Читать книгу A Hire Love - Candice Dow - Страница 12

When I got home, I removed my profile from the dating website. Mya called when I got to work to see if I’d really thrown in the dating towel.

“Tima, you just have to be patient. It might take awhile.”

I laughed. “It’s not like I’m looking for a husband. All I need is a damn stand-in. Is that asking for too much?”

“A stand-in?”

“Yeah. Someone who can be emotionally supportive. You know, the way Derrick used to be.”

“Sweetie, Derrick was sprung. You’re not just going to leap out here and find that in one week.” She sucked her teeth. “The only way you can guarantee that is if you write a damn script and get some starving actor to play the role.”

She laughed hysterically. The great idea siren alarmed in my brain. A big smile splattered across my face and my large eyes shifted. “Mya, you’re brilliant.”

She sucked her teeth again. “Girl, please.”

“No. That makes perfect sense. I need to write a script.”

“Fatima, don’t play.” She chuckled. “I was just being facetious.”

“No, but it’s the best idea you’ve come up with this week. I’ll write the script. You can call your agency contacts to get some actors to come out for an audition.”

“Stop joking, girl. I’d lose my job playing games like that.”

“Why? I’ll pay them the appropriate scale. This is a professional job.”

“Whatever. You shouldn’t have to pay for love.”

“That’s just it. It’s not about love. I just need a handsome man around that treats me well and can help make the everyday hustle a little easier. Someone to take out the trash. Someone to bring me flowers.”

She added water to the seed fermenting inside of me. “Someone who knows how to treat a woman.”

“See, it’s the perfect plan.”

Clearly she thought I was bluffing as she egged me on. “You definitely should write a damn script, because men up here have no clue as to how a man should treat a lady.”

“I am going to write it.”

As if she was distracted by something, her voice lowered. “You’re crazy.”

“No, we’re crazy, because you’re going to help me.”

“Whatever.”

As we sat on the phone, I jotted down some important characteristics of my leading actor. I pulled up my Story-Weaver software. Under the character description I entered RN for the main character’s name. I giggled at my homemade abbreviation for real name. Didn’t want any slip-ups at the wrong time. Could you imagine the scene? I’m at a banquet with my hired partner and I erroneously tell someone his name is Jacob. We’re pretending we’re in love and one of my business associates interrupts the scripted scene: “Hey, Jacob.” My partner doesn’t answer to the given name or his response is delayed. Nope, he always has to be on point. As I typed the script, Mya cleared her throat, “What are you doing?”

“Okay, listen. He has to always, under all circumstances, treat me like a princess. He has to be over six feet tall. Two-hundred-twenty pounds to two-hundred-forty. And more important than the physical, he must exemplify the four key characteristics that constitute a good man.”

“Oh, so now there is a science to a good man?”

“No, not a science. More like a blueprint.”

She howled. “Trust me. There is no blueprint that can separate a man from a good man.”

“Patience, respect, understanding, and honesty. Those ingredients create the perfect recipe for the perfect man.”

Just as it exited my mouth, I titled it, “The Perfect Script.”

“That sounds like something straight off the pages of one of your little novels.” We laughed and she said, “Did you not hear me when I said that I was just being facetious when I suggested this?”

Ignoring her reluctance to consort with me, I continued: “He’ll be a successful entrepreneur who dabbles in real estate and a diverse set of other lucrative investments.”

As I spat out the requirements, I imagined her rolling her eyes in her head. “Fatima. Maybe you should go out with a shrink and not a man.”

“Whatever. I don’t think this is crazy at all.”

“That’s even more reason why you should see a shrink.”

“Stop!”

“You should stop. I think the whole idea is selling yourself short.”

“No. I’m just hiring help. My heart belongs to Derrick. No one will ever add up anyway. Don’t you get it?”

“Fatima, I’m not telling you it’s easy, because dating is one of the hardest things you’ll have to do, but you will find love again.”

“How many times do I have to say I’m not looking for love? Can you at least try to understand where I’m coming from? Please.”

“I guess.” She chuckled. “Let me go, sweetie, I have some work to do.”

“Okay. Promise you’ll think about my script.”

She sucked her teeth. “Promise me you’ll refill your Prozac.”

“That’s busted. Talk to you later.”

Although I had tons of work to do, I was submerged in developing this script. Each time I would attempt to shut the screen down, something else would pop into my head. I created scenes around frequent events, such as dinner dates. I listed my favorite restaurants. His part of the script was to play the man who knew me so well, he ordered my food.

RN and Fatima are at dinner at a four-star restaurant.

RN has just pulled out Fatima’s chair.

I gave guidance on what to do when planning dates, giving gifts and being supportive.

Fatima is at work and receives a gift from RN; handwritten sentiments are her favorite. She opens the gift and calls RN to thank him.

While I stroked away at the keyboard, Kia came in and startled me. “Hi, Fatima. You have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”

“Okay. I’m coming.”

When I noticed Kia’s silhouette in the doorway, I huffed. She smiled and sang my name. I rushed to write an after-work scene.

Fatima is in a taxi after a long day at work and RN calls.

After saving my script, I rushed from my office. While the marketing team discussed strategies for one of next month’s releases, I scribbled in my notepad. What to do when Fatima’s sad? How to act with her family? What kind of dates does she enjoy?

RN and Fatima are walking through Central Park after a date. The night is breezy. Fatima folds her arms. RN takes his jacket off.

Before the meeting was done, I’d filled up two pages. As I perused the notes, I shook my head. Well, what matters most is that I’m paying for this service, so maybe I can get what I deserve.

Fatima is having a bad case of PMS and she asks RN to get her pizza at 3 AM. RN smiles.

By the time I met Mya for drinks four hours later, my script was near completion. I handed her the printout of the first draft. “Read my script.”

She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “Didn’t I tell you to take your medication?”

“Stop! That’s not funny. You know that stuff almost made me crazier than what I am.”

“If that’s the case. You’re right. Maybe you shouldn’t take it.” She flipped through the pages. The excitement on her face didn’t complement her monotone voice. “’Cause you’re really going off the deep end with this.”

I propped my elbow up on the bar as I watched her become engrossed in my words. The rapid pace in which her eyes shifted confirmed that if nothing more, it was a good read. As her body language mellowed, I knew she had fallen victim to my plot.

“So, you’re really serious about this, huh?”

“Yeah. Are you going to help me?”

“How long is the gig?”

“Um, just until this lonely feeling goes away.”

“That could be a long time. How long are you willing to pay for love?”

“For company.”

“Shit. If you’re paying scale, I’ll be your company.”

My nose wrinkled. “Um, if this is a twenty-four-hour-a-day job, what is the appropriate scale?”

“I just don’t think anyone is going to take this serious.”

I yanked her arm. “Just tell me.”

“It’s kind of hard to explain. Scale is based on the type of work: TV; commercials; film. And film is broken up into three different levels: low-budget; mid-range; full-budget.” She took a deep breath. “I just don’t know where this falls in.”

“So, you’re interested?”

“I mean. It sounds fun, but I’m wondering how we work the contract. Will anyone take us seriously?”

“Okay, we’ll draw up a six-month contract and rate it like a low-budget film.” As I watched her slip deeper into my drama, I scooted up in my chair. “What do you think?”

“You’re looking at about three hundred dollars a day.” She used the calculator on her cell phone. “That’s about fifty-five K for six months. You’re crazy.”

“That’s the money I get from Derrick’s estate. That’s not even touching the insurance money.”

She giggled. “Well, hell! Let’s go for it. We could make this a reality show.”

“No, I’m not down for that. We’re not going to have me all posted up on network TV. I have a reputation to uphold.”

“Hey, we may as well get paid for it.”

“Whatever. How are you going to cast the actors?”

“Oh, hell no! I’m not casting anyone. You are,” Mya said.

“How am I supposed to do that?”

She sipped her drink. “I’ll have a call out for men that match your description tomorrow. For the guys that I like, but don’t make the cut, I’ll tell them about this opportunity and see how many of them are down. You can set up your own casting. You know what you’re looking for better than me.”

I put my arm around her neck. “What would I do without you?”

She gyrated her slim hips like Lil’ Kim and chanted, “Who gon’ love you like I do? Huh? What?” She raised the roof with her hands and her large bangle jingled to the melody. “Who gon’ treat you like I do? Huh? What?”