Winter Jacket: Finding Home by Eliza Lentzski Read Free Book Online Page B

serious interest in her business, so that’s keeping her busy during the day.”
    “Sounds like everything worked out,” I remarked.
    “So far.”
    “How’s your house hunting going?”
    “It’s not. We’re sticking it out in our current apartment for the time. I could just see myself committing to a thirty-year mortgage, and then the show gets canceled.”
    I sucked in a breath. “Could that really happen?”
    “Getting canceled? Yeah. Shows don’t make it every day. The network’s given us a short leash. We’ve got four episodes to find an audience and then they’ll decide if we get a full season run or if they’re pulling the plug on us.”
    “Four? I thought they’d ordered twelve episodes?”
    “They ordered them, but that doesn’t mean they’ll ever make it on air. I wasn’t naïve enough to think the network would order the full season, but I was hoping for at least a midseason pick-up.”
    “Ouch.” I didn’t know what half of those things meant, but it didn’t sound pleasant.
    The pilot wasn’t slated to premier until October. It was late for the new fall season, but since we were a cable show and not on one of the major networks, our shooting schedule didn’t sync up with most of the other new shows.
    “I got you one more present,” Troian said.
    “ Screenwriting for Dummies ?” I guessed.
    “No. Sonja said the bookstore was sold out of that.”
    “Who’s Sonja?”
    “My assistant.”
    “The one who put all that stuff in my apartment,” I said with a nod.
    “That would be the one,” she confirmed. “Check out the glove box,” she said, nodding toward the console in front of me. “Your present should be in there.”
    I hesitated with my hand on the release latch. “Nothing’s going to pop out at me, right?”
    “Not unless I want to crash my baby.” She lovingly stroked her hand across the car’s dashboard.
    “Does Nik know you’re cheating on her with your car?” I teased.
    “We have an open relationship,” she deadpanned.
    “Does Nik know that?”
    Troian rolled her eyes. “Just look in the glove box, Bookie.”
    I unfastened the latch and the compartment swung open. Nothing inside jumped out at me, literally, but I also didn’t see anything that resembled a present.
    “Car manual, an ink pen, and a tire pressure gauge,” I listed off. “Thank you?”
    “Sonja must’ve put it in the armrest console.”
    I popped open the center console and retrieved a small device that fit in the palm of my hand. “Vibrator?” I guessed.
    “Damn it.” Troian slapped the steering wheel with the heel of her hand. “Why didn’t I think of that?”
    I inspected the electronic gizmo more carefully. “Is this a Bluetooth?”
    “Yup. You’re an official Californian now.”
    “Or an official douche bag,” I retorted. I tossed the device back into the center console. “I think I’d get more use out of the vibrator.”
     
     
    The drive to the studio was a short one, especially with Troian driving. She rolled through the gated entrance and parked in her own personal parking spot.
    “I trust you looked over those scripts I sent you like a good student?” she said as we got out of her car and walked to her trailer.
    “You bet, Teach.”
    When I’d agreed to join Troian on this adventure as a staff writer, she’d sent me the pilot scripts from some of the most popular network shows. Affixed to the top copy had been a bright pink post-it note with her hurried handwriting: Read these, young grasshopper , it had said. The fastest way to learn how to write one of these is to read. A lot.
    “A career as a TV writer demands hard work and sacrifice,” Troian pontificated when we made it to her office, “so you’d better like what you do.”
    A knock at Troian’s trailer door interrupted her lecture. The door tentatively opened and a head popped inside.
    “Sonja. Good. Come on in,” Troian said, waving the person in. “I want you to meet the newest addition to the