Page 76 of Take 2
“Okay, fine. You’ve broken me. I had sex with Preston Greene.”
He groans and flops down onto the couch. “You’re full of shit. That was too easy.”
“Easy? Do we need the replay? I’ve denied it for a year, and you didn’t accept that. I admit to it, and you also don’t accept it. There are really only the two options.”
He narrows his eyes at me. “You are far too mysterious for a girl from Wisconsin.”
I shrug.
“Or maybe you just want to have this conversation for three hours, so we miss the Oscars.”
“Why ever would I want that?” My voice is saccharine.
“Because you don’t want to see Preston Greene there.”
“You caught me. I’m a petty, jealous bitch.”
“I love that about you, but if it affects your enjoyment of Hollywood’s biggest night, we need to examine.”
“Haven’t you done that already,Inspector?”
“The lack of available information is appalling! IMDb or Wikipedia an actor and you can find out what his mom’s first job was in high school. Screenwriters just get:Was born. Wrote movies.”
“Because no one cares about us. As Robert Downey Jr. explained when he presented best original screenplay with Tina Fey, writers are sickly little mole people.”
James snickers. “Preston Greene is certainly not—” He narrows his eyes at whatever my face does. “Anything you’d like to tell me?”
“Nope.”
“Are we making bets?”
“I don’t think so.”
Not only can I not make an unbiased prediction, but it would also be somewhat uninformed. In the past year, I took a sharp turn from my position as a creative who would focus only on my art and not on the business (that’s why I have Lisa!), to stalking all industry news. I don’t want another Preston Greene to pop into the scene and catch me unaware. So, I should be able to predict all the awards, but for the first time in forever, I haven’t watched all the movies nominated for my most anticipated award.
The screenplay was available, but I didn’t read it. I didn’t watch the roundtable. I didn’t see the movie. Because I am, in fact, a petty, jealous bitch.
As Nicole Kidman presents the award for original screenplay, I stop breathing. When Preston Greene wins and hugs the bombshell next to him, I feel James’ eyes on me. I sniffle and wipe my eye before tears can fall. “I just really love Greta Gerwig. It should have been her.”
Is it suspicious that the champagne is hitting my bladderright now?Maybe. Do I care? No. I’m not watching this speech.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Thegreenscrunchiestretchesas I twirl my finger through it. My laptop screen has fallen asleep, but staring off into the middle distance is half of writing. This is a good place for it. The middle distance is bright blue sea and puffy clouds. Except I’m not really staring at nothing. I’m watching him.
I’m transported to the stands at Camp Randall, watching Ryan play football in his Badgers red, his family at my side as we cheer him on. There was the time I nearly jumped out of my skin when he got hurt and then didn’t breathe as he limped off the field. I remember Anna’s arms wrapped around me as we jumped and cried when we won the game that would send us to the Rose Bowl senior year.
There was more fanfare, but watching this film shoot isn’t any less exciting for being quieter. I blink back tears and push it down.Not the same.This is actually more fun, as it’s only the celebrating and scoring parts. Getting trampled happens even further behind the scenes than we are today. If I didn’t know that part from first-hand experience, this would all look much more glamorous and not as well earned as Ryan’s achievements on the field. But I know how hard Preston has had to work for this, even if the road he took to get here was different than mine.
He glances my way, and this time last week, I’d have been embarrassed to be caught looking at him, but now I hold his eye contact without reservation. His expression brightens, and he winks at me. The flutter in my stomach is so juvenile, but it can’t be helped. If this romance that’s threatening to be my big second chance could stop trying to feel like the first botched one, that would be really great.
Preston turns his attention back to Chris. “You want a tiebreaker? Mira!” He waves me over, and I put my neglected laptop in my bag to go over to them.
“That’s not fair,” Chris says. “She’s your girlfriend; she’s obviously going to side with you.”
“I’m what?” I lay the faux shock on thick, my hand grasping invisible pearls and all.
“The only reason I haven’t been hitting on you—”
