Free Unscripted by Natalie Aaron and Marla Schwartz

door to find Will and Peter talking. They both look up at me expectantly. Damn it. Why does Will have to be in here?
    “Hey, just wanted to give you some good news,” I say, keeping my eyes glued on Peter. “Casey Moore from Four Deuces just said yes.”
    “Wow, that’s great.” Peter grins.
    “Nice get,” Will adds, not quite breaking a smile. His arms are crossed and he’s leaning against the wall as if he owns the joint.
    “Yeah, she, uh, took a while.” Why am I so tongue-tied around him? Get a grip. “Now I just have to call the dragon lady.” I make a face at Peter, who knows all about my dealings with Sasha Leeds.
    “Who’s the dragon lady?” Will asks.
    As Peter tells him the story, Will glances at me, his expression inscrutable. “Don’t call her. We don’t need him, the segment will be crowded enough without John Taye.” Will uncrosses his arms and starts to leave the room.
    While I love the idea of this, I have a bad feeling about it. I have to say something. “Politically, this may not be the best move. Sasha will be beyond pissed when she finds out.” And it will all come down on me, I add silently.
    “Screw her. If she’s pissed she can talk to me. I know how to handle her type.”
    Oh, as if I don’t?
    As he leaves, he barely looks at me. Does he think I’ve mishandled this? I’d like to see him hold his own with that witch. And I guarantee you, when she calls screaming, he’ll back down.
     
    I arrive at Mustard, a trendy new hamburger spot in Hollywood, and quickly realize I’m the first one there. No surprise. I’m always showing up for plans at least fifteen minutes early. The problem is that I have no idea how to gauge traffic in this city. So I constantly end up having to sit by myself, waiting for everyone else to arrive.
    I’m meeting Nancy and Stephanie for dinner. I met them when we were all working on a reality show a couple of years ago. It was about a bunch of wealthy Hampton housewives who all got together once a week at a country club to complain about their dreary days as women married to millionaires. The show was cancelled after two episodes. With their constant whining, spending and days at the spa, most of the real housewives of America just couldn’t stomach the “serious issues” these women had to face. Although my job ended abruptly, thankfully the friendships I forged did not.
    I make my way toward the overcrowded bar. The booths and couches are covered in white faux suede, and are offset by florescent yellow flowers adorning the walls on all sides. I practically trip on the yellow shag carpet, which looks about five inches deep (heaven help the woman who loses an earring or a contact lens in it). Sitting down on one of the white vinyl barstools, I feel as though I’ve landed myself smack in the middle of the Brady Bunch house.
    Most of the women have that spray-on tan, bleached teeth, L.A. look about them. Their baby-doll dresses, skin-tight $300 jeans, and barely-there tanks show off a bevy of anorexic shapes and jeweled naval rings. It’s the kind of place where heads turn every time the door opens so they can see if someone important is arriving. I think I would have preferred chips and salsa and flaming margaritas at El Compadre.
    As I finish ordering my drink, Nancy appears next to me.
    “Yay! I’m so glad you’re here,” Nancy shrieks as she gives me an enormous bear hug. “I haven’t seen you in ages. I’ve missed you.”
    “I’ve missed you too. Wow, you look amazing,” I say. And she does. Nancy has definitely dropped at least a dress size. “You’ve lost weight.”
    Nancy smiles and tucks her jet-black bob behind her ears. “You know, I wasn’t even trying. But I went to this amazing chiropractor and she told me that I had too much yeast in my body, so she put me on this diet, and the weight just melted off.”
    “So what are you eating?” I ask as the bartender hands me the biggest mojito I have ever seen.
    “Well, I’ll