Scared Scriptless (25 page)

“We’re here to discuss, for the record, the matter of Hogan Chenny Productions versus Craig Williams.”

“This is ridiculous.” Craig is grandstanding before the lawyer can even finish getting the formalities out of the way. “Hogan, you know the only way to make this go away is to give me a piece of this. I deserve it.”

Hogan makes no move to speak, sitting quietly, politely looking at his lawyer. I don’t know how he keeps his calm; I want to jump out of my skin.

“If I may proceed?” Hogan’s lawyer, William Sams, the gruff, slightly heavy-set, African American man I met only hours earlier, pushes his glasses up his nose. As General Counsel for HCP, I’ve seen him around the offices a few times over the years but never had reason to meet him until now.

I look around the conference room table at the collection of men and two women in suits representing HCP on one side and Craig and his lawyer on the other. I am seated next to Hogan in the center of the table, surrounded by our legal team. Craig gets to give his statement first.

“I was proud to represent HCP for five years. I have been a loyal member of the company; Hogan never had one reason to be unhappy with my work until this incident. I feel I’ve been unfairly characterized as a villain in this scenario, when in fact,
I’m the one who fostered this idea. It seems only fair to me that I take part in its success.”

As I listen to Craig go on with his version of what happened, I am partly horrified at his misrepresentation of the facts and partly in awe of his skill to manipulate the situation to make himself the victim with his righteous indignation. If I hadn’t been there myself, I would have believed his account.

His lawyer jumps in as soon as Craig concludes his version of events. “Given those circumstances, we have here a figure that we believe fairly covers the contribution Craig made to the creation of
Never Cry Wolf
. This lump sum, along with a producer’s credit and a corresponding fee, will resolve this issue for us.”

His lawyer pushes some papers across the table to Mr. Sams, who begins to review it.

I can’t keep silent any longer. “This isn’t fair. I don’t care what that paper says. Hogan, you can’t pay him.” I look at Mr. Sams. “It wasn’t his idea. I swear it wasn’t. He said Hogan wanted to do a reality show, which, turned out not to be true,” I add with conviction as I meet Craig’s eyes. “But I’m the one who thought of doing a show based on Wolf County. It’s my hometown! He wouldn’t have looked twice at the town if it weren’t for me. He skis Aspen, for God’s sake!” I add somewhat desperately.

Hogan puts his hand on mine, reminding me to pull it together.

“I hate to argue with Maddy. I know how important her town is to her.” Craig’s salesman’s voice is in full effect now. “But even if you asked people in Wolf, like the Gordons, they will verify that Maddy and I together came up with the idea of the show. We asked them to be a part of it together.”

“We’d like to provide you with the audio files and handwritten notes that show Craig and Madelyn developed this concept together on their trip to Wolf County earlier this year.” The lawyer thumps a stack of xeroxed pages and DVDs in front of me. I
recognize my own handwriting mixed with Craig’s notes from that trip.

And now it all comes crashing back to me, how much Craig used “we” while we were in town. How I never ended up confronting him about it, and now here we are. I realize as I hear his words, that it’s just his word against mine. And I never contradicted it in front of my own friends.

“I have other notebooks, ones I wrote before this even happened. Before we took the trip,” I sputter, desperate to contradict the evidence in front of me.

“I love putting pen to paper too,” Craig’s lawyer says condescendingly. “Unfortunately, without substantiating evidence such as Craig’s digital time-stamped photos and audio files, it’s impossible to verify when they were written. So, as we were saying…” His lawyer speaks up again, sounding more arrogant, if that’s even possible. “We feel this is a fair offer, and then we can all move on with making good TV.”

Hogan, still silent, gives a barely perceptible nod to his lawyer, and Mr. Sams slides the “offer” over for Hogan to review.

“Mr. Pritt, while we appreciate the offer, and the fact that you came here to discuss this with us, unfortunately we cannot accept.” My head whips around to see Mr. Sams’s unapologetic face.

Craig’s lawyer mockingly laughs. “What? You might want to discuss this in private before you make such a quick, and dare I say, wrong decision.”

Hogan slams the paper back down on the table and finally speaks. “I trusted you with my company; you were my right hand here. And this is what it comes down to?” He looks Craig up and down. “I’m ashamed I didn’t see through you when I hired you.” He nods to Mr. Sams, who pulls out a thick folder.

“Regarding Ms. Carson, while handwritten notes are clearly
her preference, I do have an e-mail dated back to the beginning of September, in which Madelyn sent you her official pitch regarding the project in Wolf County,” Mr. Sams says. “We had to bring in an IT expert to recover the e-mail since it had been methodically deleted from the surface files of the HCP interoffice network, but luckily, nothing digital ever really disappears. Fortunately we were able to clearly establish that you began mentioning the concept in your e-mails only after her initial pitch to you…”

Craig whispers harshly in his lawyer’s ear. He nods, and they seem to be gearing up for a retort when Mr. Sams continues. “It was quite a complicated process, retrieving the deleted files in the main HCP network. In doing so, we discovered some other interesting and relevant facts regarding Mr. Williams. We have here Craig’s corporate credit card statements over the last five years. If you review, we’ve highlighted for you that there is over fifteen thousand dollars on last month’s statement that are, shall I say, ‘questionable’ expenses.” He reads from the document with a sneer. “A weekly massage at Kim’s Palace. Tickets to a Katy Perry concert. A weekend golf outing at Pebble Beach to the tune of eighty-five hundred dollars… Shall I go on?”

“Oh come on, everyone in Hollywood wines and dines. That’s why we have corporate accounts. Hogan and I played Pebble together just last fall,” Craig interjects.

“With one of the biggest advertisers on the network,” Mr. Sams counters smoothly. “I have the names of the men you played golf with two weeks ago. I couldn’t find them on IMDb, but they are tagged in several pictures on your Facebook profile of you all drinking together.”

“I was with clients…,” Craig starts, but Pritt shushes him before he can keep arguing.

Hogan says nothing at all, but Mr. Sams continues. “I have your employment contract here, which specifically outlines
appropriate business expenses. Our accountant has tallied up the total you would owe the company in the form of unauthorized expenditures over the last five years. Let’s see”—he looks down at the paperwork in his hand dramatically—“two hundred fifty-six thousand, three hundred fifty-four dollars, and sixty-two cents. If you choose to pursue this claim against HCP, we will countersue you for this amount.”

Craig still looks outraged. Pritt takes the paperwork from Mr. Sams and starts furiously scrutinizing it.

In the end, Hogan offers to forgive the debt, but it is contingent on Craig agreeing to walk away from Wolf quietly and signing a nondisclosure agreement to the tune of $5 million if he violates it. I watch Craig’s eyes flying through the document over his lawyer’s shoulder. As if he has other options. I can’t believe I thought I should be with this guy. It seems so long ago now, even though it’s been only a few months. But these last few months, especially learning the truth about Craig, but also being with Adam, has taught me so much. That sometimes things don’t always add up the way they should. Like Craig’s credit card statements, Craig himself has huge gaps. Question marks. Meanwhile, Adam, for all his skills as an actor, has never lied to me. Has never pretended to be anything but who he really is. Adam has shown me so many times, in so many ways how much he cares for me. And what did I do? Blow it.

I’m still riding high on the victory over Craig, but now that that issue is solved, the problem of my love life is front and center. Knowing I screwed up with Adam and wanting him back just makes watching
Sleepless in Seattle
especially cruel, but I can’t help myself. Tom Hanks is pouring his heart out on the radio to a distant Meg Ryan. Even if I called Adam, what would I say? Somehow I know in my gut that it’s not going to be easy to make this right. And I don’t deserve it to be. I was an idiot. I keep flipping through the channels, looking for something to distract me from my thoughts.

For a second I’m sidetracked watching CeeLo Green bickering with the gorgeous Adam Levine on
The Voice
. I stay on NBC, determined to put the unresolved angst from my mind. But then a contestant starts singing Jason Mraz’s “I Won’t Give Up.” Is the universe trying to mock me?

And the answer is a clearly resounding yes, when a close-up of Adam appears on my television screen. It’s a promo for
Days of Our Lives
, which shows quick flashes of what must’ve been Adam’s final scenes on the show, and then teases the drama to come in upcoming episodes.

I stare at the TV, hearing a swirl of voices in my head. My mother’s advice, my dad’s concern, Matthew warning Adam to be good to me, Adam telling me he wants this. And I have what can only be called an “aha” moment. I don’t know how much time
passes as I sit there because now that the idea has hit me, it won’t let go. I go into the kitchen and clean up from my frozen dinner. I toss the whites into the washing machine. But I can’t shake it. Finally I realize that if I don’t do this, I will regret it forever.

I find my phone and make two calls while I reach for the remote and scroll through the DVR with purpose.

A day and a half later, I haven’t changed my clothes or showered. My only concession to personal comfort was taking off my contacts when my eyes started to burn. The glasses and the time crunch remind me of college days. I’m not letting anything distract me from my mission, even the voice mails and texts piling up on my phone.

“Maddy. It’s Billy again. Seriously. Why haven’t you texted me back? Give me a call when you get this. I wanna see if you want me to pick you up for the party.”

“Maddy. I’ve left a couple messages. I’m starting to get worried. Call me back as soon as you get this.”

“I’m not kidding, Maddy; I’m starting to freak out here. Billy said you hadn’t returned his texts either. Call me.” Janine’s voice is starting to get high-pitched. I take a precious minute to text both her and Billy:

Then, right on time, the doorbell rings. Through the peephole, I see that it’s Stella. I open the door and yank her inside, bags and all. I look both ways like a criminal and then slam the door again, locking us both inside.

I walk up the stairs into the House of Blues. From where I am standing just outside the main room, I can scan the crowd undetected. The place is packed. Instantly I spot Adam. He’s in the middle of a crowd of actors and crew; they’re laughing and toasting each other, clearly enjoying the festivities. The live band is playing loudly and enthusiastically, and the dance floor is already jam-packed. Everyone is caught up in the celebration. Except me. I look down at the softly moving bright red fabric. It drapes down to my calves in the back, but curves up above the knee in the front to show off my legs. The skirt allows for movement, thankfully, but gathers tightly at my waist to crisscross across my chest, showing plenty of skin in front and back. I know my skin is catching the light, thanks to the “body glimmer” Stella gave me. This seemed like such a good idea forty-eight hours ago. Now I hover at the threshold, undecided.

“Maddy?” I jump as Frank comes up behind me.

“Oh, hey, Frank.”

He looks me up and down, taking in my unlikely outfit. “I got everything all set up the way you asked.”

“Thanks, Frank,” I muster, but still don’t move.

“You’re not going to tell me what this is all about, are you?”

I shake my head.

“Having second thoughts?” he probes as the whole party rages on behind him.

I start to nod, and then change it into a shake at the last second.

He laughs kindly. “Okay, then. They’re standing by, waiting for my cue.”

A few deep breaths turn out not to be enough. I dart into the women’s bathroom to regroup. I stare at my reflection in the mirror, barely recognizing myself. Stella did such a beautiful job on my makeup. It’s not too heavy, but just enhances my features, emphasizing my cheekbones. Thin dark eyeliner brings out the green in my eyes. I reapply the sheer lip gloss the way Stella showed me.

I glare at my reflection.
Quit stalling.

Back out in the lobby, I wind my way toward the doorway and take another look at the crowd. Adam is still in the same place, engaged in conversation. It’s now or never. I text Frank and hit
SEND
before I can rethink it.

I hold my phone, staring at the screen, waiting for the reply from Frank. A minute later:

And for the first time ever, that’s my cue. I step out into the center of the room, going through the motions exactly as I’d pictured it in my head. The lights blink out, and the spotlight finds its target in seconds.

Adam, along with everyone else, looks around, blinking in the brightness. I am completely oblivious to the crowd’s reaction as I step forward. My prop finds its way into the light. Adam sees the red rose, but he doesn’t fully understand until I step all the way out of the shadows.

I’m sure the noisy crowd has lots to say about what they’re seeing, but I have complete tunnel vision focused only on Adam’s handsome features as he scans me up and down. Then the instant
he realizes what I’ve done, his eyes slam back to mine just as the band switches from the intro music and plays the powerful downbeat of the tango.

Sophie had been more sure than I was that I’d fit into Megan Keef’s dress from that
Days of Our Lives
scene, which she borrowed from her client, Ms. Keef. As with most things, Sophie was exactly right; the dress fits perfectly.

“May I have this dance?” I ask, extending the rose to him. The quirk of his brow lets me know that he recognizes I’m stealing his line. Time stands still as I wait for his reply. This feeling—the terror in my gut—is exactly why I’ve never taken a chance like this before. But now, waiting for Adam to say yes or no, to play along or shut me down, I realize that no matter how he reacts, I’m glad I did it. I’m proud of myself.

And then the wait is over. Probably only milliseconds went by, but I clearly wasn’t the only one holding my breath. When Adam stands up, never once looking away from me as he takes the rose and gallantly kisses my hand like in a Cary Grant movie, a collective sigh echoes mine.

He leads me to the center of the floor. As he pulls me against the length of his body for the opening position, he whispers in my ear, “You know the moves?” And I whisper back, “I watched it on repeat for two days straight. I know it by heart.” He doesn’t give a lot away, but I can see the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

And on the next downbeat, we dance. I’d practiced until I thought my feet were going to fall off, but nothing prepared me for what it would be like to be in Adam’s arms. As if he’d done the dance yesterday, Adam didn’t hesitate for an instant. I feel his strong hand at my back as he guides me through a complicated turn.

The tango is a sexy dance. I never thought I’d live up to the
energy, the sultriness, but with every turn, I am snapped back into the basic step, with Adam’s hand on my lower back, his left hand firmly holding mine, and his eyes focused only on me. I feel myself falling more and more under the dance’s spell, letting myself completely get swept away. We get to the part of the routine where I slide my leg up his thigh, and I execute it with a genuine confidence that is now coursing through my veins. And Adam is clearly affected by my assurance as his hand trails slowly, steadily, smoothly from my ankle up my thigh. And then with more grace than I could have ever hoped for, he dips me into the gorgeous final pose. He holds me inches above the ground, his lips so close to mine that I can feel his breath fanning my face.

From the moment the spotlight hit Adam, the crowd ceased to exist for me; I didn’t hear them or see them. But now, even with the blood pounding in my ears, I hear the hoots and hollers, the clapping and cheering as Adam holds me still in the dip and breaks into a huge smile.

“Well, Scripty, as far as ‘romantic gestures’ go… this has to be one of the best ever.”

I smile up at him, caught in the moment, still breathless from our dance. I can’t help the awareness creeping in that we are still center stage—I even hear Billy Fox’s voice loud and clear: “
Dancing with the Stars
has nothing on you guys, huh? Maddy gets a ten!” But I’m not chickening out now. My hand moves from where I’ve had it braced on his shoulder to slide through the honey-brown shaggy hair on the back of his head. I don’t need a script to know this is the perfect moment for a kiss. I pull him those last few inches and when our lips connect, it’s magic.

Adam effortlessly holds us in place, allowing the kiss its beautiful perfect moment. The next thing I know my head is spinning as he sweeps me up into his arms just as his character on
Days
did, taking me to the edge of the crowd to place me back onto
my feet in the shadows. The party continues around us, the band goes back to their cover tunes, but he doesn’t let go.

We pass Sophie dragging her husband toward the dance floor. She slows down to whisper, “Well done, my friend,” in my ear before turning to Jacob and pronouncing, “We are definitely taking dance lessons.”

Adam smiles but isn’t distracted from staring deep into my eyes.

“So, now what?” he asks me softly.

“Um, I don’t know,” I admit unsteadily. “I only planned this far…,” I begin before my voice trails off.

“You know what that means, then, don’t you?” I can tell by the twinkle in his eye that he’s up to something.

“No, what does it mean?”

“From here on out…” That cocky grin on his face makes him even more handsome. I love how he’s looking at me, drinking me in. “We’re ad-libbing.”

Roll End Credits