Page 17 of Heavy Shot

Comedy writing was hard. Situational comedy writing was even harder without falling into the trap of reducing your characters to the bare bones of what made the audience laugh. That’s what the writers had done to Thad, and it was heartbreaking to watch old episodes and see him throwing everything he had into the character of Simon Saenz, when all Simon was saying was, “D’oh.”

The actor had been nothing if not dejected in his role when he’d met Rhiannon for the first time, and by the end of their first handshake, she had decided she was going to give him a reason to feel good about his job if it killed her. He was genuine and nice, something that was rare in any industry, much less entertainment, and he had welcomed her to the team like she was as big a name as he was, regardless of her actual inexperience. She wasn’t going to let Thad down, regardless of whatever else happened.

The first episode of the season was hers and she’d written Simon a rollicking take on the audition process that established actors faced after a certain age. It was the old, “get me a young George Clooney” thing and was funny for the fact that “Simon” was still young and could still be gotten. The overall gag was that the teenaged boyfriend of his oldest daughter ended up getting the role. It gave Thad a chance to show off some chops as a man facing down his mortality with good humor and grace, and it set up the rest of the season as Simon started chasing down more mature roles.

With that direction established, and a fresh outlook for the worn-out jokes about Simon’s ego and looks, the writing team took up the theme and spun gold out of the simple thread. Now the marketing team was preparing their package for the Emmys, and it actually felt like they had a shot. They fully expected that the nominations came down, Simon Says would be on the cards for both outstanding writing and leading actor in a comedy. Season five was secure, and so was Rhiannon’s reputation as she started to network slowly into the LA scene.

The differences between New York and LA were night and day, even the parties were polar opposites. She figured it had to do with people in LA never having to worry about getting cold or rained on. Everything was love, light, and namaste. Even the knives you had to pull out of your back every now and then were dripping with false friendliness. She often found herself missing the in-your-face values of Boston, or the cold disdain of Manhattan.

A few weeks into the scene with a handful of those parties under her belt, Rhiannon had gone out with a writer from another show, an entertainment attorney, a realtor who was trying to break into acting, and off-and-on was still seeing a guy who directed music videos and short film. She wondered about him, then remembered he was off in Europe directing some indie thing he hoped was his big break.

He wasn’t serious because of his schedule, but maybe if he was rooted in one place, he could have potential. Distantly, she wondered about Kline’s schedule. If he started picking up more films, he’d be all over the world on location soon enough. Not that she could see herself settling down with a movie star, and no doubt that’s what he was.

“Playtime’s over,” she growled at herself, finding she’d fallen into a daydream of what life might be like on his arm. “Work.”

But, as soon as work was done for the day, she was cataloging the personal maintenance that needed to happen before her next date and making appointments to get everything ready for his close-ups. Just thinking about what that man had done with his tongue sent a jolt through her pelvis. Whatever she had to do to make that easier for him, she was going to do!

Jill Parker

"Daisies?" August laughed when Jill walked back into the kitchen of her Hollywood Hills rental with the flowers that had just been delivered. "Who sent those?"

"I ran into Kline Scott at lunch yesterday," she said noncommittally. "Royce gave him my information. Then he spent the rest of the afternoon telling me how great it would be for my career if I could be seen around town with him."

August slowed, looking at her as she put the arrangement down on the counter, then he plucked the card out of the holder and read it, eyes narrowing. "Well, that's presumptuous."

"That's just Kline. He's Kline."

"When he calls are you going to see him?"

Jill sighed and pushed her hair back. "It's been ages, August. A decade since the last time I had any real contact with him. I'm kind of over him."

"You never get over your first love."

"I'm not going to argue with you. Besides, the odds of him calling are about as high as the odds of my staying in LA past this film. Decreasing by the minute."

Dropping the card beside the flowers, August swiveled on his barstool to watch Jill go over to the window and let down the blinds, so she performed the act more than just doing it, giving him something to watch. She wasn't really unhappy with LA. In fact, she was being fussier than normal because she liked it more than she'd wanted. True, she hated the clubs and the oily suits, but she was loving the house she was in, loving the pool with the landscaped grotto, and absolutely, albeit silently, adoring the beach.

"You're getting tan," August teased. “You can be an ice princess and a beach bunny at the same time.”

"I’m a pool princess! Where's Lola? Don't you have something to do with her today?" Jill growled playfully, naming August's girlfriend. "Can't you go harass her? I'm sure she misses you."

"Lola is filming today. You are the only person I have to harass at all. Lucky!"

Jill went back to what she'd been doing before the doorbell rang; sorting invitations. August had been helping her paw through the stack and had been instructing her on who was aWhoand who was aHuh? "How's this one?" she asked, holding up a card. "It's to Denver Dawson's Oscar’s after party."

"Please," he rolled his eyes. "Denver Dawson is trying to get anyone to her do. No. You'll go to the Vanity Fair party."

"I don't think I'm invited to that."

"Of course you are, darling.You have Tonys.If you don't have a paper invite, you'll be my date."

"Lola's gonna love that," Jill laughed, then hummed. “I’m presenting at the Grammy’s next month. Dateless.”

“Take me. I’ll dress you.”

She hummed again, non-commitally. Mentally sorting through her plus-one options as she went through the stack of envelopes. The divorce was going to be her headline, given that the final court date was literally days before the Grammy’s. Presenting was going to be a necessary nightmare to endure. Let the internet talk about her fashion instead of her failed marriage. If she could snag an interesting date, they would talk about that.

When she’d finished sorting, she had more envelopes left than options. She wondered about Kline. In the past, he was always up for anything that shone a spotlight his way.

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