Finding Mr. Right (12 page)

Dear Diary,

I suppose you think I’m a slut or just really whimsical and flaky. I feel that what I’m about to tell you is going to further convince of that. Even though it’s not true. But I kinda have a new crush. But it’s not really real. This one is so that I can get over Blake. I saw him interacting and whispering with Bridget on Monday, and my heart skipped a beat. But not the good kind of skip, more like the one that tells of impending doom. The thump beat that drums out any sort of happiness and positive emotions. That’s how I felt when I saw them together, and then Stephen smiled at me and flirted, and something in me picked up. A psychologist might say that I go from relationship to relationship to heal the holes in my heart. The only problem with that diagnosis is that I never actually dated Ben or Blake.

I was excited when I woke up on the day I was to begin working on the show. I had the go-ahead from my boss at We Love to Read to take time off to film the TV show, as he felt that it would be great exposure for us and bring in a lot more donors. I had omitted to tell him that the show was going to be on public access TV and had made it seem like it was going to be on PBS. So, I didn’t completely lie, but only because I didn’t think that he or Lola, who was listening in on the conversation, would believe that I had gotten a big network TV show.

Blake’s client was a guy by the name of Stephen. At first glance, he had seemed like he was a bit arrogant and annoying, but he was also very handsome. I soon found myself staring after him as he walked around talking animatedly about the project and my role in it. I was also aware of the warm feeling that grew inside of me every time he smiled at me or made eye contact. There was something about him that I found incredibly appealing.

The most noticeable thing about Stephen was his hair. He had a big floppy mop of curly hair that seemed to be springing in every direction; it made him look like a little kid, and that image was perpetuated by his constant running around. We had hit it off right away at Blake’s office, and he had offered me the job within 20 minutes.

My first day was going pretty well, partly because I was attracted to him. His smile was infectious, and I soon found myself bumbling around after him, attempting to do whatever tasks he asked. It seemed that I had taken on the role of gaffer as well as star.

“So, Maggie, you dating anyone?”

My heart nearly skipped a beat when Stephen asked me about my dating life. What did it mean? Did he want to know because he was interested in me? Did he want to ask me out? Perhaps he was thinking about one day marrying me and having kids? What would we name our kids? What religion would they be? I knew he was Jewish and wondered if he would want the kids to be raised that way? Would I mind? Should I tell him I’m single, or will he think that means no other guys are interested?

“Not anyone serious,” was what I ended up saying.

“Oh cool.” And then he walked away.

What did that mean? And did he have a girlfriend?

I tried to bring the conversation up again while we were eating lunch. “So, is your wife going to come by and see what you are working on?” I tried my best to smile prettily, without seeming like I was prying for information.

“Wife?” Steven started laughing, “I don’t have a wife.”

I smiled to myself while wondering why the question had been so funny to him. Had there been something on my face when I asked the question? Before I could slip in my next question about a girlfriend, he whipped out his phone and made a call.

I was slightly annoyed at his always taking and receiving phone calls wherever we were. I sat back in my chair and looked around the restaurant. I could see two uppity women looking at the table and staring at Stephen. I knew they were uppity because they had matching LV handbags, with matching Tory Burch flats and matching bleach-blonde hair. I knew that they were looking at me and my Target-inspired wardrobe and sneering. They most likely thought I was Stephen’s personal assistant; little did they know that I was soon to be the star of a hit TV show. Maybe not this current show. I myself was having doubts about exactly how many people were going to watch it. However, I was sure that this would somehow lead to me getting cast in some sort of blockbuster. I mean, isn’t that how it always goes: unknown and not especially talented girl gets cast in bit piece, super duper director is channel surfing and catches her small role on public access TV and can’t seem to change the channel. He finds out her name, has his people call her people, and next thing you know, she is on top of the Hollywood crowd and winning an Oscar.

I would have to start practicing my Oscar acceptance speech, and when I got a call from an unknown 1-877 number, I realized I would have to start answering the phone even when I didn’t recognize the numbers. Which was something I didn’t really want to have to do. There were a couple of bills that I had paid late. Okay, I hadn’t actually paid them yet, and their customer service people were harassing me. But really, I had principles. I wasn’t about to pay for a year’s subscription to People magazine that hadn’t had one poster of Bradley Cooper inside it. I mean really. That’s the only reason I had gotten the magazine. And let’s not talk about the pet insurance I had signed Lucy up for. I had taken her in for a teeth cleaning and been told that the insurance didn’t cover that process. What a waste of money! I decided that I would have to answer the phone with different accents. That way, anyone wanting Maggie Lane in relation to an unpaid bill would be told, “Me no speaky English,” and everyone else would just think that I was doing so well that I now had a personal secretary. Yeah, that would be nice. I wished  I could afford a real personal assistant.

“Hello, hellllo, hilllow, hillow, hellow.” I was trying out my new accents under my breath, trying to decide which one I would use to answer the phone, when Stephen finished his phone call. I looked up from my practice to see him looking at me with an odd expression.

“I, I, was just practicing my opening spiel for the show,” I mumbled to him, slightly embarrassed, noting that the blonde bimbos had also seen me talking under my breath and now seemed to be cattily laughing to each other.

“Oh, well you know we won’t require too much impromptu speech from you. We have screenwriters for that.”

“I know, but you know, I thought I would give it a personal touch.”

“That’s all good and well, Maggie, but we want to ensure that you come off as a serious and dedicated educator.”

“I know.” (Serious and dedicated educator? What was he talking about?).

“This may be a show for public access TV, but I see this becoming a movie. The next big education movie, you know, like ‘Waiting for Superman’.”

“Superman? Wow, so I’m going to be the teacher version of Lois Lane?” Take that, catty bitches. I looked over at them at their table sneering at me; little did they know I was the next superhero movie heroine.

“Lois Lane?” Stephen looked at me with a blank stare. For a cute guy, he had many, many annoying habits. Being with Stephen made me miss Blake, a lot. I felt my heart pang a little bit at the thought of Blake. I hadn’t seen him since the office meeting; I was too embarrassed to be around him and too jealous of Bridget.

“Clark Kent’s love?” I wanted to add the duh part so badly but had a feeling that Stephen was not the sort of guy who would appreciate my elementary-school vocabulary.

“Clark Kent as in Superman?” He still looked at me, puzzled. Was I speaking some sort of foreign language here?

“Yes, Superman. You just said you wanted to make the next Superman movie. Or a movie like Superman.” Was I really going to be the genius in this relationship? Well, if there was ever a relationship, was I really going to be the Einstein?

“No, I said I wanted to make a movie that was comparable to ‘Waiting for Superman.’ You do know that movie, don’t you? About charter schools and...”

“Oh yes, yes,” I cut him off. I didn’t want to go too far down this road. I had somewhat exaggerated about my knowledge of the education system when I had met Stephen. I’d wanted to impress him and ensure I got the role. I mean, I knew some things from my work with We Love to Read, but was by no means an expert, or, even if I was honest, very proficient in how schools worked. I wasn’t even really sure what a charter school was. I’d have to go and look it up when I got back home.

“I must have misheard you. I thought you said ‘Superman’ but I see how much more relevant ‘Waiting for Superman’ would be for someone with your passion,” I smiled up at him winningly, hoping he was buying what I had to say.

“Yes, I think my angle on the school system in California and the fact that I have some connections in the Mayor’s Office will really help me make a movie that will blow ‘Waiting For Superman’ out of the water.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, in fact, I just got some new stats about test scores that are incredible. The school district does not want these facts out, but my buddy at the LA Times faxed me over some of the files. A whole lotta people are going to be in big trouble.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. In fact, would you like to come over tonight? Maybe you can go over some of the files with me, as I am not sure exactly what everything means.”

“Um...” I debated over how to answer him. I mean I would love to go over to his place to possibly have a romantic dinner and make out. But what if all he wanted me to do was look over the papers? I had no doubt that there was no way I would be able to decipher the things he couldn’t. But what if that was just a ploy to get me over there?

“I guess...” I paused again. I was meant to be making headway with my book. I had promised Blake an update and knew that my first draft was due really soon. And the great part was that I actually had some good ideas and a plot that was halfway decent.

“I have wine.” Stephen smiled winningly at me.

“Sure, what time?” How could I resist those big brown eyes that promised me they could make me forget about Blake?

“Come over around 9. Don’t eat. I’ll order in some Chinese.”

“Okay, sweet.” That gave me a good couple of hours to read up as much as I could on the school system and try and memorize every acronym that I could. My phone started buzzing, and I looked down to a text message from Blake.

Hey, you busy tonight? Want to grab dinner? My treat! And I think we need to talk.

My heart skipped a beat. It was still hard for me to stop my body’s emotional reaction to Blake. I still felt guilty and embarrassed over everything that had gone down, but I still got a buzz of electricity when he contacted me. He’d tried calling me a few times in the last week, but I had just texted him back telling him I was busy. I didn’t want to think about him too much. Every time I did, I felt like I was sinking into some sort of abyss. I had fallen in love with Blake, and every time I thought of him and Bridget, I felt jealous and sick. I had been avoiding her as well and had made sure to hit the gym at the oddest hours, just to ensure that I didn’t bump into her. How could I tell her I was in love with her boyfriend and had drunkenly and aggressively pursued him in my bed? I felt like a home-wrecker and a bad friend. Even worse was my deep wish that they would break up and I would get a real chance. But that was unlikely. The wish just made me feel like I needed to go to church, because my hopes were going to send me straight to Hell.

I looked up from the text and realized that Stephen was talking about schools again, and I wondered what he would say if I suddenly started talking about last week’s episode of Desperate Housewives. Would he laugh and think I was cute like Blake did, or would he judge me and think that I was his intellectual inferior. I didn’t know if I wanted to find out.

“Hmm, yeah. I totally agree,” I mumbled while vigorously nodding my head. I had no idea what he had been talking about, but Stephen was the type of guy who didn’t really care about other people’s opinions or input. It didn’t bother me really, because he was the perfect guy to help me get over Blake. Stephen required no real emotional investment from me. I guess I was objectifying him for his looks, but it didn’t make me feel too bad, as men have been doing that for years.

Dear Diary,

Feelings are like poetry. Sometimes they make perfect sense, and sometimes they confuse the shit out of you. I’m starting to wonder if I am some sort of fickle monkey that has been put into a human body as some sort of test experiment. And if that didn’t happen, I am definitely tripolar. I’m bipolar with a twist: I have the severe ups and downs that bipolar people have, with the added bonus of simultaneously experiencing both emotions at the same time. How is it possible to both feel the happiest you have ever felt and the saddest at the same exact moment? How does that happen? I don’t quite know, but if I ever find out, I could become a millionaire. That is, if I don’t become a millionaire in Hollywood first, which it looks like won’t be happening.

I texted Blake back when Stephen and I finished lunch, and he called me about 10 seconds after he got my text. There was no way I could ignore the call and pretend that I didn’t have my phone on me as I had just texted him.

“Hello.”

“Maggie, finally...I’ve been starting to think you’ve been avoiding me,” Blake’s voice sounded so warm and husky that I could feel my insides melting.

“No, just been busy,” I spoke as coldly as I could.

“Really busy huh, Moo-moo?”

“Well, you know. I have the TV show now and the BOOK...”

“Yes, I know. I’m guessing that the progress on the book must be going very well, seeing as you hadn’t been able to call me back. Oh wait, did something even bigger happen?”

“Huh?”

Blake started chortling, “Did the CIA recruit you? Is that why...”

“William Blake Connor, if I was with you right now, I would slap you.” I laughed. I was never going to live down the fact that I had thought the CIA wanted to recruit me.

“Well, that slap can be arranged if you agree to meet up with me.”

“I can’t tonight. I have a date.”

“A date? With who?”

“Well, not really a date, but sort of a working dinner, with Stephen. At his house.”

“A working dinner? What work can you do from his home? You know you already have the job, right, Mags? No need for the casting couch!” Blake sounded irritated.

“Blake!”

“Okay, okay. But really, Mags, what work are you doing at his home? Are you getting paid extra?”

“We are just going over some things, and no I am not getting paid. We are just getting to know each other better.”

“Do you like him?” Blake’s voice had completely lost its friendly tone and seemed pointed.

“Well, he is cute.”

“Maggie, I think this is a mistake. Are you even over Ben?”

“Who?”

“Maggie! I know how hurt you were over Gayle and Ben getting together, and I know that you are a good person and are putting on a good front, but you need to heal before you start dating again.”

“Say what?” Did he really think I was hung up on Ben Bonkers?

“Maybe I can come over tonight and be a listening ear for you.”

“I already told you. I’m busy tonight, Blake.”

“Are you going to be there all night? I will come over afterwards.”

“That’s okay. I’m really...”

“I insist, Maggie. I owe it to Chad to keep an eye on you. I want to make sure you make it home safely tonight. I’m not so sure Stephen is a guy to get involved with.”

“I don’t need you watching over me, Blake. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.” I was irritated. Here I was lusting over Blake, and he saw me as some sort of emotionally needy little sister.

“You may be old enough, but I still...hold on a sec, someone just came into my office...look, Mags, I gotta go. Bridget needs to talk to me. I will see you tonight. Call me when you get in.” And then he hung up.

I was left staring at the phone in frustration, anger, and jealousy. Why couldn’t Blake and Bridget just leave me alone and let me move on with my new life as a Hollywood starlet, living life vicariously through my movie roles and sleeping with my hot directors and costars?

I arrived at Stephen’s at 9:10 p.m. Well, if I am more accurate, I arrived at 8:30 but stayed in my car until 9:10 p.m. I didn’t want to look overly eager. I looked over my cheat sheet really quickly and tried to remember as many facts as I could about the school board and some of the more recent local school district stories from the LA Times. It seemed to me that the parts I found the most interesting and engaging were the more personal stories. That was also what I loved most about working at We Love to Read. The actual students whose reading and writing skills improved week after week, the joy in their faces, the pride, the achievement. That was something concrete that made me happy. Something that made me want to write. The numbers and data that I had read in most of the articles were boring to me and didn’t give me any personal connection to the stories. I wanted to tell Stephen some ideas I had on how to reach out to the community as a whole in our show, well, his show, but wasn’t sure how he would react.

I rang the doorbell with butterflies in my stomach. I had shaved my legs especially for tonight and put on sexy underwear and my favorite perfume, ‘Princess’ by Vera Wang. It would serve Blake right if he didn’t get a phone call from me because I was spending the night at Stephen’s. That would show him. Let him go and give Bridget some advice on how to be a grown up.

“Hey, Maggie, come on in.” Stephen answered the door with his cell phone in his hand. “I’m just on the phone. Feel free to have a seat.” He waved his arm towards the doorway on his left and wandered off.

I looked around his house. It was stark white and pristine. A little off-putting and too modern for me. There were lots of huge abstract sculptures, and I felt like I was in a museum, and one that I wouldn’t frequent often at that. As I walked through the doorway to what I presumed was the living room, I gasped. There was a gigantic painting directly facing the entryway of what was clearly a woman’s vagina. I didn’t know whether to laugh or not, but I had a feeling that was not the feeling the painting was supposed to elicit.

I groaned when I realized how minimalistic the living room was. The chairs were very close to the floor and looked very hard, with no comfortable cushions to cuddle against. The room looked like it was going for a Japanese Zen-like feel but had failed in all areas except for the not being comfortable part. I definitely could not see myself snuggling up next to Stephen and making out anywhere in this room. I also noticed that there didn’t appear to be a television. I guessed there would be no TV breaks or laughing over old episodes of ‘King of Queens’. Inwardly, I groaned. This was not going to be the warm cozy evening I had been picturing in my head.

“Hey, Maggie, sorry about that. Have a seat. The food should be here soon.” Stephen came over and gave me a quick hug and led me over to the break my back chair. Lowering myself down to the chair was only marginally more embarrassing than deciding how to sit on the chair. I couldn’t really lean back, but sitting forward wasn’t very comfortable either. I decided to just go ahead and sit on the floor and lean against the chair. Unfortunately for me, cold marble doesn’t make for a very comfortable sitting piece either.

“So, Maggie. I am really excited to get your insight into these papers,” Stephen got down to business immediately as he sat down on the chair.

“Oh, me too.” I groaned inside again. “Me too.”

“I figure we can talk about the show for a bit and then eat and then go over the paperwork after we eat. Don’t want to spill anything on the papers now, do we?” He laughed.

I just smiled and nodded my head. Why did I waste my perfume on this night? It didn’t seem to me that there was going to be any chance of us being close enough for him to appreciate the flowery scent between my bosoms.

“So Blake told you the concept, right? We want to expose what is really going on in Los Angeles schools and basically you are going to break down the facts for concerned citizens. You speak Spanish, right?”

“Spanish? Huh?” I looked at him puzzled.

“Many of the parents speak Spanish as a first language, so I was thinking it would be cool if you were to do a bilingual show, really show we are reaching out to the community.”

“Oh, well, I’m not really fluent in Spanish.” (Unless knowing
hola
and
coma estas
was considered being fluent).

“Oh, I thought Blake told me that you were,” Stephen looked disappointed. I could see my Hollywood career going down the drain before my eyes.

“Sorry, I mean, I guess I could learn...get a Rosetta Stone CD set if need be...” I wanted to add if you will pay for the set, but didn’t want him to think I was using him for free stuff.

“No, that’s fine. We can just have Spanish subtitles. That may even be cooler.”

“Oh okay.” How would that be cooler?

“So, what I want you to do tomorrow is to create some PowerPoint presentations and simplify them for our viewers and...”

HUH? “Sorry, what? PowerPoint?” I smiled at Stephen while trying to hide the dismay in my voice.

“Yes, I will give you the documents that I got and you can extract the most pertinent information and...”

“Extract?” I said under my breath.

“And then create some cool interactive bar charts and graphs...”

“Graphs?”

“Yeah, you know. Something that makes parents sit forward and say ‘wow’.”

“Wow,” I repeated after him as if in a trance. I had a feeling that any parents watching the TV show would be feeling like I did making the charts. And that feeling wasn’t going to elicit any ‘wow’s.

“Exactly, we want the wow factor.” He grinned at me. “I’m so glad that Blake suggested you for this hosting position. I think you are going to be great.”

I smiled weakly at him. This was not sounding like the position I had been envisioning. I thought I was going to be interviewing some cute kids at different schools and asking them about reading and spending time reading to them, even possibly from my own book, nothing like a bit of free publicity. But this job was starting to sound like I was to be some sort of administrative assistant.

And the even more messed up part of the equation was that it wasn’t even a job. I wasn’t getting paid. Or at least not monetarily. Stephen had told me that the exposure I would receive on TV would be so beneficial to my career that it would more than make up for any pittance he could pay me. I’d had doubts that I would receive any real exposure on public access TV but figured that it wouldn’t seem like work if I was hanging out with kids and helping my own writing process.

Also, Stephen himself had definitely sweetened the pot with his good looks. But this was starting to sound like it was going to be a lot of grunt work. And to be honest, not the sort of grunt work that I was particularly interested in either.

“Yeah, sounds exciting for sure. Um, how often will I be interviewing the kids?”

“Well, I’m not really sure if you will be interviewing any kids...”

“What?”

“There’s a lot of red tape in public schools, and you know principals aren’t going to really want us coming into the schools when they realize we are doing an exposé on them.”

My mouth dropped open. “Exposé?” This was not sounding like something I could even legally be involved in, or at least not if I wanted to keep my day job, the one that was actually paying my bills. I still had to go to these schools every week for my ‘We Love to Read’ school visits.

“Yeah, this is going to blow the public school system apart,” Stephen said excitedly.

“What exactly is the information that you have?” I swallowed, scared to hear but wanting to know. What if the information compromised my job and I had to become an informant? I’d never work in the educational nonprofit sector in Los Angeles again.

“Well, I don’t really know yet,” Stephen looked at me sheepishly, “that’s what you are here to find out.”

“Me?” I looked at him puzzled.

“Yeah, when we go through the files that were sent to me, from my contact at the L.A. Times.”

“Oh okay,” I seriously doubted that I was going to be able to decipher any codes in the paperwork that would lead to an exposé that would take down the whole public school system but figured that if I could, then the system deserved to be brought down.

“This is going to be awesome. People are going to look at me as the more intellectual Michael Moore.”

“Yeah, I guess so.” It struck me that if anyone was going to be looked at as the more intellectual Michael Moore it should be me, seeing as I was the one who was going to be responsible for finding the earth-shattering news that would scandalize the LA school system, but I decided to keep that thought to myself.

The doorbell rang at that point, and Stephen went to go and get the food. My stomach growled in anticipation. I was excited to eat some sweet and sour pork and fried rice. It might make me a little sleepy, but would definitely put me in a better mood. Greasy food always did.

As Stephen walked back with the big brown bag containing the delicious food, I could feel my mood improving. He put the bag on the glass table in front of me and went to get some plates.