Authors: Jen Lancaster

Tags: #Chicago, #Humorous, #Family Life, #General, #Suburbs, #Women Authors, #Illinois, #Fiction, #Remodeling, #Dwellings

If You Were Here (37 page)

BOOK: If You Were Here

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“Of course it works! Our job is to make it right around here!” Mike booms.

The rest of the house is equally overwhelming, and I ooh and ahh over every closable door and flushable toilet. Holmes and company even put in a fail-safe opening in the panic room, and they got rid of the Jacuzzi.
¹⁶⁸

“Is Mac coming home soon?” I ask. All of what I’m seeing is amazing, but what’s really making me happy is the effort Mac made to make it all right. And he called Babcia! That’s what blows me away more than anything. The only possible interpretation of all this is that even though we hit a rough patch, his love for me didn’t waver.

“Should be here shortly. Said he had to pick up your grandmother from the hotel, and then he said something about a birthday cake and someone named Jake Ryan? It was all supposed to be part of your homecoming celebration, but like I said, you’re a little early. Hope that’s still okay.”

Mac wanted me to finally have my Thompson Twins “If You Were Here” moment in the new house?

Yeah, I’d say that’s more than okay.

“You put Kevin Spacey in movie. He good boy.”

We’re in the living room and I’m curled up in Mac’s arms and covered in dogs and cats. I’d be hard-pressed to determine which creatures in this house missed me the most.

Babcia’s sitting across from us on the oversize chaise. She looks like a little kid, because her feet don’t touch the ground. Yet she still manages to be eighty pounds of imperious.

“Babcia, I don’t have that kind of decision-making power. Plus, I ran away. I’m not even sure I’m allowed to go back.”

She says nothing in response, instead choosing to fix her gaze on Mac. “Babcia need drink.” Mac sprints to the kitchen to fix Babcia’s cocktail.

I’ll never quite know the price he paid to get Babcia here and involved, but whatever it is, I’ll do my best to make it up to him for the rest of our lives.

Our reunion was brief but meaningful.

I think Mac’s exact words were, “Are we cool now?”

And yes, we are indeed cool.

“But you can’t go all distant on me again,” I told him. “I didn’t know what to think, so I thought the worst.”

“I didn’t want to distract you or ruin the surprise,” he replied. “I wanted to prove to you I could do it.”

I raised a Botox-free eyebrow at him.

“Or, technically, that Mike Holmes could do it.”

“But not knowing what was going on distracted me.”

“I really am sorry, Mia.”

“Me, too, Mac.” He pulled me to him and we stood there for a long time, just remembering what it was like to be together.

“Promise me one thing, though?” I asked when we finally broke apart.

“What’s that?”

“That you’ll never buy a forty-five-dollar lightbulb again.”

He said he wouldn’t ... but I may lock down his workshop just to be sure.

The doorbell rings and I hop up to answer it. It’s a little late, but Kara and Tracey are dying to see what’s been done to the place, and I need to give Kara back her car.

Kara arrives first with a gorgeous Indian guy in tow.“This is Leo!”

We exchange pleasantries, and at no point does Leo stop gazing adoringly at Kara. He’s smitten, and it’s adorable and everything I could wish for my friend.

Mac serves everyone a cocktail and hands me a Scotch and soda. I take a tentative sip. Not bad. I’ll probably sneak some ginger ale into it when Mac’s not looking, but hey, at least it’s not pink.

Progress, yes?

We’re barely past introductions when the bell rings again. It’s Tracey and her date. “Hey, girl!” I give her a big hug, and only after we unclench do I notice the man by her side.

Although calling him a man may be pushing it.

“Um, who’s this?” I ask gamely.

“This is my date, Trevor.”

Kara and I exchange extraordinarily meaningful glances.

“Hi,Trevor, welcome! Come on in! Let’s show you around!”

While Trevor and Tracey get cocktails in the kitchen, Kara and I put our heads together. “Shouldn’t you card him before you serve him liquor?”

“What is he, fifteen?” I ask in a low tone.

“I wonder if she had to cut his meat at dinner?” she whispers back.

“You think his mommy lets him be out so late on a school night?”

It’s almost like Tracey has bionic hearing—or just knows us really well—and she shouts from the kitchen, “He’s twenty-four, you assholes.”

I’m not sure what the biggest shock of all today has been—that my house is in order, that my grandmother is here, or that Tracey’s gone straight to Cougar Town, but I swear it feels like my birthday.
¹⁶⁹

Once we’re all gathered in the living room, the discussion turns back to my movie again.

“The bottom line is, I’m not running the show. And even if I were, I don’t want to be out there anymore. I’ve had enough LA to last me the rest of my life,” I tell everyone.

“Legally, what are your options?” Tracey asks.

“The rights are sold. Legally I’ve got bubkes. Trust me, I had my entertainment attorney and Ann Marie tear that contract apart, and it’s ironclad. I mean, the studio heads wanted me out there for my artistic vision,
¹⁷⁰but they’re not at all obligated to accept my input.”

“Did you just want to die when the producer paraded Vienna into the room?” Kara queries.

“Die, kill, something,” I reply.

“Won’t a subpar film dilute your whole brand?” Trevor asks.

Kara mouths,
He’s adorable
, and pantomimes pinching his cheek behind Tracey’s back. I answer, “Yes, and that’s a major concern. But what else can I do?”

“I can go out and straighten them out,” Mac postures.

“Much as I’d like you to punch that shitweasel in the neck, that’s not the answer,” I say before I kiss him on the cheek.

Babcia mumbles something from the depths of her chair.

“What’s that, Babcia?” I ask.

“Fight. You movie, you write, you fight. You go back, go over head. Talk to person write you check. Fight.”

“It’s not that simple, Babcia.”

She pulls herself up to her full (almost) five feet. “Wrong. Is simple. You fight. You go plane tomorrow. Fight. Win. Kevin Spacey say greatest trick ever pull, devil world not exist. You make movie. Yes.”

I glance around the room and everyone seems to be behind Babcia, even if they are a little confused by her mangled
Usual Suspects
quote.

“Is it crazy? Do I go back?” I ask the group.

“What, you need sign? I give sign. Sign say go. Be not stupid girl. Be smart girl. Go.”

“I don’t know. . . .”

Babcia looks over both of her shoulders and leans forward to say something sotto voce, which somehow makes her all the more menacing. “Is deal—you get on plane? Babcia find Vlad. Then he pay.”

She’s no Mafia don, and yet I’m pretty sure she just made me an offer I can’t refuse. Mac blanches in sympathy for whatever bad, bad thing is about to befall Vlad.

“I’ll do it.”

“Good. But first, get Babcia drink.”

Chapter Twenty-two

JUST VISITING

“Take me to Persiflage Films, please.”

This time around, I’m not arriving at the studio in a chauffeurdriven Town Car.

This time I’m in a regular cab I caught at LAX. I didn’t even pack anything more than an extra pair of underwear and a toothbrush, because I’m not planning on staying. I’m finished in this town.

Whether that’s literal or figurative, I’m not yet sure.

The cab drops me off in front of Persiflage, and I’m able to get on the lot because I still have my pass. But instead of heading to the offices, where—at least according to my old itinerary—I’m supposed to be meeting with costume designers,
¹⁷¹I make my way to the office of the studio’s twin presidents, Will and Phil Bernstein.

I’m not at all sure what my plan is, having chosen to remain in denial the entire flight out here.
¹⁷²But I’m here, and now I’m basically ready to throw up from anxiety.

Although my game plan is hazy, my mission is clear. I need to wrest control of this movie out of the hands of that overly veneered jackass. I don’t have to (or want to) be in charge, but I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least plead my case.

When I arrive on the executive floor, I stop at the Bernstein brothers’ second assistant’s desk. The girl behind it looks friendly and seems like she might, just maybe, not call security on me before I finish making my plea for five minutes of a Bernstein’s time.

The second assistant is cute and fresh-scrubbed Midwestern, not all plastic, like every other woman I’ve seen out here. I think she’s sporting her real hair color, and the only makeup she wears comes in the form of the tube of cherry ChapStick on her desk. She’s speaking into her headset while I approach, which gives me a couple of seconds to determine what I want to say.

And that’s when I see it—my lifeline, my ticket in, my
sign
.

When she disconnects, I point to her desk and say,“You’re reading my book.”

Instead of getting the typical blasé oh-yeah-well-Brad-Pitt-and-I-share-a-pool-boy response, the girl actually squeals and leaps out of her seat. “Oh, my God, are you Mia MacNamara? I love you! My little sister turned me on to your books and I can’t stop reading them! I’m so excited to meet you! Hello! I’m Jasmine!”

“Hold on,” I say.“You’re excited to meet
me
? Don’t you get, like, A-list movie stars in here every five minutes?”

“Oh, yeah,” she says. “You just missed Will Smith. Although he’s actually really cool, because he acknowledges us out here. But most of them are just empty suits. Actors, they just say the lines. I’m more impressed with people who write the stuff that makes them sound good. That might seem weird, but I just graduated from USC’s School of Cinematic Arts, and I did a ton of writing, so that’s what I’m into. Trust me, I’m an anomaly around here. Everyone else is a total star fucker.” Jasmine claps her hand over her mouth. “Didn’t mean to swear. Sorry! Terrible habit. So, anyway, did you have an appointment? I don’t remember seeing you on the schedule. I’d have noticed.”

I give Jasmine the condensed version of my situation, and I tell her that if there’s any way I could get five minutes of a twin’s time without getting her fired, that she could potentially save my film from, if not obscurity, then at least a solid panning on
Pajiba.com
.

“They cast Vienna Hyatt? As Miriam? Is that a fucking joke?” She slaps her hand over her mouth again. “Shit, I’ve got to stop swearing at work. Goddamn it, I did it again!” She pulls up the twins’ schedules and tells me, “I can get you ten minutes with Phil in about an hour.”

“And that won’t get you in trouble?” I already love this kid, and I don’t want to jeopardize her job.

“Oh, please.” She waves me off. “If anything goes wrong, I’ll blame it on Brittany, the first assistant. She’s a Bernstein niece, and she’s a total space cadet. She screws stuff up every day and everyone lets her coast. She just scheduled Jennifer Aniston and Angelina Jolie in back-to-back meetings with the twins. I mean, are you kidding me? Who does that? But she’s Teflon and everything slides off her. She’ll probably run this place someday. Trust me, Mia, I’m all over this.”

Jasmine puts me in the schedule and directs me to the waiting room down the hall after setting me up with a latte and a stack of magazines.

An hour later, she comes to get me, and just as I get ready to walk into Phil Bernstein’s office, she whispers to me, “Do it for Miriam.”

And then I prepare myself for the fight of my—no, our—lives.