“Olivia, I hear things are going well in development.”
“Better than well,” I said. “Great. Things are going great.”
“That’s…great.”
“Do you need to speak with Max?” I asked. “I know he’s in his car, so he should pick up.”
“Not necessary. I know he’s busy as hell. I wanted to get in touch with you to let you know I’m sending something over to your office.”
“Oh yeah? Two-door or four-door?” I closed the browser on my iMac. I’d seen enough of Perez Hilton’s site for one day.
Jim chuckled. “Right. Like a car would impress you, with your high-class lifestyle.”
I ignored his little jab. “What are you sending, Jim?”
“My god-daughter.”
I closed my eyes, knowing what was coming.
“She’s great,” he said. “And she doesn’t need a big part. Just something with a couple of lines. It won’t even come out of the budget. I’ll pay her.”
I leaned back in my chair and kept my eyes closed, concentrating on my breathing. I should have known there would be some catch to his offer to fully finance the movie. Max should have known, too. But neither of us had even considered it.
Jim continued, “I think she’d be great for the part of the hotel receptionist. That scene where the main character loses it in the lobby and the receptionist talks him down is great writing. The dialogue is just brilliant.”
“I’ll talk to Max,” I told him.
Moments later, I had Max on the phone.
When I told him about the call I’d just had with Jim, Max said, “Done.”
“What?”
“We’ll do it, no problem.”
“Max, we already have someone cast for that part.”
He said that was true, but that we had other, somewhat smaller roles we could put that actress in, and make way for Jim’s god-daughter. “It’ll be easy. This happens all the time.”
“Yeah, you don’t sound surprised.”
“I am, a little,” Max said. “I’m surprised he waited this long. Must have been a last minute thing. But I knew he’d want some kind of favor. No big deal, Liv. We’ve got this.”
The whole situation made me feel like I was still a little bit of a newbie, but at least I was learning now that favors were the real currency in Hollywood.
. . . . .
We started shooting the new film two months later. It was the first time I’d had a chance to see Max on set. As much as I’d seen him fret over the tiniest details when writing his scripts, I was surprised to see him let the actors go in different directions.
Sometimes during a scene, the chemistry between actors would lend itself to exploring the situation deeper, and Max would encourage it — feeding them lines he was writing on the fly, letting them improvise a little but not too much, as he was fiercely loyal to the main thrust of the story.
I didn’t interfere too much, with the exception of making one suggestion to Max that the nude scene was kind of gratuitous.
“I never figured you for a prude, Liv.”
I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. “You know I’m not. The scene is just too good for it. What they’re saying to each other is really the major turning point, and I think it’ll be lost on a lot of guys who will be distracted by her tits.”
“But women won’t be distracted by his nudity?” he countered.
I looked at the actors again, who were lying on the bed, naked. She was on her back, and the he was on his side, their legs entangled.
I said, “Between you and me, his butt isn’t that great. But, yeah, that might be distracting enough. Cover them up.”
Max looked at me. “I love your directness.” He leaned in to kiss me on the cheek, and whispered, “Consider yourself fucked later.”
“My directness, huh? Maybe I should be the director.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself.”
I reached around and put my hand on his butt, squeezing hard. “Now this is a great butt.”
. . . . .
A couple of weeks later, I was at the craft services table, holding a cup of coffee and trying to decide if I would rather have a bagel or a donut.
Out of nowhere, the smells of the food and drink suddenly wasn’t so great. My throat tightened, I felt a hot flash, and a quick sweat broke on my brow. Then an embarrassing gag, and I was sprinting for the ladies’ room.
Five minutes later, after a succession of dry heaves cured only by splashing cold water on my face, I exited the restroom and headed for the parking lot to get some fresh air.
I was freaked out, thinking I was having a panic attack or something, but couldn’t pinpoint why it would be happening. I hadn’t felt like that in a long time, not after the Chris stuff was handled and he was put away for a long time.
I stood in the shade with my back up against the building, taking deep breaths and feeling a little better with each one.
“What’s the matter?”
I opened my eyes and saw Max standing there.
“You were practically running out the door,” he said, walking up to me and putting his hands on my arms.
“I just didn’t feel well for a minute. But I’m feeling better now.”
“What was it?”
“I don’t know.” I described the symptoms to him, and as I ticked off each one, it hit me. And I think it hit Max, too, judging by the look on his face.
We stared at each other for a moment, until finally he said, “I’ll get Liz to run to the drugstore — ”
“No, don’t.” I didn’t want an assistant doing that. “I’ll go myself.”
“I’m going with you.”
. . . . .
“Liv, I’ve seen every inch of you.”
“Not like this,” I shouted back.
I was in the bathroom at our house, and Max was standing right outside the closed door. On the way home, we didn’t discuss how the procedure would go down. Instead, he was comforting me because by then my freak-out levels had reached a lifetime high. When we got inside the house I went to the bathroom and closed the door.
“I’m just peeing, Max.”
“We’ve been in the bathroom together before when you’ve done that.”
“It takes about three to five minutes for the results to show up. Just give me a second.”
I don’t know what it was, exactly, but I just didn’t feel like having him watch me pee on that little stick.