Free Someday, Someday, Maybe by Lauren Graham Page B

got an audition for you, sweetheart,’ ” Leighton says, in his best sleazeball Hollywood agent voice. “ ‘It’s something kinda special.’ ”
    “He said ‘the elements’ were there,” Deena continues. “I didn’t know what that meant, but he made it sound important. It was a high-concept half-hour pilot, he said—‘cutting edge’ was the exact phrase he used, I believe. He said it had taken some convincing to get me an audition since I had no television experience, but they’d agreed to see me. So I read the script, and it doesn’t seem like a TV show to me, but I’m used to reading plays where anything can happen, in the world of someone’s memory, or whatever—”
    “You were used to reading things that were abstract,” Leighton says.
    “Or imaginative, not totally set in reality, yes—so I’m picturing what it could be, if done correctly. Plus, it was very political—”
    “It was ?” I say, surprised.
    “Oh yeah. Before they changed it and tested it and ended up putting it on Friday night? It was supposed to be the next All in the Family . So I call my agent—”
    “The scumbag,” Leighton says.
    “I call the scumbag, and I say—what is this? Is this for real? And he says—” Deena pauses, as if the next part of the story is particularly hard to tell. “And he says, ‘Only two things will happen with this: one—it’s a giant hit and you’re thanking me every year at the Emmys, or two—they’ll make the pilot, it won’t work, it’ll never air. There’s no scenario in between. If, for some reason, they put this on the air and it isn’t a hundred percent fantastic?’ he said …”
    “ ‘It’ll never last,’ ” Deena and Leighton say together, then Deena slaps her palm to her forehead, as if she still can’t believe it. “But he was wrong—it lasted for a long time.”
    “Right,” Leighton says. “They fired the show runner, took all the politics out of it, replaced that with fart jokes, added that obnoxious kid to the cast—”
    “York the Dork?”
    “Him,” Deena says. “And moved it to Friday night at eight, where it lay there, winning neither awards nor merciful cancellation, for seven years. Seven years of my career, of my youth! The guy who played the boss was a drunk, never showed up on time, York the Dork banged extras in his trailer, the head writer thought himself some sort of genius, and it was all a thoroughly miserable experience. And that, my friends, is the story of how I came to spend seven years on the very-definitely-not-cutting-edge series, There’s Pierre .”
    “The talking cat from France!” Leighton says triumphantly. “All together now!”
    “ Sacre bleu!” we all say.
    “Also why I’m mainly out of the business of show,” Deena says.
    “So why even keep doing it, then?” Leighton asks, a smile playing over his face, and I can tell he already knows the answer, but I lean forward, because I don’t, and I’ve often wondered the same thing.
    “Because, Leighton, as you well know, there’s one thing I have left to do, one thing only that I actually care about, one last dream that hasn’t been beaten out of me, and I won’t leave this horrible business without it.”
    “Tell her, Dee,” Leighton says with a grin. “Tell Franny what it is.”
    Deena turns, eyeing me from beneath her long eyelashes.
    “Just about every actor in this city who’s worth a shit has something on their résumé that I don’t have. And I’m not stopping until I get it.”
    “What’s that?”
    “A part on a show that I can one hundred percent say I’m right for.” She takes a deep breath and narrows her eyes and says, slowly and deliberately, “I won’t quit until I get something on my favorite show: Law and Order .”
    “ You’ve never been on Law and Order ?” I say, surprised. “But you’re perfect for it …”
    “I know. I’m even Irish and Italian. Who knows cops and criminals better?”
    “So, why? You haven’t