Page 15 of The Wedding Season
“You’d really complement each other, and you’ve got overlapping fans at studios, plus your writing would be introduced to new people because of him. And viceversa.”
“But I’d only get half the money.”And you and your husband would split the commission so it’s not a big deal foryou.
“Half of something is better than all of nothing, sweetie.” To her credit, she says this in the nicest way possible. “Unless you have a brand new slam-dunk rom com that Judd Apatow can produce, ready to go out before the script buying season ends for thesummer...”
“Um.No.”
“It’s not a marriage, you don’t have to be a writing team forever, but it would create some heat for you and hopefully somemoney.”
“I’ll think aboutit.”
“I need you to do more than think about it. Listen…I’m telling you this as your friend now, not your agent—because it would seriously not be cool for me to say this as anagent.”
“ What?”
“The agency is making us drop our bottom tier movie clients—you know how much of a struggle it’s been—and we’re all trying to sign TV show runners. I don’t want to stop taking your calls or returning your emails, Erin, and I don’t want to lose you to a smaller agency who’ll give you more attention but doesn’t have as much clout or resources as we do. There, I said it. I believe in you, I believe in me as your agent, and it is not our fault that the film business sucks right now. So either start over and work your way up from the bottom as a TV writer or write a fucking awesome feature script with ScottBraddock.”
“Wow. When you put it like that…I have a good idea for a horror movie, we can just base it on my life rightnow.”
Why don’t I want to start over as a TV writer, one might ask? My head has always known that it’s the smart career move, but my heart will always belong to feature films. As much as I love to binge-watch shows, I crave the calm-inducing satisfaction of a closed-ended movie with a resolution. I also crave the calm-inducing satisfaction of being able to spend most of my days working home alone in my pajamas. But more than that—I truly believe that the only way to revive this dying industry of original filmmaking, is to ensure that all the writing talent does not flee to television. Because that’s what has been happening. Maybe I’m stubbornly holding out to be the last woman standing, and maybe that’s what Braddock is doingtoo.
“Aw. Poor Erin has to write a script with a hot funny rich guy. I wish we were FaceTiming so you could see me playing the world’s smallest violin over here. Just meet with him and throw some ideas around—what have you got tolose?”
My dignity. My self-respect. My born-againvirginity.
“I know you think you hate him, but that could work in our favor—it’s better than if you were dating and writing together—that never works out. You barely even have to see each other. I’ve got writing team clients who live on different coasts and barely talk to each other except at studio meetings. You can do everything over email now. But I mean, you guys live like ten minutes from each other and you might not hate him as much as you think. I have to make some more calls, but just meet with him and throw around some ideas, okay? I’ll have Kennedy reach out to him and she’ll set up a time. Love ya,bye.”
She hangs up before I can tell her ‘no.’ That’s what makes her a goodagent.
I get it. Okay. This is a work decision. It’s a career-move. I have to weigh the pros and cons with my brain and not my heart or my soul or my vagina. Aside from the obvious con of half a paycheck (and Laurie is right about half of something versus all of nothing) and the added con of potentially having to deal with people assuming that Braddock did most of the work since it will be a new genre for me—it’s really all pros. And I am a pro. I’m a professional screenwriter and I will never forget how lucky I am to be one. So yes. I will branch out into a new genre, and hopefully a new phase of mycareer.
I’ll just have to keep reminding my heart and soul and vagina to be open-minded and forward-thinking. No wait—I don’t want my vagina to open-minded. I need my vagina to stay boarded-up while I’m open for business with ScottBraddock.
Do they sell chastity belts onAmazon?
Chapter 7
*Erin*
Iarrived herea good ten minutes early so I wouldn’t be late and feel rushed or flustered. Even though he lives about ten minutes west of me, in Los Feliz, Scott requested that we meet at the 101 Coffee Shop on Franklin Avenue, at the base of the east side Hollywood Hills, because he would be coming from a meeting in Santa Monica and then driving to a meeting on the Universal lot after our meeting. Like thanks so much for squeezing me in, buddy, and congratulations on having so manymeetings.
Whatever.
Not having any meetings has given me the time to be really ready for thismeeting.
I am going to win thismeeting.
I have spent the last two days prepping for it. Kennedy, bless her assistant extraordinaire heart, sent me PDFs of dozens of horror scripts—classics as well as newer ones that had just sold. She sent me Braddock’s horror writing samples. I read them last, but they were good, dammit. I also watched every horror movie on Netflix and HBO, every trailer and clip from hit horror films available on YouTube, had vivid nightmares and anxiety dreams, and Googled “horror movie tropes” until I felt like I had a good grasp on the genre and my mind had been sufficiently saturated by fantasies of Patrick Wilson feeling me up in the bathroom of a haunted mansion instead of ScottBraddock.
It’s one-thirty on a weekday so it’s busy but not too crowded and populated with Beachwood Canyon hipsters (who are better-looking and more moneyed than the Atwater Village hipsters of my neighborhood). I’m drinking my coffee and pretending not to notice when a former cast member of Saturday Night Live gets up from his table and leaves, flipping through my notebook when I hear: “Nice notebook. You like squared pages?” Scott pulls out the chair opposite me and sits down. He’s wearing a crisp white collared shirt and jeans, black-rimmed glasses and a Yankees baseball cap. His writer’s uniform. He slaps his own notebook and pen on the table. He is right on time. I was hoping for the opportunity to berate him for keeping me waiting. Even by doing the right thing, he somehow always manages to do the wrong thing. He’s gifted thatway.
“I write neater on squared pages. I write fast when I’m making notes and it forces me to slowdown.”
He studies me and nods. “Interesting. You feel the need to rein yourself in. You’re afraid you’ll make a mess ofthings.”
“Excuse me, Dr. Braddock, I don’t believe our session has begunyet.”
He smiles. “How are you, Duffy? I’m stoked about this—areyou?”
