Winter Jacket: New Beginnings (22 page)

Troian took off her sunglasses and tossed them on a table near the front entrance.
“I keep telling you, but you never listen.”

“This place is
amazing
, Troi.”

“Don’t get too excited.
” Troian’s easy smile slid onto her face. “This is the Studio’s property. We’re just staying here until we find something. Real estate is a bitch out here. You’d be surprised what a million dollars
won’t
get you.”

“So where’s my room?”

Troian gave me a guilty smile. “Take your pick. There’s like five guest rooms in this place.”

“Let me amend my statement then – which guest room is the furthest from
your
room? I don’t need to be overhearing anything, if you know what I mean.”

Troian snorted. She grabbed the handle of my bag, intending on showing me to my room. “Jesus, Bookie,” she said, feeling the luggage’s weight. It probably weighed almost as much as her. “How long are you planning on staying?”

“Just the week.”

“Uh huh.”

Troian led me down a wide hallway that was bathed with natural light.

“Even your
hallways
have windows?” I gaped, following her.

“It’s the Studio’s,” she reminded me over her shoulder.

She wheeled my bag into a sizeable bedroom. Like the hallway, there was plenty of natural light streaming in from large windows. The king-sized bed was more than enough for just me, and there was a cute sitting area in a bump-out enclave. The only thing missing was a walk-out to the back patio, but I assumed that was in the master bedroom.

“Nik should be home soon from her meeting,” Troian said. She parked my luggage by the bed. “She’s been marinating chicken all day; I thought we could grill on the back patio and hang out by the pool tonight.”

“That sounds perfect.” I shoved my hands in the back pockets of my jeans. “I’m just gonna freshen up and let Hunter know I made it here.”

Troian gave me a knowing grin. “Whipped,” she muttered under her breath as she left the room.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that!” I called after her.

I pulled my laptop out of my school bag and set it on the bed. I clicked my video chat program open and called Hunter’s laptop. I wasn’t sure she’d answer. I’d told her approximately what time I anticipated arriving at Troi and Nikole’s house, but had urged her not to sit by her laptop waiting for me. She answered the call on the third ring.

“Hey, beautiful,” I greeted.

“Hey you,” she returned. “I take it you made it to Troian and Nik’s?”

I nodded. “Yup. You should see this place. It’s almost as big as Troian’s ego.”

Hunter smirked, but didn’t join my ribbing of my best friend.

“How’s Sylvia?” I adjusted the top lid of my laptop so my built-in camera was better lined up.

Hunter’s smiling fa
ce filled up my laptop screen. “She misses you.”

“Liar,” I scoffed. “
She only cares if her food bowl gets filled when it’s empty.” My cat had that stereotypical aloof and independent cat personality. The only time she wanted to cuddle was when Hunter was on the couch with me, too.

“Oh, you’
d be surprised. I caught her moping around today when I went to feed her. She definitely knows you’re gone.” Hunter humored me, but I knew the truth. If we ever broke up, my cat would probably want a divorce from me, too.

“How was work today?”
I asked.

Hunter shrugged. “
It was good. Played with some kids in the Children’s Wing.”

“You’re cute.”

“Bookworm!” I heard Troian yelling from another room. “Nik’s back! Stop cybering and get your flat ass out here!”

“I should probably go hang out with my friends,” I sighed.

Hunter smirked. “Yeah, we wouldn’t want Troi thinking anything uncouth was happening under her roof.”

“I would have video-
chat sex in here just to annoy her.”

She
laughed musically. Hearing her laughter made me miss her and I hadn’t even been gone a full day. This was going to be a long week.

“Go, go,” she urged. “I don’t want Troian thinking I’m a sex maniac. Can’t be away from my girlfriend for more than a few hours without a craving.”

“You’re not?” I said, feigning surprise.

“I’
m serious, Ellio. Go spend time with your friends. I’ll talk to you later. Have fun, okay?”

“Okay,”
I said, properly chastened. She had a point. I was here to spend time with Nik and Troi, not hide out in their guest bedroom and video chat with my girlfriend.

“I wish you could have come.”

“I know, babe. Me too. Have fun with Troi and Nik, okay? Tell them I say hi.”

“Ok, I will. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

I found
both Nikole and Troian in the kitchen, standing around a large island counter. The kitchen, like the rest of the house, was gorgeous. Nikole had a craft beer in hand and Troian was predictably having water. They looked like they were starring in a celebrity lifestyle magazine feature.

“I hope you washed your hands,”
Troian said, making a disgusted face.

“For someone who talks a big game,
” I teased back as I entered the room, “you certainly can’t back it up.”

“That’s because it’s
you
, Bookie.”

“So the thought of me having sex is repulsive?” I said, mocking offense.

Nikole waved her hands. “Before you two fall back into your old, married couple routine, someone here needs a hug.”

“Looking good, Nik,”
I approved with a wink. Her naturally olive-toned skin was a shade darker than usual from exposure to the sun. “California life agrees with you.” I greeted her with a tight hug, but since she was the same height as me, I couldn’t lift her off her feet like I’d done to Troian.

Troian swatted my shoulder. “So you’
re just going to follow up cyber sex with your girlfriend by hitting on my woman?”

I laughed, but rubbed my arm.
For such a tiny person, she packed a punch.

“Careful, Elle,” Nikole warned with a playful grin. “She’s gotten extra-jealous now that I’ve got a ring.”

“Oh my God, that’s right.” I grabbed onto Nikole’s left hand. I had minimal experience with engagement rings, but it was pretty and it sparkled and it was more than one diamond. I didn’t doubt that Troian had hunted for ages to find the perfect ring. “Very nice,” I approved. “No wonder you said Yes.”

Troian made a disgruntled noise into her water glass.

“
And
this house is gorgeous, you guys.” I walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows and the multi-million dollar view. I could get used to this. “How long do you get to stay here?”

“My boss said we could stay as long as we want, but I don’t want to abuse their hospitality
,” Troian said. “They have the house so they can host out-of-town talent, so it’s not meant to be permanent.”

“I can’
t wait to stop living out of my suitcases.” Nikole leaned against the countertop. “I’m looking forward to us finally having our own space again.”

I knew exactly how they felt.
I was enjoying not having my mom staying with me anymore. I knew Hunter and I would soon be having a conversation about living together. I didn’t know how to feel about that yet, so I pushed it from my mind. There was no sense stressing about co-habitation yet; I had a full week before I needed to think about that.

“
We just need to find time to tour houses,” Troian noted with a nod.

“
Yeah, if I could ever tear this one away from her work,” Nikole openly complained, “we might finally settle on a new place.”

I looked back and forth between my two friends. Our conversation had
become unexpectedly heavy over the course of a few flippant statements.

“
Do you guys need to look at houses while I’m here?” I tried to appease. “I’m cool tagging along, or you could just leave me here so I can pretend like I’m rich.”

Nikole pulled a number of alcohol
bottles out of a lower shelf. “Oh, no, lady. No boring house hunting for you.”

“But I love
House Hunters
,” I protested.

“You’re on vacation,” Nikole said, “so you’d better start acting like it.”

I eyeballed the various bottles she had magically produced. I picked up a bottle of flavored vodka. “And vacation equals alcohol?”

Nikole opened another cabinet
and set two shot glasses on the quartz countertop. “I hope you packed your big girl pants.”

“You should see the size of her luggage,” Troian snickered. “I think that’s all she packed.”

+++++

It was early when Troian
woke me up the next morning – too early. She pulled at the slatted blinds in the room I was staying. “Time to get up,” she sang.

I flopped on my stomach and groaned into my pillow.
A window was cracked open and I could hear the sounds of birds chirping and distant traffic. “Who plans a wedding this early in the morning?” I complained.

“Not wedding planning – work.” Troian opened the second set of blinds and I hissed at the sun that flooded in.

“But I’m on vacation,” I whined again. “It’s summer.” I couldn’t tell if the disturbance in my stomach was hunger or hangover. At least the room wasn’t spinning.

“Come on, Bookie.” Troian bounced on her toes. “I want you to come to work with me. You gotta earn your keep.”

“Can’t I just dig around in the dirt with Nik?” If I had to get out of bed this early, gardening sounded more fun. Plus, I wouldn’t have to shower.

“No, I want you to sit in on a table read with me.”

“That sounds boring,” I complained through a yawn.

“It usually is,
” she confirmed, “but today I’m firing someone.”

“You get to fire people?” I smacked my dry lips. “Jealous.” I’d probably need a gallon of water to get rid of this cottonmouth. I really shouldn’t have switched from
liquor to beer, and back to liquor last night. Troian didn’t drink, but Nikole was a champion with an amazing poker face. Her smile got a little wider and her laugh a little throatier, but you couldn’t really tell if she ever got drunk unless you knew those two tells.

Troian flopped down on the corner of the mattress. “Where’s your shirt?”

I blinked a few times. “Huh?” I lifted the top sheet so I could better assess the situation.

Troian made a face. “Wow. You really
did
drink a lot last night.”

“I blame your girlfriend,” I grumbled, pulling the sheets over my head.

“You mean the hot chick in the kitchen who’s making juice and humming like a Disney princess?”

“I loathe you both,” came my muffled complaint. I thought about
my undergraduate years when I could drink all I could handle, switch back and forth between alcohol genres, and wake up the next morning without feeling a thing. Now my hangovers tended to last multiple days. “When are we leaving?” I groaned.

Troian bounced to her feet. “About an hour, so get a move on.”

I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed and into the bathroom. The bathroom was so high-tech, I was afraid if I pushed the wrong button it would launch a missile at Russia or re-configure an orbiting satellite. There was also a steam shower, but I didn’t trust myself not to break anything, so I took one of those plebian showers instead.

I found
a small hickey on the inside of my left arm and another low enough on my collarbone that as long as I didn’t wear anything with a plunging neckline it could go undetected. As Hunter had been marking me the night before I’d left she’d said it was so I thought of her whenever I got into the shower. With our shared history, I didn’t need any encouragement. It took effort to
not
think about her in the shower just so I could get through the daily ritua
l
.

Forty-five minutes later I was crawling into Troian’s toy car, sunglasses firmly in place, and clinging onto my seat as Troian zipped down the curvy decline of West Hollywood.
The rollercoaster ride took about an hour before we rolled up to the gates of Pickfair Studio. The old production company was in the midst of a renaissance of sorts, largely focusing on web-based television programming that allowed for content that would make the FCC’s hair turn white.

A
security guard waved us through the gated entranceway without a second glance. Troian parked her fancy car outside of a mobile home that reminded me of my 4
th
grade classroom. We’d outgrown the elementary school and so the school district had purchased modular classrooms.

Troian unlocked the door to her trailer; her name was on a gold colored name
plate with the title of ‘head writer’ etched beneath it. Inside was an assortment of furniture that looked right out of the 1970s. She threw her messenger bag onto a desk and flopped down in a worn office chair.

“Make yourself at home,” she told me. “I’ve got a few things to look over before we meet with the other writers.”

I wandered around the trailer office with my hands shoved deep in my pockets. I didn’t know why I felt nervous, but I did.

“Have you seen any of these mov
ies before?” I asked. There was a series of framed movie posters on the wall. I barely recognized the titles and I considered myself pretty proficient with films. “Or are they just to impress the interns?”

Troian looked over her reading glasses. “They were here when I got the job. I haven’t had time to redecorate.”

There was a knock on the metal screen door and a girl wearing too much eyeliner poked her head inside. “Going for coffee,” she announced.

Troian’s nose was still buried in script edits. “Black for me
, one sugar. Elle, what do you want?”

It took me a second to realize Troian was talking to me. It was rare she actually called me by my name. I usually got Bookie or Bookworm.

“Oh, um. Coffee would be great. Black, yeah,” I stumbled out.

The girl’s head was gone as fast as it had appeared.

“You get to fire people
and
you have coffee minions?”

Troian finally looked up from the thick stack of paper. “It’s good to be me,” she shrugged.

I flopped down in the chair across from Troian’s desk. It occurred to me that this was the exact opposite of our usual work hangouts. Normally she was the one visiting me, and I was the one buried in edits. It was a bit surreal to be on this side of the desk.

“Who are you firing today?”

Troian sighed. “Ugh. Some Hollywood dickhead. He schmoozes too much and he hasn’t been pulling his weight. I think he’s over his head, to be honest, so he belittles the other writers so they don’t see his insecurities.”

“A high school Mean Girl.”

“Yup,” Troian agreed.

“I wish
I could fire students sometimes,” I said wistfully.

Troian made a clucking noise. “Nuh uh. No talking about work. You’re on vacation
, remember?”

“I know, I know,” I sighed.

We left Troian’s office to go to a nearby trailer that served as the writers’ room. The space was dominated by a long, rectangular conference table surrounded by metal folding chairs. I dragged one of the chairs away from the table to sit along an adjacent wall. Troian had practically forced me to come to this meeting, but I didn’t want to assume that meant I was invited to sit at the table with the writers.

T
roian’s new show had something to do with outer space and maybe time traveling and maybe even a little mythical creatures thrown in. She had once described it to me as
Saved by the Bell
in Outer Space. I had thought it sounded like a hot mess, but the Studio executives obviously thought otherwise. They’d interpreted the mixing of genres to be radically creative rather than derivative. But what did I know; I was just an English professor.

Troian wasn’t the person who’d come up with the actual idea for the show, but she’d been tapped to lead the studio’s staff of writers.
The studio had green-lit the project and had ordered a 12-episode season. Shooting had yet to begun, however, and they might have even been working on casting still.

The walls of the trailer were blanketed with the headshots of attractive young people and sketch
es of scenes and set conceptions. Because the majority of the show would take place on spaceships and space stations I imagined they’d do the bulk of the shooting right at the studio. That would be nice for Troian because as head writer she would have to follow the shot locations to make necessary tweaks to dialogue and plot. I couldn’t imagine her being separated from Nikole for an extended amount of time.

The writers bounced ideas back and forth and I sat in the outskirts, trying to follow the storyline of whatever episode they were working on. From what I could observe
, the lead character was a teenaged girl going through typical teenage drama, only in outer space. Her cohort of friends were both humans and aliens with her best friend being some purple, multi-tentacled creature. When I’d learned the bit about the alien-octopus best friend I’d tried to catch Troian’s attention from across the room. I sincerely hoped I hadn’t been the inspiration for that character.

“In your space utopian, are aliens
kind of like second-class citizens?”

A dozen set of eyeballs focused on me.

I squirmed in my chair. I hadn’t intended to speak. It had just happened.

“Yeah.” One of the writers whose name I didn’t know nodded. “It’s like a caste system with humans at the top. We figure that End Game can be some kind of alien revolt for rights with the lead character leading the way because of her friendships with the aliens on the space station.”

“What if it turns out the lead character isn’t entirely human?”

The room grew quiet at my question.

Troian leaned forward in her chair and removed her reading glasses. “Say that again.”

I cleared my throat. I was pretty sure I was blushing from all the attention. Everyone was suddenly focused on the weird woman sitting in the corner of the room. “Your lead character,” I tried again. “What if she’s actually part alien, but she – and the audience – don’t find out for a few episodes?”

“But if her parents are both still alive, how do we account for the alien aspect?” another writer fired back at me.

“Her dad is actually her
stepdad,” I supplied. “But he and her mom married so early, he’s the only dad she’s ever known. Her parents both know she has alien DNA, but they didn’t say anything to her because from the outside, she looks 100% human.”

Another w
riter nodded, looking thoughtful as she chewed on the cap of her pen. “That might actually work. Her alien heritage could have been dormant all this time or at least just under the surface, maybe even giving her an edge over other kids.”

With those suggestions, the room erupted in
to a flurry of conversations and brainstorming. I sat back, satisfied with my contribution. When I happened to glance in Troian’s direction, I caught her staring back at me. I didn’t know if she’d be mad at me for butting into the conversation. But she just regarded me with interest and looked at me as if she was seeing me for the first time.

+++++

At the end of the workday, Troian and I walked back to her parked car. She’d been quiet since the scriptwriting activity and it had me worried. She had been the one to make me come to the studio lot with her that day, but I was sure she hadn’t intended for me to become an active participant in the brainstorming session.

I was worried I’
d overstepped my boundaries. I was an English professor, not a television scriptwriter. What right did I have to open my big mouth during the meeting? I slid through the passenger-side door, a bundle of nerves. I could tell she was looking at me, but I pretended not to notice.

Troian was the one who broke the unsettling silence. “I want to hire you.”

I barked out a laugh that was too loud for the interior of her car.

“I’
m serious,” she said, twisting in her seat to regard me. “You were really impressive today. Everybody sitting at that table thought so.”

“I’m a teacher, Troi.”

“
And
you’re a writer.”

“
Yeah, but I don’t write TV shows.”

“Neither did I in the beginning,” she reminded me. “I’ve read your stuff, Elle. You’
re really creative. Your book about people with super powers that aren’t really super? That could be a show right there.”

I worried my lower lip. “You weren’
t annoyed I chimed in out of turn?”

“
Hell, no.” She slapped the top of her steering wheel for emphasis. “Why do you think I dragged you to work with me today?”

“And you didn’
t think it was a dumb idea having the lead be part alien?”

“
Dumb?” Troian shook her head and jerked the car into gear. It was a manual and the car protested as she found the right gear. “It’s brilliant, Elle. As soon as you suggested that, my brain went crazy thinking about all the fun visual effects and scenarios we can put her through – it’ll totally be a
Secret Life of Alex Mack
kind of thing with her trying to control her alien aspect and hide it from everyone.”

“
Come write for me,” Troian urged. The car exited the gated studio lot. “It would be so much fun.”

I still hesitated.

“Listen, if you suck I fire you, and you go back to teaching. It’s not like if you stop teaching, you can never go back,” she reasoned. “And aren’t you due a sabbatical or something?”