The Homewreckers(20)

“You know me better than that, Mo. I never joke.”

This, Mo reflected wryly, was possibly the truest thing she’d ever said. He’d never known Rebecca to tell a joke, or even a vaguely funny anecdote.

“I’m serious,” she went on. “And so is Tony. Homewreckers, or this ‘shit’ as you call it, is the show he wants. And if you want to sell it to HPTV, that’s the show you’re going to deliver.”

Mo glared across the table at her and she glared right back. The doorbell broke up the staring contest.

“That should be Hattie, correct?” she asked. “Can’t wait to meet her in person. And, Mo? Let’s make sure we’re both on the same page with this show. The clock is ticking. We don’t have time for mistakes.”



* * *



As Rebecca’s eyes traveled over her, Hattie felt her cheeks burn, felt herself shrinking inside her own clothes, the designer jeans Cass had insisted on loaning her, her own blouse, carefully ironed early that morning, and stack-heeled suede booties, because they made her feel taller and more powerful.

But under the microscopic stare of the network executive, who wore an outfit that probably cost as much as her first truck, Hattie was already reevaluating her appearance. She should have worn more makeup, earrings, a nicer top. She should have gotten a manicure, a blowout, a facial. She should have been born blonder, and taller, and definitely with a flatter butt and higher cheekbones.

“Hattie,” Rebecca cooed. “Our newest star in the HPTV firmament. It’s great to meet you. Mo’s been telling me all about you!”

“Good to meet you, too,” Hattie said. She looked over at Mo, unsure of the next step.

“Let’s all sit down,” Mo said, gesturing to the dining room table. He’d placed yellow legal pads at all three chairs, and his laptop was open. “Hattie, Rebecca’s just been telling me about some, uh, modifications of our original concept for Saving Savannah.”

Rebecca cleared her throat and shot Mo a barely perceptible warning signal. “I’ve also been telling Mo that the reason I flew out here today was to expedite and accelerate this whole preproduction process. As you might have heard, we’ve had an unexpected blip in our programming lineup.”

“A blip?” Hattie repeated.

“Krystee Brandstetter is pregnant, with twins, but there are complications, and her doctor has her on strict bed rest. We were in the middle of filming her fourth season, but now Going Coastal is shut down for at least six, maybe seven months. Or longer.”

Hattie wracked her brain. Was she supposed to know this Krystee person?

Mo must have sensed her cluelessness. “Going Coastal is the network’s biggest hit show. Krystee and her husband, Will, restore old houses up in North Carolina. Krystee started a blog about fixing up an old farmhouse they bought near Wilmington, and it went viral. Their show is the tentpole for the Wednesday night lineup. Which is where you come in.”

“And how lucky for us that Mo found you,” Rebecca said cheerily. “Everyone at HPTV is so excited about the possibilities for this show.”

Rebecca Sanzone was all business. She opened a slim leather folder and handed Hattie a sheaf of papers and a pen. “This is our standard contract for talent, with the compensation schedule attached. You’ll see your per-episode fee here.” She pointed at a tiny yellow arrow sticker on the document.

“And here,” Rebecca went on, pointing to a neon orange sticker, “is your statement that the property you’ll be working on is owned by you, or your corporate entity, that you and your corporate entity assume all responsibility for debts incurred by your project, and that you and you alone are liable for any damages or injuries arising from this property, and that in the instance of any such damages or injuries, the network will be held harmless.”

Hattie nodded numbly, scanning the contract. The fee structure, even though Mo had already explained it earlier, still seemed like a shockingly paltry amount of money for something involving so much investment and risk on her part.

She hesitated. “Mo didn’t say anything about signing contracts today. I thought this would be more of a meet-and-greet-type situation. Shouldn’t I have a lawyer look at this?”

“That’s completely up to you,” Rebecca said. “I’m so sorry Mo didn’t make the nature of this meeting clearer to you. Again, time is of the essence, but if you really feel the need to have an attorney review what’s merely a standard contract…”

Hattie glanced over at Mo, who was silently gnashing his molars, both at the indignity of being casually thrown under the bus, and at the ethical bind Rebecca had placed him in. She’d never even hinted that the network was ready to sign Hattie to a contract, and if she had, he’d have advised her to get a lawyer to review the paperwork.

Now though, it was too late to pump the brakes. He nodded at Hattie. “I think it’s okay.”

“I’m assuming you’ve already bought the house you’ll be working on for the show, correct?” Rebecca went on. “I’d love to see some photos. Exterior and interior, so I can give my boss a feel for the scope of the work.”

“No,” Hattie said, surprised. “I mean, there hasn’t been time. I only agreed to do the show, like, two days ago. The real estate market here is incredibly tight. Finding the house is going to take some time.”