Unscripted (26 page)

“So. Will? Is he still here?”

Grant’s eyes are half-closed. “Crabby Crabsters! My favorite gurrl in the world.”

I roll my eyes. “Grant, focus. Will. Is he here or gone?”

“The man has left the building,” Grant says as he drunkenly points to the back door.

My stomach drops. I missed him. He’s left. I didn’t get a chance to say thank you, or goodbye for that matter.

Now it’s suddenly my turn for my eyes to get glassy. I give Grant a quick hug goodbye and make my way outside.

As I get into my car, I realize that I am not just feeling a little low. I feel several tears drop onto my nose and lips. Why?

Okay, let’s think about this. Lisa did a better job comforting Christine than I did; I’m six weeks away from being homeless; and my best friend and I are no longer speaking. Is that it? Yeah, that’s part of it, but it’s something else, too.

I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and the realization hits me. It’s Will. I’m upset about Will. I like Will, and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it.

I wake up the same way I’ve woken up for the past three days. Thinking about Will. So I have a plan. Today, I’m going to the production office of
Second Time Around
to pick up my last paycheck. I will see Will, invite him across the street for a quick coffee and do my damnedest not to spaz out. My hair is controlled, my makeup is subtle and I’m wearing my cream bubble top with jeans and a fitted brown jacket. I’m going for a kind of “Hey, I was just out running errands, lunching with friends” kind of casual. Rather than a “Hey, I’m totally obsessed with you, I want to smell your neck, why don’t you love me?” kind of casual.

As I walk from the parking lot over to the office, I start to feel slightly nauseous. What if he blows me off?

No. Can’t think that way. I’ll stick to my fantasy version of our meeting. We’ll see each other from across the reception area. He’ll approach me, and then tell me how sorry he was that he didn’t get to say goodbye at the party. I’ll laugh nonchalantly and tell him it’s no problem. I’ll say something flip like, “I knew we’d see each other again somewhere down the line.” He’ll look a little hurt, but ask if I could follow him into his office.

Once behind closed doors we’ll look at each other for a moment of awkward silence. Then a smile will appear on his face, forming small laugh lines around his hazel eyes.

He’ll tell me that he has a confession to make, but he’s afraid to say it. I’ll joke around and tell him that if it’s about another season of
Second Time Around,
to count me out. Next, he’ll take my hand in both of his and tell me he hasn’t stopped thinking about me. He will admit to missing me, and ask if I feel the same. I’ll tell him yes, I’ve missed him, too. At that point, he will pull me close to his chest, placing both arms around my waist. I imagine he’ll smell fresh, like Ivory soap and mouthwash. He’ll draw me even closer, and quietly kiss me for several seconds. We’ll part, and softly pushing my hair away from my face, he’ll tell me he loves me.

There are other versions, of course. Sometimes, he just shows up on my doorstep and gives me the speech. But usually we’re here, in this dumpy, brown, office building that smells like Chinese food, professing our undying love to one another. Once in a while I like to add Lisa walking in on us, just for fun.

As if in slow motion, I walk up to the chipped wooden front desk and ask for Will.

“Hey, Abby. You just missed him. He’s left for a network meeting,” says Mary the receptionist.

A heavy feeling settles in my chest. This is it. This was my last chance to see Will.

“Oh, that’s okay. I was just going to ask him for my paycheck.”

“Ahh, I’ve got them up here with me.” Mary leafs through a large stack of white envelopes until she comes to my name. “Here ya go. So where are you going after this?”

“Some celeb-reality show. I’ll be working with Grant again.”

Mary nods her head. “Very cool. I love Grant.”

“Mary?” screeches a voice behind me. “Can you order me a Nicoise salad? Dressing on the side. And tell them to leave off the anchovies.”

It’s her. Don’t turn around. Just start walking.

“Hello, Abby.”

Crap.

“Oh, hey, Lisa,” I say in a fake, cheerful tone. “How’s it going?”

“Great,” she gushes. “The show looks beautiful. The network loves it. I can’t even imagine how amazing it will look when we color correct it.”

“Yeah, uh, yeah,” I stammer. I hate that she makes me feel stupid.

Lisa gives me a bitchy smile. “You should have picked post over field. There have been some late nights, but we are having a blast. All we do is laugh. I’m getting the best abs workout ever. Will is so funny!”

My mouth feels dry and I feel the sting of tears burn behind my lids. My fantasy of kissing Will in his office has become grossly distorted. Now it’s Lisa in his arms and me walking in on them.

“Sounds like fun. Well, I have to get going. Tell everyone I said hi,” I say in a low voice as I turn back toward the front door.

Get a grip. Do not cry. Wait until you’re out of here, and then you can bawl your eyes out.

I walk double-speed to my car, and as soon as I’m safe inside I take a deep, sobbing breath. I don’t know what I was thinking, but Lisa and Will are definitely a couple. I’m such an ass. I look at my phone, and all I want to do is call Zoë and cry, but we’re still not talking.

I decide to call Stephanie instead. At least she will be able to joke me out of my funk. But there’s a message waiting for me on my cell, so I enter the code to voice mail and put it on speaker.

“Hello, Abby. This is Ted over at LRB. I have some bad news. The network has decided not to go with the show, so, unfortunately, we have to let everyone go. I’m really sorry but if anything else comes up, we will definitely give you a call. Sorry again for this. Take care.”

I drop the cell on the passenger seat and rest my head on the steering wheel.

What am I going to do?

My breath hitches and I start to cry. The tears are spilling down my cheeks. I cover my face with my hands and take deep breaths. My grip is so tight that I can feel the suction of my breath against my palms.

I can’t give in to the panic. I give myself three minutes to calm down and then start the car. I don’t want to talk to Stephanie right now. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

It’s Sunday at 10:30 a.m. and I’m still in bed. I don’t want to get out from under my covers, but my bladder is about to burst. After another few minutes I finally drag my atrophied legs out from underneath the comforter and shuffle into the bathroom. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Horrifying. I haven’t changed out of the same pair of pajamas for three days. And I don’t mean I’ve worn the same pair every night. I’m talking I haven’t taken off this pink flannel combination in seventy-two hours. My teeth feel like there’s a layer of cotton covering them, my eyes are bloodshot and my curls have turned into something a small animal could probably get lost and die in.

Aww, shite!
I take a closer look in the mirror and see several tiny patches of hair missing from my eyebrows. I’ve been pulling them out mindlessly as I watched bad television all week. I can’t help it though. Losing that job threw me into a major funk.

I peel off the offending nightwear and hop into the shower. I’m not going anywhere, or seeing anyone. I just can’t stand being in my own skin anymore.

Five days have passed since I sent out one of my emergency “I need a job” emails. After much internal debate, I cc’d Will on it. I was sure he’d at least take pity on me and write back with some sort of obligatory response. Any kind of communication with him would have been better than none.

The only emails I got back, however, were from a few friends asking to get together for coffee. One from Grant saying he was sorry, but relieved because he is now going to Costa Rica for a vacation. And the last one was from Christine, who wanted me to know that she’s now way over Knit Cap. I never heard anything from Will. I can’t believe how idiotic I was to even fantasize about that man.

I pour a blob of my ridiculously overpriced rosemary-scented shampoo into my palm and lather my hair. There’s a dull throb in my sinuses, which I can only assume is a side effect of a five-day crying jag. I’ve tried to stop crying but I can’t. I feel…alone. I know I have good friends and family, but right now, this is how I feel: alone, disappointed and heartbroken. Will is the first guy I’ve had feelings for in years and it’s killing me. He’s completely out of my league and unattainable, but I cannot get him out of my head.

I still have no apartment, no job and, let’s face it, no future. What am I doing with my life? Am I always going to be in this temporary state of being? Just jumping from one crappy reality show to another? Never making my mark on anything? Never being secure? Unless they are show runners or editors, the oldest people you see working in this field are in their mid-fifties, so if I can’t do this forever, what
am
I going to do?

And Zoë still hasn’t called me. I don’t think we’ve ever gone five hours without speaking, much less weeks on end. I have no idea how she’s doing. What does her house look like? Where is she working now? Did she go to Paris? Is she happy? Is she really in love?

I step out of the shower, brush my teeth and put on a pair of fresh pajamas. I head into the kitchen and, without thinking, bend down and open the cupboard below the sink. I take out a jar of peanut butter and some Nutella. I open up a drawer, grab a spoon and plant myself on Zoë’s big puffy chair. I realize I’m wallowing here, and yes, I’m slightly disgusted with myself, but I just can’t snap out of it.

It’s like everything is going in slow motion and I need the scene where the inspirational music plays and I get off the couch and pull my life together. Where is my movie montage?

I glance momentarily at my laptop sitting on the coffee table before grabbing the remote control instead. I know I should be on craigslist every day, but if I can’t be bothered to shower, how can I be expected to look for an apartment?

I go to the guide, and immediately spot
Sixteen Candles.
When I was thirteen I must have watched this movie twenty times. I had most of it memorized.

It’s almost over, so I’ve missed all the funny bits but I’ll see it through till the end. I sigh loudly as I take a spoonful of peanut butter and dip it into the creamy Nutella.

Jake and Samantha are sitting cross-legged on his dining room table with her birthday cake between them. Jake tells Samantha to make a wish and she says it’s already come true. The Thompson Twins start singing, they lean in for the kiss and I start bawling like a baby. Tears pour down my cheeks and I begin to hiccup at the same time. I’m crying over
Sixteen Candles,
for God’s sake. This movie has never made me cry.

It’s just that nearly two decades have gone by and here I am, wishing I were Samantha again.

I scrub my cheeks dry with my pajama top, dip my spoon back into the peanut butter and Nutella and shove the entire mess into my mouth.

Before I can go for a third spoonful, the phone rings. It’s Nancy. She’s called and left messages for the last two days but I couldn’t be bothered to call back. I push the spoon into the Nutella and reluctantly hit the talk button. She will only keep calling.

“Hello?” I say in something close to a whisper. Maybe she’ll think I’ve been sleeping and tell me she’ll call back later.

“Where have you been? I’ve been calling you for days.”

“Oh, sorry, I haven’t been feeling well.”

I hear a sigh on the other end of the line. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have brought you over my homemade chicken soup.”

I fake a small cough. “I didn’t want anyone to catch anything.”

“Don’t be silly. I could have left it on your doorstep. Anyway, I have amazing news. A cute one-bedroom just opened up in my building. I already told the manager about you, and you can come and see it now if you want.”

Well, that would mean I’d have to stop blubbering, get dressed and actually leave my apartment. I want to say no and continue to hide out here, safe in my misery.

“They’re still painting but I’d get here soon because as you know this building is cheap, and it’s going to get snatched up pretty quick,” Nancy says dramatically. “We will have so much fun. We’ll be neighbors!”

My heart skips a beat. I’m not sure if it’s out of excitement, or dread. Living next to Nancy might be a bit much. She’ll constantly be bugging me to do things like exercise, eat fruit and think positive. I look around at the apartment I once loved and feel nothing but sadness. No. This is a good thing. This is definitely a good thing.

“Blah blah, boo dee bah bah…woo hooo, ladadee daaaaa.” I’m sitting on the floor of my new apartment, wearing puffy blue ski gloves and singing (okay, screaming) so I don’t have to hear myself pulling apart all these cardboard boxes. If anyone were with me right now, they’d probably be on the phone trying to get me committed.

I splurged last week by having a moving company come and pack up all of my things from Zoë’s apartment. Of course I can’t afford it, but that’s what credit cards are for. There’s no way in hell I could have handled all of this cardboard twice. I was at my breaking point as it is.

“Laa dee daa daa, laa dee daaa daaa doooo!” Fack!
This is torturous. I have about twenty boxes left and they’re going to stay taped up for a while; at least until I can get someone else over here to finish up the job. Who needs dishes and clothes anyway?

I throw off the ski gloves and stretch out on the floor. Nancy did not steer me wrong. The place is perfect. Though the small, square kitchen hasn’t been updated in over thirty years, I kind of like the retro charm of the green Formica counter tops and cabinets. The yellow linoleum is worn and faded, but it’s just a tiny stretch of floor and the olive-green fridge counterbalances it. There’s even a breakfast bar, complete with two olive-green vinyl barstools.

The majority of the place has good bones. Decorative baseboards line the sandy-colored hardwood floors, while crown moldings give the place a really cool Victorian feel (slightly at odds with the groovy kitchen, but I don’t mind). The white walls are bare, but eventually I’ll make it my own. Once my new couch and chair arrive, I’ll start to really feel at home. I can only assume Zoë picked up her stuff from the apartment. I sent her an email, but she never wrote back.

“Knock knock, neighbor!” Nancy calls out as she cracks open my front door. “How’s it going in here?”

The dreaded drop-by. How am I going to break her of that?

“Awful. I thought the gloves would help, but they might be making it worse. The sound of the fabric against the cardboard is making me want to pull my teeth out.”

“You’re so crazy.” She laughs. “Just let me know when and I’ll open some of these boxes for you.”

Having Nancy as my neighbor is going to be the best. “Thank you, thank you. And maybe break down some of those?” I point to the corner where I’ve tossed ten empty boxes.

“Of course. Come on, I told Steph we would be there in half an hour. She had to book us in for 11:30. I guess there’s limited room on the machines or something like that.”

“Okay,” I say, putting my hair up in a ponytail, “I’m ready.”

Today Nancy and I are seeing Stephanie’s gym for the first time. Somehow the two of them talked me into working out. I’m excited to see what Stephanie’s done and all, but the idea of sustained physical exertion does not appeal. But seeing that I’ve lived off fat and sugar over the last few weeks, I allowed my arm to be twisted.

I guess I also said yes because I really want to keep myself busy. As much as I hate to admit it, I can’t stop obsessing about Will. I think I’ve analyzed everything he ever said to me, every look he ever gave me, every smile he shot my way, and it all amounts to nothing. The whole situation sucks, and it’s time to erase him from my head altogether.

“Hey, so what are you doing tonight?” asks Nancy as I lock up.

Hmm. That wasn’t just casual. That was pointed. Nancy has something in mind.

Be afraid.

“I don’t know, I have a lot to do around here, and I need to really get my resume in order, and I didn’t sleep well last night, so I’ll probably just go to bed early.” I pause for a moment and relace my sneakers. “What about you?”

“Well, I’m glad you asked. I’m going to this amazing party and I think you should come.”

“I’m not up for a party.”

“Party isn’t the right word. It’s small. A dozen people at most. It will be a healing experience.”

“Oh, God, what is it now?”

“Be quiet.” Nancy laughs. “My friend Isabelle is hosting. You remember, she used to be a model, now she’s studying to be a healer. Anyway, one of her mentors is coming over and bringing ionic footbaths for us to…”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what they are! Can’t you even try to have an open mind?”

“I can try.”

“Okay, so I don’t fully understand it yet. But apparently, you place your feet in this bath…”

“No.”

“Come on, hear me out.” She laughs. “You place your feet in this bath and something happens that causes toxins to pour out of your feet.”

And with that, the last tiny crack of open mind space slams shut.

“No way, but it’s cute that you think you could talk me into going.”

“Please? I’ll pay.”

“Pay? It costs money? Nance, I love you, but no way in hell will I go to that thing. Ooh, but call me tomorrow and tell me all about it.”

“You’re hopeless.”

“Tell you what, if you can convince Stephanie to go, I’ll go.”

“Well, now you’re just being mean,” Nancy says, her terse lips breaking into a grin at the absurdity of that suggestion. “Fine, fine, you can just be closed off to all new experiences, never meet anyone new and stay here with your boxes.”

“Promise?”

We walk into Stephanie’s gym and are immediately assaulted by blaring disco music. No bigger than my parents’ living room, the gym’s walls are bright pink and are decorated with motivational quotes painted in purple calligraphy.

In the middle of the room are eight machines arranged in a circle, separated by small square floor pads. The women working out are smiling and chatting to one another. I can’t believe how cheerful the place is. It’s the antithesis of Stephanie.

“Hey, guys, what do you think?” Stephanie asks from behind the front desk.

“It’s fabulous,” says Nancy. “I love it.”

“Yeah, it’s great, Steph. You’ve done a really nice job.”

Stephanie walks out from behind the desk wearing a cute, pink sweat suit. Her hair is in a bun, and she’s barely wearing an ounce of makeup. She looks fresh, relaxed and stress-free.

I wave my hand over her outfit. “You look, uh, comfortable.”

“I am, after you leave I’m going to go in the back and take a nap on the mats,” she jokes. “Anyway, let’s get started. It’s so easy, even you can do it.”

“Nice, this from someone who works in her jammies. You have no idea what I’m capable of. Prepare to be impressed.”

Stephanie gives me the okay sign with her fingers and laughs.

For the next half hour, Stephanie demonstrates how to use the circuit machines. Each one is hydraulic, but she assures us that they’re just as effective as regular gym machines and that every muscle group will get a terrific workout (as if this is really important to me). The rubber pads in between each machine are what Steph calls “cardio stations.” This is where we’re supposed to jog in place until moving over to the next machine.

I look around the room. We’re the youngest people in here. What was I so worried about? This is going to be easy.

“Just hop on a machine and follow the prompts in between the breaks in the music. It’ll tell you when to move over to the next station. And don’t worry, Abby. It’s only a half an hour workout.”

I smile my best fuck-you smile and step on the cardio station and jog in place for thirty seconds. I can’t remember the last time I jogged, but this is surprisingly easy. Afterward, I climb onto my first machine, which is the leg curl. Steph told me to try to do as many repetitions as possible, so I begin to pump away to the beat of Donna Summer’s “Hot Stuff.” I look over at Nancy doing squats. “This isn’t so bad,” I say with a throw of my hand.

“See,” she says with an “I told you so” head-tilt.

Just as the music is about to change, a woman gets on the running pad next to me. She turns and smiles. “Hi, dear. This your first time?”

This woman is like ninety years old. If I’m the youngest one in the room, she’s clearly the oldest. She can’t be any taller than 4’10” and probably weighs less than eighty-five pounds. Her hands are tiny and crooked from arthritis and the wrinkles around her neck and face make her look a little like a Shar Pei dog. It’s amazing she’s working out, or even moving for that matter.

“Yep, first time here.” I smile politely.

“I’m Edna, and if you have any questions, don’t be shy to ask.”

“Thanks, Edna.” The woman is on death’s door and she’s telling me to come to her for exercise advice? Lady, please. I’ve got this covered.

Change stations,
announces the recorded prompt. I hop off my machine feeling slightly shaky from all of the leg curls and step onto the rubber pad next to me.

After jogging for another thirty seconds I begin to feel a bit winded and welcome the prompt to move over to the next machine.

I’m now on Nancy’s squat machine and I’m beginning to wish I were back home, opening up cardboard. My legs are like jelly and when it’s time to move over on to the next station, I stumble off slowly, causing a small traffic jam. Edna the Hobbit shoots me a dirty look as she waits to get on to the machine after me.

“Dear, you need to move a little faster so the person next to you can get the full thirty seconds on that machine,” she says, crossing her mini skeletal arms.

“Oh, gosh, I’m sorry,” I say.

“That’s all right, you’ll get the hang of it.”

Easy for you to say. You only have arthritis. I have years of being a catatonic sloth under my belt.

Three machines later I step onto the rubber pad and realize that jogging is no longer an option. A sluggish hobble will have to do.

“Abby, you okay?” asks Stephanie from the middle of the circle.

“Yeah,” I huff. “Fine.”

“Okay, well your face is kinda red.”

“How long have I been doing this for?” I ask, panting.

Stephanie looks over at the clock on the wall. “Eight minutes.”

Sweet Jesus!
I look over to my right and notice Nancy hasn’t even broken a sweat yet. Bitch. But even more shocking is Edna, who’s now directly across the circle from me. I didn’t even see her move. Did she move because
I
slowed
her
down? Now that’s a depressing thought. She’s on the pad now herself, but looks like she’s competing in a forty-yard dash. If we were racing, she’d be miles ahead of me while I’d be grasping at the stitch in my side, spitting out dust.

Twenty-two agonizing minutes later Stephanie taps me on the shoulder letting me know the nightmare is finally over.

“Can I go home now?” I ask between short gasps.

“Jesus, you’re out of shape. Even Grandma Time was kicking your ass,” she mutters out of the side of her mouth, nodding toward Edna.

“I hate you.” I laugh.

Stephanie’s face takes on a serious look. “So how are you doing?” she asks.

“Do you mean with the workout or life in general?”

“Life in general.”

“I wanted to ask you too,” adds Nancy as she hops off her machine and follows us to the front desk, “but wasn’t sure if you wanted to talk about it.”

“No, it’s fine. I guess I’ve been feeling a little flat lately.”
Not to mention a stabbing impulse to throw myself off the highest building I can find.

“Is it just the whole Zoë situation?” asks Stephanie.

I take several large gulps of my bottled water and decide to tell them the whole pathetic truth about Will Harper.

“It’s just a crush. I’ll get over it. I feel so stupid. So high school.”

Nancy gasps. “It’s not stupid. Love isn’t stupid. You can’t help how you feel.”

“Who said anything about love?” I ask defensively. I look over at Stephanie who is shrugging her shoulders as if to say
You did.

“Maybe you should call him. Test the waters or something?” adds Stephanie.

I shake my head. “I told you guys I emailed him.”

“You were asking him about job leads, and it was a mass email,” Stephanie annoyingly points out. “I think you should call.”

“I told you, I think he’s with Lisa.”

“And, how do you know he’s together with Lisa?” Nancy asks.

“I can just tell. I’ve seen the way they are together.”

“You can’t know for sure unless you ask. Do you want to live your whole life wondering if Will was the one who got away?” asks Nancy.

“I’m not calling. I’m not emailing. It’s so not a big deal,” I say, lying more to myself than to them. “It is what it is.”

Nancy takes her hand and points to one of the purple quotes above Stephanie’s head. “Look at that. It’s totally true.”

I lift my head and read the quote, You Don’t Drown by Falling in the Water. You Drown by Staying There. “It’s about weight loss,” I argue.

Nancy cocks her head to the side and stares at me. “It’s about
life.
”

I glance at Stephanie, hoping for a good eye roll, but she’s looking at me in earnest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get over it.”

Of course I know Nancy’s right. I’ve stayed in the water too long. I always thought it was safe to tread. But I guess somewhere along the way I stopped treading and started sinking. I’m a fucking mess.

After my shameful workout, I decide to award myself with a cup of hot chocolate and a little veg-out session in front of the TV. Why not? Hell, I deserve it. Is 4:45 too early for pajamas?

As I wait for the hiss of the kettle, I check the channel guide on my TV. Absolutely nothing is on. Not even a fantastically bad Lifetime movie. And I don’t feel like watching any of my DVDs. Blah, what to do?

What is Will doing?

Okay, none of that. I don’t need TV. I should read a book.

Nope
.

I should really open some more boxes.

Nope
.

The kettle calls me to the kitchen and I fill my mug with the steaming water. After I empty the contents of the hot chocolate packet into my cup the phone rings. I ignore it.

A few seconds go by before I hear Nancy’s voice coming from the answering machine in the living room.

“Hello, neighbor! I know you’re home, you can’t hide from me, I saw your car in the garage. Hellooooo?”