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

him say that if you leave, the show’s off,” Barbie said.
    “He says he’s not so sure,” Lauren said. “That means—”
    “I know what it means,” Barbie interrupted. “I have a master’s degree, you know. I dropped over eighty grand on my MFA at USC, I got a few commercials, and now this is what happens when I finally break out. Thanks a lot.”
    I need to control some damage here. “Randy, I think Barbie should have my part. In fact, I think Barbie could carry the entire show. She certainly has talent. And I don’t think she’ll need a friend to advise her at all.”
    “I told you, Randy,” Miss Smith said. “I told you that I didn’t have any best friend like her in sixty-eight. I was one of the few sisters testing the waters on the other side, so to speak.” She turned to Lauren. “And you know what my son tells me? ‘Well,’ he said, ‘just talk to yourself while you’re writing, then.’ Is that crazy or what?”
    Everything about this day has been crazy, Lauren thought. From the three-layer white makeup to these tight-ass jeans to the surreal, time-warped absurd drama going on in this room. “Before I go, may I make one last suggestion?”
    “You’re really leaving?” Randy asked.
    “Yes,” Lauren said.
    “The first time I get to direct something big, I lose the leading lady,” Randy said. “I’m doomed.”
    “Let me make my suggestion first, okay?” Lauren turned to Mike, who was the last remaining sound technician. “Have you been recording all this from the beginning?”
    Mike nodded. “I’ve been testing all the mikes. I heard some stomachs rumbling.”
    Barbie smiled. “That was me. Wanna get lunch?”
    “Sure,” Mike said.
    “Girl,” Lauren said, “I’m trying to save the show. Flirt later.”
    “Sorry,” Barbie said.
    “Call me crazy, but . . .” Lauren shook her head. “Okay, I am crazy.” She sighed. “I want you all to listen to the entire recording of everything we said here today, because that is your show—including this last little exchange between Mike and Barbie.”
    Lauren looked at several sets of blinking eyes. “I’m serious. I don’t know where you go from there, but trust me, the show we put on in here today was insanely funny. It was even smart. The comedy was intelligent. Can you imagine what just happened as the pilot for a new show? The critics won’t know what to do with it at first, and then one of these critics will write something like, ‘It’s so out there that it’s cutting edge. They’re breaking new ground. They’re on the cusp of a new comedic art form.’ ” She laughed. “And I expect to get a writing credit for it, because I just ‘wrote’ at least half of the pilot.”
    “She’s right,” Randy said. “It is kind of funny.”
    “And edgy,” Barbie said.
    “Yeah.” Randy turned to Miss Smith. “Mama, how would you like to be on television?”
    “Will I get to meet your daddy again?” Miss Smith asked.
    “Sure,” Randy said. “You know, we could have you narrating the show, and we could even film your first meeting with Daddy at the Hollywood Bowl, too.”
    Oh, now they get a budget. “And whatever you do, Miss Smith,” Lauren said, “do not, I repeat, do not wear any other hat than that one. That hat will be your trademark. You’ll start a new fashion trend.” Or set fashion back fifty years.
    “So I can stay?” Barbie asked.
    “Of course,” Randy said, drifting over to Mike. “Start it from the beginning.”
    As the “real” show began, Lauren slipped away, put on her own clothes in her dressing room, kicked the size 7s into a corner, and left Tumbleweed Studios.
    Patrick is never going to believe what just happened.
    He can’t.
    Even I can’t believe what just happened.
     
     
    When she returned to her apartment, she raced to boot up her laptop, found Patrick’s e-mails among the hundreds, and read his letter with amazement, talking back to the screen.
    “Oh, Brooklyn can’t be that