Bungalow 2 (14 page)

She was surprised to find that the bungalow looked comfortable and familiar when she walked in. She had brought a few more photographs from home, of Peter and the kids, and one of Alice with James and Jason. She had talked to Jason that weekend and he sounded happy. He was so busy in his new college life that he wasn't calling any of them. The girls had complained about it.

She called Peter the minute she sat down. She called on his cell phone, and he was still having dinner with Alice. Tanya talked to her, too, and it made her feel lonelier than ever knowing that they were together and she was alone. She wanted to be having sushi with them. Alice said it was no fun without her and they missed her. Tanya told Alice about the photograph of her she'd brought with her. And then they went back to their dinner, and Tanya turned on the TV. She felt strangely alone.

She took a bath in the enormous tub and turned on the Jacuzzi. It helped relax her. And afterward she turned on her computer, and worked on the script some more. She had a meeting the next day to discuss the producer and director's notes, and the following day they were meeting with the stars to do the same.

It was going to be a busy week assimilating everyone's notes and trying to incorporate them in the script somehow. She was looking forward to the process and to hearing their comments. She worked on it till nearly two
A.M.
, and left a wake-up call for seven. She had to be at the studio on Monday morning at eight-thirty.

Tanya felt as though the phone rang the moment her head touched the pillow. She woke up with a start, and then lay back with a groan after her wake-up call. She missed Peter, so she called him. He was up and getting ready, and about to make breakfast for the girls. Hearing him made her feel guilty that he was there with them and she wasn't. They had a long road ahead of them, of breakfasts and dinners he'd have to make, and nights she wouldn't be there. A whole school year of them. She felt as though she were facing a prison sentence without them, as she and Peter chatted briefly before they started their day.

“I miss you so much,” Tanya said sadly. “I feel like shit that you have to do all the work.”

“You've been doing it for eighteen years, so what's the big deal if I do it for a few months.” He sounded rushed but sweet.

“I think I married a saint,” she said gratefully. He was being amazing.

“No, you married a guy who can never get eggs, juice, and cereal on the table simultaneously. I'm basically a dyslexic cook, so I gotta go. Play nice in the sandbox today.”

“I hope they do, too.” She was nervous about this first big meeting. They were going to get down to business, and maybe pull her work apart. She had no idea what they'd do or say. This was all new to her.

“You'll be fine. Don't take any shit from them. What I've read so far is great.”

“Thanks, I'll call you when I get out of the meeting. Good luck with breakfast … and Peter …” There were tears in her eyes as she spoke to him. “I'm sorry I'm doing this. I feel like such a lousy wife and mom. You're a hero to let me do it.” She still felt so guilty for being away, and leaving him all the domestic responsibilities she normally handled and had for nearly twenty years.

“You're the best wife I've got. And you're a star to me.”

“You're the star, Peter,” she said softly. She could hardly wait for the weekend so she could go home again.

“ 'Bye, be good … love you …,” he said, and rushed off the phone, as she went to brush her teeth and comb her hair.

She ordered breakfast from room service, a far cry from the hasty meal Peter had gobbled with the girls. Her driver and limo were waiting for her outside. And she was at the studio promptly at eightthirty. Douglas hadn't arrived yet. Max Blum was already there.

“Good morning, Tanya. How was your weekend?” he said pleasantly, carrying a heavy briefcase that looked like it was about to explode as he set it down in the conference room where they had sent them. They had rented office space from one of the TV networks for the duration of the picture. Tanya had been assigned an office, too, but she'd told them she preferred to work at the hotel. It would be more peaceful and less distracting to write in the bungalow.

“Too short,” Tanya said sadly. She was missing Peter and the kids more than ever today, after a taste of them over the weekend. “How was yours?”

“Not bad. I went to a couple of baseball games, read
The Wall Street Journal, Variety
, and
The New York Times
, and had several very intellectual conversations with my dog. We stayed up pretty late, so he was too tired to come to work today. It's a dog's life,” he said as a secretary offered them both coffee, and they both declined. Max was carrying a Starbucks cappuccino, and Tanya had had enough tea at the hotel. As they chatted amiably, Douglas walked in, looking as always like the cover of
GQ.
He even smelled good, and had had a fresh haircut over the weekend. He always looked impeccable, even at that hour of the morning. Max looked rumpled, disheveled, his jeans were torn, his Birkenstocks were ancient and worn, his socks had a hole in them, and what little hair he had looked as though he had forgotten to comb it. He looked clean, but a total mess. Tanya was wearing jeans, sweatshirt, and running shoes and hadn't bothered to wear makeup. This was work.

They got down to the notes immediately. There were several scenes Douglas wanted changed, and one Max had a problem with. He said it moved too quickly, and showed none of the deep emotions of the actors in the scene. He wanted her to rewrite it to rip people's hearts out. “Make 'em bleed,” as he put it. And as the morning progressed, she and Douglas got into an argument about one of the characters and the way Tanya had portrayed her. He said the character was boring, and he didn't bother to mince words. “I hate her,” he said bluntly. “Everyone else will, too.”

“She's supposed to be boring.” Tanya defended her work heatedly on that point. “She's a fatally boring woman. I don't think I even mind if you hate her. She's not a nice person. She's tedious, a whiner, and she betrays her best friend. Why the hell would you love her?”

“I don't. But if she's got the balls to screw over her best friend, then she must have some personality in there somewhere. At least give us some of that. You wrote her as though she's dead.” He was almost insulting, and Tanya finally backed off. She would make some changes to the character in question, but she didn't feel right doing everything he said. In the end, Max stepped in and suggested a compromise solution. Still boring, not nice, but maybe a little more fire and visible bitterness and jealousy, so the ultimate betrayal made more sense. Tanya said she could live with that, and she was exhausted by the end of the meeting. It was nearly three o'clock by the time they had gone over everyone's notes, and they hadn't stopped for lunch. Douglas thought eating would be distracting. Tanya could feel her blood sugar dropping and her spirits plummeting by the time they walked out of the meeting.

“Good meeting, everyone,” Douglas said cheerfully as they got up. He was in great spirits, and Max had been nibbling some candy bars and nuts he'd brought with him. He had worked on several movies with Douglas and knew how he worked. Tanya didn't. She felt drained, and her feelings were a little hurt by some of the things Douglas had said. He had packed some tough punches and offered no apology for it. His only interest was in making the best picture possible, whatever it took, and no matter whose teeth he had to rattle to get it. In this case, they had been hers. She wasn't used to his style, or to having to justify her work to that extent and fight for it. The producers of the soaps she wrote for were far more easygoing.

“You okay?” Max asked her as they left the building together. Douglas had run out for an appointment, and they were all meeting back there the next morning to meet with the stars as well. Tanya was beginning to dread it. This was harder than she'd thought, and she still didn't have a handle on what to do with the character Douglas hated so much. She was going to work on it that afternoon and night. It felt like preparing for an exam. His words had been fairly harsh.

“Yeah, I'm fine. Just tired. I didn't eat much breakfast. I started to fade about an hour ago.”

“Always bring food when you take meetings with Douglas. He works like a maniac, and he never stops to eat. That's how he stays so thin. To him, lunch is purely a social event. If it's not on his calendar, he doesn't eat. People around him drop like flies,” he teased.

“I'll know for tomorrow,” she said, as he walked her to her limo.

“Oh no, tomorrow is different,” he explained. “Tomorrow we've got stars. Stars have to be fed, on cue, and extremely expensive specially catered meals if possible. Directors and writers don't have to eat. You can beg something to eat from the actors' plates. Maybe they'll throw you some caviar or a chicken leg.” He was exaggerating, of course, but not entirely. “It's always good to have an actor or two at a meeting. I try to request it. That way the rest of us get fed.” She laughed as she listened. It was like being taught the ropes by an upperclassman at school. She was grateful for his help and good humor. “I'll bring Harry tomorrow, too. No one wants to feed an overweight director. They always feed a dog. He looks truly pathetic, and he whines a lot, and drools. I tried it once, the drooling thing, and they asked me to leave the room and threatened to report me to the union, so I just bring him instead.” She laughed out loud at his comments, and he told her not to be discouraged about the rewrite or even Douglas's tough comments. It was standard operating procedure with him, on all movies. Some producers were a lot tougher than Douglas, and demanded rewrites constantly. She was wondering what kind of comments she'd get from the actors, and how carefully they'd actually read the script. The actors on the soaps she wrote for just went on stage and winged it. Everything they did here, for a feature film, was going to be a lot more precise.

She spent seven hours working on the script, addressing all of Douglas's comments, as well as Max's. She ordered scrambled eggs and a salad from room service, and at midnight she was still at work. She called Peter when she finished. She hadn't gotten to call the girls before that, the time just slipped by, and she knew they'd be asleep by then. He was still awake, reading, and waiting for her call. He suspected when he didn't hear from her that she might be writing, so he left her alone and waited to hear from her.

“So how was it?” he asked with interest. He figured she'd had a full day or she'd have called.

“I don't know.” She was tired as she stretched out on her bed to talk to him. “Normal, I guess. Douglas hates one of my characters. I've been rewriting all her scenes all night. I think I've made her worse. He thinks she's too boring. We had a meeting until three o'clock, without stopping for breaks or food. I thought I was going to keel over by the time we finished. I've been working my ass off in the room ever since. And I don't think I've fixed it. We meet with the actors tomorrow for their notes.”

“Sounds grueling,” he said sympathetically, but he knew she had expected it. And she was a workhorse anyway. She never gave up on a problem till she fixed it, in writing or all else. It was one of the many things he admired about her.

“How was your day?” she asked, happy to hear him. She had missed him terribly all day, even when she was working. The week looked like a long stretch ahead. “I missed calling the girls. I was working and didn't see the time. I'll call them tomorrow.”

“They were fine. Alice brought us lasagne, and her famous pound cake. We pigged out. I made the salad. I got off easy tonight.” Which was a good thing, since he had had a long day himself, working with a new client on some tough problems that were surely going to wind up in litigation.

“Did Alice stay for dinner?” Tanya asked casually, and was surprised to hear she had. It was nice of her to bring them food, and she was grateful for it. But admittedly, Tanya had been there for her every second for months when her husband died. “I owe her big time after this. If she keeps it up, I'm going to have to cook for her for the next ten years.”

“I have to admit, it was helpful. And she took Meg to her soccer game. Molly needed the car. Alice saved my life. I couldn't leave work in time, so I called her. She was just leaving the gallery and said it was fine.” Tanya had done the same for her kids many times over the years, but she was grateful anyway. In some ways Alice helping them out assuaged her guilt, but in other ways it made it worse. She liked knowing that someone was picking up the slack for the girls, and helping Peter, but it also made her feel guiltier than ever for not being there to do it herself. She was just going to have to live with it for the duration. And at least Alice was there for them. More than anything it was a lifesaver for Peter, and Tanya was especially grateful for that. He couldn't do it all himself. He had too much to do at work.

They talked about other things after that, and then they both had to get off the phone, although Tanya would have liked to chat with him forever. They both had early meetings the next day, and needed to get some sleep so they had their wits about them. She promised to call him earlier the following night, and asked him to give her love to the girls. She felt almost like a stranger saying it to him. It was completely foreign to her to be away from her children and sending them her love. In her own mind more than his, she was supposed to be there to give it to them herself.

Tanya was back in the same conference room the next morning, and this time Max arrived with his dog, if you could call it that. Harry was closer to the size of a small horse, but he was very well behaved, and sat in the corner, with his gigantic head on his paws. He was so well trained that after people's initial surprise over his size, no one noticed him at all, until food appeared in the room, and then he sat up looking alert, whined loudly, and drooled profusely. Max gave him treats to eat, and everyone else gave him table scraps, and then he lay down again and went to sleep. Harry was an extremely polite dog. Tanya complimented Max on it halfway through the meeting.