I managed to rest 6 to 7 before getting up to smash a dance workout then hop on my 8 am meeting with the high school theatre festival coordinator. We chatted about how I might attend a career fair or give some remarks to the students, tell them I did this exact same program 20 years ago and it drastically changed the trajectory of my life. Had to sidebar with the guy, what was the show that got him hooked? (He was in MacBeth as a freshman of course.)
By 9 I was really sad about the LA primary election results. It’s not over, but, to quote Puhg first looking at the polls for the reality star villain, “I don’t understand the world.” Yes, chef. Zipped to the cafe for an iced tea and necessary journaling session, to clear my little head. I ran into DR writing, chatted with the barista who is also pitching a comedy series, volleyed a few signifiant texts.
Showered, laid out various outfits for my big meeting. Puhg picked it in the end, as he does have a much better understanding of fashion than I do. I’d chosen a ratty concert crop top and pink skirt. He chose some smart black wide leg jeans and a classy pink linen tank. He also recommended I wear a bra. Wanted to reach my lawyer about the regional theatre deal, couldn’t, set a call with her assistant for later in the week.
Wrote the marketing team some notes about the announcement copy, wrote the director thoughts on the new option for understudy since our first choice passed. We did three rounds of callbacks to find the correct pair, but now we’re out of time. Director just happened to see this girl the day before at a different audition, gave me her name. I watched ten minutes of her YouTube videos and decided she’d do. This business is insanely unfair.
Ate an apple, peanut butter, cinnamon yogurt bowl while brushing my hair straight and listening to a new age YouTube video about embracing the next chapter. Drove to WeHo singing reputation and thinking about my path as a writer. I'm the one living it, but sometimes driving to meetings I have to think about me in third person. What's the story, for this storyteller...
M & B’s office was much bigger and fancier than I anticipated. I had to wait on a sofa for a little bit, read more of Cruel Optimism. One gal greeted me and told me about moving here from China. Then the other gal, more a honcho, led me into the conference room. I took a strawberry peach LaCroix from the mini fridge and they told me all about the program I’m being considered for. It’s incredibly cool and competitive. 500 applicants. And I…didn’t apply. I jumped the line because my dear friend SR put me up for it. All news to me.
They tell me what they’re looking for, and I simply don’t have it. They ask, well what are you working on? I tell them about my newest creation, the one that I’ve been breaking for the past year and a half. I'm positive it's not right. Honcho says, “I love it. This is exactly what we’ve been looking for.” As they walk me out I fish for my parking ticket. They ask if I need validation. I shake their hands and say, “Absolutely! I’ll take a compliment from each of you please!” They laugh and then I go to the front desk. The 20something there has a really cute tattoo, a bubble heart. He says it’s favorite “right now.” I repeat, “right now.”
I have to burn rubber to make my 3 pm meeting back home. I give my ticket to the valet and he pulls me into a disagreement with two other folks working in the garage. They want to know if a man or woman should cook. In about ten minutes I know all I need to know about this trio. I suddenly blurt, where is my car? A parade of porches and bmws and Teslas have rolled through. I point to my scratched grey beloved in the corner of the lot and someone fetches it.
I make it home just in time for my meeting with one of the most famous living comic artists. He’s very nice and sometimes I don’t think he’s listening, but then I realize it’s just that he’s signing covers while we talk. I’d been angry at this team last week because they dropped a bunch of balls. This week that much is all still true, but I have accepted it. I consider, as I do basically every day, how to stand up for myself in a way that doesn’t annoy people. Nearly impossible I keep finding, via trial and error.
Once we wrap, I see AB has texted me. Our production company has officially asked for script delivery! I double check formatting and send it off, finally. My manager emails: a prod co loves my play, they asked for a coffee but he thinks I’m too busy—can I zoom? We set.
Puhg lumbers in to see my tornado of a desk. I fill him in on everything, mostly positive but it’s all laced with thick anxiety. “Condolences on your good news,” he says gravely. Not unlike the other night when I was hunched at my desk. He walked in, gave me one look and diagnosed: “Living the miserable dream.”
Tons of emails about casting. How many shows will the understudy get, should they be paid equally or less than cast, will everyone flier if needed. Therapy at 5, so I close everything down at 4:50. I talk with J about disappointment, and how some people get uncomfortable when I express it. But if I don’t express it, then I’m uncomfortable. Also, if someone suddenly seems unsafe, is that good gut or bad wiring?
I close my computer. Sigh the biggest sigh ever only to see my manager calling. He wants to hear about the meeting. He chatted with the comic producer too, will link with my lawyer tomorrow. I admit I’m annoyed with __. I chuckle, “Ah the special moment in every creative partnership with someone I would have died to work with, where I kinda hate them.” Manager chuckles himself, “I can’t wait to get to that point for you.” I say, “And likewise.”
As soon as I sit down, SR calls. He inquires impishly, and I tell him it went very well! He says he knew it would! He encourages me, then, he has to go on a hike. I write down notes of what I need to do first thing in the morning. I feel myself crashing. Puhg suggests Burger King, and I agree. It’s Whopper Wednesday, which means $4 Impossible Whoppers on the app. I order very boring Whoppers. You can have it your way, and I do. No toppings except lettuce and barbecue sauce.
Puhg offers to scoop our paper bags, but I could use a little jaunt. We drive into the palm trees at dusk. Right as well pull up, the sign blinks on. They made a mistake and give me free fries. We eat our feast while watching an episode of Widow’s Bay.
I pick up my phone for the first time in an hour to see a billion missed emails and texts—details about cast offers. I stand silently volleying for a while then change into sweats. Tidy up my corner, sit outside genuinely doing nothing at all. Thinking at the trees, 9:30 - 10:30, when Puhg and I watch a Couple’s Therapy while eating churro-flavored Fat Boys.
