Ship It(39)

Tucked away in this far, darkened corner of the bar, I’m praying Paula doesn’t find me. I managed to escape without running into her after the panel, but I’m certain she’s gunning for me now. I could have run the idea of question moderators past her before I went ahead and set them up, but I was pretty sure she’d tell me to fuck off. So I didn’t ask permission, and I figure I don’t have to ask forgiveness until the next time I see her, which I’m delaying as long as possible.

After these godforsaken conventions are over, I’m going to go home to LA, pray the guy subleasing my place didn’t leave it a disaster, and play Red Zone 4, which will be out by then, and eat Korean food for like three weeks straight. I’ve been away from home so long I don’t know if I still even remember which exit is mine.

I’m still thinking about the 101 freeway when someone slides a glowing phone in front of me, a blank text message open on its screen. I look up to see Jamie straddle the stool next to mine. I breathe a sigh of relief it’s him and not Paula.

“Just tell me what you want me to say and I’ll text him right now,” he says.

“Who?”

“Jon Reynolds,” he says, like it’s no big deal. My heart skips a beat.

“You know Jon Reynolds?” I ask incredulously. How did I not know this? How did this not come up? Hollywood is small, sure, but Jon Reynolds is…Jon Reynolds.

“USC Snowboarding Club,” Jamie says with a shrug. “We were tight for a while after school, but then he made one little indie movie while the rest of us were still assistants and, like, three months later, he was getting hired to direct these huge action blockbusters. Don’t see him much anymore. You know, I don’t get out to Calabasas much.” He says it with more than a touch of bitterness. This town is full of friendships that fizzled because one person became a megamillionaire success story and the other, say, created a minor genre TV show with shit ratings that might get canceled after one season.

This is huge. A personal introduction to Reynolds from an old friend? This will go a long way. I can see the road to Red Zone unfurling in front of me.

“I would love it if you would do that,” I say.

“Great, happy to. I appreciate everything you’ve done so far on this trip. You’ve been awesome.” He takes his phone back and looks me dead-on. “There’s just one thing I need.”

He pushes away from the bar and waves to someone by the door. Paula.

“No, Jamie, c’mon…” I start, but he cuts me off.

“You gotta do this, Forest. For the show. For me. I just want to be able to get to my bed without being harassed, you know?” I frown at him, not sure what he means. He barrels on, “If nothing else, then to get this witch off our fucking backs.” I look over at Paula striding toward us and breathe a long sigh of resignation.

“It better be a damn good text,” I say.

“You got it,” he says, slapping my back. He moves off and stands to the side as Paula sits down on Jamie’s stool with a fierceness I haven’t seen in her before.

“Get me a vodka tonic and put it on his tab,” she says to the bartender, jerking her thumb at me. She shrugs out of her blazer, and I can see her arms for the first time—she has fucking muscles.

“That was pretty stupid what you did today,” she says. “Here’s what you’re gonna do next.”


“Peace offering,” I say, holding out the box of Voodoo doughnuts I had delivered to the hotel for this purpose. Claire is right where Jamie said she’d be—camped out in front of his hotel room door. This girl is nothing if not determined. She actually reminds me a bit of myself, only way more unhinged. If she can get a slightly better grasp on reality, she might be able to use that grit to do some great things in life.

Big if.

Claire looks at the doughnut box, then up at me. I crack the lid and waft the incredible scent over to her. She just continues to stare flatly. Yeah, she really doesn’t want to talk to me. Even for doughnuts.

Paula told me in no uncertain terms that I was supposed to meet her on her level, not try to convince her to come to mine. Jamie said just to get her to move away from his door so he could get to his room in peace.

I was hoping this would be easier than it’s turning out to be. I take a deep breath and try apologizing.

“I wanted to say I’m sorry. I know you’re pissed about the moderators. Honestly, I was hoping to avoid drama, not make more of it.”

“Ever notice how drama is the word people use when women start standing up for what they want?” she asks.

My god, can I get anything right in this girl’s eyes?

“I feel like I only understand about half of what you say,” I tell her honestly, and watch her roll her eyes and return to her laptop, ignoring me and the doughnuts. “These are Voodoo doughnuts,” I say, wiggling the box around. “They are very good doughnuts. I didn’t know what kind you liked, so I got a dozen.” I peer inside the box. “Maple bacon bar your speed? Peach fritter?” She looks up at me over her glasses. “Froot Loop cruller?” She scowls. She would be cute if she wasn’t so surly all the time. She peers around me down the empty hall.

“Where’s Caty?” she demands.

“I’m alone.”

“This isn’t a PR thing? You’re not gonna try to take my picture?” She looks skeptical.