Page 56 of Take 2
Our pictures this year are set in front of vineyards, as so many great pictures have these past few days. The off-season timing was nice, despite James’ constant complaints about it being freezing. He doesn’t know what freezing is, though I’ve been out of Wisconsin long enough to have dressed pretty warm the whole time.
He settles onto the armchair within reach of the ice bucket and bottle on the desk. “So, how manycanwe bet on?”
“Hmm.” I tuck my skirt underneath myself as I sit on the edge of the bed closer to him. “Five?”
“Do I have to wager on the same five as you?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“Oh, wait.” I shake my head at my own stupidity. “We both have to bet on best picture, though.”
“The Martian.”
“The Revenant.”
He taps his drink to mine. “May the best movies win.”
I smile and take a cocktail shrimp from the plastic serving platter. New people, new traditions, but there will always be the Academy Awards. And I’m finally making moves to get there someday.
“Okay, why do I identify more with the Star Wars droids than any A-list celebrity?”
“BB-8, R2-D2, and C-3PO are definitely A-list, James.” And their presenting of the award for best original score is a highlight of the night.
We’re both still shit at predicting winners, but for the eighty-eighth Academy Awards, I consume just enough alcohol to numb the disappointment of not celebrating my sixth anniversary with Ryan. Not enough to make me miserable for the long drive home tomorrow so that Tuesday morning I can enjoy brunch with one of my new favorite people.
My Agent Lisa: I’ll be there in 5. Assume you already have a table even though I’m early?
I sip my mimosa and smile at the message.We share our anxious perfectionism, and promptness is a big part of that. Every time we schedule anything, it turns into a contest to see who can be earlier. Today I won.
Me: On the patio. Xo.
The Pacific Ocean as a backdrop is not something I can get used to. This place looks like somewhere I should be going to celebrate winning an Oscar, not just for a brunch meeting. I still feel like a freaking Wisconsin bratwurst, oddly out of place in this glowing vegan wonderland. When the server goes by, I wave him down to order two mimosas and send back my empty glass. Lisa wafts in like cottonwood fluff on the breeze. Her ethereal, flowery wrap dress is so perfectly her.
“This is getting out of hand.” She hangs her purse, with a sparkly dolphin key chain swinging from a metal buckle, on the corner of her chair and sits. “Eventually, we’re going to have to be hours early to everything we do. It’s got to stop.”
“You first.” I fill her glass from the carafe of ice water.
“Glad to see you’re staying hydrated.”
The mimosas arrive. “Glad to see these, too.” She clinks her glass to mine and takes a sip.
The urge to ask if she has any news is painful. I know I don’t have to pretend not to be anxious about it with Lisa, but I prefer to act like I’m a professional. No, I’m not traumatized by being dropped by my first agent. Not at all.
“So, what have you been working on?”
Oh fuck.If she’s asking me about what else I have in the pipeline, the screenplay she already has isn’t going to sell. “I have a few things in various states of incompleteness. Kind of scared to really dive into anything because then if I have to start working onStolen Momentsagain…”
“Oh, but you’re so good at juggling.”
For the love of God, tell me something about that screenplay!
“And thank goodness, because I have some nibbles onStolen Moments.”
My eyes bulge. “Oh my god! You do?”
“Yes, they’re—”
