaritas. Topics of defamation ran from Tristan’s low inhibitions to the possibility that underneath his great hair his ears were too big and the more far-fetched (but still possible, she insisted) idea that his narcissism covered up hidden sociopathic tendencies. As Jada’s rambling theory on how Tristan might be the next Ted Bundy wound down, Alia let out a yawn.

“I’m sorry, guys, but I’m starting to crash. I’d love to stay and keep cursing the day Tristan Maxwell was born but I have an early start tomorrow. Forgive me?”

Jada and Mikayla pardoned their friend but weren’t quite ready to leave. When Alia was out the door, Mikayla turned to Jada with a devious smile.

“What?” Jada squinted at her cousin. Mikayla had her I’m plotting something diabolical face on.

“I would have brought this up earlier, but you were too devastated. Plus, Alia was here and she would not approve. But now I think you’re ready.” Mikayla pulled her phone out of her pocket and waved it teasingly in front of Jada.

“What does your iPhone have to do with my shitty day?”

“Itmeansthat I got everything on video. Well, up until the point where Ren walked in.”

Slowly, Mikayla’s scheme dawned on Jada.

“No! You can’t show that to anyone!”

“Why not? He deserves some backlash after the way he treated you. Say the word, and I forward this to theSip That Teatip line in ten seconds.”

Jada bit her lip as she began to reconsider. It was unlike her to lash out, to take revenge. But she had a sneaking suspicion that it would feel incredibly good to avenge herself. Why was the idea appealing to her? Maybe it was because she was still pissed. Maybe it was because Tristan’s distrust and anger hurt her more than she’d like to admit. Or maybe it was because of those damn margaritas.

Whatever the reason, Jada found herself saying two magically destructive words.

“Do it.”

Bang!

Ring!

Bang!

Those were the first sounds Tristan heard as he struggled to wake up. It was a combination of battering-ram thuds and an intense doorbell assault as someone tried to break down his front door. As he groggily came to his senses, Tristan wondered who had gotten past the security gate and thought they could pull such a loud B & E on him. Tristan dragged himself out of bed and headed downstairs, ready to curse out whoever was ballsy enough to do this at seven in the morning.

Looking through the front door’s peephole, he spotted Doug’s shiny bald forehead quivering with angry frown lines. His attack on Tristan’s innocent door proved it wasn’t a friendly visit. Bracing himself, Tristan opened the door and his agent barged past him into the house and promptly started screaming.

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