"Based On A True Story" - читать интересную книгу автора (Janowitz Brenda)Chapter Four«Well, this is unexpected,» I say, as Trip saunters into my office. I think, but don't say: You see, today's the day I'm supposed to be coming clean to Trip about the fact that I brought a fake date to his wedding-the wedding that he's making a major motion picture about-but he's shown up unexpectedly and I'm not really mentally prepared to tell him the truth just yet. Maybe I should ask him to come back on a day where I've had time to go to the spa to get a massage, manicure and pedicure? Maybe even a facial. Or even a scrub. Yes, I'm sure a scrub would do the trick. Surely then I'd be more relaxed and prepared to admit the fact that I was too embarrassed to tell him that Douglas broke up with me on the eve of his wedding, so I made Jack dress up as a Scotsman and pretend to be Douglas? But I ask you: is there ever a good time to tell your ex-boyfriend that your man broke up with you on the eve of his wedding so you made your best friend dress up as him and come with you? Wine. I was going to need some wine before I do this. «Is now a good time?» Trip asks, settling into one of my leather visitor chairs, his stance indicating that he didn't actually care whether or not it was, in fact, a good time for me. I slip off my real engagement ring and reach into my pocketbook to try to find the fake ring I wore to Trip's wedding. «I thought we could bat around some ideas for the screenplay.» The fake ring is nowhere to be found. I decide to forgo wearing any ring at all. After all, no ring would be better than wearing a ring he's never seen before, right? Although wouldn't it be great if you could have more than one engagement ring and then just wear whichever one matched your mood? Maybe I could get that started as a trend…. Focus, Brooke! «You mean the screenplay you're writing about my life,» I say, looking him dead in the eyes. «I mean the screenplay about my wedding and how I invited my ex-girlfriend,» he says, returning my gaze. «See, Brooke, it's really my story to tell.» «Isn't Ava the star of the movie, not Leo?» «Well, yes,» he says, picking at an imaginary piece of lint on his jacket. «So, then, it's really «Look, Brooke. I just need something more to really make the story solid,» Trip says. «So, help me out, would you? It'll be just like in law school when we used to collaborate together all the time.» What he means to say is: «Where's your engagement ring?» he asks, doing a half-stand out of his chair to get a closer look at my hand. Which has the effect of making me immediately cover my left hand with the right. «Oh,» I say. «That. Yes, well. It's at the cleaners. I mean, the ring cleaners. You know, the jewelers. You know what I mean. Since when are you so interested in jewelry?» Must get the ex-boyfriend out of my office, stat! He shakes his head and settles back into the chair. «So, were there any other complications in being an unmarried girl going to your ex-boyfriend's wedding? Anything else you haven't told me?» «No,» I say, with a clipped tone, turning to my computer. I begin to check my e-mail, hoping that he'll think that I'm too busy to talk to him and just leave. An e-mail pops up on my screen: From: «Vanessa Taylor» To: «Brooke Miller» Subject: Do it! Did you fess up to Trip yet??? Vanessa Taylor Gilson, Hecht and Trattner 425 Park Avenue 11th Floor New York, New York 10022 *****CONFIDENTIALITY NOTICE***** The information contained in this e-mail message is confidential and is intended only for the use of the individual or entity named above. If you are not the intended recipient, we would request you delete this communication without reading it or any attachment, not forward or otherwise distribute it, and kindly advise Gilson, Hecht amp; Trattner by return email to the sender or a telephone call to 1 (800) GILSON. Thank you in advance. That girl's timing is uncanny. I look over to Trip, sitting in my visitor's chair like a sad little puppy, his pad out, ready to jot down any words of wisdom I may spew out. «I just feel like I'm missing something here,» Trip says, tapping his pen against the side of the pad. «What the script really needs is something to bring it all together. It needs more comedy. More of a love story.» «How's this,» I say, throwing him a bone. «I «Right on, right on,» Trip says. Even though he's originally from Connecticut, he certainly has adapted to being a left-coaster. If he says «bitchin» I'm kicking him out of my office. «Okay, so great,» I say, standing up. «If I think of anything else, I'll call you!» Trip stays planted in his seat. «I'm sorry,» he says. «I don't mean to be bugging you. It's just that there is so much pressure on me to make this thing great. It just needs a little oomph. Something to make it stand out from all of those other romantic comedies out there. This means a lot to me. And to Ava.» And just like that, I begin to soften. I was so busy trying to one-up Trip that I forgot that there are things that I actually like about him. His determination. His stick-to-it-ness. For a moment, I remember how devoted he could be to something he believed in. Which is probably what makes him such a great agent. Seeing him work so hard at something really makes me feel like I want to help. And I But just as I am about to tell him the truth, the thing that will make his movie truly great and prove that I am a self-confident woman who doesn't care what anyone else thinks, he says: «That's it. I just figured it out.» «What?» I ask, curious to hear what fabulous plot point he's come up with. See, Trip was right-collaborating «Why you're not wearing your ring,» he says. «That's it. I've figured it out.» «Figured what out?» I say back very quickly, suddenly squirming in my office chair. This will be so much more embarrassing if he's figured out what I've done before I get to fess up to him and maintain at least one tiny shred of dignity. «You're pregnant!» he says, jumping up from his chair and running around my desk to give me a hug. «That's why you're not wearing your ring! I knew you looked a bit bloated today. But, you're pregnant, aren't you? Aren't you?! You can tell me.» Note to self: Must go home immediately and burn this entire outfit. And then murder my ex-boyfriend. «I. Am. Not. Pregnant.» «Oh, man,» he says, arms falling down to his sides as he releases his grip on me. «Are you sure?» «Oh, yes,» I say. «I'm sure. Not pregnant, just bloated.» «I don't know what to say, Brooke.» And with that, those old feelings are gone. «Get out,» I say, and Trip finally leaves my office. |
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