Maybe it would look better on.
“It must be nice having free time.”
“I’m enjoying the break, actually. I forgot how many things there are to do in London. And,” I added, a little shyly, “I’ve had time to think about how much I’ve enjoyed writing again. Even though it’s only about the meet-cutes.”
“Oh, Evie.” This was from Jeremy, as Maria clung to his arm looking cautiously hopeful for me.
“Are you trying on that dress?” Sarah called from off-screen.
Obediently, I stepped out of camera range and shrugged out of the nightgown.
“I’m so, so pleased for you, Evie,” Maria said.
“Same, but can we go back to the bit where Hot Widower took your photo?” Jeremy asked. I leaned in to the screen so he could see the look I was giving him.
“Has she got it on yet?” Sarah asked.
“Just a moment.” I grunted as I attempted to locate the zipper. I felt like Katherine Heigl in 27 Dresses, only I was wearing all of them at once.
“What’s happening?” I heard Sarah’s voice rising. “If it doesn’t fit now, it’s too late and I don’t want to hear it.”
“If you shimmy it round to the front, zip it up halfway, then twizzle it back round, it’s easier.” Maria’s face was scrunched up in sympathy. I did as she said, wriggling and panting, then jumped up and down to coax the zipper upward.
“We can see you,” Jeremy said. “As can our lovely assistant, Shannon.” I spotted a dark-haired woman pausing as she topped up their glasses.
“Shit!” I waddled out of sight, pressing myself against my desk.
“So what happened after he took your picture?” Maria urged.
I winced, remembering how Marc had stumbled back out of the taxi, doubled over with cheeks bulging. “His friend threw up on his shoes.”
“Lovely,” Jeremy intoned. “And then?”
“Then Ben said, ‘We should really stop meeting like this.’”
Maria sighed.
“Hot Widower,” Jeremy said appreciatively.
“Do I need to remind you he thinks I’m a ridiculous human being? And with good reason,” I muttered.
“Do I need to remind you that this moment is about me?”
“Of course not!” I sang out to Sarah. The zipper moved another few inches and I did a slightly restricted victory dance. Just a little bit more and I was in. It snagged.
I was most definitely not in.
Sweat broke out on my forehead. What was this dress made out of, insulation?
“Have you considered the possibility that Hot Widower might be intimidated by the Hot Screenwriter you keep obsessing about?” Jeremy asked.
I paused at his words. “I am not obsessing about him, am I?” Silence from my laptop. “In three weeks’ time I’ll never speak his name again, I promise.” I breathed out as the zipper finally slid all the way up. “Besides, you guys are assuming Ben likes me, and he doesn’t. Not like that. We’ve barely made it to friendship stage.”
More silence. I bent down to check that we were still connected. My friends looked out at me, expressions skeptical. They were too caught up in the fact that he’d all but saved Sarah’s hen do. They just didn’t know him like I did. It was like Marc said: Ben was the guy who showed up. He’d do it for anyone.
“Let’s just focus on NOB,” I told them.
“Let’s focus on the dress,” Sarah shrieked. “No, Shannon, I do not want to wear a headband on my wedding day.”
“Welcome to our hell,” Jeremy said to the camera.
“It might be a good idea to show Sarah your dress now,” Maria added.
My phone buzzed.
“Just a moment.” I smoothed some damp strands of hair from my forehead and read the message.
MONTY: Check your email, Evelyn.
Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God.
A bolt of absolute certainty shot through me: I’d blown it by telling NOB I was done. He’d spoken to Monty about the deal. He wasn’t going to finish.
I opened the email.
* * *
From: [email protected]
Subject: FW: Re: WLTM
January 30, 5:04 p.m.
Just the ending to work on now, Evelyn.
Well done.
M
* * *
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: WLTM
January 30, 2019, 10:42 a.m.
This is GENIUS!* From all of us here at Intrepid Productions, a huge hand to Mr. Ezra Chester for lighting up our lives with such a big leap forward on the script.
The team has a poll going to guess who the lead’s going to end up with.
Waiting eagerly on the happy ending.
Atb,
Sam and Max
Intrepid Productions
*Small suggestion—are we sure on the title?
**One more suggestion: has he reconsidered that opening scene yet. Bit far-fetched???
“Holy shit.”
“You okay, hon?” Jeremy called to me.
“Is it the dress?” Sarah said.
“It’s NOB,” I replied, feeling light-headed. “He’s just sent more pages to Monty. He’s almost finished the script.”
I read the email again. Did this mean pretending to quit had worked? Shaking my head in wonder, I sent a quick message.
EVIE: you were right. He’s sent the pages. Thank you
“Congratulations!” Maria cheered. “So are the meet-cutes back on?”
Ah. My euphoria faded. “I guess so,” I said. Though NOB still hadn’t been in touch. I supposed I should just be happy he was writing. It occurred to me that I should reply to the WLTM message from Saturday. Besides, who knew? Maybe that stranger could be my Mr. Happy Ending. I was trying to ignore my inner cynic’s laugh when my phone lit up.
BEN: it was all you. I knew you could do it.