Page 3 of It's a Love Story

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NATHAN HAS Ahuge corner office, which is supposed to convey his general importance, though I’ve never seen more than four people in there at a time. He normally likes to conduct meetings in the conference room next door with lots of food, specifically a large bowl of peanut M&M’s and a platter of wrap sandwiches. There’s always one of each kind—tuna, egg salad, turkey, ham, and one completely delicious grilled vegetable with mozzarella and the exact right amount of pesto. Unfortunately, today we are meeting in his office with four club chairs set around a coffee table and absolutely no snacks.

His assistant announces me at the door. “Jane Jackson, sir,” she says.

He takes off his reading glasses. “Come, sit,” he says and directs me to the club chair across from his. Behind him is a floor-to-ceiling window that almost perfectly frames the Hollywood sign in the distance. I think about this every time I go to his office, the almost of it. If this building were moved four yards to the right, that sign would be perfectly centered. I wonder if this drives Nathan mad.

“I’m excited about the script,” I say.

“Yes. We paid less for the option than I thought we would.”

“Good, that’s good,” I say. I smooth my dress over my knees and then squeeze my hands together. Calm, confidence. Inexplicably, I think of Hailey Soul for the second time in an hour, and I mimic the way she rolls her shoulders back and looks just the right amount bored.

“Yes,” he says, though it sounds like no, just as Dan and Rodney appear in the doorway.

I squeeze my hands together tighter as Dan takes the seat next to mine and Rodney sits across from him.

“Jane,” Rodney says. “Nice to see you again. I think this script was a great find.”

“Thank you,” I say. And it’s just what I needed. A compliment, an affirmation. This is a great script and I’ve brought it here.Showtime, people.I stop myself before I turn to Dan and smirk.

Nathan says, “I wanted to meet and hear your thoughts on casting and how and where this thing gets filmed, but I was talking to the head of the green light committee last night, and there’s a little concern that this film won’t be commercial enough to make sense for us.”

“It’s plenty commercial,” I say without really thinking. “Super commercial.”

“It’s not, actually,” says Dan. He’s leaning forward in his chair with his forearms resting on his knees. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt, and there’s a thin bracelet around his wrist, just a piece of string. Literally everything about Dan is annoying.

“It is,” I say and then force myself to take a breath. “I mean, why would you say that?” I turn my body toward him and rest my hands in my lap, trying for the gesture of someone who has just completed a delightful yoga class.

“The casting doesn’t lend itself to big stars,” he starts.

“Which is great because we don’t have the budget for them,” I say and turn back to Nathan. “This film is funny and different and irreverent. It’s like spring break in movie form.”

“Spring break?” asks Rodney.

“Yeah, like a big, great time,” I say.

Dan lets out a breath. “I don’t really know what script you read.”

I’m not sure what’s happening with this conversation right now, but there’s something moving through my nervous system that is dangerously close to proving that Dan’s right about my being completely unhinged. My challenge and best revenge is to stay hinged.

“The same one you did, Dan.” I say his name like it’s a joke.

He rolls his eyes at me and says to Nathan, “Of course this is a comedy, but what I love is the quiet romance that’s growing in the background. When all the laughs and music die down, it ends with the two of them. And that’s the beauty of this script and the thing people are going to connect to.” He lifts his hand and almost places it on his heart, but doesn’t.

“People want superheroes,” Nathan says. “Explosions and disasters. They’ll only go for this kind of film if it’s got huge stars, like every big star. And I don’t think we can pull that off.”

Rodney nods.

Dan lets out a breath and sort of scrunches up his eyes as if he’s not sure he should say what he’s about to say. “That’s all very loud,” he says. “People want love. They want to feel connected and like they’re okay.”

“In real life, maybe,” Nathan says. “But people aren’t paying movie theater prices for that.”

“I think they would pay for this one,” Dan says. The balls on this guy. I mean all the balls in the world. But I agree. This script makes me feel like it’s possible that even I could be connected and okay someday.

“I do too,” I say. I’m surprised by the sound of my voice because it’s calmer than I am currently feeling, and because I’ve agreed with Dan out loud. “It’s a very funny script, but it’s the love story that gives it weight. And if people don’t want the weight, it still feels like a big, raucous comedy that will turn any cast into stars.”

“Again, you might be missing the point,” Dan says to me. “The bigness and the raucousness is ironic, Jane. It’s in-your-face to hide the vulnerability of the characters.”

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