Comedy of Erinn (3 page)

Erinn smiled. She remembered when she, along with half of Santa Monica, was under the impression that the building was designed by a firebrand named Julia Morgan, the woman who designed Hearst Castle. Erinn loved the fact that the famed woman architect in the 1920s and 1930s was given such a huge commission in an era where women were not really taken seriously in “manly” arts such as architecture.

The smallest bit of research on Erinn's part, however, dug up the fact that Morgan had designed the Marion Davies Estate on Pacific Coast Highway, not the Sovereign Hotel. Currently, the Davies Estate was in the midst of being “repurposed”—a newly invented verb, as far as Erinn could tell—to make way for a public bath club. Not that that took anything away from Julia Morgan. She had still designed a fantastic building. But Erinn had been giving the cold shoulder to the Sovereign ever since.

They were well past the building by the time Erinn had finished her Julia Morgan story, and Massimo appeared lost in thought.

“I particularly think California makes a pretty pinot noir,” he said.

Before Erinn realized it, they were at her front gate. Massimo looked at the house.

“This is beautiful, Erinn,” he said. “A beautiful, beautiful house.”

Erinn swelled with pride as she led Massimo around the side of the house into the backyard.

“This is a dream!” Massimo said as he entered the snug little guesthouse. “I will take it!”

Erinn picked up a pen and the blank rental agreement from the little café table. She started to hand it to Massimo as Caro entered majestically through the front door. He let out a meow as he stared at the man in front of him. Massimo smiled and picked up the cat.

“This is Caro,” Erinn said.

“Hello, dear one,” Massimo crooned at the cat.
“Parla Italiano?”

Erinn took Caro in her arms as she handed the rental agreement to Massimo. He furrowed his brows as he looked at it, shaking a pair of reading spectacles out of his pocket. He studied the document and then looked at her.

“My English . . . she is . . .”

As a writer, Erinn had learned many lessons, including this: Don't complicate a perfect story with details. He was new to the city—what references could he have? She could tell that Massimo and she were kindred spirits; there was no need for a rental agreement. Taking heed, she took back the rental application and slid it into her pocket.

“Meraviglioso,”
said Erinn. “It's yours.”

L
ike most artists, Erinn was in her element when she sat back and observed the world around her. Sitting at her favorite spot at her sister's tea shop, where she was to meet her agent, she found that her new video camera (the one she bought with Massimo's deposit) was somewhat of a hindrance when it came to people watching. The folks who strolled up and down Main Street either glowered, turned away, or waved at her. She stowed her new Panasonic high-definition camera in her bag, frustrated that she was not invisible to passersby. Besides, it was too exhausting keeping one eye on the door. If Suzanna saw this camera, she'd be hysterical. Erinn wasn't sure how many more times she could pull out her big sister voice and have it be effective.

She pulled a notepad and pen from her bag. Stationery never garnered any attention. She could observe to her heart's content. Humankind's foibles were on parade . . . and all for her entertainment, it seemed. She watched as a middle-aged couple skated by, tentatively, on Rollerblades. Both were wearing padded knee pads, elbow and wrist guards, and bulbous helmets, which distorted their shapes to the point where they looked like a pair of Michelin Tire men on a skate date.

Erinn turned her attention to a man-on-the-street interview that was taking place nearby. Movie equipment on every other corner was a little annoyance Santa Monicans had learned to live with. Erinn actually embraced it. She learned a lot about equipment from the camera and audio guys, who were always willing to talk shop. The camera operator signaled that the crew should take a break, and he walked by, carrying a gorgeous high-definition camera with a long camera microphone attached.

“Nice camera,” Erinn said.

“Thanks,” he said. “I noticed you checking it out. Are you in the business?”

Erinn almost blushed. “What makes you say that?”

“Well, Zach Braff is doing our interview, and you didn't even notice. You just kept looking at the camera.”

“Well, you have the biggest camera mike I've ever seen.”

“Lady, you sure know how to talk to guys!”

Mercifully, the man went into the bookstore. She was embarrassed that she had made such an obvious faux pas. And she wondered . . . who was Zach Braff?

Erinn looked at her watch. She had been savoring the news about Massimo for days and couldn't wait to tell Suzanna. She sipped her tea, perched on an incredibly uncomfortable chair at an outdoor table. Just before Eric and Suzanna had gotten married, there had been a substantial earthquake in the area. The insurance money afforded them the opportunity to add an outdoor patio to the establishment, which brought in a whole new group of customers. She pulled out the camera's owner's manual to pass the time.

Suzanna came through the double doors and wagged a teapot—the international signal for “More hot water?”—at Erinn. Erinn shook her head and went back to reading.

Instinct made her look up as her agent, Mimi, arrived, twenty minutes late, as usual. With her ear glued to her cell phone, Mimi navigated the narrow aisle of tea drinkers and tried not to bump anyone with her yoga mat or computer case. As Mimi acknowledged Erinn with a wave of her free little finger, she continued to harangue the person on the other end of the phone. When she finally hung up, she seemed less than cheerful.

“I am sick to death of everything,” said Mimi.

“What kind of attitude is that for someone coming from yoga?” asked Erinn.

Mimi shrugged and sucked down some water.

“That was Jonah,” Mimi said, pointing to her phone. Jonah was the head honcho agent from the New York branch of her agency. “He says hi.”

“Hello back,” Erinn said, trying to sound California Casual. “Anything new with him?”

“No,” Mimi said tersely.

“How's New York?” Erinn asked. She was jealous that Jonah still got to call New York home.

“It's fine. I'm sure New York is fine.”

“So . . . anything new with you?” Erinn asked.

“No. Nothing is new with me,” Mimi said. “Everyone hates me. Business as usual.”

“Mimi, you're an agent. People are supposed to hate you.”

Mimi shrugged again. Normally, when her agent was in a foul humor, Erinn just ignored her, but Erinn was too happy to let her agent's mood ruin her day. OK, so she didn't have a job. And, if you wanted to be a stickler, her script was not going at all well. But, she had a tenant and a new camera. Life was good.

Suzanna came out on the porch, carrying Mimi's usual: two slices of unbuttered toast, black tea, and a sliced banana.

Erinn flipped over the camera's owner's manual, hoping Suzanna didn't see it.

“Hey, Suzanna,” Mimi said. “How are things?”

“Great,” Suzanna said. “My doctor says my uterus is two and a half inches under my belly button.”

Erinn dropped her spoon dramatically.

“Sounds about right,” Mimi said, who had twin preschoolers, Dori and Dora.

Suzanna owned the shop for years before she and Eric had gotten married. Suzanna had been the overseer, while Eric managed the Book Nook, and another friend of theirs from high school, Fernando Cruz, had managed the tea shop. Fernando left to open a B and B on Vashon Island near Seattle just about the time of the earthquake, and Suzanna had taken over his managerial duties. Sometimes her chatting got the better of her and service could be slow—especially with uterus stories flying around the room.

Truth be told, while Erinn loved the tea shop, the Book Nook was of much more interest to her. As annoying and horrific as she found the pregnancy details, and as much as she loathed hearing everyone nattering about Suzanna's “baby bump,” her sister's life had always appealed to Erinn's sense of story. Although friends since high school, Suzanna and Eric had only recently confessed their undying passion for each other. There was a whirlwind wedding—and now there was going to be a whirlwind baby. She was happy that Suzanna and Eric were adding another interesting chapter.

A customer at a nearby table signaled that he needed a refill, and Suzanna went back to work.

Erinn watched as Mimi fished an organic, non-caloric sweetener out of her bag and added a few oily drops to her tea. Mimi's phone rang again and she stabbed wildly at the volume key.

“Did I just witness Mimi Adams shutting off her phone?” Erinn asked.

“Don't worry . . . it's on vibrate.”

Erinn's good humor vanished as she noticed her agent was still not smiling. Instead, eyes downcast, Mimi sipped her coffee and twirled her hair around her finger. Erinn's stomach plunged.

“You have bad news.”

“I do not!”

“You do! You're twisting your hair, and you always twist your hair when you've got bad news.”

As a writer, Erinn prided herself on noticing—and remembering—people's tics and quirks. Mimi twisted her hair when she had bad news. Suzanna bit her lower lip when she was upset. Their mother scratched her left cheek with her index finger when she was stretching the truth. Erinn took it all in—a student of human nature. For all the good it did her.

Mimi stopped twisting her hair and clutched the table. Erinn waited. Mimi's knuckles turned white, but she was at a loss. She started twisting her hair again.

“Oh God, oh God!” Erinn said. “Your agency is dumping me, aren't they? That's what you were talking to Jonah about!”

Mimi sighed.

“Every time I'm not dancing on tabletops, you think you're being dumped,” Mimi said.

Erinn exhaled. “OK, so I'm not being dumped.”

“Well, actually, you are.”

“Oh my God! Why is this happening?”

“What do you mean, ‘Why is this happening?' You know why!”

“After all these years?”

“It wasn't up to me,” Mimi said. “I did everything I could. You've run out of material, and I've run out of excuses. Face it, Erinn, you haven't generated any buzz in years. ”

“I haven't generated any
buzz
?” Erinn asked. “What happens now? I get stripped of my wings and sent to the depths of the hive?”

“I told you everybody hates me.”

“Oh, I forgot, Mimi, this is about you.”

Erinn's radar told her that her agent was ready to have a good, long, defensive battle—after all, they were friends as well as business associates—but then Mimi seemed to have a change of heart—and personality. Erinn knew these signs well . . . there must be an Important Industry Person nearby. An Amazonian blond woman approached them, brimming with Southern California good health. Mimi was suddenly all smiles.

“One word out of you, Erinn, and you'll never work again, I swear,” Mimi whispered through her veneered smile.

“. . . And that would be different . . . how?”

The blonde grabbed Mimi and kissed both her cheeks. The two women shrieked as if it had been years since they'd laid eyes on each other, although Erinn was show biz savvy enough to know that this woman was Cary Caldwell, queen of reality TV production, and that Cary and Mimi had gone to a fashion show in Beverly Hills just three days prior.

“This is my client . . . uh . . . friend, Erinn,” Mimi said. “Erinn, Cary Caldwell. Cary produces
American Icon
,
Dancing with the D-Listers,
and . . . oh, wow, Cary . . . what else?”

“
Isn't That Weird
?” Cary offered.

“Isn't what weird?” Erinn asked.

Mimi's smile was frozen on her lips, but she managed to speak through clenched teeth.

“The TV show . . .
Isn't That Weird?
” said Mimi. “The show where they eat spaghetti with their feet.”

“Really?” Erinn asked. Catching Mimi's eye, she attempted to make the best of it and turned her steady gaze toward Cary. “You must be very proud.”

At Mimi's insistence, Cary joined them for herbal tea. She sat crossing and re-crossing her impossibly long legs while catching up with Mimi. Erinn went back to people watching when Mimi suddenly squeezed her wrist. In their early days together at power meetings, that squeeze meant “earth to Erinn” and translated in leaner times into “Pay attention, God damn it.”

“Cary was just saying how much she enjoyed your plays . . . back in the day.”

“Really?” Erinn asked, genuinely startled whenever someone remembered her work.

“Oh yes,” Cary said. “Especially
The Family of Mann.
I saw it many times with my mother. We loved it!”

“Well,” Erinn said. “It can't compare with
Isn't That Weird?
”

Mimi glared at her, but, in her determined agent's way, she tried to keep the focus on Erinn's accomplishments.

“Oh, I remember the reviews,” said Mimi. “ ‘Erinn Elizabeth Wolf tugs at your heartstrings and brings tears to your eyes.' It was quite a time!”

“And now here I am, having tea with the woman who tugged at a million heartstrings and brought tears to a million eyes,” said Cary.

“Two million eyes, actually,” said Erinn absently. “Unless you're assuming that
The Family of Mann
played to one-eyed audiences exclusively.”

Mimi looked ready to kill, but Cary laughed and slapped Erinn on the knee. Suzanna came by with a fresh pot of tea, which Mimi and Cary accepted.
No swift deliverance from this torment,
thought Erinn. As Suzanna turned to leave, she knocked Erinn's manual off the table.

“I guess I'm getting clumsy already,” she said.

Cary stooped to retrieve the manual before Erinn could stop her.

“Oh, the Panasonic 3CCD MHC150,” said Cary. “Great camera.”

“I just got it,” said Erinn, daring her sister to say anything.

Suzanna's mouth dropped open as Erinn pulled the new camera out of her bag, but Erinn carefully ignored her. She lovingly handed the camera to Cary, who studied it.

“I want to start making my own films,” Erinn said, keeping the conversation going. “Writing, directing, shooting.”

Cary nodded. “That's a very good idea. Tough, though. I mean, it's very different from theater, isn't it?”

Since Erinn hadn't actually written, directed, or shot a movie, she just nodded back and hoped she looked sage.

“This is the camera I use on all my shows,” said Cary. “And you can handle this thing?”

Erinn said nothing, but tried to look confident as Cary handed her back the camera. Suzanna was making Erinn nervous as she still stood over them. Mercifully for Erinn, Suzanna was pulled away by another customer wanting to know why the shop no longer carried Pomegranate Madagascar tea.

“Erinn, what are you doing these days?” Cary continued.

Erinn looked to Mimi for approval, but could only read
Don't blow it
in her agent's eyes.

“This and that . . .”

“Look,” said Cary. “I'm producing a new show called
BATTLE ready!
for the History Network. My crew will be traveling around the country, shooting reenactments.”

“All over the country?” asked Erinn. “Revolutionary War . . . Civil War in the East and South. Spanish conflicts in Texas. What else? We've got a pretty short history in the United States.”

Cary beamed. “Erinn, you would be great! You've already cut to our number-one problem. We just don't have enough material to flesh out a season.”

“She is so good. . . .” said Mimi.