This Will Only Hurt a Little(53)

In June, we were almost finished with the script for our movie. Jeff had titled it Blades of Glory, which we all agreed was a fucking genius title. I had to do press for White Chicks, which was coming out right before my birthday, and I was having a hard time meeting up with the boys to write. Plus, they lived together, so it was easy for them to do it when I wasn’t around.

I bought Craig a suit for the White Chicks premiere. We went to Brooks Brothers and got him a blue-and-white seersucker with a pink shirt underneath. I bought myself a dress from a fancy store on Montana Avenue in Brentwood, which I loved, but ultimately, my hair and makeup were done in a way that I hated, and I ended up not loving my look. The movie was destroyed by critics, and more than that, it wasn’t a hit. DodgeBall had come out the week before and people were freaking out about it. White Chicks felt like a flop, and worse, an embarrassing flop.

But my twenty-fifth birthday—MY GOLDEN BIRTHDAY—was coming up. Twenty-five on the twenty-fifth!! I was so excited and wanted help planning it. Craig wasn’t sure he had enough time, so in the end, Emily and I found a restaurant near our house and planned a big dinner with a Moroccan theme.

At this point, Craig and I were almost always in some sort of argument about something. That night, he forgot to take off work, so he and Jeff were late. He also didn’t get me a present. Or a card. And also, he didn’t seem to like me that much anymore. We broke up the next day.

As for the movie script, Jeff suggested that maybe they just take it and finish it, and send me the draft when it was done so I could give notes. Also, Jeff had another idea, a parody of chick flicks, and he and Craig thought maybe Jennifer Carpenter and I could write that together?? That was a fair trade, right?? My ice-skating idea and all the work I’d done on it in exchange for an idea that there should be a movie parodying chick flicks. Totally fair.

I was heartbroken. Also, I was in denial. In spite of everything, I didn’t think this could be the end for me and Craig. This had been going on since we were seventeen. We loved each other. And we were still talking a bunch. Maybe this was just a break.

They sent me the Blades of Glory script in August, when it was finished. I gave some notes, but I thought it was in really good shape. I sent it to my manager, Mark, and my agent, Lorrie, both of whom thought it was okay, but not worth taking out without more work. The brothers gave it to some of our friends from high school, and also my friends from college. A guy whom I’d gone to college with was now a junior manager at an agency repping comedy writers and was apparently into the script, which was great. I was happy that someone would take it out for us.

In the fall, Lorrie and I thought maybe I should audition for some Broadway musical workshops. I’d always loved to sing, and maybe that would be my next act! I flew to New York to do some auditions and stayed with Rachel Davidson from elementary school and her boyfriend Lewis on their pullout couch. I was there only a few days, but by the time I got in the cab for the airport, I was getting sick; I could feel it. I got to the airport and grabbed a salad from a kiosk. My phone rang from an L.A. number I didn’t recognize. I picked up.

“Busy! It’s Dan!” Dan was the guy I knew from college, the junior manager now handling Blades of Glory.

“So LISTEN, SUCH great news for the boys!!! The script is going out tomorrow to a few select places with Red Hour, and I have to tell you, I think it’s gonna be SUCH A QUICK SALE for them! And I know we’re all on the same page here, because we don’t want there to be any issues with this and you know, it is SUCH A BETTER STORY WITH JUST THE BOYS, right? Like BROTHERS who wrote this kick-ass script out of nowhere?! SO, OBVIOUSLY, you understand why we’re taking your name off the script, right? We all just want what’s best for the boys, RIGHT?”

I could feel my face start to burn. “Dan? What the fuck are you talking about??”

My other line rang, it was Lorrie Bartlett.

“Dan. I’m gonna go.”

I started shaking.

“Lorrie?! What the fuck is happening right now?”

“Busy, I am so FUCKING MAD right now. I don’t even know WHAT to say. I am SO SORRY. We’ll SUE them. That little fucker. They took your name off the script, Busy. It’s out and your name isn’t on it.”

“Lorrie,” I said, taking a deep breath, “I have to go. I have to call them. This is a mistake, because they wouldn’t do that to me.”

I called Craig and he picked up, defensive from his first hello. I could hear Jeff in the background, whispering things to Craig as we talked. I started crying immediately.

“I . . . don’t understand. Why are you doing this? I thought—”

“Busy. Don’t be so fucking selfish all the time. This isn’t about you. You didn’t really have anything to do with this. We did all the work—”

“Craig. That’s not true. That’s not true—”

“You stole Jeff’s idea for a TV show. And we gave you the chick flick idea—”

“What? That’s not even an idea! What are you talking about??”

“Busy. It’s done. I’m sorry you have a problem with this, but you didn’t even really come up with the idea, I did and—”

I tried not to scream at the top of my lungs in the food court at JFK airport.

“WHAT ARE YOU SAYING? WHAT IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW? I HAVE TO GO I HAVE TO GO!”