Page 10 of Scripted for Love and Poison
“You know who else was writing a book, right?” Claudia said, taking Sol out of her reverie. “Simon Smith.”
“Really?” Sol said, and she could sense Luke’s body tensing next to her, paying closer attention.
“It was supposed to be a tell-all, first-person account about his experience as a movie critic. I’m told he shopped it all over town, and no one was buying it.” A hint of a satisfied smirk played on Claudia’s lips.
“I mean, I can relate to that,” Sol said. “Agents haven’t exactly been jumping at the opportunity of representing me, either.”
But she couldn’t ask Claudia any more details aboutSimon’s thwarted literary endeavors, as the other guests occupying their table arrived then, and she was surprised to recognize none other than filmmaker Victor Lago among them.
···
In hindsight, Sol should have realized that Victor Lago was going to be one of the guests at their table. He’d had an ongoing romantic relationship with showrunner Abbie Domingo for more than a decade, and Abbie’s name was on one of the seating cards on the table next to another one that readAbbie Domingo’s Guest. The second season of Abbie’s show,Slowing Down, had been nominated in several categories and was one of the favorite drama contenders of the night. It was clear that Lago had wanted to show support to his partner, even if his own movie,Haughty Horizons, had been a darling a mere few weeks before but hadn’t amassed any recognition after Simon Smith’s review.
“Hello, everyone, I’m Abbie,” the gracious showrunner said while getting to the table. The fifty-something-year-old had a small frame but a presence that filled the room, dressed in a stunning eggplant sleeveless gown. “So glad to be here tonight. So honored to be nominated. I’m a bit nervous, though.”
Abbie laughed anxiously while shaking Claudia’s, Luke’s, and Sol’s hands.
“Nervous?” a curmudgeonly Victor Lago said, falling ungraciously over a chair, not acknowledging the rest of the people at table 13. Next to Abbie, the filmmaker looked pale, tired, and even slightly disheveled with his short gray hair sticking up and his tuxedo hanging awkwardly on him. “This is a joke of an awards show!”
Abbie’s laugh suddenly turned from nervous to embarrassed.
Things started to feel extra uncomfortable at table 13 when a couple of journalists joined the group: Jason Zit, who was Simon Smith’s editor atThe Showbiz Reporterand had overseen the publication of his review ofHaughty Horizons, and critic Travis Wise fromPerformance Weekly.
“This is getting more and more interesting by the minute,” Sol shared with Luke in an almost inaudible tone. She proceeded to introduce herself and Luke to the newcomers. “And I don’t know if you remember me,” Sol said when she addressed Jason Zit and Travis Wise.
“Of course, Sol, how are you doing?” Travis said in his usual affable style. He was a Black sixty-something-year-old who had a few more white hairs than the last time Sol had seen him.
“I don’t remember you, actually,” Jason said, abruptly.
“She worked for me for a while,” intervened Claudia, as all of them had worked together atPerformance Weeklya few years before, while Sol still lived in Los Angeles.
“Oh, you worked atPerformance Weekly. I also worked atPerformance Weekly,” said Jason. “I’m an executive editor atThe Showbiz Reporternow.”
“We were there together for a couple of years atPerformance Weekly. Travis and I worked together for longer, though,” said Sol.
“Really? I still can’t remember you,” Jason said.
Sol blinked. She didn’t know what to make of that. The fifty-something-year-old man with wispy hair and yellowing teeth had worked on the same floor as her, a mere couple of desks down from her, four years before. She had to admit that a pandemic had happened after that, and she, too, had seemed to forget some things, but still.
“Oh, please don’t hold it against him,” a tall and slender redhead woman of around fifty told Sol. “He won’t admit to it, but he’s completely face blind. His main fault is not even trying to hide it.”
“Okay, I guess,” Sol said, confused.
“I’m Emily, Jason’s wife. If it’s any consolation, I do remember you from a couple of holiday parties organized byPerformance Weekly,” the redhead continued, and that made Sol feel bad because she couldn’t remember her. And she knew she wasn’t face blind herself. “But you were there with someone different.” Emily pointed to Luke, who was standing next to Sol.
“I probably attended those with my husband,” Sol said and immediately realized the blunder. What was she thinking? Being in Los Angeles and surrounded by former colleagues had brought back vividly a period of her life that was now over. She felt Luke by her side, looking at her with confused eyes. “Myex-husband,” she corrected herself.
“Ah,” said Emily.
“Yes,” added Sol awkwardly.
“I personally think she totally traded up with the new beau,” Claudia felt inexplicably compelled to say.
8
They had reached that unavoidable point in awards ceremonies in which Sol was officially tired. They were two and a half hours in, and most of the main awards had yet to be announced, but she was bored, hungry (Sol had deemed the provided food not desirable), and would much rather have stayed in and watched the whole thing from bed, in her pajamas. The bought-in-a-hurry shoes were killing her even while seated, and the dress she was wearing couldn’t be described as comfy athleisure.
Even the continuous comings and goings of famous, beautiful people inside the venue was starting to get old. She no longer cared if Jennifer Aniston was wearing a stunning black bustier with matching pants. Or if Jonathan Bailey was himself stunning.
