Free Let's Stay Together by J.J. Murray Page A

Hollywood Bowl turn into a hookup at a flea market in Hell’s Kitchen, New York? “So . . . you have a full-length movie script from the late sixties and early seventies that Tumbleweed is trying to pass off as a modern sitcom.”
    “Essentially, yes,” Randy whispered. “I’ve helped Mama modernize it somewhat, but it obviously still needs some work.”
    “ You helped modernize it?” Lauren said. “I thought that she was the expert.”
    “I made that part up,” Randy whispered.
    “Wow,” Lauren said, and she started to pace. “Let me get this straight. You want me to play the part of your mama in a modern television show that actually takes place in nineteen sixty-eight.”
    “Right,” Randy said.
    I wasn’t even born yet! “And I wasn’t your first choice,” Lauren said.
    Randy shook his head. “I originally wanted Erika James.”
    “Why?” Lauren asked. “She can’t act.”
    “I know,” Randy said, “but she would have stuck to the script.”
    Which is true. Erika James can’t think for herself. “Erika James couldn’t read the script. So why was I your second choice?”
    “Well, after all that’s happened,” Randy said, “I assumed you’d be desperate.”
    “What?” Lauren yelled. “I’m not desperate.”
    “You’re not?” Randy said. “Your agent sure made you sound desperate.”
    I need to talk to Todd again. “What exactly did he say?”
    “Just that . . . ,” Randy said. “Well, that you might not be thinking straight, because of what happened with Chazz, and that maybe, you know, you—”
    “Wouldn’t care or notice if the script was straight pus, as a result,” Lauren interrupted.
    “Um, something like that, yeah,” Randy said.
    “Wow,” Lauren said. She sat on the edge of the table. “Miss Smith, no offense, but your son and my agent must share the same brain cell.”
    “I tried to get him to sell my script to Sony,” Miss Smith said, “but he was so sure it was a better fit for television.”
    It isn’t even a better fit for fiction, Lauren thought. It isn’t a better fit anywhere. She looked at Barbie. “What do you think?”
    “What do I think?” Barbie said. “I don’t feel qualified to judge any of this.”
    “But you’re a pro,” Lauren said.
    “Thank you, Miss Short,” Barbie said, “but I have only ever done toilet paper and J. C. Penney commercials until this, so I don’t feel qualified to give my opinion.”
    Lauren laughed so hard, she nearly split the size 7s. “Am I being punked?” She looked at the camera operators. “Are you all still filming?”
    “No one’s filming,” Randy said.
    “I must be out of my mind,” Lauren said. I should have quit after the first reading. “I, uh, I have to go now.”
    “Yeah,” Randy said. “It’s been quite a day. We’ll start fresh tomorrow. We’ll postpone the promos until tomorrow.”
    “You misunderstand me,” Lauren said. “I have to go, as in go away from this place forever. That kind of go.”
    “Why?” Randy asked.
    “Well, for one, my agent actually thought I needed to do this show,” Lauren said. “I don’t. I don’t need to do anything at this point in my ‘career.’ And I definitely don’t need to do this . . . bad joke. This show is like backed-up sewage waiting to be sucked down a drain.” Even Patrick would agree with me there. He’d even appreciate the analogy. “It has a literal stench about it. I also have to go before anyone can connect me in any way to this show. You aren’t seriously still thinking of putting this disaster on the air, are you?”
    “We’ve got a full green light,” Randy said. “Or we did when you signed on. I’m not so sure now.”
    “What?” Barbie shouted. “I gave up a Windex commercial for this show!” She jumped to her feet. “Now I bet I can’t even get a mouthwash commercial. Thanks a lot, Miss Short.”
    “I’m the only one leaving, Barbie,” Lauren said. “You could inherit my part.”
    “You just heard