He jiggled the door handle again.
“Still locked,” I said. “One second…”
“I’ll pee on one, too, if that makes you more comfortable.”
I was nervous, for sure, but our conversation brought a little bit of comic relief to the moment.
“Done,” I said, pulling my underwear up, my skirt down, and opening the door. “You can watch me wash my hands.”
We stood there for a few moments, observing the indicator on the test stick.
When the result finally showed up, we both stared at it for a few moments, and then Max took me in his arms.
. . . . .
“So,” Max said, as he drove us to our favorite Italian restaurant for dinner. “Who are we going to tell first?”
“That’s not going to happen for a while.”
He glanced over at me. “Why?”
“Because,” I said, “I haven’t even had the first doctor visit yet, and we just found out I’m pregnant about two hours ago. I’m going to do what my sister did: wait. Lots of people don’t tell everyone right away. You know, just to make sure everything’s okay.”
I watched as his face turned serious.
“Relax,” I said. “I think everything’s going to be fine. It’s kind of routine to wait, actually. And, Max?”
“Yeah.”
“You know you’re going about fifteen miles under the speed limit, right?”
He broke a smile, reached out, and put his hand on my knee. I put my hand on his.
“I’m just being careful,” he said.
He only sped up a little.
THIRTEEN
With less than a month to go before shooting, I was sitting in my office one morning when Jim Tames called.
“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.