Scared Scriptless (22 page)

It’s a brilliant Saturday morning in LA, bright, crisp, and not a cloud in the sky. I feel like Adam and I are on a soundstage as we drive down the Pacific Coast Highway to Venice—it’s almost too perfect.

“Beautiful morning, huh?” he asks with an easy smile. It’s nice to see him clean-shaven, and without the bruises and scars that are part of his character on
The Wrong Doctor
. I almost forgot what he looks like without fake blood dripping from his hairline.

“I was just thinking that!” I say with a giddy rush.

Completing the perfect picture this morning is the fact that there are so few cars on the road. Still, it was a trek for Adam to come all the way to Studio City to pick me up. Usually people in LA just meet up, since everything is so spread out.

“You know, you didn’t have to come get me. I can drive myself.”

“I wanted to do it,” he replies simply.

“Well, thank you.” I smile at him, holding my hair back as the ocean breeze whips through the open windows.

“You’re welcome.”

We park at a lot along the beach and walk the length of the boardwalk to the restaurant, holding hands the whole way.

Adam orders a very healthy egg-white omelet with fruit and spelt bread. If I had to take my shirt off on camera, I would probably eat like that too.

“I’ll have the egg sandwich.” I hand back the menu. What can I say? He’s on camera, not me.

“So I can’t believe we’re filming the finale this week,” I say.

“Hogan’s crazy. I mean, you have to be crazy to think up a cliff-hanger like that.” We’re both speaking in low tones, as we don’t want anyone to overhear the story plot points.

“But it’s a good crazy. Don’t you think? I mean, the fans are going to be flipping out, dying to find out what happens next.”

“Well, I’m happy for what it means for my character,” Adam says. “I’m grateful that my role is growing.”

“Vying for number one on the call sheet, huh?” I tease him, but I know Hogan was very impressed with Adam’s work this year, which is why he is getting even more airtime and an important story line in season three.

He laughs. “Yeah, I want to knock that Fox down a peg. If not on the call sheet, then at least on the tennis courts. We’re playing next week—wanna come?”

“Winner gets the trailer with the stove? I still can’t get over that.” I can’t even imagine how intense a tennis match between those two would be.

“You know I don’t really care about that stuff, right?” Adam suddenly turns serious.

“What stuff?” I ask, thrown.

“Who’s number one on the call sheet, who has the bigger trailer. How many Twitter followers I have. That stuff really doesn’t matter to me.”

“I didn’t mean to undermine it. I know it all matters to your career.” I match his tone.

“Yeah, it does, which is why I do it. I understand how important the fans are, and how lucky I am to have fans. But I also don’t think it means more than it does. I do this because I love acting. I’m not in this for the celebrity of it.” The server brings us our
dishes, and Adam stops to give her his attention. “Thank you,” he says with a smile. I see her blush as she walks away. That’s the effect he has on women. He seems oblivious to it now, but I know he’s not. I’ve seen him turn on the charm when it suits him.

“I just wanted you to know that.” His focus completely returns to me, making me feel hot under the collar.

I dig into my egg sandwich, ready to lighten the mood. You can’t take anything seriously with yolk on your fingers.

“So, thanks to you, I’m back to watching
Days
again. I’ve been DVRing it ever since that day I saw your last episode.”

“So you’re watching even though I’m gone?” he teases, mock-offended.

“Well, truth is, I was a big fan in college. My friends and I used to plan our classes around it. Our favorite character was always Kate. What’s she really like?”

“She’s awesome. Funny and cool. Die-hard David Bowie fan. I got along well with everyone on the set. The crew is amazing, hardworking. The actors all come to set prepared to do the work—well, the ones who last do.”

We sit for a second, eating, before he asks, “Why’d you stop watching?”

“What?
Days
? Oh… I don’t know. I guess after a couple years of juggling that and working on sets, I got out of the habit. And working behind the scenes, it’s harder to suspend disbelief.”

“Yeah?” He somehow reads on my face that there’s more.

“Well, yeah, like reading romance novels. I guess I outgrew it.”

“Oh yeah. You don’t like romance, I forgot. You like reality.”

“Exactly.” My hopeless romantic status is not something I like to cop to.

He leaves a couple twenties on the table when he sees that I’ve finished and we head out of the café toward the beach. We take off our shoes, and the warm sand feels amazing.

“So, what movie were you watching when I came over after the premiere the other night?”

Thrown by the question, I can’t think of a lie quick enough. “Um… what?” Now it’s become a thing. It would be too embarrassing for him to catch me after all my talk about preferring realistic fiction over ridiculous over-the-top romance.

“Just curious, Ms. I Hate Romance. What were you watching?”

I get a sneaking suspicion he somehow knows. But how could he? I had the DVD paused on the shot after Buttercup and Wesley disappear into the quicksand. Unless he knew that movie by heart, no way would he recognize it from that.

“Nothing. New subject.”

He smiles. “As you wish.” He takes off, pulling his shirt over his head while running toward the surf. I take off after him. I can’t help but laugh. I love that he knows the movie so well. And turning the famous line back on me? It melts my heart. So of course I have to splash him to get even until we are both soaking wet.

He ends the water fight by picking me up and gently dumping me on the dry, hot sand. He uses his dry shirt to wipe the sand from my face and then tosses it aside. I sigh and enjoy the warm sun and Adam’s nearness. I am trying to soak in this rare moment of true relaxation, for once not worrying about expectations, or what Adam is thinking, or who else can see us. I’m enjoying the peace, especially since it’s probably my last for a while—Monday is my first day reporting to work at our new offices for
Never Cry Wolf
. It’s exciting and terrifying. I take another deep breath and nuzzle farther into Adam’s chest and then…
Whap
. A Frisbee tags me right in the shoulder.

“OW!” I flinch and grab my arm.

“You okay?” Adam kisses my shoulder and moves my hand away to examine the mark. He rubs it quickly, taking the sting away.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Growing up with two brothers, it takes more than a Frisbee to bring me down.

Adam grabs the Frisbee and looks to throw it back, but the group that it apparently belongs to is already descending on us.

“See, I told you it’s him.” One teenage girl nudges her friend, unsubtly. Her friend giggles but just stares mutely.

“Hey, sorry about that,” says one of the boys they’re with. “The wind carried it off.”

“Yeah, it caught the wind. Sorry,” says the other boy. They’re both looking at me while the girls make googly eyes at Adam. Boy #2 asks casually, “Are you on TV too?”

“Me? No.” I laugh awkwardly as they don’t even try to hide their unimpressed faces. The know-it-all girl speaks up. “But you’re on
Days of Our Lives
, right? You’re Adam Devin.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” Adam offers gracefully.

“Can we get a picture with you?” The girl whips her phone out of her sweatshirt pocket like it’s noon at the OK Corral.

“Of course.” Adam poses with the girl while the other one snaps the picture, and then they switch positions and cameras. We wait while still-silent girl pulls her legit camera out of her bag, and finds focus, adjusts for the sun. She must be in a photography class in school. She’s still fiddling with the settings when Adam catches my eye and we exchange a silent laugh.

“Hey, would you mind taking one of all of us?” the girls ask me after they’ve finished their individuals. What is this, a photo shoot?

“Um, actually, we’re on a date…” Adam steps in, but I know he doesn’t want to leave them with a bad impression, and neither do I.

“No, it’s all right. I’ll take it. I’m sorry I’m soaking wet… if you don’t mind…” I brush as much sand off my hands as I can before taking the camera.

“Oh, I don’t mind at all.” She hands it to me with only the briefest hesitation. “Come on, everyone, get on this side so you don’t block the light.” Suddenly Silent Girl is a director. She gets everyone exactly as she wants and I take the picture. She’s right, though; it’s a great shot, the surf and sand in the background. And then right before the preview image disappears from the screen, I notice that both girls had put their hands on Adam’s chest right before I snapped the picture. I look up to see that Adam has detached himself from the bikini-clad girls, as smoothly as possible. The boys have grabbed the Frisbee, done with this celebrity stuff, and are gone. So the girls have no choice but to reluctantly follow.

“Does that happen a lot?” I gesture to his chest, which he’s now covering with his shirt.

“What?” he asks, buttoning up.

“Girls copping a feel every chance they get?” I ask as casually as I can, but he must know the answer is important to me.

“Well, I mean, yeah, it happens. Once in a while.” He takes my hand and we start heading back to the car. “But it doesn’t mean anything.” He stops in his tracks and pulls me in to his chest. “You know that, right? This,” he says, kissing me on the lips. “This means something to me.” He kisses me right there in broad daylight, and I can’t resist kissing him back with everything I’ve got.

It’s all I can do not to gasp out loud taking in the gorgeous, top-of-the-line, brand-new edit bays that Ed Greenling is showing me. All this is for
Never Cry Wolf
? I feel so outclassed as I look at all the fancy equipment. Two young editors are flipping through footage, headphones on, completely ignoring the tour that is going on behind them.

“This is, as you can see, all brand-new equipment, and I found these editors at USC film school. They’re geniuses.
Never Cry Wolf
is going to get nothing but the best.”

“Spared no expense?” I say, stealing the line from the tour in the beginning of
Jurassic Park
. I really can’t believe that this is all for me… well, not for me, but for
Never Cry Wolf
. Twenty minutes into my first official day at my new office, and I am already pinching myself. Hogan is finding us space at HCP, but Ed insisted that we make our home here rather than cram into a conference room while we wait. He has dedicated space right smack dab in the center of the Outdoor Network headquarters.

“Exactly. You’re going to have everything you need at your fingertips to make the show a success. Come on, let me show you your office.” As he heads down the long hallway, I have to force myself not to whimper. As much as I love Sophie and the ultra-trendy clothes she’s lending me to make a good impression here, I don’t know how much longer I can stand these heels. I am
fantasizing about dipping my feet into hot water with Epsom salts as I follow Ed down the hall as fast as I can, which is not that fast.

“So, take your time getting settled. We’ll meet in the conference room with the other creative execs at six to go over the launch plan for
Wolf
.”

Ed sees the grimace I can’t quite hide at the idea of hiking all the way back to his wing of this warehouse-sized building.

“We’re putting you through your paces right off the bat, but you seemed like the type to handle pressure. Was I wrong about you?”

“Oh, not at all. I’m ready for anything you’ve got for me, Mr. Greenling.”

“Ed, please. We’re going to be in the trenches together; you have to call me Ed.”

“Okay, Ed… It’s just that… I guess I just picked the wrong shoes for all the walking I’ve done today.”

“Oh… of course. That’s such a woman thing, isn’t it? It’s always about the shoes—that’s what my first wife used to say.” He heads to the door chuckling. “And my second wife, too, come to think of it.”

He turns back at the door. “We’re a casual crew around here, Maddy. Wear some flats.” He winks and is gone. I collapse in my chair and immediately kick off the wedges Sophie promised would be more comfortable than stilettos. I am pretty sure I can see my bare feet swelling before my eyes. I wonder if I’ll even be able to get the torture devices back on my feet when it’s time to get to the meeting. I calculate how long it will take me to reach the main conference room, including time for me to get lost in this maze. I should probably leave by 5:40 to be safe.

Now that that’s settled in my head, I look at the work ahead of me. There are stacks and stacks of papers and files and newspaper
clippings to look through. At first it’s overwhelming, but then I find a box filled with supplies from Office Depot. I feel energized by the organizational tools—there’s nothing a girl can’t do armed with Post-its, markers, and a fresh notebook. I put the white board up on the wall first, and pull out all the colored markers. I separate the little Post-it notes from the white note cards, and underneath the box, I discover a corkboard.

I’m knee-deep in the papers and pictures and images I brought from home, totally lost in my idea board, everything from beautiful scenic photos of the mountain to specific events. I printed out a pic of me holding my first snowboarding trophy in fifth grade so I could start painting a visual picture of the sensibility for the show. When the alarm on my phone goes off, hours later, I flinch, knowing it’s time to put those damn shoes back on and head to the conference room. I really have no idea what to expect as I slowly, gingerly begin the trek to my first big industry meeting. Am I supposed to pitch them the show again, have all the details locked up? Or are we just getting to know each other? I mean, how am I supposed to know this stuff? A little heads-up from Ed would have been nice. The meeting isn’t even starting until 6:00, and I have no idea how long it will go on for. I rest outside the kitchen/common area in the center of the first floor and fight the urge to take my shoes off again. Instead, I shift my weight back and forth, giving each foot a break. Then I text Adam, knowing he’ll be able to calm me down.

His kiss and hug warms me as I walk in, shoulders squared to face the unknown.

After two and a half hours of chitchat, brainstorming, a lecture from Ed about finances that made no sense to me but had the rest of the team nodding their heads and grimacing appropriately, we are finally calling it a day. Who knew working at the development level could have as sucky hours as being on set. At this point I will have no life at all outside of work. And yet, it’s exciting to see the big plans they have for
Wolf
. They are talking about a serious publicity and marketing campaign. Since it was only the initial meeting, people were just spit-balling outrageous ideas like bringing real wolves as guests on the
Tonight Show
, billboards on taxis, doing a “Wolf Week” like Discovery’s
Shark Week
.

The first thing I do after saying good night to my new colleagues is take off these damn shoes and walk barefoot to my car. The risk of tetanus outweighs the thought of wearing them one more second. The next thing I do is call Adam. I can barely wait for my Bluetooth to sync up before dialing his number.

“Tell me everything.” He skips pleasantries to get right to it.

“I have my own office.”

“Of course you do.” I hear him smiling on the phone.

“They had it stocked with all sorts of stuff for me to work on the layout and the breakdowns for the show. It was like Office Depot threw up in there.”

“Which you love. You sound hyped up, not exhausted. You still want to go out?”

“Sure, I can tell you the rest in person.”

“I’m just wrapping up dinner with some friends. Let’s meet at your place. Go from there.”

It throws me off a bit as Wanda guides me to the nearest freeway on-ramp. I didn’t know Adam had dinner plans. Is that
weird? He didn’t mention who he was eating with and I don’t want to seem all nosy and demanding and ask.

By the time we get settled at a table in one of the cool little bars on Ventura in Studio City, its 10:00 and I’m totally wired. I tell Adam all about the meeting and the publicity and marketing ideas. It’s a great end to what’s been an exciting day, except for right when I’ve smoothly brought up his dinner to see if he’ll tell me who he was with tonight, we’re interrupted by a rather large group of people wanting Adam’s autograph and to take a picture. No, not a picture, individual pictures with each person in the group. All the guys are good-naturedly laughing as they take pictures on their phones of their spouses or girlfriends or whatever posing with Adam. I watch the photo shoot unfold patiently knowing we’ll never get back to the subject of his dinner now. This is just part of the life, and Adam handles it with a lot of grace and gives each fan his time and attention. And if I’m going to be a part of his life, I’m going to have to learn to handle it as well as he does.

Nothing can dampen the rush, though, as we walk back out into the warm fall night, holding hands. I think about how great it’s been to have someone to share my day with. And honestly, it scares me how much I enjoy spending time with Adam.

As we walk back to the car, there’s a bunch of giggling twentysomething girls in slinky little outfits who brush past us, hurrying into a bar on the corner.

Adam sees it first, something tucked into the driver’s side windshield wiper. It’s not a parking ticket, but he pulls out a paper with something attached.

“Oh God.” Adam laughs and goes to unlock the car.

“What? What is it?” I’m surprised he doesn’t offer an explanation to begin with.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says casually. He opens his door. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

I note the fact that he doesn’t come around to open the door for me as he normally does. It makes me jump into the car quickly, so that I catch him before he can tuck the note out of sight.

“What are you hiding?” I laugh, making a grab for what’s in his hand.

“Nothing.” He shies away from me.

Now I have to know what this is. “Just let me see. What’s the big deal?”

“Okay, fine.” Adam reluctantly hands it over.

“ ‘Call me’?” I read, looking at Adam. “ ‘Hearts, Heather.’ ” And then I realize what’s fallen into my hand with the flowery note. A pair of lace panties. I flinch and drop them into my lap like a hot potato, an involuntary “ewww” slipping out. It takes a couple of spastic movements to get it off me and back onto his side of the car. “That’s disgusting!”

“Well, it’s original, that’s for sure.”

“What? Original? Is that all you can say? Does this happen all the time?”

“I wouldn’t say all the time… no.” He starts the engine.

“Well, how often, then, Adam? How often are women giving you their underwear and telling you to call them? Once a week? Twice a week?” I tell myself to calm down, but the idea that all these gorgeous women trail Adam around just got very real.

“Maddy—”

I interrupt him. “I just can’t believe someone would do that. I mean, she had to have been wearing them, right? You don’t keep extra undies in your purse just in case you run into a celebrity.”

“I’m not sure I understand. Are you mad at me?” We’ve arrived back at my house from the short drive down the block. Adam turns off the engine and turns to me.

“Well, I’d like to know why you tried to keep… that”—I gesture to the offensive note and its accessory—“from me. Why didn’t you just admit what it was when I asked?”

“What do you mean ‘admit’? I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t have anything to ‘admit’ to.”

“You didn’t want me to know what was on your windshield. The
note
she left you.” I say it with as much derision as I can muster.

“Of course I didn’t want you to see it!” he says loudly. And then in a much more reasonable tone, he adds, “I knew you’d overreact.”

Overreact?! I’m fuming at the implication that my reaction is anything but completely rational.

“Maddy, this isn’t
real
.” He holds up the crumpled note and underwear in the dark car.

“Oh my God… can you please get rid of them? Or do you have some place at home where you keep these things?!” I know I’m reaching here, but somehow I just can’t stop myself.

Adam growls in frustration. “Are you kidding me, Maddy? I’m not going to keep them. I just didn’t have a place to throw them away, and I’m not going to toss them out the window on Ventura Boulevard.” He stalks to the trash cans on the corner and tosses them in. “Happy now?”

“No.” I get out of the car too. I’m whispering so my happy, normal, suburban neighbors don’t start staring out their windows. “I don’t understand how you can just take that so casually. It’s crazy. And maybe I am ‘overreacting,’ but I clearly don’t fit in with all this.”

“That’s absurd. Maddy, you can’t let a couple of crazy girls—who probably didn’t mean anything by it—get to you. It was probably a bet, or a joke to them. You’re blowing this way out of proportion.”

“Are you really going to stand there and tell me you’ve never taken a girl up on an offer like that?”

“What?”

“Answer the question.”

“That’s so unfair.” We hold a silent contest of wills, but I am not backing down on this, even though I really don’t want to hear his answer.

“Yes. Okay? Yes. When I was young and stupid, I hooked up with a few fans. I’m not going to lie to you. But that was years ago. Obviously that’s not what I want now. I want you. I want this.”

I just look at him. I don’t know what to say. I know in a rational part of my mind I’m being unreasonable, but I can’t help it. I’m chickening out. How can I ever compete with all these girls, girls who are willing to do anything to be with a celebrity? For the longest time I don’t say anything. And then I can’t even look at his face anymore. I stare at my feet.

It’s Adam who breaks the silence. “Right, never trust the actors. How could I forget?” Without waiting for a response, he gets back in his car and starts the engine. I take a few deep breaths, but he’s just sitting there with his car idling, and I realize he’s waiting for me to go inside. He’s still there watching as I unlock my front door, but by the time I’ve shut the door and go to peek out the curtain, all I see are taillights.